Hindsight being 20/20 and all that, it would have been a smart idea to have set out today with some sort of game plan. Alas, "smart" doesn't often figure much into my constitution. Today ended up being a rewarding yet frustrating (see my second recap later today), proving that not all is sunshine and smiles at SXSW. I also came to the realization that SXSW is a lot closer in spirit to Mardi-Gras than it would like to believe. Having said all of that, the day couldn't have started any better.
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- {Thee Oh Sees @ The Beauty Bar Patio}
Oh dear, intelligent TMT readers! I hardly have to mention how good Thee Oh Sees were, do I? I will anyway, because when it comes to masters of manic and intense, too much information doesn't come into the equation. Playing a midday set under the packed Beauty Bar tent, John Dwyer, Dammit!, Mike Shoun, and a keyboardist I did not know (sorry) tore into their songs with the intensity of a starving badger. The group was truly in a punishing mood, giving more attention to their low-end chuggernauts than to their dronier psychedelics. With Dwyer chewing up the mic and violating his Burns guitar and the band shooting the same intensity back at him on the floor, to say this was the opening shot everyone needed is a massive understatement. By the time they struck their last chords and skins, the band, the audience, and the walls were covered in a welcome start-of-the-day sweat.
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- {Found Magazine and Quackmedia Party @ RED 7}
{The Entrance Band}'s leader, singer, and guitarist Guy Blakeslee gives new meaning to the word "skinny." As he danced around his mic during the power trio's songs, I couldn't help but think of Steve Vai's Crossroads appearance. Blakeslee's playing probably helped cement that image also, as he worked his paisley guitar with much-applauded skill and emotion. As cool as Blakeslee was, the bassist and drummer were equally enthralling. I have never, ever seen a girl play the bass like Paz Lenchantin does. Whether convulsing and contorting or dropping to her knees to belt out heavy-stringed notes, she snatched the audience's attention from her frontman every few seconds. Not to be outdone, drummer Derek James was a whirling dervish of limbs as he belted away on his kit. Playing a blues-based brand of psychedelic rock, this was not the most spectacularly novel-sounding event, but it was certainly one of the most energetic shows I have seen in awhile, and The Entrance Band managed to drive an adrenaline needle into the heart of what is often a lifeless heavily-stoned sound.
While certainly no fashion plate myself, I simply have to take a couple of lines to describe what I saw at {The Magic} (pictured) show. I realize it was still early in the day and I had been recently rattled by an Oh Sees roundhouse to my senses, but what kind of mystical world did I enter where a stage can be inhabited by a cast consisting of a ginger-haired high-school jazzbo, a 4th grade dodge ball student, a wedding band rebel (tuxedo shirt, sleeves cut off), an ice-cool keyboard femme fatale, and a frontman that looked like prime 1980s era Edwin Collins, but wearing skin-tight sparkly-pocketed cut-offs, suspenders, white patent leather loafers, and argyles? This amalgamation of weirdness' sound could only be placed in that emerging unclassifiable class of electro stutter-step disco pop that was bizarre and incredibly catchy.
After shocking the crowd from their afternoon stupors, most of The Magic took a back seat and played behind {Human Highway}, featuring Nick Thorburn from Islands and The Unicorns and country troubadour Jim Guthrie. When Thorburn took the mic and said, "I hope you like slow dancing," he wasn't kidding. Playing a soft set of creepers and weepers culled from their debut disc, Moody Motorcycle, the duo and support staff had the crowd in a happy, mellow mood, although a little lulled. While it was easy to get taken away to sleepy town during Human Highway's show, it was also near-impossible to not get wistful or even misty-eyed listening to the melodies created by the two singers, recalling earlier, easier times when male singing duos ruled the world.
I was going to ride out of Red 7 and into the Austin sunset until I was stopped by the arty, dream rock of Detroit's {Javelins} (pictured). It is difficult to put a finger on what they do so well. Is it straightforward, well-executed pop songs? Is it the canvassing of styles and patterns (pop/rock, dance, herky-jerky) to make a unique whole? Is it the singing drummer invoking made-up memories of a skinny, good-looking Phil Collins with hair? Whatever it is, it works. I would have gotten kicked out of my journalism program if I ever used the term "really pleasant" to describe something that clearly deserves better, but I cannot think of anything that describes Javelins better. Maybe it is best not to think too much about formulas for success and go with the most tried-and true formula of all: simplicity. I was interested, but not captivated, by their album (Heavy Meadows), but I think a revisit is in due order. But for now, it is time to recharge.
