Whereas my day was spent inside clubs or on walled-in patios, I was grateful to get out on a real patio, where the Texas breeze could take away some of my accumulating festival stank. Knowing I was in for a long night, nothing could have been a better rejuvenating tonic than sitting on the off-beaten-track enclave in the late-afternoon sun taking in a surprisingly chipper group of young-uns and a young, but old ‘n’ wise-sounding bunch of wunderfolk. Who they be? Let's see!
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- {The Henry Clay People, Vetiver @ Opal Divine's Freehouse}
Checkered shirts and power pop flowing freely on the patio? I have run into {The Henry Clay People} territory. The California foursome played a energetic set of not entirely dissimilar pop anthems but played them with tons of youthful enthusiasm. Think an American Teenage Fanclub or an American Sloan or an American Velvet Crush (wait, they are American!) and you are headed in the right direction. It is refreshing to see a band having fun, particularly within this annual bastion of studied cool. The boys played what they know; these realistic songs about being young, working part-time (all the time), and needing nothing more than a couch to get by worked even better when mixed with the genuine look of wanting to be there.
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While the Henry Clay People were entertaining, {Vetiver} were downright mesmerizing. Their originals were as beautiful as their choice of covers (I loved their rendition of Bobby Charles' "I Must Be in a Good Place Now"), and their sound was perfect. Associations that Andy Cabic has to the new breed of folksters should all be a distant memory now, because Vetiver belong to a blues/alt-country that summons the memories of The Band or a more somber, prime-time Jayhawks. The group played a lovely bunch of songs and were even serenaded by a trilling bird throughout. While this little piece of paradise was nice, I had to go back to the grind of the heart of downtown to explore some more club options.
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- {Nite Jewel, Crystal Stilts @ RED 7}
After killing time taking in the sights of Austin's "entertainment district" (take that any way you want -- wink, wink) I hightailed it back to my daytime haunt, RED 7, to soak in a bunch of New York bands taking part in Heeb Magazine's showcase. I caught the ass-end of Suckers, who were workmanlike experimenters with a frontman dressed like Joseph The Technicolor Mime. The band was alright and the crowd was small, but I didn't see enough of them nor remember much of the show to make any bold descriptions. I did, however, see more than enough of {Nite Jewel}. Playing a nice, lengthy spot, the erstwhile multi-media artists Ramona Gonzales and Emily Jane rocked the party the only way they know how: with waves of sound mixed with minimal electro-beats backing up Gonzales' Debbie Harry-gone-shoegaze vocals. Influenced as much by smoove R&B and fun ’80s pop, Nite Jewel was a breath of freshness and the ideal way to start the second half of the day.
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{Crystal Stilts} were more than an hour late for their set, but most people didn't care. I have seen them before, but I still find something new in their sound every time. This time, I actually noticed the band's strong early rock ‘n’ roll and girl group tendancies more than their slightly gloomy, twee-meets-garage influence -- and it felt good. Making up for their scheduling mishap (they didn't know they were playing this show, allegedly) by asking for requests from their small back catalogue and pandering to a crowd that was already converted long ago, Crystal Stilts sounded like Crystal Stilts: fuzzy pop guided by a floppy fringed jangle guitarist, distant zombie vocalist, competent bass and keys, and upright citizen twacking away on the small set of drums (early Primal Scream/Bobby Gillespie-style). Tracks like "Shattered Shine" and "Converging in the Quiet" got the biggest claps of the gig, but the band (alongside a number of similarly-hyped NYC bands playing this same night and all over SXSW) are a hot ticket right now, so there was no chance any of their songs would go over like lead balloons.
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- {Let's Wrestle @ Wave Patio}
By the time the Stilts ended their show, it was late and I was due elsewhere. Timing and snap decisions are everything, and I decided to forgo the likes of Chairlift and Telepathe and hustle off to Wave to see Let's Wrestle. It turned out to be a poor move on my part. Sure, I saw Let's Wrestle, but just barely. Placed in a absurdly small rooftop patio, the UK trio played to a tight crowd who grasped for oxygen, even though it was outside. Attempting to get anywhere close to the stage was pointless, so I hung at the back and took in a band that I have recently been raving about to anyone who will listen. The disappointment of being stuck in a inconvenient venue was nothing compared to the disappointment of a sub-par performance by this very young pop combo. While there were flashes of brilliance to be had (a great version of "I Won't Lie to You" had the crowd in full pogo mode, for example), Let's Wrestle also introduced a couple of new elements to their sound that I did not want to nor expect to hear. Gone were the touchstones that attracted me to them in the first place (the wonderful ambivalence and nonchalance) and in their place were generic pop shapes. New tracks were relatively unmemorable and older tracks felt as though they were being performed at a double-time pace. Now, I am an environment reactionary; something like a bad venue, lunkhead bouncer, or bad seafood will usually color my mood and patience level. However, even after putting my most positive foot forward up there on that patio, I couldn't brush off a worrisome feeling that I was witnessing the birth of the next Ash, a band of three that lost all of its early punk-pop vitriol when it jumped into the catchy-but-disposible straight pop game then into its late-career, straight-up, crap-rock facade. I hope I'm wrong.
