Some may say that SxSW is not what it used to be. But most would agree that everything is not what it used to be. As someone who’s only been to SxSW two times in three years, I cannot offer a true personal opinion on the changing face of the festival, but I will say it’s a little strange when AOL and other corporations start sponsoring indie bands in attempts to cash in on “cool.” Not to mention, as any cab driver will confess, that Austin is just not equipped to handle all of the people who swarm the city during this precious week in March. And incidentally, some of the venues, such as Malverde, didn’t seem to have the means to provide quality sound. As a result, Suckers had to stop after their first song, and even said something along the lines of, “Can we please get some keyboard for this song so we can actually play it?” Fool’s Gold, who also performed at Malverde that night, had better luck, but after a very lengthy set change and an overcrowded room that took an hour to even enter, my patience was wearing thin. Austin’s also not so friendly to picky vegetarians or bagel-lovers like myself, which became a problem. But hey, at least there’s Hey Cupcake.

There are several ways to go about your SxSW experience. One of the trickiest things is trying to see the bands you like while still managing to catch other bands promptly before or after, since a wristband or even a badge doesn’t guarantee access into an already packed venue, and line-waiting can take up valuable time when you could have been seeing music. Luckily, most bands do play more than one show, so it’s just a matter of making the right choices. One of my goals for the week was to not get caught up in that sort of game just to see bands I’d never seen before (especially since I’m fortunate to live in NYC, which most bands travel through), but to support bands near and dear to my heart. It’s one thing to see your buddies play in your city and quite another to see them at an official, or even unofficial, SxSW showcase, performing for new faces and industry personnel. And those industry people (including us at BRM) were certainly on the lookout for new talent, and to showcase our/their own favorite artists. It’s important for a magazine like BRM to basically advertise for our own sake in order to get the word out about what we’re trying to do, which is highlight and document groundbreaking culture. Record labels, magazines, radio stations, clothing companies and blogs alike (such as Brooklyn Vegan, Warp, Pitchfork, NPR, Urban Outfitters, and Village Voice, among others) all set out to supply bands with a performing space and to gain attention for themselves. The streets were littered with fliers for events, and the city taped all of the poles and parking meters to try to prevent stickering. Paper is definitely wasted when everyone wants you to know about their show.

Day shows and unofficial showcases or after parties were really where it was at this year, especially since I, for one, am all about seeing grittier bands in smaller venues. In fact, the area further east from the mainline of 6^th and Red River, across I-35, felt a little more akin to the Lower East Side of Manhattan: off the beaten path and sometimes literally on the dirt. The shows I saw at 1808, Club Primo's and the Green Owl Ranch were more grassroots and homegrown as opposed to the larger venues with long lines, commercial sponsorship, security, tons of press, and nearby blogging stations. Everyone knows that the music world has been turned on its head within the last decade, what with iTunes, file sharing, Myspace, and an extensive amount of internet coverage for anything happening anywhere in the world, and this is nowhere more apparent than at SxSW. While bands can now make and sell albums without label support, and still reach a moderate level of success, the festival itself is affiliated with Miller Lite, Pepsi, Chevy, and Monster Energy drinks. But for any active participant, the real kicker with South by, or hearing any live bands day after day, is that eventually everything starts to sound pretty similar. If there’s one thing the music world is also today, it’s oversaturated! And I couldn’t help but notice that KORG keyboards are all the rage (especially the red ones!), as are band members’ abilities to play multiple instruments. All of that being said, if you’re lucky and open-minded, the energy on stage and all over downtown Austin will make you glad to simply be part of it, no matter the infrastructure issues. And Austin has no shortage of energetic and eccentric characters who represent some anti-conformist ethos, from pedicab drivers and bicyclists, to the tattooed and body-modified, to squatters and old school punks, to PETA activists. And yes, I did see a man dressed like a chicken.

The Levi's/FADER Fort was an interesting feature of the day shows. Without a Press pass/RSVP, one had to wait in a massively long line to enter, which many did. Once inside, the Levi’s section of the Levi's/FADER Fort sold jeans and actually had workstations for sewing pants on the spot. Further inside, a DJ blasted music by the beer-station and other tables, which gave way to a big stage underneath the large tent. On two separate days, I caught Freelance Whales and Local Natives, both on NYC’s French Kiss label. The former is a cheery indie band from none other than Queens, although their music seems much sunnier (and less cynical). Poppy and sugary-sweet, female member Doris Cellar (who also makes solo music) played a traditional wooden harmonium sitting on a drum seat, which she pumped and played while also manning a bass guitar. Freelance Whales makes use of a wide array of other odd instruments, such as a waterphone, bing carbon telephones, and glockenspiel, to create their humbly and charming pop songs, which they take turns singing, or sometimes emit together. Local Natives are a very cool Los Angeles based five-piece with Afro-beat elements, soulful vocals, and a slight Paul Simon undercurrent, but they’re also very tuned into sounds emerging throughout the country’s indie underground…this idea of turning back time and becoming more organic, more inspired, almost tribal. Songs such as “Sun Hands” and “Airplanes” definitely stand out.

The band that I saw the most (four times during SxSW, in fact), have previously covered and would most definitely recommend to any music lover is Grandchildren, hailing from West Philadelphia. In December, they signed to Green Owl, a three-year-old but recently burgeoning indie label owned by Ben Bronfman (M.I.A.’s husband), and Stephen Glicken. Ever since, Grandchildren have been gaining notoriety. They toured on the way down to Austin, played five shows in town, and then toured back up to Philly. Their shows are flawless musical landscapes that move through perfectly practiced and synchronistic bursts of controlled chaos and precise percussion. The six members come together to form complex songs with multiple parts and a range of instruments (including a trombone, tambourine, and electronics), and although they all have different playing and singing styles, the songs are tightly packed, and the entire set blends seamlessly to create a kaleidoscopic, synesthetic montage.

At their official Green Owl showcase in the Beauty Bar backyard, Grandchildren debuted a new aspect to performances. Setting up a screen between them and the crowd, they projected a series of moving images to correspond to each interlinked song. Created mainly by primary songwriter Aleks Martray, the projection turned their set into something purely magical and artistic, which aptly represents the band’s aesthetic and visual art origins. Later in the night, after I saw Moonrats, ate some tofu (finally!) and also had a Bill Murray spotting, I ventured with Grandchildren in their trusty van to the ranch that Green Owl provided not only for the bands on the label, but also as a place where SxSW-goers could come late at night to hear music, away from the claustrophobic downtown streets. With the idea that “great music can be sustainable,” a brightly painted and converted school bus that runs on veggie oil was making trips, until 5 am, from downtown Austin to the 35-acre “Rockin Y Ranch” at 7600 Still Ridge, equipped with a pool, tire swings, goats, a barn for shows, and a slew of awesome people.

As Green Owl said of its own idea for the after parties: THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU PLAY WITH FIRE. LITERALLY. WHAT HAPPENS HERE, IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU THINK NO ONE'S WATCHING. IT'S A GIANT MIDDLE FINGER TO "THE AFTER PARTY". IT'S HUGS AND HANDSHAKES. IT'S HI-FIVES AND GOOD VIBES. IT'S STICKY FINGERS, AND SH*T GRINS. IT BIRTHS LEGENDS. IT BREEDS LORE. AND FACT IS, SOME OF WHAT HAPPENS HERE MAY BE THINGS WE CAN NEVER CONFIRM, NOR DENY. BUT MAKE NO MISTAKE, THIS IS THE TRUTH. THIS IS SXSW AT THE GREEN OWL RANCH.

For my one night at said ranch, I can certainly say it was full of loud music, conversation, drinks, apple bongs, cartwheels, and no sleep (‘til Austin?)! At about 3 in the morning, Grandchildren performed their set for the second time that day, setting up the screen and projecting their oscillating, fragmented images of smoke, splotches, ants, and lovers in florescent colors. Sitting down for that one on a cushion in the barn, I zoned out and let the colors and visuals draw me in, watching the boys behind the screen as they switched instruments and belted their effervescent songs, albeit a bit deliriously. A little while later, The So So Glos from NYC (who, like Grandchildren, have also played our Emerging Artists Showcases) played their set and the barn couldn’t have been a more perfect setting for their down-to-earth punk rock style and noisy melodies.

The last time I caught Grandchildren, at Club Primo’s, I actually got to watch their faces as they froze their fingers playing in alarmingly cold weather (for Texas). The small, intimate, outdoor performance kept everyone warm, especially when drummer Roman Salcic excitedly fell off the drum stool. Both with and without their visual tricks, Grandchildren put on an inspiring show that hits you both physically and emotionally. Primo’s provided a steady stream of music, with bands performing both inside the bar and outside under the tent that threatened to fall down due to winds. I caught The Name, a fun and engaging three-piece who sounded like Nirvana gone Brazilian; Beach Fossils, a Cali-tastic (but actually from Brooklyn) band of neo-hippies, the longest-haired member of which ecstatically banged drums to up the ante of their ’60s garage dreaminess; When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth, a seven-member band of mostly bearded dudes in winter hats who are so grunge it hurts in the best way possible, and with almost everyone in the band on guitar; and DD/MM/YYYY from Canada, who were so hardcore about playing their punky-synthy-delightfully cacophonous music that one of the keyboardists literally smashed his face into the keys. And a saxophone was also a welcome accessory to the riot!

Beyond Race hosted a showcase during the day on Friday on the Union Park rooftop, west of the main area, which was an ideal setting for sunshine. Like many bands playing on rooftops, yards, patios, and tents, the music rang out into the street, and the tall buildings and blue sky acted as the perfect backdrop to performances. Not only were we giving away magazines and subscriptions to our lovely mag, but we provided a free show for wristband and non-wristband holders alike. Outernational, from NYC, offered both a ska and Spanish feel to fighting songs and were purported to be, by Tom Morello himself, “a world-music Rage Against the Machine.” Pomegranates, from Ohio, were carefree and fresh-faced, churning out surfy, mildly psychedelic tunes that were harmless and easily digestible, but also very well constructed. Something about those boys and their songs just felt right, in all their youthful flurry. Phantogram, consisting of guitarist Josh Carter and keyboardist Sarah Barthel, with their electronic music and evenly paced, mechanic beats, was quite a departure from most of the music I had been hearing at South by. Barthel’s voice glimmers and slides easily along synths and front-and-center guitar (“You Are the Ocean” is especially poignant, and their album, Eyelid Movies, is  emotive, electronic bliss). All the way from the UK, Lovvers, while somewhat awkward in appearance, performed punky, poppy songs that settled into your bones. Still Time closed the showcase, and while their jam-band style was way too happy for my taste, they seduced many audience members and even staged a conga line! Yeah, I wasn’t getting in that.

The night of the BRM show, I also went to see School of Seven Bells at La Zona Rosa: a very large venue farther from the center of things. The two women in the band, who both sing and play guitar and keyboard, were definitely the central focus, which was a rather nice treat for a festival that definitely gives way to more on-stage male energy. Leaning on the barricade, I zoned out to their shoe-gazey glaze and ooh-ing, collective voices, although I do think the sound could have been crisper. I wanted to stick around to see Murder By Death, but all of the show times were pushed back and I was just too exhausted to man up to it. So I’ll have to wait for another chance to see them, which I hope will be soon.

On the last night of SxSW, I helped 100 Monkeys carry their equipment into the backroom of The Parish. These L.A.-based boys are definitely another case of the near-and-dear-to-my-heart. Enjoying a wave of success both due to Jackson Rathbone’s acting career (he’ll star as Sokka in M. Night Shyamalan’s upcoming The Last Airbender and, well, he’s in Twilight) and their sing-along-worthy, sometimes bluesy songs, the guys brought in some Monkey fans, armed with cameras in the front “row.” Playing a shorter set than they’re accustomed to, they performed “Orson Brawl,” “Wings on Fire,” and “The Monkey Song,” with Ben Johnson taking charge of the microphone, and Ben Graupner (wearing a tail!) giving an appropriate shout-out to our deceased friend, Spencer Bell, who wrote this song and continues to inspire 100 Monkeys (as well as numerous others). For their last song, it’s customary for the Monkeys to ask the audience for a word/phrase with which they can improvise, and the oh-so charming J Rathbone performed the resulting “Snake Charmer” as if he’d practiced it several times before. While these guys travel the country in the “Cobra,” playing to adoring fans and recording their live tracks for a future release, it was great to see them at SxSW. Here’s a case of well-deserved musicians who don’t fit into any scene or fad, but are (quite literally) contained in their own melodic, songwriting bubble, playing with passion and entirely committed to good causes and making music, art, and friends. And I can assure you they’ve gotten loading and unloading down to a science. They’re also really good at hanging out in alleyways.

I caught a few other acts at The Parish. One of these was Adrian Grenier’s band, The Honey Brothers, who had a banjo (or two!) up there on stage. The music is definitely sweet, having been described as “whimsical new wave folk,” which is just about right, except I’m not so sure about the “new wave” part. Maybe we can call them post-folk, or something. Their tunes were touching and nicely executed, but here’s a band that could have used a cozier outdoor venue or lantern lit backyard. I also caught Steel Train, rock n’ rollers from New Jersey. In true I’m-in-a-band-from-NJ fashion, they covered the Boss’ “Dancing in the Dark,” which I have to admit was terrific! Their songs were rather simplistic, but fun and fully charged, and I had to hand it to the lead singer for donning Docs. 

With so much sensory overload and outright exhaustion, it’s easy to overlook the real reason why SxSW exists....it’s always about the music, and not just the hip new thing. Bands slept in vans and far-away hotel rooms, and I myself bounced between three different locales. It’s all about having your ear drums blasted and your heart rate upped by musicians who traveled many many miles for your listening pleasure. Here’s to the oldest, most potent and most immediate art form, and here’s to all of those who live for  it.

words by Amy Dupcak (all photos by amy dupcak / last photo by kyle timlin)

www.no-alternative.net !

When CMJ began on Tuesday, I have to admit that I was less than completely excited because, despite working for a groundbreaking music + culture mag, I felt that I'd pretty much fallen off the "hot new music" wagon and could not identify a large majority of the bands at the festival....however, I soon realized (and remembered, from my past two CMJ experiences) that a] most of the bands are pretty underground anyway, which is the whole point, right? and b] it's pretty fun to go out and see music with absolutely no expectations, or to go out and see bands according to the guidance of other more "in-the-know" pals. Thus began my third CMJ journey!

My first night of CMJ adventuring was a peculiar one. First, my co-BRM-editors Kyle, Shannon and I wanted to attend the New Zealand jamfest (I especially wanted to see Surf City and Die! Die! Die! since I have written about both of them), but, much to our dismay, this event was advertised on the CMJ badges and even on the back of the CMJ book and, needless to say, the line was around the block. We quickly decided to move on and walked to the Lower East Side where we found ourselves sitting in the back room of The Living Room. After a pit-stop in their old-school photobooth, we witnessed papercranes. Lead singer Rain Phoenix, who has the look of a woman who has lived some hell of a crazy life, was thrilling to watch. Her dreamy, mellow pop had a Lilith Fair meets bohemian lounge vibe; certainly the type of band to listen to while sitting at a candle-lit table, sipping wine in a red-tinted room.

Although papercranes was a lovely experience, I was in dire need of some real noise! After drinks and crepes, we tried to get into Cake Shop for Surf City, whom we had missed earlier, but by then they had filled the basement capacity with too many badges, so we were turned away. That's one complicated aspect of CMJ...every venue has its own rules about occupancy and costs, and therefore possessing the coveted badge does not guarantee that you'll actually get in to the show you want. Then again, I rather like the roaming-around-NYC quality of this music and film festival,  as opposed to most others that mnake it too easy, and the fact that it requires its participants to frequent grimy bars and backrooms and lofts and Brooklyn bars to scope out the music they crave. 

Case in point, we headed over to The Suffolk Back Room, which is actually a converted church. The room  had movie-theater-style seating with Christmas lights covering most of the seats, and we entered into a scene  of one guy playing acoustic guitar, and a couple of others banging some sort of instruments, while the audience sat in a circle around them, responding enthusiastically. We were hoping to catch Fool's Gold, but they never did show up; instead we watched this musician and then a hip-hop-meets-electro-clash hipster band who shouted into three microphones. FIRS and Rumspringa were listed as playing, but  those were neither of the bands I saw. In any event, the power went out temporarily, which signaled to me that maybe it was time to give up and try my luck again the next night. 

On Wednesday, I went with two friends to Mercury Lounge on Houston. We caught Javelin,  an eccentric male duo performing "tropical crunk" inspired by "endless loop tapes" (loop tapes, loop tapes, loop tapes...); in other words, the guys were playing with funky instruments, switches, samples, and beats, but also creating punk rock noise amid Kraftwerk-esque sounds. One of their songs even featured Cobain's "I'm on a plain, I can't complain" refrain, which absolutely delighted me! Next up at Mercury was The XX, an early '80s inspired band featuring male and female members. They reminded me of Blonde Redhead crossed with Jesus and Mary Chain and possibly Film School, with a hint of Cocteau Twins in the female vocals and an overall soulful melancholy. Their music and subdued, too-cool presence was refreshing in its stark difference to many of the indie rock bands at CMJ. Assymetrical songs were melodically unpredictable, veering between quiet and loud, and I noticed a couple of bass or guitar lines comparable to Interpol. Definitely a band worth seeing again.

We then made our way to my area, Bleecker Street, for The Green Owl showcase at the ultra-hip Le Poisson Rouge. My friend Jake and I caught Violens, a rock band that was too polished for its own good. The guys were tight as hell, but they needed to let their hair down and move a little more to be in the true spirit of the rock n' roll they obviously admired. Next came  my friend Tris' (of Skeletonbreath) band, Grandchildren. The six male members had more energy than the whole hundred-something crowd! They switched instruments and hopped around stage like sprite musical monkeys, emphatically banging multiple drums, tooting on a trombone, banging a tambourine, playing guitars, and bass and emitting choral chants from their wide open throats. Calling to mind Animal Collective, their organic-meets-electronic, neo-tribal, schizo-psychedelic sound promoted wild dancing and joyful madness! 

On Thursday, I attended the Beyond Race Magazine CMJ Happy Hour showcase at Crash Mansion on Bowery. Jeff the Brotherhood was another male duo: brothers with a spitfire rock attitude, and leather pants to boot! Guitarist Jake and drummer Jamin (with his "Jeffro Tull" kickdrum) from Tennessee maintained a presence that was halfway between snarling and absolutely adorable (especially when Jake jumped around on nearby cushions and got up in some faces with wide, staring eyes); their music was a perfectly fun blend of fast-paced punky grunge with a slightly '70s glean. Our BRM event also featured the dancey, electro-soul Bodega Girls and the multi-dimensional, bustling Apollo Heights, who somehow fit an awful lot of people on stage.  

I then entered the cave-like, sweaty basement of Lit Lounge on Second Ave (but first, falafels on St. Marks!) for a very "math rock" showcase. The low-ceilinged Lit basement is an ideal setting for raucous "underground" (get it?) bands. I caught The Bronzed Chorus, HO-AG, Cinemechanica, and So Many Dynamos all in a three-hour period. I especially dug HO-AG's use of a megaphone/keyboard combination and the guitarist/singer's bold presence, as well as their self-stated "weird mess of sci-fi B-movie spazz-rock drama songs." Cinemechanica and So Many Dynamos leaned more toward prog-rock, with a few Mars Volta riffs in the backdrop of harder-edged anarchy. Quite an ear-blasting night!

On Friday, I gave my ears a little break and went to see Searching for Elliott Smith. This is the first visual documentary on the artist who is so near and dear to my heart; I rememebr the night he died and hoping it was only a rumor, listening to his music all night long and crying over a loss that was partially expected. Rather than going the route of getting famous people to appear in the film, Director Gil Reyes interviewed Elliott's closest friends, former bandmates and roommates, and independent musicians/ directors/ producers from different eras in his life (namely Portland, Brooklyn, and LA)...even his high school principle in Texas made an appearance (although none of his family members agreed to participate). A painfully honest portrayal, the film treated Elliott like a real person, with faults, talents, and a copmplicated yet not completely uncommon background. One of his friends discussed their mutual propsensity to want to fail, even if they were nearing success. In fact, we learn that Elliott considered most of his songs to be too perfect and consciously decided to "fuck them up" before releasing them to the public. Reyes successfully included Elliott's actual music, film clips, music videos, and quirky illustrations and animations to add to his low-budget project. The most shocking aspect of the film was not only its close look into Elliott's eventual downward spiral, but the confessions made by his last girlfriend, Jennifer Chiba, who some accuse of murdering Elliott. She tearfully explains exactly what happened on Oct. 21, 2003 and even goes to the police department in an attempt to clear things up with detectives who not only ruled the death as inconclusive, but who also stated that Chiba refused to speak with them when asked to. Reyes is obviously convinced that Elliott's death was indeed a suicide, which is quite a different experience from the highly opinionated Kurt & Courntey documentary that was released in the '90s. 

Upon leaving the film, the cold rain matched my somber mood,  but I perked back up when I met my friends at the L train and headed into Brooklyn for a night at Trash Bar. We went to see Goes Cube, whom I have interviewed and written about for BRM. With a new bassist, Matt, replacing former bassist, Matt, the threesome pounded out song after song with sincerity and bravado. Seriously, they get better every time I see them! The crowd may have been on the smaller side, but everyone there was into the heavy, post-metal, grungy hardcore Goes Cube has to offer. They were even begged to play an encore! Watching them was a perfect end to the night and to CMJ...not only in terms of witnessing a band I love progress, but because they have the ability to drag me out of my own head and refuel my body! Truly amazing.

 On Saturday, I left the CMJ festival and my NYC apartment for another city I love, Philadelphia, to see Dr. Dog at the TLA on South Street. The stage design featured giant heads of tigers and a lion; fake grass, trees, and flowers; and an interweaving colorful striped backdrop that the band members' shirts perfectly matched! The magical little on-stage world was perfect for the high-spirited band, and the joint-toking, hippie-loving, all-smiles crowd seemed to love it too! Dr. Dog played for two hours, with a four-song encore, performing a good variety of simpler songs (like a slightly melancholic acoustic about West Philly) and dance-worthy tunes. And dance the audience did! The best part of the show was when Scott McMicken pretended to order pizzas for the audience on the phone, and then, after the next song, people holding pizza boxes appeared onstage! The multiples pizza boxes crowd-surfed and McMicken encouraged everyone to just hang out and eat some pizza...he even started the anthem, "Let's go Phillies! Let's go Pizza!" Such a supremely and purely fun concert experience that left a delicious taste in my mouth...even though I don't eat pizza. 

*

A look back at my first CMJ experience, in 2007:

words by Amy Dupcak  (www.no-alternative.net)

In some ways, you gotta respect Courtney Love for her outright bitchiness and defiance of convention (or common sense). I mean, she set out to become a famous “rockstar” and actually made it happen, despite the fact that she stepped on or bit off of plenty of more talented people along the way (Rozz Rezabak, Julian Cope, Jennifer Finch, Billy Corgan, obviously Kurt Cobain, the list goes on).

Love started Hole with the intentions of creating gusty grrrl rock. After a turbulent and troublesome childhood and a few transitory teenage/early-20s years involving herself in music scenes (by proxy) and also attempting to make it as an actress (she played a small role in Sid and Nancy), she moved to the West Coast and set her sights on situating herself in the underground music scene. Though Hole’s debut album, Pretty On The Inside, was well received in 1991, it was only after her romance with and eventual marriage to Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain that Love and Hole received significant media attention.

With Cobain's help/influence, Hole's second LP, Live Through This, released in the pivotal year of 1994 (just four days after Cobain’s body was discovered in Seattle), proved to be an album with serious teeth. Feminine symbolism (flowers, babies, milk) juxtaposes gritty grunge-punk riffs and combative vocals (especially on “Gutless!”), which exude a masculine sense of power, sexuality, and confidence along with a feminist fuck-you attitude. Truly a triumph for Love and an inspiration to all real grrrls; the record to date has achieved worldwide double platinum status (having sold 2 millions copies).

Read more: No Alternative: No Love for Courtney