sxsw day three: striking out

Everyone seems to be having one less-than-successful day at SXSW, so I guess yesterday was mine. It seemed like I spent most of the day waiting for bands to set up, or rushing in as bands were finishing their final song. There were a few bright spots, but it mostly felt like a misadventure.

Like Yancey, I headed straight to Emo’s for the Pitchfork show, and also like Yancey I couldn’t figure out why Marnie Stern, clearly a gifted musician, would be playing along to her CD. I saw the Pipettes again and, sadly, I cannot get with this band. Too much kitsch and cartoon and caricature for me. After months of trying I finally got to see Beach House, which did not disappoint. Truly gorgeous, ethereal, aching music that worked even in a packed room where a majority of the people were talking. I’m hooked. I spent a bulk of the afternoon talking to the Pitchfork staff who were friendly, funny, unpretentious, and all-around good people.

Girl Talk closed out the Pitchfork show and — man oh man. Fantastic. I loved the Girl Talk record because to me it represented the way people actually listened to music. It is possible to love Low and Notorious B.I.G. and T.I. and Hall & Oates equally, and Girl Talk’s crazy on-the-fly cross-breeding of these songs kept giving and giving and giving. He’s an incredibly charismatic performer, leaping around the stage, hurling confetti out into the crowd and asking repeatedly, “Are you ready, Austin?!” Were we ever.

After Pitchfork, though, things got dicey. I headed over to try to see more of El-P, but he was still setting up, so I hoofed over to the Paste party to talk to some of my friends on staff and possibly catch my pal Denison Witmer’s set. I did get to talk to some of the Paste staff (who are just as terrific as the Pitchforkers), but Denison had already played and the party was wrapping up. So, another strikeout.

I’ll skip straight over all my other misadventures (there were about three hours worth) and pick up again with a charming bash-n-yell set from Tiny Masters of Today. Comprised of the Blues Explosion’s Russel Simins on drums, an eleven year old girl twelve year old boy (Note: I am an idiot) on bass and a ten year old girl on guitar, the band was terrifically sloppy, snarly and sweet, cranking out ragged punk songs that at times almost sounded like super-early Slits. Up in the front row, Wayne Coyne was beaming from ear-to-ear.

I went from there straight to the Amy Winehouse show which, amazingly, I had no trouble at all getting into. I was as interested in Winehouse as I was in her band, the always unbeatable Dap-Kings. I love Winehouse’s voice as well as her debut, and the combination of her with Sharon Jones’ band seemed inspired. While everyone performed with marksmanlilke precision, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something lacking. Winehouse hasn’t yet figured out how to sell her songs, so while her voice sounds terrific, there was a big empty space where the passion ought to be. I liked it, but I didn’t love it.

Ditto, unfortunatelty, for The Good, the Bad and the Queen, who played their debut from start to finish at the outdoor venue Stubb’s. The big draw here for me was Tony Allen, who I would argue is one of the greatest living drummers. He’s barely there on GBQ’s (excellent) debut, and was even less there last night; because the songs are so moody and understated, few of them require serious percussion. Allen spent most of the night just sitting behind the drum kit. Paul Simonon cut an imposing figure on the stage, stalking and slinking about, adding an edge of menace and ghostliness to GBQ’s dark songs. But the fact is that Stubb’s was too big for music this small and personal to translate. In a small club it would be ruthlessly effective, but here it felt a bit flat.

The worst part of the day was leaving GBQ at 2 a.m. The crowd had turned ugly and boozy and hostile, and it suddenly felt more like rush week than a festival of forward-thinking bands. I saw a whole lot of ugliness on my trip back to the hotel, including some vicious verbal abuse, needless inconveniencing of locals, and a kind of general aggression and pugnaciousness. It was a sad reminder that we’re a long way from the heydey of K and Homestead and Touch & Go.