Skip to main contentMission of Burma's midnight show on Thursday, the second night of the South by Southwest music festival--that's one of the shows I was looking forward to. The advance word on the recently reformed Boston trio practically guaranteed an earplug-melting assault of grinding guitars. I'm sure the band's name was circled in the schedules of thousands of SXSW attendees, as it was in mine.
Unfortunately, when Mission of Burma took the stage that night, I was somewhere in Canadian airspace. Thanks to a combination of airport security, a high-school show choir and what the airline politely refers to as "overbooking," I didn't make it to the show. Instead, after idling at PDX for nine hours, hopping on the train to Seattle, dragging myself onto a red-eye flight to Newark and finally circling back to Austin, the only music I heard was the dead air of travel.
Listening to another bad Muzak song, like a rendition of Sting's "Fields of Gold" at Wilf's, I kept asking myself why I was going to Austin anyway. I could be back in the office listening to the stacks of CDs piled up on my desk. After all, so many of the bands at the festival would make their way through Portland soon.
Then came the reminder: reading a remembrance of Kurt Cobain, in the April issue of Spin, for the 10th anniversary of his suicide. Here's how former Smashing Pumpkin James Iha describes the first time he saw Nirvana play: "The band, the songs, his voice--as clichéd as it sounds--was godhead. It could have been any band at that shitty club that night, but instead I got to see a music revolution in action."
Music revolutions can spin out of small, shitty clubs at any time, and what a festival like SXSW can offer is a condensed version of the sound world. For one long weekend in Austin, the thousands of musicians spill into and out of the clubs, and any song could be the one that will remind jaded listeners of what Iha is talking about.
At a festival the size of SXSW, sometimes you miss these moments. Sometimes you're still 2,000 miles away. Sometimes the band is in the club next door. And sometimes, if you're lucky, it's right in front of you.
Here are some SXSW notes from me and another WW writer, the more travel-savvy Matt Wright. Maybe these moments weren't all revolutionary, but they're the result of musicians trying to find their own soulful, honest sounds. (Mark Baumgarten)
Most Charming Foreigners
Franz Ferdinand, Thursday at Buffalo Billiards
The Brit band appeared before a packed house of skeptical music-industry types who have heard the words "Franz Ferdinand" paired with the phrase "next big thing" many times over. Thankfully, the retro camp stylists delivered their catchy disco-rock tunes with goofy earnestness and obvious technical skill, as they would the following Monday at Berbati's Pan. The band's sound is reminiscent of early XTC and the funkier side of post-punk, but its charm resides in slyly humorous lyrics, coupled with killer pop hooks. Watch out, America: Franz Ferdinand is about to charm your pants off. (Matt Wright)
Best Band Who Could Give a Fuck About Your Diesel Jeans
The Hold Steady, Friday at Elysium
The greatest leadman from Brooklyn at this year's festival wasn't wearing short pants or a sports jacket. He didn't even have messy hair. No, Craig Finn of the Hold Steady wore glasses, short hair and an irony-free Minnesota Twins T-shirt. The no-nonsense attire matches the earnest rock riffage and lyricism of his band's titanium sound. Sure, his songs are barroom fantasies, but they're packed with real emotion. "It's hard to keep tryin' when half your friends are dyin'/ It's hard to hold it steady when half your friends are dead already," Finn sang, before backing away from the mic and screaming to a crowd drenched in sweat and one big fuzzy guitar. Fists pumped in the air, guitarist Tab Kuebler slung his six-string around his neck and the Hold Steady staked a claim on good, honest rock. (MB)
Most Deceptive Use of Power Chords
Pelican, Friday at Emo's Jr.
With their shaggy hair and tight T-shirts, the members of Pelican looked like members of the current late-'70s/early-'80s rock revival. This note of fashionability was shattered when the band began to play, erecting a supremely heavy wall of metal guitar and death-knell drums. But retro is still retro, and in those first hammering riffs rang echoes of early Metallica. Was Pelican just another poseur band, albeit with a slightly hesher set of influences? But then the band pulled out into a soft and languid guitar line, and what had sounded rad was suddenly transformed into something much deeper. (MW)
Most Likely to Break Out Big
The Hives, Saturday at Emo's
Wild-eyed Hives leadman Howlin' Pelle Almqvist boasted with the best of them before enticing the crowd with come-ons, kicks, claps and the required howls for a razor-clean 45 minutes. Crowd energy kicked up for favorites from the band's first full length, Veni, Vidi, Vicious. Fans also demanded new stuff from the upcoming album, and the black-and-white-suited Swedes delivered in well-rehearsed form. A new song, "No Pun Intended," offered a commentary answering critics of the first album, and displayed a band that sounds as if it's been locked in a room with amphetamines and Keith Richards' record collection for the past two years. The crowd approved, as did Almqvist. "You like the new songs?" he asked in an exaggerated Swedish accent. "Good. I do, too." (MB)
Best Combination of Panties and Bass
Metric, Friday at Momo's
The folks standing in front of the stage at this show might have thought they were watching a J.C. Penney white sale for all the panty flashes they were seeing. Leadwoman Emily Haines took advantage of her short skirt, kicking at what would normally be considered an inappropriate height. What made her irresistible, though, was the way she heaved and thrust at her keyboard. Haines sweated sex, and when she danced, she sweated more. Thanks to the electro-pop band's funked-up basslines, that was often. (MB)
Most Courageous in the Face of Adversity
Dizzee Rascal, Saturday at Aussies
Is Dizzee Rascal too weird for Texas? That was the question in the air as the critically acclaimed London MC took the stage. The circumstances were certainly less than favorable: The group that preceded him had covered both "Big Pimpin'" and "Sippin' on Some Sitzer," and beach volleyball nets peppered the outdoor stage area. When Dizzee took over, the tone shifted. The steady one-two beats of earlier groups were replaced by a mash of stuttered and clipped breaks, bleeping minimal synth lines and, of course, Dizzee's distinct South London flow. The more timid among the crowd fled immediately, but those who stayed on were transfixed by Dizzee's intense rhythmic virtuosity and unflinching, heartfelt depiction of ghetto strife on the other side of the Atlantic. (MW)
WWeek 2015