Things got into full swing early on Friday, with the New West Records mid-afternoon party offering a set by Tim Easton, along with the lure of free tacos and beer. A California-based singer-songwriter with wry charm and an unabashed political consciousness, Easton tackles big subjects in his songs, but does so with humor and heart. Although he often plays acoustic sets with just his guitar for accompaniment, he had a full band behind him in Texas. And, backed by a sheer rock wall on the outdoor stage at Club de Ville, it was loud, loud, loud. Luckily, the songs were as good as the set was earsplitting, and Easton was clearly having a great time as he regaled the crowd with the stories behind his songs and bits of the wisdom he’s accumulated on the road.
Over at the Fader party, an old warehouse had been converted into a full-on Levi’s store aimed at taking advantage of those rock fans addled by music, sun, and free Southern Comfort. It was complete with racks of expensive denim and bored looking employees. After having safely navigated the retail flytrap and the rooms of Adult Swim related activities, which had the labyrinth-like feel of a small town haunted house, the stage (and free booze) beckoned. This is where I stumbled, quite innocently, on one of the absolute best things I saw all weekend: Atlanta’s psych punk band The Black Lips. Although their bass player was in Mexico (they never explained why; he just was), they delivered a riotous blast of blues punk that managed to be totally raw and completely catchy. Looking disheveled and blissed out, one guitarist spit up in the air and caught it in his mouth, only moments later to be found making out with the other guitar player. The spectacle was sensational, but the songs were even better. “Do You Really Wanna Hold My Dirty Hand,” is a new rock classic.
En route to the next show, I caught The Winterkids blasting out their high energy, snotty-sweet Brit rock. Getting swept up in the moment, I tried to force entry into the show by claiming I was on the list for the party. Of course I wasn’t, and my ruse was quickly squashed. So I had to be solaced by how delicious they sounded from the street, and the knowledge that I'd see them the next day.
Next up, I was reunited with my travel buddies: I found The Melvins holding court before a mass of devoted fans, as they played from the stage overlooking the giant field (sort of a minipaloooza) behind Stubb’s. As always, they showed themselves to be patriarchs of hard rock, delivering heroic rock anthems with the utmost cool.
Next door at Red Eyed Fly, Dead Meadow could be found weaving a psychedelic rock haze over attendees at the Little Radio Party. The sexy, sinuous side of their songs comes out when played live, and their set had style and depth.
Over at The Jackelope, which boasted black velvet paintings of old school pinups and other perfect dive bar décor, things seemed to grind to a halt somewhere in the mid-afternoon. Maybe it was the long hours of drinking everyone had already put in, or the heat that started to build inside the club as it got increasingly packed. But finally, after nearly an hour wait, Valient Thorr kung-fued away any crankiness that might have accumulated with their set of pedal to the metal rock, laced with just enough over the top hard rock schmaltz and attitude. Sporting long red hair, a long red beard, and wrestling shoes, singer Herbie Abernethy (i.e. Valient Himself) looked like the modern day Viking of the band’s title. But, as the “Highway to Swell” patch on his denim vest suggests, he’s way more prankster than gangster.
Bias alert: Then it was over to catch my old friends in (ex) Boston-based alt-country outfit Frank Smith, many of whom have just relocated to Austin. Their earnest indie rock ballads and heartfelt twang sounded right at home under the big skies of Texas, as they played an early evening set in open air. And it was so, so good to see all of the old peeps.
Among the friends in the Boston contingent were the members of the always excellent Dead Trees (formerly Furvis) who were on tour with Albert Hammond Jr. prior to SXSW. We headed over to the Blender Bar at the Ritz to catch his set as part of the Scratchie/New Line Records showcase. This also meant seeing his newest label mates, Office, who played stylish New Wave flavored rock, which was pretty enough to listen to, but lacked real distinction. Especially when compared to the indie pop gems unfurled by New York City-based Robbers on High Street, who played right after them. Those guys can croon. And rock. It’s a winning combo.
Mid-show, I ducked upstairs to the Blender Balcony to see my friend Laurel’s showcase for her label Cold Sweat. I caught enough of Dead Child (featuring David Pajo of Slint) to discover that they are epic indeed. He may be an indie rock innovator, but he's on the metal tip now. And they played it loud.
Then it was back downstairs to catch Albert Hammond Jr., who definitely has a Strokes thing going on (well, duh). But his songs are well-written enough to stand on their own, and he has an amazing guitar sound (thanks in part to Steve Schiltz of Longwave), so it ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. A good note to end the night on.
