10:30am, Sean: I gave myself the assignment of attending this year’s keynote speech from Lou Reed, but seeing as I went to bed around 4:30 a.m. and the only R.E.M. sleep I got was at last night’s show (hardy har), I decide to just blow it off. But here’s how I imagine it went: “Whatever your interpretation of my work is, it’s wrong. The ’60s were an amazing time and full of lots of political turmoil—kind of like now. Ahem: Berlin song cycle, transcendental meditation, my photography. No, I don’t want to talk about the Velvet Underground, Andy Warhol, David Bowie, or anything else you might actually be interested in. Thanks, and to my all my fans out there, fuck you sincerely.” Hey, this is easy! Maybe I should just cover the whole festival this way.
11:30am, Kyle: Sixth Street before noon is like a downtown on a Sunday. There aren’t a lot of people around, and the ones who are here are working. The teeming civilian masses have not yet descended; in less than an hour, the scene will be completely different.
12:01pm, Josh: It's time for our day party, co-presented with Saddle Creek Records, Arts & Crafts Records, and Canvas Media. Thanks to everybody who came, even the anonymous live commenter who walked up to Sean and said, "Pretty boring lineup." I respectfully disagree. The Most Serene Republic is far better than I ever remember them, with singer Adrian Jewett flailing like a madman and busting out a trombone. The rest of my party time is a blur of running around, some Shout Out Louds, and a rush off to see something pretty exciting, which you'll have to scroll down to read about!
12:25pm, Kyle: At our party, Ladyfinger (NE) kicks things off with intense post-hardcore and shouted vocals. It’s a bit early for this kind of angst, but this is right up my alley. I remember being unimpressed by their debut, Heavy Hands, but I’m liking them here. That’s another SXSW phenomenon: liking bands you’ve previously dismissed, and—occasionally—dismissing bands you’ve previously liked.
12:55pm, Marc: It's the Saddle Creek/Onion/A.V. Club/Arts & Crafts/Canvas Media party at Emo's, and with all of the Canadian bands here, we start talking about Canadian rock. Josh is convinced that all of the good ones are from the East, until we remember that The New Pornographers are from Vancouver, at which point he gives up his fight. We also can't even figure out where Rush is from, which suddenly makes the whole conversation seem pointless.
1:30pm, Sean: Most of the bands I’ve seen so far have frittered away their day show slots on indulgent soundchecks or too much chit-chat. Not the Constantines, who make the most of their set and deliver nearly a solid hour of songs that reach all the way back to old favorites “Young Lions,” “Young Offenders,” and “Little Instruments” and deliver on the promise of the forthcoming Kensington Heights via tracks like the awesome Sonic Youth-esque rumbler “Shower Of Stones.” Whereas most acts save the good stuff for their showcase and offer only a six-song sampler during the day, the group gives their fans everything they could want for free—no wonder they keep getting compared to Fugazi.
1:45pm, Marc: The Constantines, who are from Ontario, are doing a good job working the crowd at the outdoor stage, but their noisy indie rock is a bit too aimless for my taste, which prompts me to move indoors.
1:55pm, Kyle: Later in the afternoon, Eugene Mirman, Mike Birbiglia and Todd Barry will take turns doing stand-up on Emo’s inside stage, but for now, Tokyo Police Club drummer Greg Alsop appears on stage before Ra Ra Riot for five minutes of stand-up. Alsop looks terribly nervous as he rapidly cycles through jokes that are mostly greeted with silence. His bit about homeless people thinking they can model was kind of funny, though.
2:00pm, Marc: The comedy stylings of Tokyo Police Club's Greg Alsop—who's from Ontario as well—aren't much better, but this time the rest of audience seems to be in agreement with me. Anywhere else, he'd be getting booed off the stage, but this indie-rock audience is much more forgiving. One can only hope that he doesn't give up his day job.
2:01pm, Kyle: The smallish stage inside Emo’s Jr. is a tight fit for the six-piece Ra Ra Riot. Among their ranks is a cellist and violinist, who lend an air of class to their already charming indie pop. All of them look really young, but guitarist Milo Bonacci seriously looks like he’s 15.
2:14pm, Marc: The guys and gals in Ra Ra Riot aren't Canadian, but they're really good, and they've got a violinist, which is presumably why they've been compared to Dexy's Midnight Runners. Seems like a weird band to get compared to, no matter what kind of music you play, but it's hard to imagine these spirited indie-rockers being bothered by much—they're the ones who quickly regrouped following the freak death of their drummer last year.
2:48pm, Marc: The Shout Out Louds are getting jangly on the outside stage, and the whole band sounds great behind Robert Smith-sounding singer Adam Olenius. Like he did last night with Peter Morén, Olenius digs out a cover—albeit briefly—this time in the form of The Clash's "Train In Vain."
3:05pm, Sean: Josh and I are having a pleasant debate about whose musical taste is more insincere and of-the-moment, when some guy puts his hand on my shoulder and shouts, “Really boring lineup!” before disappearing back into the crowd. “That was like a web comment come to life,” I say.
3:25pm, Sean: While setting up Eugene Mirman, our own Kyle Ryan introduces himself as “one of the many hipster douchebags who work for The A.V. Club.” Mirman says, “Aww, you’re not a hipster.”
3:35pm, Kyle: An offhand comment about Aerosmith draws comedian Eugene Mirman into a minutes-long debate with an audience member about the finer points of Aerosmith. Well, “finer points” meaning “do they suck or not.” Mirman argues for early Aerosmith, and the audience member agrees, but not before Mirman jokes about the group’s more recent material: “You’re telling me you’ve never masturbated to ‘Dude Looks Like A Lady’?”
3:35pm, Sean: It seems like every time I see Eugene Mirman he has a brand new set of material—maybe because he draws so much inspiration from MySpace, an obviously renewable fount of bullshit and an easy target for ridicule that’s catnip to his mostly twentysomething audience. His surrealist jokes on banner ads and bogus e-mail scams are killers, but the best bits come from an awkward debate with an audience member over whether Aerosmith sucks. (Conclusion: We can all agree that the earlier stuff is good, but the later stuff is suspect. Glad we finally got that settled.)
3:38pm, Marc: It's comedy again on the inside stage, but thankfully it's being handled by professionals this time. Eugene Mirman and Mike Birbiglia are as funny as promised, tackling everything from Aerosmith to Notre Dame to Googling your own name, but Todd Barry is the best, even when his set gets disturbed by an Emo's staffer dealing with the drums onstage. It's obvious that Barry is pissed, but then again, it always seems like he's kind of pissed off.
3:50pm, Kyle: I just did an interview with Todd Barry where he mentioned that every comedian he knows has a Google alert setup for their name so they can torture themselves. Among them: Mike Birbiglia, who received an alert after someone posted online that he was “pudgy” and “awkward.” But at least it led to a funny bit!
3:55pm, Sean: Unfortunately, Mike Birbiglia is far too low-key and subtle for the middle of the day at a rock club, and his sleepy-stoner musings are drowned out by a cluster of loud talkers who are waiting for Los Campesinos to take the stage. It doesn’t help that he sticks to fairly safe topics like getting older and putting on weight, or the hyperbole of local TV news promos—stuff that might totally knock ’em dead at the corporate picnic, but doesn’t do much here. Maybe he should say “fuck” more. It usually works for me.
4:05pm, Kyle: Speaking of Todd Barry, his set is nearly derailed when an Emo’s staff member hops on stage to retrieve some gear at the behest of Neva Dinova drummer Roger Lewis. He doesn’t just run up, grab it, and jump off, but stand on stage for a couple of minutes picking up gear and asking Lewis if he had the right thing. Barry seems so shocked that he doesn’t get pissed right away, but it doesn’t take long. Lewis stands up front, stage right, and Barry asks, “Hey, when’s your band playing again so I can do to you what you’re doing to me?” (Just to say it again, Todd: We’re sorry.)
4:05pm, Sean: Todd Barry also gets some of his best material from riffing on hecklers: When somebody lets out a catcall as they’re exiting, Barry says, “Oh look, it’s a dumb indie cunt,” which draws plenty of deliciously self-loathing laughter. Later he does a joke about the useless shit they give you with your SXSW badge—like a “free copy of French Horn Songwriter Magazine”—that half the room really enjoys and draws blank stares from the rest. There’s that subtle SXSW class war again.
4:12pm, Sean: I arrive at the Mohawk too late to hear anything but the last few minutes of sturm-und-drang jangle from Scottish group Sons And Daughters. These guys and gals might just be the palest creatures on earth; I hope their tour manager introduced them to sunscreen.
4:30pm, Josh: There are few acceptable excuses for leaving your own party early, but here's one: You scored a ticket to see R.E.M. tape a performance for Austin City Limits. If you'd offered me that opportunity around the time of their last album, Around The Sun, I might have turned you down, but the band's upcoming Accelerate, due April 1, is in fact the return to form it's being touted as.
Anyway, we waited in line for about 30 minutes before being ushered into a small-ish TV studio on the sixth floor of a University Of Texas building. Capacity: 350—if there's a better way to see a huge band, I don't know it. Perfect sound and sightlines—we were about 20 feet from the band, and a super-cheery Michael Stipe made for a pleasant afternoon. From reports I'd read of the night before, it seemed like they played pretty much the same songs, concentrating heavily on the new album and throwing in a few chestnuts. (Stipe said things like, "Here's another song from 10,000 years ago.") But they were tight, playful, and genuinely terrific, a pleasant surprise. Here's a setlist for you geeks, hopefully accurate (I took notes!): Living Well Is The Best Revenge, Man-Sized Wreath, Drive, So. Central Rain, Accelerate, Fall On Me, Hollow Man, Electrolite, Houston, Supernatural Superserious, Bad Day, Final Straw, Losing My Religion, I'm Gonna DJ, Horse To Water, Walk Unafraid, Imitation Of Life, Supernatural Superserious (a second take, because apparently Stipe didn't like the first), Until The Day Is Done, Man On The Moon.
Photo: Scott Newton
So yeah, some weird choices there ("Bad Day") but overall an excellent time. Stipe invited two young kids on stage for a minute and asked them if this was there first R.E.M. concert. It was. Then Stipe said, "How's it going?" and one of the kids answered, "You're awesome!" Also: a bit of chat about the current administration and a funny dig at Hillary Clinton. And then we were off into the sunshine.
4:30pm, Kyle: The Alternative Press party has a reputation for good swag. Last year included Guitar Hero II (controller + game!), a nice iPod speaker dock, and a bunch of other stuff. This year isn’t quite as good, but it’s not bad: • a skateboard deck • Numark headphones • and a bunch of stuff for something called Skelanimals
4:50pm, Sean: After a long delay—abetted somewhat by their DJ spinning Mobb Deep and Biggie records in between—Clipse finally takes the tiny Mohawk stage to a packed and ravenous audience. “If we seem a little unorganized up here, that’s because we are,” Pusha T says. “We got in late and we fucked up.” But there’s really no mea culpa necessary with a set like this. Honestly, I haven’t been feeling so great today; I’m tired and cranky and more than little disappointed in most of what I’ve seen so far. But seeing Clipse—as well as the rest of The Re-Up Gang, who are brought out one by one to run through tracks from all three volumes of We Got It 4 Cheap—rock the shit out of a full 45 minutes is like a shot of B12 (or perhaps something more illicit), giving me a boost of adrenaline that makes me just want to take a bite out of the whole damn city. Or give everyone a hug. Or start selling crack. The goofy, middle-aged A&R guy next to me exclaims to no one in particular, “These guys are number one on the rap planet!” Well yeah, but don’t say it like that…
4:58pm, Kyle: Last summer, Los Campesinos! played their first U.S. show on a Lollapalooza side stage. Here, the stage is smaller—a tight squeeze for the seven-piece—but the crowd is rapturous.
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