Texas Never Whispers

Siltbreeze's boss gives in, and gives it up for SXSW.

by Tom Lax

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Published: Mar 20, 2007

on the road

For years, all I'd ever heard was how boring the annual South by Southwest conference was — the long lines, the rampant stupidity, etc. It sounded like as much fun as a trip to PECO. I'd been to Austin many times and what I conjured up was a CMJ seminar with access to better BBQ. No thanks. Then last year the word came back that SXSW was fun. And this year my record label, Siltbreeze, had three bands involved — Times New Viking, Pink Reason and Psychedelic Horseshit — so participation seemed the sporting thing to do. Add to that a free round-trip flight (Rapid Rewards, baby!), a free laminated all-access pass, a free place to stay and how could I say no? So I didn't. I went.

A lot of what I'd been told was true when it came to the crowds (massive) and the atmosphere (spring break meets carnivale). As the city had closed off the main arteries near the bars where the events were taking place, the streets ran amok with all manner of pikers and participants cruising the myriad venues, and bands loudly caterwauling into the night. I'd like to tell you it was ominous and foreboding (like Philip K. Dick) but in actuality, it was more derelict and ostentatious (like Andy Dick). There was plenty that I wanted to see and almost none of it from Philly. No offense, but I ain't going all the way to Texas to check out some bands that I can see at Khyber (with pretty much the same wretched excess on Second Street). It's called the music business, not the music friendship. I'm sure there's plenty of glowing praise elsewhere. There has to be. It's Philadelphia!

And the great bands were there in droves. The skiffle-fueled panic rock of Hank IV was right on. Blues Control delivered buckets of deconstructed psych. Wooden Shjips successfully returned the spirit of 13th Floor Elevators to Austin after years of being held captive (and ignored) by Spacemen 3. A bunch of teenagers from Monterrey, Mexico, called Los Llamarada destroyed with a lethal mix of "Forming"-era Germs and Brian Gregory-era Cramps that left the six of us in the room speechless as their set came to a close. Clockcleaner (Ding! Score one for the locals!) killed massively at the Time Out New York showcase with singer-guitarist John Sharkey bravely sporting some sort of Henry Fleming-styled head(wound) wrap. Even the three aforementioned Siltbreeze bands had nary a problem bringing home the bacon to daddy. I was pleased as punch.

But without a doubt the most impressive was former underground enigma Jandek's show at some Presbyterian church. Along with the Stooges slot at Stubbs, this was one of the most highly anticipated events of the week. A lapsed fan — I owned all his LPs for many years only to trade them not long ago for a beach house in Virginia — I was wary of Jandek shedding his years of Pynchon-like anonymity to bask in the spotlight of the bedazzled cognoscenti. And, like Dylan's folkie bastion, there were those of us that questioned his move from (primarily) acoustic to electric. But hey, it's not every day Jandek comes to play and who knows if it'll happen again. He was performing as a quartet: two electric guitars, harmonium and drums. I was all set for an evening of the emperor's new clothes, and looking out onto the chapel filled to the brim with doe-eyed fan boys, all I could do was wince. But as it got rolling, the spectacle was quite compelling. Jandek was dressed head to toe in black, replete with onyx fedora and from my vista looked like Julian Beck's preacher character in Poltergeist II. His signature atonal vocals were evenly matched by his open chord tuning and metronomic strum, which seemed to guide the rest of the swirling, improvised juggernaut. It was really happening. The resemblance to Fushitsusha was uncanny. And the resonance in the chapel was amazing. Who'd have thought? It was great! OK, maybe not great enough to go and buy all (or even one) of his releases again, but a powerful enough experience for me to lord it over all those who come to bask and swim on my private beach this coming summer. Can't wait!

Now for the bad news. I missed The Stooges. Please, no cards or letters of condolence. I chose not to attend. Hey, I was having my mind blown by Los Llamarada a few streets up. But the good news is I got a hunch that there will be a Stooges show somewhere in Philadelphia in the not-too-distant future. The band's got a terrible new release to promote, so I figure the picking and choosing days might be over.

All in all I have no complaints with SXSW. I saw everything I wanted to see, did everything I wanted to do. In that sense, it was almost like being at home except it was 70 degrees every day. Even the last vestiges of bronchitis I couldn't kick disappeared after two days of sun and warmth. I'm afraid it was wonderful. And if I still have a label next year, who knows, I might even pony up for a showcase. Keep your eyes peeled. For I am now a believer!

(editorial@citypaper.net)

 

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