Frank YangCertainly, in retrospect, I should have known better than to opt to see The Strokes give their free-to-all show at Auditorium Shores over any other showcasing band at SxSW, but the opportunity to see them so early on in their return to active duty with the imminent release of Angles and the attendant bragging rights that would come with it (at least with my more Strokes-obsessed friends) was too much to resist. I probably should have resisted.

At first it seemed a perfectly idyllic setting – free show on the lake, warm breeze, tacos plentiful – but as showtime neared it began to get dark, and not just literally. Firstly, despite advance instructions there was no accommodation made for media and photographers so you had dozens of people jammed between the fence at the front of the stage and the throngs of concertgoers with no one in place to offer direction, and when the show eventually started and the great inevitable surge ensued, we were swept up with them and pushed forward only to run into a wall of disabled people. Very unhappy ones. Apparently an area in front had been designated for the deaf, blind and infirm – which explained the woman in the pit dancing and signing lyrics – but someone had neglected to actually physically cordon the area off and as such, these folk were being overrun by everyone else. There was panic, screaming, crying, pleading with security for help (which was completely ignored) and a few physical altercations. It was in fact only the few layers of media between them and the rest of the audience that kept it from getting worse, though that didn’t keep us from getting yelled and blamed. Never mind the fact that the original plan of rotating a group of photographers through for each of the first three songs failed almost immediately and most only got to shoot from the crowd, which isn’t easy when you have thousands of fans pushing you from one side and deaf people screaming at you from the other. And I haven’t even mentioned that the fences around the park were knocked down after capacity had been reached and the teeming masses made even more teeming. Can you say, “clusterfuck”? I knew you could.

I was amazed that The Strokes are able to elicit this sort of – I dunno if passion is the right word, I’m sure the plentiful free beer and St. Patrick’s Day-ness of the occasion had something to do with it – but to generate such a frenzy amongst a crowd that largely skewed very young, like probably in grade school when Is This It was released. But even when they burst out of New York a decade ago, I thought the love for them was disproportionate to what they actually brought to the table, musically, so maybe it’s just been consistent and now cross-generational. At any rate, for good or for bad, The Strokes sounded exactly like they always have, like they’d just stepped out of a time capsule from five years ago (but not one that had kept them looking perfectly young, mind, or Albert Hammond Jr’s had malfunctioned) with their creatively dueling guitars and Julian Casablancas’ vocals still striking that perfect sleepy snarly balance. And just as they always have, they appeared kind of bored on stage, with their dressing amounting to a a set of pulsing vertical lights which only really got interesting during “Reptilia”. None of which is to say that they were bad at all – I thought they sounded quite good, in keeping with my recent critical re-evaluation of The Strokes in general – but they still sound exactly like The Strokes always have and always will, and that’s not worth starting a riot over. Still, last I heard no one was actually hurt in the melee of the show and the fireworks that accompanied encore-closer “Last Night” were a nice touch.

Happy to be back in the usual bedlam of 6th St rather than the exceptional bedlam of Auditorium Shores, it was back into A&R mode with the maybe-terrifically-probably-horribly-named Chapel Hill quintet I Was Totally Destroying It, added to my schedule on the basis of a single song and a recommendation from The Dumbing Of America. And while they traded in perfectly decent power pop with plenty of chunky guitar riffage and onstage energy, what stood out about them was keyboardist/vocalist Rachel Hirsh who clearly towered over her bandmates in charisma and ability. Vocally, she had that extra something in her voice, be it phrasing or timbre, that demanded your attention. At present she’s lifting up the rest of her band to noteworthy status but if they don’t step up their game in creativity and presentation, it won’t be long before she’s outgrown them. Forewarned.

I’m on record as not really getting tUnE-yArDs, at least from her debut album Bird-Brain – I certainly respect the creativity and ability that Merrill Garbus brings to her art but I just don’t find it especially listenable. That said, a spur of the moment decision whilst scanning the schedule took me to the Cental Presbyterian Church where I decided to put the, “you have to see her live to get it” qualifier to the test. And yeah, having borne witness now, I will agree while what you don’t get from her recordings may not be made up for on stage, but the spectacle that she offers whilst performing more than makes up for it. Standing behind an array of microphones and drums, Garbus was dazzling in showing off what she could do with her voice, either looper or unassisted, while pounding out complex beats. She melded African rhythmic sound sculptures with R&B-ish vocal acrobatics and moments of folkish simplicity, all laced with cascades of tones and textures and crazy sax breakdowns. There were a couple of flubs where she had to catch herself and give it a do-over, but no one would dare call her on it. So yes to all, while I still find her records impenetrable – I don’t expect her new record W H O K I L L, out April 19, is a top 40 pop gem – the live spectacle is something to behold.

Back on the main drag of 6th St, it was pretty much eenie meenie minie moe with respect to who would get to entertain me for the midnight hour, and given that a few people had expressed an interest in London’s Chapel Club pre-festival and they were setting up at Bat Bar right behind me, I figured that’d be as good a pick as any. And with their fancy pants Jazzmaster and Gretsch guitars adorning the stage, they certainly made a good first impression but musically, lacked clarity of purpose necessary to seal the deal. Guitars were loud and churny, but the vocalist didn’t offer much in terms of personality and the songs, while generally sounding good, didn’t come off as especially memorable. I suspect that the band would have agreed that they weren’t putting their best foot forward, as they were clearly unhappy with the sound and the singer was staring daggers at the sound man in the balcony through the entire set. But such is SxSW.

As was apparently the theme for the evening, I didn’t actually know anything about Oh Land before hitting up her showcase at Buffalo Billiards to close out the evening, save that she was Danish and accumulating a significant amount of press, though that may have had less to do with Nanna Øland Fabricius’ music than the fact that she kind of looked like a supermodel. And yeah, no one’s going to believe that that wasn’t a factor in my being there either, so I won’t try to convince you, but I do like me some Scandi-pop as well so give me a break. Those who give cut her a break for her looks must be really enamoured because musically, she doesn’t bring a lot to the table. It’s bubbly uptempo synth-pop, but lacks the big hooks that usually make this sort of thing irresistible against one’s better judgement. The material is lyrically pretty vapid and not helped along by her unremarkable voice. Yes, it comes together on the big single “Son Of A Gun” but beyond that, there wasn’t much noteworthy on display. But you know what? I have a feeling she’ll do just fine regardless.

Frank YangThough this was the seventh time I’d hit up SxSW, it was only the second wherein I was rocking a badge and besides the obvious benefits of being able to get in the express admission line at showcases and wear a picture of myself around my neck for four days, it allowed me to pass the gauntlet of gatekeeping volunteers at the Austin Convention Center and up the escalator to where the conference part of the festival was happening.

And in addition to the panels in conference rooms, there’s also a couple of stages for performances throughout the day. I had assumed, having never actually been to one, that these were basic setups for stripped-down shows but in fact, the ACC Radio Day Stage was a massive ballroom-type deal with seats for sitting, giant cushions for lounging, bars for imbibing and a giant, fully-appointed stage for performing. In short, the proper environs for a legendary artist such as Emmylou Harris.

At the festival in support of her forthcoming record Hard Bargain, out April 26, she started the day with a radio session and interview for WFUV. The musical part of the session was far too brief at only two songs, but the opportunity to hear that amazing voice live for however long was a gift. And the interview, wherein she talked about her formative years with Gram Parsons and her new record, was also great to witness. Short but special.

The Dot Com Day Stage next door was decidedly less fancifully set up than its neighbour, or at least I assumed so from what I could see. Which wasn’t much, as though I’d finally caught up with Still Corners, the target of my wild goose chase the day before, they had opted to play completely in the dark. To be fair, their usual setup had video projections shone overtop of them but the setup of the room didn’t allow this so while the films ran on the wall beside the stage, the band played with only whatever light from the hallway outside found its way in. And while this would normally be enough to get on my bad side, the London five-piece sounded so good that it was impossible to stay mad. Imagine a ’60s film score collaboration between Slowdive and Stereolab and you’re in the ballpark – it was a formula you’d think would sound more familiar but in their hands, at least, felt exceedingly fresh. Just-signed to SubPop, their debut full-length should be out in the Summer. I cannot wait to hear it.

At this point I left the safety of the Convention Center to forage for some food but soon returned to its air-conditioned, free-wified embrace, again to the Radio Day Stage, to see DeVotchKa. It had been three and a half years since I last saw the Denver quartet – here in Austin in September 2007 during ACL – but that’s only because they hadn’t returned to Toronto for a headlining show since Summer 2006. In any case, it was far too long. Their set had a goodly number of old favourites but leaned heavily on their new album 100 Lovers and rightly so – DeVotchKa have always had a unique formula of rock seasoned with mariachi and balkan sounds but on their last record A Mad And Faithful Telling it felt as though either it or they were getting tired. Lovers, happily, finds them sounding rejuvenated by recommitting to their aesthetic and taking it tighter and deeper while simultaneously expanding what DeVotchKa is, particularly rhythmically. In any sense, they reaffirmed their status as an excellent live band, the superb audio setup doing the intricacies of their sound many favours. The one point where the room didn’t work in their favour was near the end of the set when someone accidentally (?) hit the light switches and the many many many fluorescent panels in the ceiling began firing up… not especially rock’n’roll. They did get them switched off just in time for their finale, though, eliciting a smirk from frontman Nick Urata – maybe that’s what counted as a light show?

Hitting up New Zealand’s most hotly-tipped outfit at the fest, The Naked & Famous, it required a trek to the dustiest corner of downtown they call Lustre Pearl, and by and large they were worth it. Not the most original sounding outfit but a good representative of bands for whom using synths doesn’t necessarily mean they have to forgo the more traditional implements of rock. Their high-energy sound had keyboards underpinning everything, but you could have replaced the synthetic textures with organic instruments or even done away with them entirely and they’d have still sounded right. For The Naked & Famous, the danceability was not the ends but just the means to having a good time, and good times were had.

Finally, to wrap the daytime portion of the Thursday, it was back to the Convention Center for a panel on “How To Build A Festival”, featuring the people who started Bonnaroo, Burning Man and the Northside Festival. Not that I have any intention on starting my own fest, but because I was genuinely curious about how things of that nature worked. And while there wasn’t any sort of insider information offered that you wouldn’t have been able to guess, it was interesting hearing some of the anecdotes the panelists had on their experiences in getting their ventures started and did give me a sense of why Toronto has been incapable of starting and maintaining a large-scale festival (besides CMW/NXNE) – the amount of energy and dedication required is more than any entity in the 416 has been able or willing to offer, and not unreasonably. But maybe someday?

Frank YangIt’s hardly a polished recording, but this rehearsal space recording of Basia Bulat and her bandmates trying – maybe for the first time – a harmony-laden and plucked violin-enhanced cover of The Strokes’ “Someday” has a certain delightful charm that still brings a smile to my face no matter how many times I’ve listened to it.

And I’ve listened to it a lot, seeing as how I think it dates back to if not before her 2007 debut Oh My Darling. After all, I recall them breaking it out live for the album’s record release show at the Music Gallery in September 2007 when they had completely run out of material but the audience kept calling them back for more.

Clearly they’ve no shortage of material these days, what with last year’s Heart Of My Own doubling her recorded repertoire – not that being two albums into a career has stopped the Juno Awards for nominating her this year for “Best New Artist”. Odd, but an honour nonetheless and it allows her to play a smaller-than-normal show at The Great Hall on March 26 as part of Juno Fest.

As for The Strokes, they’re back this week after a half-decade hiatus with album number four, Angles.

MP3: Basia Bulat – “Someday”
Video: The Strokes – “Someday”

Frank YangIt was nice to have the opportunity to knock off some of the “must-sees” from my list with the very start of the official portion of the festival, thanks to NPR and Stubb’s. The former’s showcase at the latter let me see British buzz acts Yuck and James Blake early and, if blown away, circle one of their shows later in the week for an encore performance.

At the risk of being all, “what’s with kids these days”, I was genuinely surprised at how indifferent the London quartet appeared to be about being at SxSW, having such a large audience, just generally everything, even though they said they were happy to be there. I realize the slacker aesthetic was a large part of the acts to which they’ve been largely compared – your Pavements, Dino Jrs, what have you – but if the nonchalance was an affectation, it was an off-putting one. There’s no shame in looking like you’re enjoying yourselves. With that out of the way, they did sound terrific, filling their set with tunes from their self-titled record made even bigger and hookier than on disc – it was good to see that they at least took that aspect of their performance seriously. People looking to criticize them won’t be able to target their musicianship or songwriting, but their charisma? Fire away.

No such expectations of showmanship accompanied dubstep/soul-pop wunderkind James Blake’s first show of the fest and one of his first on this continent. You almost felt sorry for him that he would be thrust onto the stage at one of the festival’s biggest stages for his first SxSW experience, but that’s what he gets for being the alleged next big thing, right? His live setup consisted of a couple banks of keyboards, with himself at stage far left, a percussionist with both acoustic drums and electronic pads and a guitarist/keyboardist – all seated and clearly not intent on putting on a dazzling show, unless the open space in front was being reserved for the James Blake Dancers. It was not. When they got underway, it was evident that this was a performance that would be just as effective with eyes closed as open, amounting to a sort of pulsing real-time remix, his keys and voice being cut-and-pasted over the beats. The more soulful songs where his voice was left largely un-effected, like Feist’s “Limit To Your Love” and his “hit” “Wilhelm Scream” were still pretty stirring, though. It was interesting enough but this material wasn’t really designed for live performance, at least not in an amphitheatre setting. I suspect the more intimate shows later in the week, like at the Central Presbyterian Church, were more complimentary.

Decamping from Stubb’s to The Parish Underground let me cross Minnesota’s Now Now off my to-see list, both for the fest and overall. The trio is probably justifiably classifiable as emo pop, hence their being attached to bills I’ve no interest in seeing when they come to town, but it’s crunchy and hooky and I like it. And when you’ve got two nearly-identical girls who look barely old enough to drive chunking out riffs and thinline Telecasters, well that’s just good fun. I do think they’re good and talented enough to transcend any sort of genre circuit that they might otherwise be stuck in, but if not? We’ll always have Austin.

Unsure of what to do next, I decided to break my general “no Canadian bands” rule to stop in at the Quebec-commandeered Spill to see The Dears, but already running late, the band was unable to get their gear set up – goodness gracious they travel with a lot of keyboards – and after 15 minutes or so into their allotted set time and seeing them still sorting out power cords, I aborted and decided to get a head start on my midnight appointment.

And it’s a good thing I did because getting to Bat Bar early allowed me to meet London’s Clock Opera. At first they sounded like another lightly-danceable Brit-rock band, but after a few songs it was evident they had a certain dramatic, fist-raising quality to their songs that set them apart from the usual. I haven’t had time to do more research on who they are and what they’re up to, but certainly intend to. Consider that they had jammed the floor space with fans, sending latecomers like myself to the venue balcony, and several people asked me, in the capacity of total stranger, who they were and where they were from. I consider that a very good sign.

In the audience turnover between sets I was able to scootch downstairs and get up front for Ellie Goulding, about whom I knew only that she was declared the sound of 2010 by BBC, though all I needed her to be was the sound of the next 40 minutes or so. It’s always nice when established international acts come to SxSW and have to prove themselves again, because you get them delivering their finely-honed performances in much smaller venues than they’re used to playing. Case in point was Goulding, who was clearly used to bigger stages and as such was able to pretty well blow the roof off of Bat Bar. I’ve seen her referred to as “folktronica” and I suppose that’s descriptive, what with her building a kind of snarly electro-pop on an acoustic guitar base (though she only strapped on the guitar for a few songs) but her stuff sampled so many styles and genres that really, only a descriptor as broad and meaningless as “pop” could apply. And great. Definitely great.

And the greatness continued to the night’s close over at Latitude 30 for London’s Summer Camp. The duo of Jeremy Warmsley and Elizabeth Sankey made some headlines last year by cultivating an air of mystery around their identities when first releasing their tasty sun-kissed retro-pop, but since coming out as who they are, they’ve remained conversation-worthy thanks to the general wonderful-ness of their tunes. That said, I didn’t necessarily expect too much from them live as studio duos who don’t recruit additional players, as they didn’t, aren’t normally equipped to bring it on stage. But playing in front of very specifically-assembled video montages, Summer Camp were far more charismatic and energetic performers than I ever would have expected. Warmsley’s guitar and keys and both his and Sankey’s vocals brought a lot of liveliness that more than made up for the reliance on canned backing tracks. Without a finished album they didn’t have as much material as one would have liked but what they had was pretty much bliss.

Frank YangInformation is king when it comes to SxSW and scheduling, and inevitably there’s a lot of bad info floating around. This I was reminded of on the very first morning of the 2011 edition of the festival when I headed down 6th St to try and start things off with English atmospheric-pop outfit Still Corners at Peckerheads, only to discover that the show I was looking for was either happening in 12 hours (the old AM vs PM gag), in 48 hours (according to some unofficial guides) or not at all (my own gut feeling). But what was certain is that it wasn’t happening now. So for plan B – and you always need a plan B – was to about face and head to the west end of downtown for Austin’s own Ringo Deathstarr.

The trio had been getting some attention for their clever name and debut album Colour Trip, which makes no secret of their love of My Bloody Valentine. And while the record is loud, fuzzy and fun enough to make up for its general lack of originality, their live show wasn’t able to get over that hump. Granted, no one is at the top of their game at noon on a Wednesday, but you didn’t get the sense they were off, necessarily – the general lack of presence and charisma was probably a consistent thing. But still they were loud, the tunes were alright and bassist/guitarist Alex Gehring does a pretty decent Belinda Butcher impersonation so it’s okay. And there’s nothing quite like watching ear-bleeding shoegaze at lunchtime in the back of an empty restaurant to remind you that yes, it’s SxSW time again.

I then headed clear across downtown to Lustre Pearl for another Austin trio, though one that’s pretty much a Sx tradition for me and a guaranteed good show – Ume. They were one of the great fest discoveries back in 2009 and I always make it a point, now, to catch one of their shows. Though this show was similar in structure and selection as ones past – the band have a new record in the can but weren’t showing off too much of it yet – it was different in one key point with new drummer Rachel Fuhrer behind the kit, replacing Jeff Barrera. She proved more than up to the job, though, teaming with bassist Eric Larson to lay down the foundation for Lauren Larson’s guitar and vocal pyrotechnics. Seeing her play never gets old, though I will say that I am anxious for the new album – the Sunshower EP was and is great, but they’ve gotten about all the mileage out of it that they can.

After a stop-in for some free food and drink at the Canadian Blast BBQ – hey now, we all know why we’re here – I headed to Red 7 to see Lower Dens, only to find I’d beaten them to the venue… by a day or so. The band’s van had broken down somewhere around Tennessee and thus their Wednesday shows were scotched. But, as already said, that’s why you have backups. And mine was just across the I-35 at the French Legation museum for the already once-missed Still Corners. They would not evade me.

Except that they would. The Legation is a wonderfully laid back outside venue, all hills and lawns for lounging and lolling. The fact that there was no security at the door, nor at the beer tent – just buckets of beer for the taking by anyone which I’m sure, even in the land of the free, is all kinds of illegal – should have been my first hint that this was not going to be a tightly-run ship. The second hint was when Alessi’s Ark, who’d been scheduled for 2:20PM, got on stage at almost 4PM. How you fall 90 minutes behind just a couple hours into the day is a mystery to me, but the Legation had managed to do it. And while Alessi’s languid solo acoustic folk was nice enough and well-matched to the pastoral setting, the cumulative agitation of the day was really distracting me and I can’t say I paid a whole lot of attention.

Deciding that waiting around for Still Corners to finally come on in a couple hours would be a waste of the day, it was back down across the highway to The Mohawk where Australia’s Jezabels were already underway. I’d missed a few of their Toronto appearances, including last week during Canadian Musicfest, but was glad we’d finally found a way to meet up as their nicely dramatic rock – clearly intended for larger stages than the inside of the Mohawk – began redeeming the day. They had a balance of attack and atmosphere that was certainly pleasing to these ears and delivered with a level of polish that showed this was a band who’d been honing their craft for some time.

Abandoned schedules did work to my favour by the afternoon’s end, though, as the party at Red-Eyed Fly had fallen behind sufficiently that I was able to get in to see Mark Eitzel play. He was at the festival in both a solo capacity and as frontman for American Music Club and though this was the former, his set drew heavily on material from the latter, particularly their excellent reunion record Love Songs For Patriots, but the configuration of Eitzel and a keyboardist gave it a very different cabaret-like feel. It was actually very fitting that he was performing as people were clearing out of the back room following the Dodos’ set as it was as though he was a sideshow performer desperately trying to get their attention. Those who kept walking definitely missed out, though, as Eitzel was in fine sardonic form and huge voice, his lyrics taking on a free form poetry feel in the setting. “Patriot’s Heart”, “Windows On The World” and “The Decibels And The Little Pills” all felt as though you were hearing them for the first time and following a reading of “I Left My Heart I San Francisco”, he bounded off stage and strode out of the club, simply done with it all. Mark Eitzel had left the building.