Houston Music Blog

Photo by Daniel Morrison

The Sunday night after SXSW never fails to be a weird experience. Although you are dog-tired, and back in your own bed, you can't sleep. A phantasmagoria of sights and sounds from the past few days runs through mind on a reel that seems to have no end.

You remember short conversations with old friends, most of whom you see too briefly to reconnect with, the hissing sound of ambient cymbal wash that bathes East Sixth Street nearly continuously for 100 or so hours, the peaceful interludes as you cross Town Lake on the Congress Street Bridge, the rickety racket of Austin's booming grackle population...

Photo by clared23

"I've been drunk all around this town, from the downside up to the upside down...." So sings Scott Miller in "Drunk All Around this Town," which he calls "the most beautiful ballad I have ever written." That might not be true but it is a most apropos song for SXSW, and it never sounded better than it did Thursday night at Waterloo Ice House.

Like John Prine, Miller is not just a funny songwriter, although can be one of the most humorous out there. He can also come up with lines that are downright Zen - like "every winter will spring and every summer will fall" from "Loving That Girl is Too Hard on a Man."

Not sure if you noticed, but we took a ton of photos over the last few days. Click the links for all kinds of action.

South by Southwest Day One

Photo by Mark C. Austin

The Austin Music Awards

A chronicle in picture form of some of the SXSW live acts you could have caught on Wednesday, March 18, if only you had been in Austin, TX. And really, why weren't you? Featuring Alejandro Escovedo, Aqualung, The Dicks, and more.

Live at the Red Eyed Fly and Stubb's BBQ

Photo by Patrick Michels

Heartless Bastards

Folks from all over crammed into two of Austin's best known venues on Wednesday, March 18, to catch some of the first acts of SXSW, including the Heartless Bastards, The Decemberists, The Von Bondies, and more.

As usual, Saturday afternoon for me was all about South Congress. Bands like Houston's own Allen Oldies Band - fronted by the High Priest of the Oldies and the State of Texas's official unofficial Minister of Fun - are traditions, as are people like Jon Dee Graham and James McMurtry at Mojo Nixon's party at the Continental Club.

Photo by Mark C. Austin

There are always a few revelations each year. For me, on South Congress anyway, that person was Amy Lavere. A somewhat rare female upright bass player, Lavere has a little bit of a sultry Norah Jones vibe to her, although her music sounds like acoustic Zeppelin.

Chris Gray

Black Joe Lewis and a couple of Honeybears

Well, thank God that's over. SXSW 09 is history now, so before we completely block it out of our mind for another 11 months, here's Rocks Off's top five reasons it was worth going to after all.

Dave Alvin & the Guilty Women: L.A. roots-rocker and all-star band honored his late best friend Chris Gaffney with roadhouse fire, Cajun zeal and honky-tonk sensitivity.

Austin Music Awards: The Dicks, Alejandro Escovedo, the Fireants, Roky Erickson and the Black Angels bridged past and present at the Austin music scene's annual pat on the back.

Echo & the Bunnymen: Ageless Liverpudlians' shimmering post-punk psychedelia melted SXSW fatigue into the warm March air.

Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears: Texas' new king of R&B broke out in a big way with gospel grunts, a Stax-steeped sound and a badass band.

Finally, as seen here and here, the carnival of humanity crowding the streets of Austin during SXSW can be as entertaining as any showcase.

See ya next year, SXSW... 

Photos by Craig Hlavaty

Who says Aftermath ain't rock n' roll?

On the way to see Houston's own Balaclavas at the Independent to debut new stuff off the soon-to-be released Roman Holiday, I abruptly hit a curb with bicycle. Luckily my elbow took one for the team. Well, it it ended up getting fractured and I have all kinds of internal business going on with it. But nonetheless I got back up and tied up my bike to a light pole and walked across IH-35 to catch the show. Which was alternately stupid or dedicated.

Balaclavas now features Rafe from the Dead Roses and the legendary Painteens on saxophone, which makes the new and old stuff sound like the Stooges circa Fun House. Tyler Morris' vocals have gotten even more frantically ominous and Brian Harrison is starting to do weird and beautiful shit on bass. Pretty much the whole game done changed. This is now my most anticipated release this year.

I gotta go now. It's hard typing with one hand, and the meds are kicking in. It's cartoon time!

So I generally don't know how to feel about Daniel Johnston. I think he's a songwriter whose simple chord progressions and simplistic lyrics meld together into absolute brilliance, no matter that his voice belongs squarely in the love-it-or-hate-it camp. I'm just uncomfortable with his history of mental illness, not in the sense that I have a problem with him having problems -- far from it -- but I often wonder just what people are getting out of seeing him stand up on stage, chain-smoking cigarettes and shaking the mike back and forth.

Are we all just staring at some kind of human zoo animal, or are we seeing beyond all that and just appreciating his awesomeness? I don't know, although I suspect the answer lies somewhere in between.

Either way, his awesomeness was on display Saturday night, and after he ditched the backing band and just became a dude on a stage with a guitar, the audience was transfixed, cheering along as he went through a few songs sans anyone else. It was magical, and simple, and a great way to end four days of sensory overload.

Thank you, DJ. Here's hoping you play Houston again sometime soon.

"Fuck National Geographic."

"It's not technically a mullet."

"No, I'm not fucking kidding. She and I are done."

"I can't hear you." (Heard umpteen times)

"Awesome."

"This is awful."

A dozen Austin activists staked out the four corners of the University of Texas communications building earlier today, passing out flyers to people on the way to Ben Harper's Austin City Limits taping. Surprisingly, the flyer had nothing to do with herb not being a gift of the earth, but rather was a call to support the production and engineering employees inside.

KLRU, the Austin PBS station behind Austin City Limits, wants to eliminate longstanding provisions in the employee's contracts, including guaranteed overtime for working more than 10 hours or five days in a row, as well as an extra hour's pay when working too long without a meal break.

The protest went off smoothly, although there was a minor confrontation when a member of station management asked two activists to stop passing out flyers to folks right by the entry stairway. A member of management was also videotaping the leafletters. "He looked like a borg," said one activist, who declined to be identified.

The reactions of passersby were amicable enough. One activist said a guy read the flyer and then handed it back, but not before pulling out his cell phone and punching in the number of the station's general manager. He hit his phone's green button as he walked away.

Photos by Craig Hlavaty

We valiantly attended the Rachael Ray party at Maggie Mae's on Sixth, braving free food curate by the talk show host and Rose's Mojitos by the gallon.

Hometown boy Bob Schneider opened the show upstairs, doing his old reliable ladykilling jams. While downstairs New York's Semi Precious Weapons preened and pouted, jolting the middle of the road crowd out of their food coma with sleazy rock and roll straight outta the Bowery circa 1977.

The food was excellent of course. Not really worth the nearly hour wait in line, but whatever's free, brother.

More pics after the jump...

Photos by Chris Gray

As John Nova Lomax noted a couple of days ago, it appears the foundering economy has taken its toll on SXSW's promotional-item racket, with the budgetary allowance for all manner of items emblazoned with this company or that's logo being one of the first line-items to get slashed. It's not just the festival itself dialing back on the free gizmos. In years past, Rocks Off has been inundated by swag, but this year it's slowed to a trickle.

Here it is Saturday night, and Rocks Off's swag haul barely takes up a third of the desktop in his hotel room. Furthermore, a lot of it is stuff that was given to him. Houston jazz singer Kristine Mills slipped him a copy of her new CD, Bossanovafied, at the Austin Music Awards Wednesday, and he scored "Treat Her Right" man Roy Head's Golden Anniversary disc Thursday at the Continental Club. And on the street, he bumped into his friend Werner Campbell, who gave him a copy of the years-in-the-making rollerderby documentary he
produced called Hell on Wheels.

Photos by Craig Hlavaty

Heartless Bastards' Erika Wennerstrom

Tight economies ain't gotta slow anyone down. SXSW is chock full of free shows and most importantly, FREE BOOZE. Yes, anyone of legal age can literally walk into some shows and guzzle to their dark heart's content. Or until they set something on fire.

Heartless Bastards put on a barroom rockin' show over at Waterloo Records, with lead singer Erika Wennerstrom doing her southern-gothic PJ Harvey thing. "Sway" got people moving, coaxed along by the free Shiner Bock in the back of the joint. We spotted Echo & The Bunnymen's Ian McCulloch next door at Waterloo Ice House with a sullen blonde.

Craig Hlavaty

Aftermath's favorite kind of shows are the ones where people end up on the floor or skating on beer. This was Kylesa last running through material from the new epic Static Tensions at Red 7 with lead screamer Laura Pleasants making like a really, really, really pissed off Joan Jett.

Photos by Chris Gray

Maybe in an alternate universe, she does.

Diehards started lining up at Stubb's shortly after 4 p.m. to get into Metallica.

Photos by Chris Gray

By Friday afternoon, SXSW fatigue has taken hold. You're walking a little slower, less inclined to whip out the notebook to jot down every little observation - Rocks Off has seen many journos just typing notes into their BlackBerries, a trend that both intrigues and dismays him - and wondering how many more pairs of plastic day-glo sunglasses you're going to see before you finally snap.

Luckily, Echo & the Bunnymen came along just in time to interrupt the homicidal thoughts brewing in Rocks Off's brain. The Liverpool quintet's brooding, hazy, post-punk psychedelia made an excellent tonic Friday afternoon. The one-two punch of "Rescue" and "Crocodiles," from Echo's 1980 debut Crocodiles, submerged the Spin party crowd in deep pools of bass and Will Sergeant's skittering guitar. The acoustic overlay of "Seven Seas" made them sound almost like a folk band, albeit an especially perverse one.

The poster show in the Austin Convention Center gave SXSWers a break from all the noise -- and the chance to check out some erotic messiness. Click here for a slideshow.

Pixie Vision Photography

Amanda Palmer is exhausted. Slouched in a dining room booth at the Hyatt Regency hotel in Austin, she arrived Tuesday night after an Australian tour and has already performed once this afternoon. The 17-hour time difference between Oz and Texas has left her jet-lagged, but she has an afternoon of press lined up, followed by three more appearances this week - including Houston's House of Blues Saturday night.

The answer to the query in the title of her solo album, Who Killed Amanda Palmer, just might be...Amanda Palmer.

Rocks Off: You work a lot, I've noticed. It seems like you're always on the go.

Amanda Palmer: Yeah...it's true.

RO: Why?

AP: I don't know. You've asked me on a day when I could have chosen to make my tour in Australia shorter. I could have chosen to not play SXSW. I could make a lot of different choices, but I think my basic instinct is to be a workaholic. That's hard, though, because often I feel really idiotic, like I'm actually not as effective as I could be if I were pacing myself better.

But the thing that's really frustrating is that the shows never suffer. Like when I'm really, really fucked up and tired and cranky and emotional, the shows are just fucking awesome. And so that can be really frustrating (laughs).

Photos by Craig Hlavaty

Kurt Vile

We once again crossed the big ol' road to hit up the Music Gym to see Kurt Vile and Keys N Krates. Since we hit town, we have found the most satisfaction out of this venue, with it's relaxed and wholly chaotic feel. During regular hours it's a rehearsal space for bands and isn't so deep into the Sixth Street business.

Keys N Krates

Keys N Krates are like Girl Talk, but with live instruments. The four-piece hails from Toronto and at one point somehow managed to meld New Order and Gloria Estefan. The small crowd on the patio was digging it, with errant beer flooding the atomosphere.

Kurt Vile went on a good fifteen minutes late, reducing his set to a two-song jam complete with saxophone, Deep Purple riffin', pre-programmed drum fills.Vile sings behind a bushy mane of Ritchie Blackmore fuzz and his bassist looks like Thurston Moore circa 1980.

Photos by Craig Hlavaty

Last night we stood in line for nearly an hour to catch Seattle garage legends the Sonics at Emo's. The five-piece group were pioneers, ultimately influencing everyone from the Replacements to the Austin's own Big Boys. Their current hold on modern garage rock was evident by seeing members of the Black Lips and King Khan and The Shrines in attendance guzzling beers in the pit during the show.

The Sonics opened with "He's Waiting" with its big bad sax lines and Little Richard-style yelps that defined their two landmark albums. Than ran through an hour set of all their garage standards like "Shot Down" and "Strychnine" as the crowd stood in. They are still still a very muscley and hard cracking band, over forty years on. Raunchy ass rock and roll lives on.

Justin and I started off the day early trying to do more then the previous day. Driving around town is much more difficult then anticipated, even though we were here last year. We spent a lot of time trying to find parking and searching for boots. Not the most exciting start, but well worth the finds: headbands and leather boots.

We went into the convention center to explore the trade shows, the Stevie Ray Vaughan museum was much smaller then I expected but still cool.  We ran into some American Apparel lady who gave us gift cards, skirts and Thigh High Socks - don't really know why, but they were free. Also the free massages are well worth it. Most of the afternoon was spent at the Convention Center.

Jensen

Ain't nothing to fuck wit': GZA and Black Lips at Emos.

Mark C. Austin

We just loaded up some snaps from the VVM party at La Zona Rosa. Check 'em out.

4:01 p.m. Gomez just played an awesome set. Photos to come. Also on deck: Him. (Or M.Ward, whichever you prefer.)

3:07 p.m. Here's some Cursive action.

3:00 p.m. Where y'all at? It's filling up in here.

2:21 p.m. What's that? You were wanting a pic of Crystal Antlers? No problem.

1:22 p.m. And here's another pic for you.

Photo by Mark C. Austin

1:16 p.m. Bear Hands is on stage, and it's starting to fill up in here.

12:32 p.m. Here's a pic of Meese for you.

Photo by Mark C. Austin

12:20 p.m. And the party at Zona Rosa is underway. Meese is on stage. Durex condoms are strewn across the tables. It's on.

Chris Gray

Apparently this Glasvegas band is pretty popular.

Rocks Off couldn't resist had see what this Glasvegas band was all about for himself, so he headed up to the Mohawk for Rhapsody Music's day party Thursday. After a pleasant set of trippy, drone-y, dub-dusted electronica from School of Seven Belles, the much-discussed Scottish band came out and played a soaring set of beautiful melodies dripping with pain - chief among them opener "Geraldine." The Glaswegians' sound was huge, marked by church organ and swirls of ambient effects that swaddled the melancholy music in a soothing shroud. For some reason it inspired Rocks Off to write the phrase "junkies in a cathedral" in his notebook.

If there was one thing working against Glasvegas, it was the weather. It was just too gorgeous - and, for the first time all year, legitimately hot - outside for the songs to achieve maximum impact. Better it had been foggy, cold and raining like last weekend. All the same, Glasvegas deserves most of the accolades they've been racking up - but the lead singer needs to learn that berating the sound guy, especially at SXSW, will get you nowhere.   

Chris Gray

Not Guilty (l-r): Cindy Cashdollar, Lisa Pankratz, Dave Alvin, Amy Farris and Chris Miller

Before his stunning, soul-stirring tribute to late best friend and sometime bandmate Chris Gaffney (Hacienda Brothers), who passed away last April from liver cancer, roots-rock eminence grise Dave Alvin was out back of the Continental Club talking to a mutual friend about his flight to Austin from Dallas. The plane, he said, was full of 20-year-olds with guitars, excitedly talking about "getting deals."

"I felt like Benny Goodman at Woodstock," the 53-year-old Alvin laughed.

Alvin may have been joking as a distraction from the extremely difficult task in front of him - a set composed of all Gaffney songs (save one), many of which the thick-as-thieves duo co-wrote - but it was a salient reminder that not everybody comes to SXSW looking to get ahead. Some just want to honor a fallen friend.
  

This drunken Scotsman accosted me as I was waiting in line for the Oak Ridge Boys Thursday afternoon. He seemingly just wanted to love on someone, including yours truly. He went down the line hugging everyone like he had a Pez full of ecstasy stashed in his kilt. That or he thought I was Mr. Clean's swishy son and wanted to blow people's minds back in Glasgow.

Photo by Paul Irish

Can you blokes in the back see this? Coz I'm doing it as hard as I can.

I'm not usually one for the after parties. Generally, I'm asleep by three or so at SXSW, but for reasons I will not discuss, last night was an exception.

At any rate, four AM found me at the Red Bull showcase in deepest East Austin. Red Bull is taking up the slack for the late nighters this year, picking up the slack that Spin used to carry.

And oh my God, Red Bull was wise enough to book Lady Sovereign.

Now, I am the first to admit that British hip-hop might have been a wee bit overrated some time back in 2004. Maybe. But Lady Sov is worth it all.

All I know is this little chick is tough. I mean, fo' real. You do not want to fuck with Lady Sovereign, and I am not just saying that because the beer she punted off the stage drenched me from head to toe. (Alright, maybe a little.) All I know is that little Londoner is the real mothafuckin' deal. Check her out.

Photos by Craig Hlavaty

Psychedelic Horseshit

At 1 a.m. Thursday (aka this morning), we peddled under IH-35 to the Music Gym to catch some Psychedelic Horseshit inside. Their fractured and jagged lo-fi pop is a schizophrenic mash of freak-folk and electric expanse. The Columbus, Ohio, band played musical instruments, with the bassist going back and forth between drums and saxophone. In the middle of their set, lead singer Matt received a call on his cellphone and abruptly left the room - the band had lost its car keys and AAA was on the line.

Max Tundra is the electro pseudonym of British music producer Ben Jacobs. He has been releasing albums and singles under that moniker for close to a decade now. The diminutive noise maven dialed up plinky beds of synth and yelped in his airy falsetto like a one-man Of Montreal under the venue's white outdoor patio.

And a robot was there too.

Yes, the Oak Ridge Boys are back. We caught them at the Lone Star Lounge in the Austin Convention Center. They were a little grayer, way beardier, and still just as down home.

Within the span of an hour we braved a VIP- and booze-addled Black Lips show at the Cedar Street Courtyard, and we fought off a drunken old lady brandishing a plastic lighted sword outside of the King Khan and the Shrines gig at El Sol y La Luna.

Black Lips came on a tad over 30 minutes late in front of the packed Cedar Street crowd that seemed to be glued to one another. Any movement was robotic and every maneuver was like playing a game of human Tetris. The boys from Hotlanta played songs off their recent 200 Million Thousand, doing a killer "Short Fuse" three songs in.