by Andrew Norman
Watching the grass turn from tan to yellow to green through the car's window — and feeling the air warm at stops — during the 14-hour trip to Austin, Texas, is enough reason to attend the SXSW Music Festival every year in March. After a Nebraska winter, the climate change provides a nice reminder that spring really will someday come. And then there are the bands. Almost 2,000 of them, actually.
This year, only a handful from Nebraska: Bright Eyes is playing a big show Saturday at an outside auditorium; Lincoln folker Orion Walsh picked up a last-minute gig, and will play at a small club Thursday night; Midwest Dilemma plays a house show somewhere at some time (awaiting details); and Daniel Christiansan and Satchel Grande played at the same time at two different venues Wednesday night.
A team of four HNers rolled in at about 1 a.m. Wednesday morning, and we were out when we hit the pillows at the house of a Lincoln transplant in Austin. After registering for my media badge (a go-anywhere at anytime pass that screams 'asshole' as you walk past every poor sap standing in lines at venues), I filed some work at the media lounge at the conference center, walked past Jack White — who was on his way to the restroom — and headed east on 6th Street.
It was early afternoon on Wednesday, and the street was already closed, and filling steadily with music lovers and straight-up partiers from around the world. We hit the Paste day party first at The Stage, largely because of the sign advertising free burritos. They turned out to be about half a burrito in a bowl, and you had to stand in a line for a half hour to get them, but my first Lone Star of the trip and the realization of what I was going to experience over the next four days made the wait a breeze. And the meal was just what I needed.
We sat down at the bar and caught Keegan DeWitt, a five-piece indie rock band that played a few songs that ranged from smooth rock to dancey folk pop — not bad. We stayed for Minneapolis indie popper Jeremy Messersmith, whose band was playing on the world's tiniest stage, and had a full string section providing accompaniment on the floor in front of the crowd. Messersmith looks like a hipster Buddy Holly, and he plays kind wimpy, pretty songs. I like it. Watch him play the song “Light Rail” in the video below.
The afternoon was full of walking — dropping off my backpack at the car that was parked south of the river, and friends — eating ceviche with Brent Crampon and hanging out with Neal Duffy. The next show I saw was at 8 p.m. — Satchel Grande's showcase at Karma Lounge, an off-the-beaten path venue whose crowd was, well, sparse as the big Omaha soul-funk-pop band started its set. Wearing orange and brown business casual attire (obviously inspired by this website's color palette) and their Blueblockers-sponsored shades, they look the part of a serious band. And though this was their first non-Nebraska show (somehow, seriously), the nine-piece left no questions about their substance. As they played their catchy tunes — every single one of them you feel like you know on first listen, which is a good thing — more and more people came from the dark back part of the room near the front. There were only about 30 or 40 people there, but they were affixed on these white guys who brought soul from Nebraska. And our state should be proud to have been represented by them.
They killed it.
After the set, I overheard a guy telling his buddy, “This was definitely worth $10.” Satchel made some fans in Texas. Let's hope they got the road bug and continue to spread the word.
After chatting with some fellow Nebraskans, we finished our Dos Equis and caught the last of Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr.'s set at The Phoenix, another west-of-Congress venue. When these guys played in Lincoln last fall, they played to nobody — maybe three people who weren't working at the Bourbon. As the name would suggest, they have a Nascar schtick. I don't like schtick. Wearing leather racing jackets, with U.S. flags draped across the stage, their gimmick distracted me from really hearing the songs. It was a different story here at the Phoenix, where there were a couple-hundred people watching the show. And they were obviously there to see the Dales, singing along to every song. I couldn't see much of the stage, in fact, it was so packed. I could tell that the three-piece group was still wearing their Nascar gear, but their songs were what stood out this time — indie-pop with feeling and energy. They're an absolutely great band, and they should lose the schtick. Hear them play “Nothing But Our Love” below. And next time they come through, make sure you're there. (Close your eyes, if you have to.)
We dipped into The Speakeasy on the way back to Sixth Street for a song or two of Smokin' Joe Kubek and B'nois King — solid, traditional blues. I recognized Smokin' Joe's name from the Zoo Bar schedule. He looks like an old metal dude with a white rabbits' foot for a beard. And the songs King sings are so sexually nasty it would make Eddie Murphy blush. We finished our ludicrously priced drinks (rum and coke and a Miller Lite: $10.50), and scrammed to catch The Kickback on Maggie Mae's rooftop patio.
The first time I saw this Chicago band, I was blown away at their energy, showmanship and quality of rock songs. But they are so much better now. They replaced their rather awkward keyboardist with drummer Danny Yost's wife Noemie (Mue Sephei), a welcome addition whose voice provides a perfect contrast to frontman Billy Yost's clean growl. It was the second time I'd seen them perform with bassist, Zach Verdoorn, who had been touring with Oh My God when they came through last fall. He's so damn good — constantly moving, he provides full-on energy, a trusty, traveling low end and an impressive voice that reaches high registers on some well-assembled harmonies. Guitarist Tyler Zee seems more confident in his role in the band, too, adding some nice vocal fills. And Billy Yost remains one of the best rock frontman I've seen in years.
“If you're in the record industry and want a hot record to put out,” Yost said while tuning between songs, “boy would we like to talk to you.”
It wouldn't surprise me if industry folk lined up to talk to them after this absolutely epic set, punctuated by a song about French Canadians that isn't anything but punk rock, and a driving, garage-rock snarler called “Rob a House.”
A blonde-haired man wearing a designer leather jacket leaned to his friend and threw his right hand down like he was dropping dice, saying, “these guys kick ass.”
If the point of playing SXSW is to make an impression. The Kickback threw 11.