SXSW soon becomes a game of survival, thriving on little sleep and little citrus. Dark Meat kicked things off in grand fashion, marching in their 12? piece marching band at high noon. I was never sold on the Polyphonic Spree, but this is something vastly different, worshiping mother earth and lsd instead of Scientology. The communal juices were flowing over.
I made a joke with the Besnard Lakes guitarist about how their latest long player could finally topple OK Computer as the definitive album for introverted yet inspired dreamers. Live they didn't fail in that commitment, even adding to the pungent, dense, fog of layered melody and chaotic noise. Hirsute and head-banging. I'm beginning to see a trend here in Austin, the freaks are finally out in force, looking to bring down the man and his endless parade of free shoes, Lily Allen samplers, and promotional whiskey.
That line of freedom, was certainly snorted up by my favorite band of the moment. While the Walkmen fall out of fashion, playing to an audience that look more concerned with mortgage payments than chord changes, Psychedelic Horseshit ramble through a sutured set of Dylan revelry and cracked pop songs. Or following suit, Diplo assembles masterpieces with Top 40 and South American travelogues, becoming the upper echelon of the whole "DJ who wants to be respected as a musician" camp. And once my Columbus brethren rolled into town, the party really started to take a nebulous shape. Even the Ponys sounded good. Can't wait for tonight. Times New Viking and Peaches? Goodness.
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