SXSW

This post may end up being long. I haven't decided yet.

The sun is hot. I found this out this week and was glad for doing so. I've spent the last week in the searing heat, cold beer in hand, spectating on what can only be described as 'Music'. Most of it was impressive. Some of it was confusingly bad. Some of it hilarious, truly.

I spent the early part of last week alone, drinking free beer in bars, provided by faceless corporations wanting everybody to enjoy themselves. I didnt wear sunscreen, and continually wiped beads of sweat from my brow. I had a routine of frantically seeing as many artists as i could in the day, followed by getting blind drunk in the evenings and making new friends. If I attempt to list everything in order I will be here for hours, so I won't. I'm going to give the highlights. And the lowlights. And funlights.

One of the first bands I saw at southbysouthwest were British Sea Power. I hate British Sea Power. I was watching them because the venue had free beer and a roof terrace. That's nice. I'd heard that I wouldn't be allowed on the roof terrace because I didn't have a badge, wristband or ticket for SXSW. This is a lie. I rapidly gathered that buying a ticket for this festival is a complete sham. I came with nothing and managed to see and do more than most people. Though there was some force involved on my part sometimes.

On the day of British Sea Power I was nervous. Nervous I wouldn't see any bands. Nervous I wouldn't get in anywhere. Then I met Jen.

I wandered down to a venue sponsored by Levi's. My friend John from back home had told me to see a band from Manchester called the Whip, who were playing there, so I went. I queued in beautiful sunshine and sipped a cold beer away from the eyes of the law. Jen said I looked alone. I said I was. "Well you can spend the day with me then" she stated quite frankly. I agreed. In this first ten minutes of meeting her, she explained to me that I was wise for not buying a ticket.

"Im from Austin" She says.
"I never buy tickets" She says
"You don't need them" She says
"Unless you want to go to some bullshit seminar" She says

"Perfect" I think.


True enough, we get to the door and have wristbands strapped on our right hands by burly Texans. "Step inside" They say. We walk through a labyrinthine warehouse full of jeans and turntables. I saw lots of girls wearing gawdy dresses and large sunglasses. I saw men in skinny jeans and large sunglasses. My eyes began to ache from frantically trying to read every quirky slogan on all the undersized t shirts, so I concentrated on rolling a cigarette.
We walked out into the sunshine again and were greeted by a band wearing large sunglasses and checkered shirts, complimented by hair cuts fashioned in the shape of a bowl. I recognised this look, and tried to place it geographically. Manchester seems like a distant memory to me now, but it didn't take me long.

"These guys are called the whip" I told Jen.
"They sound good" She said
"Do they?" I thought.

I am not going to say the whip are shit. Im just going to say that they're not very good. There is a man in England called Ian. He created the hairstyles that a couple of these band members had. Ian looks like a monkey, as do lots of men in Manchester. I believe that this hair cut is the cause of this.
The whip have one band member that uses a laptop. He stands, craning over the 15" screen with a worrying look on his face. It's the "I'm about to poo myself" look. I think he feels obliged to make this face, because in some circles it is known as the "Im currently having to think very hard about what Im doing" look, though in truth, he wasn't really doing anything at all. He had samples and sounds and was pressing play. The sounds he had on his laptop reminded me of that man Ian's band, and I started to notice a trend. The Whip also reminded me of a band from Leicester who have a singer called Tom. Tom's band's self-titled debut album is known by some as this decades version of that man Ian's music. So, in all I was stuck listening to a band I'd heard before, only with different faces.

The whip finished and the yanks roared. They had gone down well. I wondered if Kasabian and the Stone Roses had ever played SXSW? A few minutes later, one of the men from the whip called Nathan introduced himself to me after he heard my accent at the bar. We talked about Manchester for roughly 40 seconds and then said our goodbyes. Nice guy, but i don't really want to hear that god awful accent whilst on the other side of the world.


I spent the rest of the day with Jen. We moved from venue to venue, getting in free every time. We drank lots of beer and people commented on my t-shirt. I was wearing a brown t-shirt with the name of a small rockabilly outfit from Arkansas on the front. Lots of old men with tattoos and young men with 'Arkansas' accents said they liked my t-shirt. I like my t-shirt.
The sun set slowly and the Texan sky went into a yellow ochre, I sat on the ground and watched a group called Okkervil River. I smoked cigarettes and drank beer. I ate a burger and smiled. It was a pleasant evening.


The next day got better.

I woke with my friend the sun on my face. My couchsurfing host Rob dropped me into town and I went in search of food and fun. I grabbed a breakfast taco and bounced down the road. I stopped by the river and dipped my feet in. I liked it so much, I took my trousers off and went groin deep. The river ain't that clean, but it sure felt good. I dried my legs off with the bottom of my trousers and carried on walking towards venues of interest. I spent the whole afternoon watching bands i know and bands i don't. I saw another man from Manchester called Jim Noir, a rather feminine sounding outfit called cut copy, a man called Jens Lekman, some rappers called clipse, a young californian sounding duo called no age and bald geek called Moby. I remember seeing Moby at Glastonbury when I was about twelve. I didn't like him then, and I don't like him now.

I sat on the steps, drinking my free beer and eating my free hotdog provided by some radio station. I thought about my brother arriving in 24 hours time. I spat gristle onto the ground. I wiped my lips with my forearm and I thoughtfully stared at every cigarette that I smoked. Ive had lots of fun on my own, but when you watch Music and drink, it's better with company. I forced myself into conversations with people for a short while, but most of them were so agonisingly shallow that I would switch off and appear rude.

I quickly learned that it's imperative to stay away from people at SXSW who wear their badges around their neck. These are the people who have paid hideous amounts of money to go to seminars and pretend they work in the Music business, when in fact, they had guitar lessons for roughly four years at school, but were never that commited, and now want to bore young ginger englishmen with tall tales of their plans to build a record label with no experience whatsoever. Perhaps that's just being nasty, but I have a feeling it's the truth. This makes me worry for the next conference I attend in Miami. I have never been to a conference before, and so don't really know what to expect. I have a ticket for the Miami do, because it allows you free entry into all the clubs, hotels and remixing and editing workshops, and I have a feeling it's harder to get in free there than it is in Austin, as a lot of the gigs here are in car parks and outside in the streets, whereas nightclubs have doors and fat bald bouncers. I hope that's the case, otherwise, someone may write a blog entry in Miami about meeting some complete douchebag from England, who had been stupid enough to pay for a ticket, because he was scared he wouldn't get to see the dj's he wanted.


I got tired of talking to middle aged men and drew out another cigarette. I sat on the floor and this person came and sat next to me.




This person is called Andrea. Andrea is 25. She has brown hair and good dress sense, though I queried her when I saw her wearing wellington boots in the sun.

"I know" She replied with a smile.

Andrea has a radio show back home and is doing a Music business thingy. She lives in Miami. We talked a while in the sun. We talked about Miami and the Winter Music Conference. We talked about the noises I like to make on my laptop. She said she would like to interview me for her show. I felt silly, but said ok. She said she could play some of my stuff on her show. I felt a lot more silly, but said ok.

Andrea had been separated from her friends and was hungry. I had no friends and was hungry, so we went for dinner. Her friend Brandace came along and was delightfully rude to me, something I've learnt pretty well to deal with over here. Particularly if the person your dealing with has the intellect of a feral child.

We sat at a barbecue and ate meat. I drank a bloody mary and felt revived. Brandace wanted to see N*E*R*D that evening and so we went towards the Levi's place again. Brandace got aggy with me because I had no tickets, so I politely looked at her with eyes that screamed "I don't like you, so leave me alone" and she got a bit quieter. She went inside with another of her friends and Andrea and I wandered elsewhere.

We drank beer and caught bits of Music, then we decided to go back to the N*E*R*D venue. I walked straight in with no problems at all. Looks like I didn't need those 600 dollar tickets after all huh Brandace? I watched N*E*R*D and passively smoked Marijuana, it was entertaining. Their bassist is very talented and Pharrell Williams does have an undeniable charisma on stage, so I didn't get bored.


After the show, Brandace waned to meet Pharrell so she could put him in some Music review she writes online. We duly agreed though I was keeping my distance. I have a real problem with meeting famous people. Firstly, I don't know them. Secondly, I have nothing to say to them. And thirdly, after a gig, I'm sure all the guy wanted to do was have a shower and drink a beer in peace. Though unfortunately girls like Brandace come ten to a penny, especially in the states. To her credit, Brandace seems very well connected in these circles and she had no problem meeting him and having a brief chat. At least that's what it looked like as I stood roughly thirty yards away on the other side of the road, chain smoking furiously.



Brandace seemed pleased with her meeting and we left for an after party at a lodge out of town. I knew nothing about this, though followed my new found acquaintances in the hope of more free beer and good music. I wasn't disappointed. We were ridden out of town to a location in the trees by a man on a bicycle. We arrived at a large house with a pool and bass reverbs bouncing off the walls. I smiled and quickened the pace. Brandace kindly put me down on the list and I held out my wrist for yet another band.

We climbed a cold, stone staircase with maple bannisters and entered a large hall. I swiftly turned right and headed for the bar. No need for a wallet. All this stuff was free. I grabbed a couple of vodkas and went for a dance. A DJ called Steve Aoki was playing. Some may know him as Kid Millionaire. He is the son of a Japanese wrestler. He lives in Hollywood. He runs the label Dim Mak who are known for discovering Bloc Party. I was pleased to see him there as he is known for usually playing 10,000 dollar shows, not free parties in the Texan Springs. I liked his style, he provided relentless bass lines and interesting snippets of classic tunes turned upside down by the use of effects. He jumped around lots too and looked like a happy chappy. Nice.


We stayed until the hour of midnight passed and the day was young again. Andrea and I talked for a very long time about our lives. It felt strange, spending such a huge amount of time with someone I didn't know, though by the 13th hour, felt very comfortable with. We went downstairs and I put my hood up on my head. I was still wearing these massive white sunglasses I found and thought it quite amusing, so didn't take them off. We went into the V.I.P room and stood with Steve Aoki whilst Brandace taunted his penis with naughty words in his ear. I think she gets off on all that. Im sure he didn't mind. He told us he was going to the Playboy after party and asked us if we wanted to go. I've heard about these playboy do's and thought to myself I'd be be a fool to turn it down, so I said yes. The girls said yes too. Thank God. We got in a car, and I was driven down town. we pulled up outside a warehouse and I felt silly. I felt out of place. Many people must have thought the same too, after they saw me in flip flops and shorts.


My throat was dry and my legs aching. I had fatigue from the sun and thought about bed. Brandace and the rest of the crew were hanging outside the warehouse trying to blag their way in. I took a spot roughly the same distance I took from Pharrell earlier and looked up to the sky. I told Andrea it made me cringe, the though of trying to blag my way into some celebrity party, and she agreed, so we walked away. We went to a bar that had no booze and talked some more again. Then we decided to sneak into the playboy party.

It really wasn't that hard. We skipped through a fence round the back, laughing as we went, and then just walked in the back door. No one even batted an eyelid.

There were lots of bunny girls being entertained by men in suits. I looked a while, but it really wasn't as cool as I thought it'd be, so I went to the bar. I downed free Jager and drank free whisky before heading into the main room. A group from London called Simian Mobile Disco had the honour of performing, and I stood and watched. My view was this.










I do have some evidence of bunny girls at the party, so if anyone wants videos/photos, please send an S.A.E to
Pete
That ginger one
Texas
Umerikha


I had fun at the party and so did the people I was with. They invited me back to their flat for a party till noon and I said yes.





This is the longest post so far. I hope people are still reading. I probably wouldn't be.






The next day I woke in a strange house I don't know. Until I saw Andrea and Brandace and remembered we'd come back to continue the night out. I rubbed my head and coughed. I knew I had to get my brother from the airport, but I couldn't move. My brother flew in at 8:30pm. It took me until 7pm to leave the house and get sorted. The whole day was a write off. I felt disappointed, though happy in remembering the night before. I picked Marc up and we checked in to our hotel. We hugged and I felt ecstatic that my bro was here. I'd been waiting for this.

We went into town with some Texans we met at the hotel and downed Irish car bombs and shots of Jager. We went to see a band called Tapes'n'tapes and some others. Then we went home. Tired. Before we got home, I bought a hot dog. I laced it with Louisiana hot sauce and Jalapeno peppers. My brother took a bite and told me I was insane. I didnt know what I was doing, choming away in the back of a cab, tears rolling down my cheeks, barely being able to mumble "What do you mean? This tastes great"



I awoke the next day in pain. I heard the toilet whispering my name, so I went and kept it company for roughly one hour. I wondered if I could sue the hotdog man. I also wondered if it was going to be my last day on earth.

I gathered the courage to go into town, forced only by my anticipation of seeing more Music. And for today, particularly good music. We went to a barbecue called Stubb's and bought burgers. A couple of Dj's were playing lots of mash up and it was hot. I smoked a cigarette and immediately my bowels gave way. I ran to the portaloo and became well acquainted with surroundings. Those thoughts entered my head again, the "Am I going to die?" thoughts. The heat in the portaloo must have been topping 35 centrigade. Sweat poured off my face and all I could do was press a warm can of stella against my head and wipe my brow with a soggy napkin. I wanted to cry.

I re emerged feeling lighter and dehydrated. I grabbed a water and headed back to the stage. I lasted roughly three minutes. The frequencies from the rig were making me want to embarrass myself, so I told Marc we had to sit down. We sat down and I breathed heavily. I sighed. I whinced. I went to the toilet roughly four times. Then, it almost instantaneously disappeared, which was fucking lucky, because Chromeo were starting up in about 5 minutes. If you don't know Chromeo check them out here. Or here

Chromeo make me dance like a child and put my tongue in my cheek. I like them a lot. They are these men here.








They played an amusing set and I felt happy. My brother did too.

We met Andrea once Chromeo and Digitalism had finished and went in search of free beer. We stumbled across a band called Peelander-Z. I cannot begin to describe this absolute fucking circus, so I urge all to look them up.

Peelander-Z

This girl is from Peelander-Z. At one point she dressed up as a skittle, while her friends ran towards her in an attempt to knock her down. The board she is holding has lyrics from their songs on it, so the crowd could join in.






The rest of the day was spent eating and drinking. We managed to sneak into another exclusive. The Q magazine party. I don't think I've been that bored in a while. I played guitar hero, whilst Kate Nash sang on stage. If the guitar was wireless it may have ended up in her brain. Whiny faux-cockney bitch. After the Q do, a pleasant surprise occured.

Liz Green is a singer songwriter from Manchester. I have met her a couple of times through my good friend Sam. Liz has a distinctive style and her voice is enchanting. She played on Saturday, and we had the pleasure of watching her do her thing.







After Liz, I felt excited.


We made our way to Sky Lounge to see Deadmau5. That's why.

I've had a great time seeing lots of bands, but by Saturday I was ready to dance like jafooly and listen to some damn fine Music. I was not disappointed. Neither was my brother. Neither was Andrea. Neither was the weird Mexican. Neither was the dude with the orange tan. Nor the girls with perfectly spherical breasts and sausage lips. I had a fucking ball and haven't witnessed a night in a club like that for a while. I got similarly excited when I saw Sasha at the warehouse Project in December. Though being abroad in a hot place, makes everything that little bit sweeter.

Nothing has come close to Saturday night yet, though yesterday I had dinner on a cliff, 450 feet above a massive lake out in the "countryside" of Texas. I ate Anaheim Chiles and shredded pork, and of course, black beans. This place is incredible.

Andrea said goodbye to us today and left for Miami. We'll be following her shortly. I'm sure it'll be just the same when I'm out there. If not better. No bands, but hella Music.