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Concert Mention/Review
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Austin 360, Concert Mention/Review >>
Scene report: Friday night
By Parry Gettelman | Saturday, March 17, 2012, 07:14 AM
jwj SXSW 2012 Friday 07880.JPG
Jay Janner AMERICAN-STATESMAN
I feared I had used up all my showcase mojo by actually making it into the dBs show just after 9 p.m. Friday. Two other bands I wanted to see had been in approximately the same timeslot — Magnetic Fields and the Mynah Birds — and after that, everything else I had planned to explore turned into a bust. A Brooklyn-based tropical-dance act appeared to have spent more time consulting a stylist than forging an original sound, a Spanish rock band attempted to wax anthemic despite the fact that the lead singer’s voice teetered off key long before reaching the big chorus and an earnest and dull Canadian duo made me think “Never mind, at least this club has good bathrooms.”
Drifting from venue to venue in a vain attempt to hear something worthwhile became disheartening, and Red River suddenly struck me as ever so slightly post-apocalyptic, with dirty water in the gutter; bottles, cups and crumpled cans everywhere; a double-height bike frame laying tragically abandoned next to a signpost, unlocked and unwanted; and the lame green laser light show from one club shooting through the dry-ice smoke from another, while bass-heavy dance tracks pounded from some place or other. A guy in a pharaoh costume and huge sunglasses hawked CDs and two women with fake mustaches — one with the furry thing over her lip, the other with a faux Frida Kahlo monobrow — went strolling by. A woman in a skimpy bikini wiggled past with her boyfriend — and two other guys ogled her momentarily, before glancing away in boredom, since most of her mysteries were already revealed, leaving nothing to pique their interest.
Fortunately, amidst the roiling mob on Sixth Street, and on somewhat quieter side streets, there were actually some fascinating things to see and hear. Over on Brazos, a trio consisting of two violins and an accordion played melancholy Eastern European tunes for tips. In the middle part of Sixth Street, while loud music pounded out of open dance-club doors, a young guy drew a big audience with a funny little skeleton puppet show titled “Mr. Bonejangles” — although two tough dudes passing by rolled their eyes and one said to the other “A crowd for this? Really?!?!” as though he were personally affronted.
Further down Sixth, Colombian band Grupo Ancestros enthralled a large crowd with music anchored by urgent drumming and centered around a primitive-looking marimba, played with remarkable swiftness and expression. The ensemble’s soprano sax player went out into the audience at one point and invited a woman to dance, and she set her bare stomach rippling and her denim-clad hips gyrating with a speed and finesse that drew loud, appreciative applause. When I passed by again some two hours later, the band was still playing for a big crowd.
Closer to Congress Avenue, a guy named Mike Gray fascinated passers-by with his terrific musicality on a unique set-up: a jerry-rigged kick drum made out of an ancient-looking tom-tom, plus a clapped-out acoustic guitar with a broken-off headstock. The poor old guitar was attached to a stool, face up, and sported one lone, remaining string and a welter of metallic attachments, among them a fork, part of a cocktail strainer and what looked like a wedge broken off from a cymbal. Gray played this thing like a drum kit, with what looked like chopsticks, while blowing some fine harmonica and singing lustily.
As he promised, Gray ultimately managed to break his string, so he got up and danced and compelled his new-found fans to help out by singing a simple riff along the lines of “We want the funk …we want the funk right now.” One of the onlookers, who carried an instrument case, was clearly a musician, and kind of led the charge with a hearty baritone, while other people came up with spontaneous harmony parts, and it all sounded implausibly tuneful and full-bodied. Apparently, Gray is not just a talented one-man band, but also a director of spontaneous street musicals, although it probably helps to attempt this sort of thing in the middle of SXSW, where half the people walking by are going to or coming from a gig.
Finally, just before I headed home, I took a chance on checking out Speakeasy, even though I’d already gone and missed Chicha Libre, supposed to play at 10 p.m. Fate was in my favor at last, and the schedule had changed, so the Brooklyn-bred, Peruvian-inspired group was still playing its psychedelic surf-rock cumbias at almost midnight, as dancers undulated in front of the stage and in a small balcony overlooking it. The accordionist at times seemed to have an Ethiopian jazz influence, while the reverberating guitar made me suddenly think about the hallucinatory and hilarious Alex Cox movie Straight to Hell, which starred members of the Pogues and Clash frontman Joe Strummer — and then Chicha Libre ended with a superbly atmospheric cover of the Clash’s “Guns of Brixton.” It was the perfect payoff for a night of wandering around downtown in search of transcendence.
By Bob
March 17, 2012 12:57 PM | Link to this
I had a similar night, though I gave up at 11:15 to just go home so I never hit the end of the night lucky show. I went 0 for 3 standing in line at 8, 10 and 11 PM shows. Since downtown was as busy and gridlocked as I’d ever seen, many of whom were just there to be there, I went to catch the bus home. Because Congress Ave was a zoo the buses ran way behind schedule and I ended up getting home about 1AM. My 17th SXSW could be my last. I think it’s passed critical mass. Forget attending if you don’t have a badge either.
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http://www.austin360.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/austin/music/entries/2012/03/17/scene_report_friday_night.html?cxntfid=blogs_austin_music_source 03/17/12 >> go there
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