Austin City Limits 2007

After last year's Lollapalooza '06, I attempted to coin the phrase Mega-Festival to describe the attempt to shove massive amounts of people into a single space over the course of a weekend. Well, Austin City Limits blew that festival away by the sheer size of it. The day-after guesses bring the number at sixty-five thousand, which might be lowballing a little, in my opinion. That number seems sort of abstract and hard to pin down, until you're on a field with sixty thousand other people trying to flee a festival you tried so hard to get to in the first place.

But I'm skipping ahead.

First off, we had some trouble starting off. Actually, before we even left our home state, we were terribly delayed by stupid airline nonsense. I won't bore you with the details (which I'm sure you can guess it), suffice it to say, our plans for the day were thoroughly shot down before they barely began. And we missed one of the bands we really wanted to see mid-day Friday, Peter Bjorn and John. Word around the campfire wasn't we didn't miss much, but still. Sucks. Big time.

We did manage (desperately) to catch Spoon's 6:30 pm set. We were a little too exhausted that day to remember we had a camera so no pictures from that first night, but Spoon put on a damn good show for a few thousand of their loyal Austin fans. I had heard in years past that Spoon's live show leaved something to be desired, and it's true, the pitch-perfect perfection in Spoon's brilliant albums were missing in the one-or-two-note performance, but my hips certainly didn't mind. I shaked my white ass to such classics as "I Turn My Camera On" and "Someone Something" as well as almost every song from the new album, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. I had been waiting to see this band for a long time and was so glad we got there in time.

We caught a little Gotan Project on the way to buy beer or iced tea. I knew them from my trip-hop days. A very engaging performance from a band I knew very little about. Made mental notes to check them out some more.

Headlining that evening was the irreplaceable Bjork. Her liveset was, as you can imagine, crazy. Lasers, costumes, a jangling and dancing Icelandian sounding beautiful amidst super-loud beats. Unfortanetly, the day caught up with usand we didn't stick around for the whole set. It was hard to leave, but very nessecary.

Saturday, we woke refreshed and ready to take in the day and some of Austin. We grabbed some kick-ass barbecure downtown and went to the festival in time to rock out to Cold War Kids. I never heard of this band before so I didn't really know what to expect. I was impressed. They have a sprawling rock sound that references a lot of post-rock, but with lyrics. It's indie rock for adventurers.


We then headed to see one of my favorite new artists, the amazing Andrew Bird. Those who knew his stuff cheered at every opening chord. Those who didn't stood perplexed but amazing by this extremely talented violinist/whistler/singer/songwriter. He blazed through the opening tracks to Armchair Aprochrya and The Mysterious Production of Eggs to ferocious applause. His vocals, his dynamic violining, the authenticity of his words poured through those speakers and I was transfixed. His performance was everything I hoped it would. The first highlight.

And then, particularly no time later, the big highlight of the weekend: Arcade Fire. Shawn and I moved in real close to get the best of this wonderful band. It wasn't easy. It was hot. And sweaty. And sort of gross. (And eventually dangerous). But so freaking worth it!

Everyone - I think - has heard of Arcade Fire's legendery live performances. Allow me to elobrate: Every word you've ever read is true. Watching them blast through fiery song after fiery song, my mind kept saying.. As if there was any doubt, this is the best band in the world right now. It felt like there was hundreds of thousands of us in the audience shouting every word, singing our hearts out to such made-for-concert choruses to songs like "Leave the Car Running" and "No Cars Go." (I don't know why they're obsessed with cars, but I digress.)

The Arcade Fire have somehow tapped into a sense of need in today's young people. We need this band. We need its anthems of rebellion and justice and glory. And we need it delivered with every ounce of being in their collective bodies. Three or four songs in and the band's sweat matched the audience. The way they shouted every lyric (even if they didn't have a microphone anywhere near them) was spellbinding. The washes of horns and guitar and violin and whatever the hell Regine was playing was caked with emotion. An amazing experience, from beginning to end.

The only downside was that some kids just got into the spirit too much and decided to crowd surf, almost coming down hard on Shawn. Stupid kids.

Sunday, weary but determined, we woke early to grab some waffles and eggs and oh-so-delicious bacon for fuel and headed to the festival in time to watch The National, one of the most promising young bands in the indie rock scene today. I've been fan for years, but have never been lucky enough to watch a performance. I was mightly impressed, as was the few friends we had around who weren't familiar with them. They played mostly stuff from their new album, of course, and they played with such fire, I loved every moment of it.

Next big band came at the Big Big set for Britian's Bloc Party. They didn't play any b-sides, much to my disappointment, and for some reason, I felt like the massive set and huge huge audience were a little too much for the kids from England, but they still played a fun and upbeat set. I'd seen them before and wasn't too impressed, but the new album tracks worked out really well live.

Next up was Amos Lee, a soulful guy from Philadelphia who poured his heart out for an hour to much ado. There wasn't much God talk this weekend, and this guy wasn't evangelical or anything but his soul grooves and pure heart leaked out and was infectious.

Then, another highlight, the wonderful My Morning Jacket. These guys know how to have fun. They dressed up the set and themselves for this headlining spot. It was a Hawaiian motif with lead singer Jim James in a blond wig and tight-pants, complete with Hawaiian girls holding pineapples and some dudes metal-detecting on the "beach." As for the performance, incredible. So much power in that voice! So much emotion in those guitar licks. People around me didn't seem as into it as I was, but that didn't faze me from rocking out until my flip-flops were so sweaty, I almost tripped.

Finally, after three very long days, the last shows of the fest went on. There were quite a few performances before the headlining Bob Dylan, but I, of course, chose to see The Decemberists. It was my third time seeing them and, though they didn't seem to have the same intensity like when I saw them last in San Francisco, it's hard not to be transfixed to such a wonderful band, even half-exhausted as I was immediately following the My Morning Jacket set. These guys have such wonderful material and they played some of their best songs in an all-too brief set, closing with the powerful "I Was Meant for the Stage."

The final act of the festival was Bob Dylan. At this point, the sixty-five thousand people converged on a single section of Zilker Park and though we had intended to stay for a few songs, we got the hell out of there as soon as we could. I don't "get" Dylan, so I didn't mind leaving. I was curious, for sure, but I was more convinced I didn't want to spend a few hours in line waiting for a bus back downtown after a looooong day out in the sun.

To sum up, Austin City Limits was a remarkable experience. There is no way one person could see so many different bands in such a short time for so many different parts of the country and the world than in one of these mega-festivals. Sure, it's a lot to take. But it's also wonderful. And extremely memorable.

(Stay tuned for a couple more Austin posts, including "Fun Diversions" and - assuming I can figure out this new Blogger feature- video!)

Tell Me You Love HBO

Last night, Tell Me You Love Me, HBO's newest one-hour-long drama premiered with much ado and almost as many commercials as that Justin Timberlake thing. I don't usually like to form an opinion on shows based on pilot episodes, but the internet is abuzz today with talk about the show so I thought I'd throw my two cents in.

From the outset, I knew a point of comparison for this show would be the brilliant Six Feet Under. Although centered around death, Six Feet Under was really about relationships, familial and sexual and marital. From the first episode of Six Feet Under on, we were thrown headfirst into a troubled family and all the crazy characters of that family, the Fishers, and all those around them.

After one episode of Tell Me You Love Me, I can't say I know much about any of these characters except that one couple is not having sex, one couple is trying to have a baby, and another couple is young and likes to have sex.

Okay, so I guess I'll talk about the sex now. Everyone else is. There's a word for the kind of sex we saw on display last night. It's called pornography. The producer and headwriter Cynthia Mort joked that she didn't think people would pay much attention to the sex (at least I hope she was joking). HBO has been showing nudity and sex scenes for years on their dramas, but this was long, drawn-out, choreographed sexual escapades.

In other words, gratuitous.

From the outside, one could say the enormous amount sex and the extreme display of flesh was a simple ratings ploy. If this was any other network, I would say they're right. But this is HBO and HBO, to me, has more credibility than... well, anybody and anything.

So the question remains, was all the sex trying to prove something? I kept watching the episode wondering if there was hidden meanings in all the bare asses and naked breasts.

Early in the episode, therapist Mary Coster looks at two pictures of naked bodies for an photo for a book she's writing about sex. A scene or two later, the young couple gets down and dirty and certain flashes evoke those same images. Okay, that's interesting. But by the fourth sex scene in single hour, I started to wonder if this wasn't just a way of shocking people.

Well, I'm not shocked. And frankly, I was kind of bored. Six Feet Under had a lot of sex, some of it graphic, but all of it served some purpose. Some overlaying story arc that needed to be shown during that sex scene, not just two straight people getting it on for fun.

Furthermore, trying to go beyond the obvious, the show seriously lacked a sense of humor. The premise of the show, couples dealing with relationship issues through therapy, is serious stuff. You must buoy that seriousness with some kind of comedy. A joke here or there or - shit, have someone fall on a rake, if that's all you can come up with.

All that being said, I will watch another episode, just because it's HBO and because I'm damn loyal. But there better be some serious improvement or I'm out.

Dude! It's Barzak Day!

Happy Barzak Day everybody!!

This world is full of really incredible people, but few warrant their own international day of celebration. I'm proud to count one of those few, Chris Barzak, supremely worthy of the honor of having a day in his, well, honor, as a good friend of mine.

Chris and I haven't shared a state since our brief summer in Michigan a million years ago (save a few months when I lived in Northern California and he in Southern California - but, ask any expert, those might as well be different states) and so I haven't had the pleasure to see Chris that much lately (which sucks!!). Like many a touring indie rock band, nobody has the time to come to Southern Florida. But, like many of us bloggers, I follow Chris's daily/weekly/whenever-he-feels-like-it occurrences and happenings and interestings at his wonderful blog, which I am very grateful for existing.

Today is a very special day. The release of One for Sorrow, Chris's excellent first novel is a major cause for celebration. I can not wait to read the official version, which I'm sure will take the world (of Good Taste) by storm. Chris has always been somewhat of a hero to me, from the day I met him almost ten years ago, already workshop and writing-seasoned, with superhero namedrop abilities and even greater writing chops. His stories (I've read most of them, I think) over the years has opened my eyes as to what can be done with stories and what should be done.

Even though this is Chris's special day, I feel like celebrating myself! Chris, I only wish you were nearby, so I can toast you with champagne or some good really imported beer. I think I'll do it anyway.

To the first Chris Barzak Day! Cheers!

John From Cincinnati... Over or What?

It's kind of ironic that a confounding series that made only a scant amount of sense is confusing again as to whether or not the series has been axed by HBO. I'm not surprised there's little love for the show from the press, John From Cincinnati is (was?) a complex and confusing conundrum, a beautiful mess.

But, like one writer from the Cincinnati Post, I kept returning to the watch and trying to understand it. If, in fact, last night's somewhat dramatic season finale was in fact its last episode, I will miss trying to decipher the dialouge and the relationships (and the plot!) of this show.

I will not, however, miss it as much as I miss the brilliant "Deadwood." I hope both shows see some new life in the future.

I am, as always, optimistic.

(Update: Some people love this show. And, really, if this guy can grok this much from the episode, you know there's some great stuff under the surface. He might be stretching a bit here and there, but really, it's all there to interrupt. Good job, man!)

Television to Traverse Hallways To

Last night's Big Love was toted by HBO as the most dramatic episode ever in the history of everything (!!!!), but it really wasn't.

Not to say it wasn't a great episode, it was. Every episode in this second season has been amazing, supremely interesting and full of exciting things: Barb had en existential crisis early in the season, Nicki has been excommunicated from her family, Margene had a brush of shocking truth with her mom and fell briefly in love with another woman. Bill's oldests, Ben and Sarah, have been going through their own relationship dramas; Ben reveling in sin and Sarah counting the days until she turns 18 and flees to college.

Bill, meanwhile, has been doing his reckless thing (again). Early in the season, he set out to discover who outed his family as polygamists (in last season's dramatic finale) and, failing that, decided to take out his frustration on Roman Grant and his Juniper Creek ruling council, the UEB. Bill pulled all kinds of hijanks to get a Hendrickson seat on the council, first for his brother and then for himself. All that amounted to getting tipped out that Roman was planning to buy a video-poker company called Weeber Gaming. Bill decided he wanted that company for himself.

Meanwhile, back in Juniper Creek, Bill's brother, Joey, spent some time in prison for a crime his wife committed (which set out Roman Grant's son, Albi, on a revenge pilgrimage that continues to threaten Bill and his family). Bill's mother and uncle have schemed to launder over a million dollars from a dying woman.

And then more bad guys showed up. The Greens. Apparently, a fearsome family of polygamists who had previously been at war with Roman and the UEB, then banished to Mexico, now returned to stake a claim, specifically on - you guessed it - Weeber Gaming. Hijinks have since ensued.

(Spoiler warning for last night's episode follows.)

So that brings us to the big episode, "Kingdom Come," which seeks to bring a lot of the disparate storylines of the season to a closing point so the writers can focus in a little more on individual character stories to finish off the season (sadly, only four episodes remain).

Does the episode succeed? Yes. Does the episode surprise? Not really.

Anytime shows - these days anyway - prophesies something "big" and "huge," it usually means a character getting shot. (Thanks Lost). Well, that's exactly what happened.

After a full hour of drama dealing with Ben's soul and in-fighting between the wives and Bill and an off-camera war between Roman Grant and the Greens, Roman is accosted on a streetcorner in front of his favorite diner and shot twice in the chest by two of Hollis Green's wives. It's pretty dramatic, sure, but it was also inevitable. As the season has progressed, Roman has become less and less the "big bad" and more a friendly character so without unteething the beast, he had to die. But the repercussions, especially in regards to Nicki's mental health, will be fascinating to watch.

As for the other storylines, the sex "thing" between Bill and Margene and Nicki was interesting and brought the show back to the first episodes (remember the Viagra?). But the most interesting storyline for me was Ben's. I had trouble buying all that "I'm not ruined!" type talk, I know they're religious and Mormon's, but any teenager growing up in today's world should not be that squeamish when it comes to sex. Don't they watch MTV? Seriously.

What was very interesting was seeing Ben prepare to live "The Principal" at sixteen, proposing marriage and pre-planning for a second wife. It drove home (to Bill and Barb especially) how absurd his life is and the wrongheadedness of some of his decisions.

Anyway, I think I prattled on enough. For anybody who doesn't watch this show, you can see from my rampant discussion of character motivations and subtleties that is a high quality show, extremely well-written, and well worth everyone's time.

With Thanks to Pitchfork...

And the entire music blogging community:



Kevin Drew - "Backed Out On The..."

(Obvious reference to Broken Social Scene classic, "Time=Cause." The song is called "Backed Out On the Cause" but that would have been a little too close, so he shortened the title a little.)

Little more about Spirit If: it seems to take a lot of ammunition from the great BSS lyric, "My favorite band/is a witch." The album is amorphous and dynamic. It starts with a punch as loud as BSS is capable of. But then chills out until the rocking high of the song above. The casual swagger of the songs on this album reference a lot of what BSS is doing with their albums: exploring new sonic territories, messing with multiple vocal tracks, throwing traditional song structure out the nearest airlock, and the lyrics are all about rebellion and youthful bliss.

I once called Broken Social Scene the best teenage band ever and that idea seems to leak into all their extra-credit work. Kevin Drew is interested in the modern pressures on the young generation, but is quick to paint them all as "Fucked Up Kids," which, of course, they are. Just like all the rest of us.

Ah, Music

So I've been seriously neglecting my Austin blog due to unanticipated musical brilliance in other regards, notably non-Austin bands that have come out with new albums in the last few weeks that have been kicking my ass.

Most recently:

Broken Social Scene Presents... Kevin Drew's Spirit If; the BSS founder's debut (Kevin Drew being one of the only BSS members without a full-time separate band) is essentially a new Broken Social Scene record, complete with horns, explosions of sound, hushed vocals, and borderline manic time changes. Follow this link to download a preview of single-worthy track, TBTF ("Too Beautiful To Fuck") and catch Mr. Drew in his favorite morning-time position.

Interpol - Our Love to Admire

A slightly maligned but worth-the-effort followup to their previous followup, Antics, deserves attention for the first track alone, but also for stretching Interpol's creativity and ability. It doesn't always hit and the album itself seems to fly by without a major emotional impact, but that vapidity is an admirable quality in itself. It has the flow and attention-disorder of a chilly autumn Saturday. The occasional high is worth the price of admission, definitely.

Earlimart - Mentor Tormentor

I absolutely adore this band and their brand of wispy California indie pop. They tend to play it soft with quieter tracks replete with swells and lows, but they also employ a staticky electric guitar that rocks out on cue. Never shy of double-digit album tracks, much like their previous album, this one has almost fifteen tracks to keep us happy and nodding our heads to the beat.

Cute:

Just cause!

John From Cincinnati

After watching six episodes of HBO's newest drama - most at least twice - I can safely, and finally, recommend this show as worthy of your precious time and attention. It struck me today, especially, reading about the show on HBO.com, in writer Steve Hawk's Inside the Episode, where he quotes creator David Milch, "The important point that I'm trying to make is that storytelling has nothing, whatsoever, to do with logic."

Well, obviously. JFC makes very little sense in a conventional way. A stranger wanders into the lives of a dysfunctional family of surfers in Imperial Beach, California and strange things start to happen. Sure, it's not the exquisite and complicated quilt of characters like Deadwood or even the gritty sad reality of NYC cops like NYPD Blue, but as the episodes pass in their slow and deliberate and often bewildering way, I have become as fascinated by the show as it seems the writers of it are. A few of the many great moments will linger in my memory for a long time, I'm sure, so passionate and powerful they are.

And the dialogue! Just like Deadwood, the dialogue is what drives this show. Even though Steve Hawk recommends we watch what the characters do and not what they say, it's what they say that is so weird and strange and interesting. The way the characters interact - in all their verbal violence - is what separates this show from anything else on TV.








For Deadwood fans, there's a particular joy from seeing characters we love from that show on this new Milch show. Particularly one of my favorite Deadwoodians, Charlie Utter (Dayton Callie), playing the heroin-dealin' Hawaiian Freddy. Also great to see Ellsworth, Jim Beaver, playing the pot-growin', spliff-rollin', Vietnam Joe. And, great (in a weird sort of uncomfortable way) to see Deadwood's Frances Wolcott (and first Deadwood role, Wild Bill-murdering Jack McCall) returned playing a nice guy (wow!), Dr. Smith. Also, the latest episode had an all-too-brief cameo from Deadwood's Trixie, Paula McCalomson.

To sum up, John From Cincinnati is not an easy show to like. I didn't recommend it to anyone for the first few weeks it was on, but now I feel confident that anyone who watches it and has the patience to deal with some confusion and some really weird characters, will be in for a very rewarding experience.

Excuse me while I geek out

About Battlestar Galactica, of course! This week, SciFi Channel aired a commercial-length preview of the upcoming BSG TV-movie, "Razor," and it looks amazingly awesome. Exactly what they should be doing at this moment, referencing the rich past and adding layers to future episodes. In case you haven't seen it yet, behold!