Decemberists Members Play Pogues Cover Show Tonight

Erin Go Bragh and so forth! It's St. Patrick's Day, everyone's favorite excuse to eat all kinds of sweaty meat and salty vegetables, ingest a gallon or so of green dye, and then spend the next week peeing it all out.

And what better way to soundtrack this most culturally sensitive of all holidays than with the music of trad-Irish punks the Pogues? While Shane MacGowan and company will shamrock the hell out of New York's Roseland Ballroom this evening, all across the world, Pogues cover bands aplenty will revel in their big moment before, you know, going back to their cubicles tomorrow morning, Tylenol in hand.

But K.M.R.I.A., who play Portland's Crystal Ballroom tonight, well, they've got the luck of the Irish with 'em. Once tonight's set is through and all that Jameson runs its course, all of them will go back to being in bands of their own. K.M.R.I.A. is a bit of a who's who of Pacific Northwest rock, featuring Chris Funk and Jenny Conlee of the Decemberists, Derek Brown of eels, Casey Neill, Ezra Holbrook of Dr. Theopolis, Hanz Araki of the Whyos and Paperboys, and Jesse Emerson of Amelia.

The band, who play Pogues music and Pogues music only, take their name-- an acronym for "Kiss My Royal Irish Ass", don't you know-- from a bit in James Joyce's BEST BOOK EVAR Ulysses, touched upon in the Pogues' classic "Transmetropolitan".

Beyond, like, famous people, the band's got something most of those other Pogues cover bands don't: the approval of a real life Pogue. According to the K.M.R.I.A. Myspace page, James Fearnley helped teach Chris and Jenny how to play "the impossibly arcane middle section of 'Bottle of Smoke', which neither Jem [Finer] (who wrote the damn middle section) nor Terry Woods (who never plays the same thing twice) can actually get through without extemporizing." Fearnley adds, "neither can I, truth be told. But at least I know how it's supposed to go."

Could it be that this ragtag bunch are gonna out-Pogue the Pogues' brogue? Nah, not quite, but I'm sure they're gonna have a real kickass time trying.

As they say in Ireland, Beannachtai na Feile Padraig! Man, I bet that's hard to say after a sixer of those big Guinness cans.

Sufjan, Rafter, Dosh Contribute Music for Video Games

AudioSurf, a computer-based video game, is kind of like the next step on the acoustic-kinetic evolutionary ladder that began with the Dancing Coke Can. By inputting different music into AudioSurf, you alter the gameplay of this Tetris-like puzzler.

The Asthmatic Kitty crowd is pretty geeked about AudioSurf, so geeked in fact that they've gone ahead and assembled a 15-track compilation of tunes conducive to the game. Music for Video Games Vol 1 awaits on the AK site right now as a free download, and includes offerings from Sufjan Stevens, Dosh, Rafter, and Ero Gray (aka Future Rapper collaborator Papa Alabaster), plus an exclusive new track from Anticon artist Son Lux.

Just what kind of game will AudioSurf serve up to the tune of Grampall Jookabox's "The Girl Ain't Preggers"? My friend, there is only one way to find out. Score an AudioSurf demo right here (PC users only, sorry dudes!) and download Music for Video Games at the link below. [MORE...]

Radiohead Rack Up Google Hits With "Nude" Single
Host animated video contest; Liars, Underworld to open North American tour?

Come March 31, UK fans of Radiohead will have the opportunity to get "Nude". The single (what else would we be talking about?) for the string-saturated In Rainbows standout arrives that day via XL Recordings in three delicious formats: CD, 7", and digital. Depending on the format you choose, you could be treated to B-sides "4 Minute Warning" and "Down Is the New Up", both culled from the second disc in the In Rainbows discbox.

There's also talk of a "Nude" remix contest, details forthcoming. And speaking of contests, the Radioheadz have another, separate one for all the aspiring animators out there. Radiohead's U.S. label TBD, Cartoon Network's Adult Swim, and cartoon networking site aniBoom are inviting folks to submit storyboards for a music video for an In Rainbows track of their choosing. Ten finalists will be selected and given $1,000 to produce a one-minute clip, and the party responsible for the best of these gets $10,000 and the chance to make their Radiohead video, which Adult Swim will premiere. Can you top this? How about this? Contest details here.

Finally, on the Radiohead live front, the band has firmed up a couple of those Japan dates and will play a special BBC Radio 2 gig in London on April 1 (no foolin'). Fans must apply for tickets to that one via Radio 2. Last but most assuredly not least, sources are reporting that Liars (!) will open the first leg of Radiohead's North American tour. While unconfirmed at this time (and can we ever truly confirm anything concerning a crew calling themselves Liars?), that pretty much rules like no other. Rumored to open the second leg: Underworld. [MORE...]

SXSW: Saturday [Amy Phillips] (Potentially NSFW)

Home Blitz [Blind Pig Rooftop; 8:30 p.m.]

"MOOK CENTRAL," my friend Maria scrawled in my notebook as we stood around the Blind Pig waiting for Home Blitz to play. Yeah, that pretty much summed it up: backwards baseball caps, Red Hot Chili Peppers blasting on the sound system, cargo shorts.

These people are in for a big surprise, I thought. Home Blitz's ramshackle garage rock isn't exactly the best soundtrack for macking on that hottie Tri Delt in the spaghetti strap cocktail dress.

Surprisingly, I was wrong. The space didn't clear out when the New Jersey trio commenced their racket-- in fact, quite a few people seemed to be enjoying themselves, and even attempted to dance. I have underestimated you, mooks of Austin, Texas!

Home Blitz sounded just as goofy and dinky as they do on record, with singer/guitarist Daniel Dimaggio acting extra bored and whiny, in a good way. (Full disclosure: Dimaggio and I worked at the Village Voice at the same time a few years ago.) The drummer had the best drum faces I saw at SXSW, at one point jumping up from his stool to lean over the rooftop venue's railing and yell something at the crowds on Sixth Street below.

Still Going / Holy Ghost! [Pangaea; 11:30 p.m.]

Sometimes, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

At 11 p.m., I was poised in the front row of the Cedar Street Courtyard, ready for Neon Neon's set at the Indie 103.1 FM Los Angeles showcase. I love Neon Neon's debut album Stainless Style, and I was excited to see how Super Furry Animals frontman Gruff Rhys and soundscape architect Boom Bip would pull it off live.

But then a bunch of scruffy dudes took the stage, and they most certainly weren't Neon Neon. The girl next to me said that the schedule had gotten mixed up, and Neon Neon had played at 10 p.m. Here now to entertain us were the Deadly Syndrome, a deadly boring L.A. scenester band.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Consulting the handy SXSW guide, I realized that the Cedar Street Courtyard was just around the corner from Pangaea, that douchey bottle service dance club where I'd seen Robyn the night before. The DFA/Metromix/GBH showcase was in full swing, so I thought I'd stop by to check out recent DFA signings Still Going and Holy Ghost! before heading to the Perez Hilton party (more on that shortly).

Despite its previously documented shortcomings, Pangaea has an excellent sound system, perfect for the bottom-heavy mix of diva house and minimal techno that Still Going were spinning when I arrived.

Everything was going just fine-- a good mix, a dance floor that wasn't too crowded-- until Still Going handed the decks over to Holy Ghost!

Then this happened:

And this:

That's right, Pangaea employs its own go-go dancers! And it let a pair loose on the DFA showcase, positioning them on either side of the DJ setup, right next to those enormous DFA banners. The floor filled up real quick. DFA artists aren't particularly known for, um, blatant sexuality, but all of a sudden, well-crafted experimental electronic dance music had a whole bunch of new fans.

A word about the dancers themselves: they were really good! These ladies could move, and in ways I personally have never been able to contort my body. I was mesmerized, and not in a sexually attracted way. These were master craftswomen at work.

So hats off to you, girls. I hope they pay you well.

Chester French [Palm Door; 2 a.m.]

So yeah, the Perez Hilton party. As Tyler Grisham just mentioned, the swag and beverage offerings were pretty swank, and there was a hairstyling station. The crowd was pretty much what you would expect, mostly people who look like you've seen them standing in the background on "The Hills" at some club where Spencer and Heidi are having a fight.

Much has been made of Perez's influence in boosting musicians' careers, and while it remains to be seen if he can translate buzz into significant sales, the dude really does seem to genuinely love the artists that he champions. He stood right next to the stage for every performance at his party, singing along and rocking out. Which is quite a feat of stamina when the performance in question came from one Chester French.

Chester French are a duo of recent Harvard graduates discovered by fellow alum Rivers Cuomo and signed to Pharrell's Interscope imprint Star Trak.

They are beyond terrible.

Playing their third show ever at the Perez party, Chester French sang songs about girls who wear Jimmy Choos and girls who require you to use protection when having sex with them, because their sexual pasts are suspect. The latter song is apparently Chester French's debut single, and it comes in a package shaped like a CD-sized condom. D.A. Wallach, the Napoleon Dynamite-looking frontman pretending to be a sex god, threw a single into the crowd with such alarming force that when it hit me in the arm, it left a bruise.

Seriously, look at these guys! Look at them! Ack!

N.E.R.D. [Palm Door; 3 a.m.]

Providing a nice palate-cleanser after the stank of Chester French, "surprise" celebrity guests N.E.R.D. took the stage at 3 a.m. to the craziest, most packed crowd I experienced at SXSW. (Pardon the lack of good photos, I was fearing for my life.) Pharrell Williams, Chad Hugo, and Shay were joined by a fierce live band that tore through "Lapdance", "She Wants to Move", and new single "Everyone Nose".

When I'd last seen a N.E.R.D. performance, back in 2002 when their first album In Search Of… had just been released, it was clear that this was a studio project, and the Neptunes were far more comfortable behind a bank of equipment than in front of an audience. But six years later, these guys are bona fide rock stars.

SXSW: Saturday [Tyler Grisham]

The South by Southwest festival is an indispensable annual event for music industry folk to discover new artists and network with fellow-- aw, who am I kidding? We all know there's one reason you wish you had been here: The place is one big fucking party. And no parties are bigger than the show-stopping Saturday extravaganzas that close out the week's showcases. For my last day in Austin, I went on a celeb-o-rific tour of the most Hollywood-approved soirees, beginning with the one date we've all had marked on our calendars for weeks: Rachael Ray's Feedback Showcase.

Feedback Showcase With Rachael Ray [Beauty Bar; 12 p.m.]



The Beauty Bar is another multi-room venue, with an unfortunately slanted back patio, a nicely shaded front porch, and a bar with a step-down lounge and a row of vintage hairdryer seats. I'm told that when SXSW crowds aren't descending on the city, Beauty Bar is a gay-friendly spot, and the pink walls and glittery decor certainly testify to this. What more perfect place for that bubbly, bright, and dictionary-definiton "gay" (adj. happily excited : merry: keenly alive and exuberant) Rachael Ray to bless us with her populist cuisine and surprisingly hip musical tastes.





DJ Efren "Vote for Pedro" Ramirez was the afternoon's centerpiece, keeping the mojito-loaded crowd shaking their asses to a pleasantly diverse selection of tunes from Simian Mobile Disco to "Sweet Child O' Mine" to "Sensual Seduction".



On the back patio, one of Rachael's favorite bands, Denmark's Raveonettes, performed a set from this year's Lust Lust Lust. Sune Rose Wagner and crew tore threw a set of their fuzzy pop tunes while Ms. Ray stood sidestage looking to be having the time of her life. Later, her husband's band Cringe took the stage with a guest appearance by ZZ Top's Billy Gibbons. At an already odd SXSW party hosted by a cable TV chef and featuring an also-ran indie movie star, Gibbons' presence threw the WTF factor way over the roof.

















Oh, yeah, and then there was the food. This, I admit, is the reason I volunteered to cover this showcase in the first place, and I wasn't disappointed. The menu was a southwestern-themed smorgasbord featuring some bite-sized "Seven Layer Sliders", ribs, macaroni and cheese suiza, and of course, chips and dip. With plentiful pitchers of mojitos to wash it all down, Rachael kept her fans happily stuffed and peppy enough to keep dancing through the afternoon.





Kevin Barnes [Club DeVille; 3 p.m.]


Of Montreal's Kevin Barnes played an impromptu acoustic set at Club DeVille on Saturday, in between sets by Bodies of Water and the White Rabbits. The often flamboyant frontman kept it simple-- when his guitar was untuned, he simply grabbed another one of the band's from the stage, and began strumming.





Barnes opened the set with a rather morose, short new song, before launching into a cover of M.I.A.'s cover of Parvati Khan's "Jimmy". It was a breathtaking, stripped-down take on an erstwhile over-the-top jam; once the crowd got past their initial amusement, everyone was singing along to the chorus "Jimmy! Aja!" while Barnes hummed along with the original string arrangement.

Next was a slow-paced version of "Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse", with Barnes again interpreting the synth lines with some casual la las. A quick Grateful Dead cover ("Shakedown Street") and a song (jokingly) attributed to Dylan later, the brief gig was over. The crowd, delighted by this unexpected addition to the bill, realized it was time to return to regularly scheduled programming.











Perez Hilton's One Night in Austin [Palm Door; 10 p.m.]


Say what you will about Perez Hilton's encouragement of the feeding frenzy that is modern, web-based paparazzism, but dude knows how to throw a party. From the moment I got through the door and was awash in the smell of vanilla scented candles and pink spotlights, mountains of Cafe Bustelo espresso, and gratis Fuze drinks (not to mention gratis anything drinks), I knew I was in the right place. The Palm Door has a huge back patio overlooking a creek, with giant oak trees towering overhead. On the wooden deck was a complimentary hair styling station, for those lucky enough to sneak a spot in line before the gig started.

Yeah, and there's the gig, too: Robyn, not exactly your first choice to bottom out a bill, nonetheless kicked off the evening pretty early around 10:30. She ran through a set of what may as well be her Greatest Hits: "Konichiwa Bitches", "Who's That Girl", and Prince's "Jack U Off", just to get things started. An adoring Perez stood stageside, shouting and clapping with the rest of the audience, who included a few other SXSW buzz acts: I spotted at least one member of Vampire Weekend and Robyn's countrywoman Lykke Li mulling about.























The Tough Alliance [Beauty Bar; 1 a.m.]


It's not always the best judge, but sometimes you can determine the right act to see by noting which other artists are hanging around waiting for a gig to start. Late, late on Saturday night, I found myself back at the Beauty Bar's front patio, waiting with Jens Lekman for his fellow Swedes the Tough Alliance to take the stage for the night's final show. I don't mind admitting I'd been waiting all week for this set.



This festival being the first time the Tough Alliance played the U.S., I had to be among the first Americans to get a glimpse of this genre-"redifining" live show. I asked Henning Fürst beforehand how he was feeling about their gigs; he dismissed nearly everything else at SXSW as "experimental" and "groundbreaking," promising me that I was in for "the most ordinary show you've ever seen." Well, once he pulled his tongue out of his cheek, he and Eric Burgland took to the pitch dark stage, music from last year's A New Chance pumping over the PA and a bizarre video projecting behind them.



Alternately shouting and leaping like chimps around the lighting rigs, swinging their mic stands (no mics, of course, necessary for lip-synching) like baseball bats, they shouted back and forth with the crowd for what felt like about five minutes. I'm told it was somewhere between 15 and 20, but regardless, it was far too short a blast of dancing and screaming and laughing. Redefine the live show? Yeah, maybe, in the same way that Girl Talk redefined the DJ set. Whatever exultant verbiage you want to use to describe it, the Tough Alliance were by far the least ordinary thing I saw all week.

SXSW: Saturday [Paul Thompson]

Throw Me the Statue [Palm Door; 12 p.m.]

"Did you all get a chance to have breakfast?", Throw Me the Statue's goofily kinetic bell player asked the crusty-eyed few at the capacious Palm Door just as I walked in the room, a few minutes after noon. Breakfast? Who has time down here? I was tripping over myself to get to Throw Me the Statue's brief set at some Seattle-centric day party I found out about mere minutes before they were scheduled to go on and picked the last bit of bagel from the corner of my mouth just as I walked up the stairs and into the hall. I hustled, 'cuz I very much wanted to hear "Lolita" from the Emerald City band's recently-reissued Moonbeams, one of my favorite songs of 2008 (so what if it's a couple years old at this point?), and my hustle paid off: After the breakfast inquisition, I was granted my bouncy "Lolita" and a mess of other good ones besides.



TMTS main man Scott Reitherman piles hook after hook onto each song, any one of which a lesser band might try to squeeze a whole tune out of. Which isn't to say they're all great, but they do stick in your head at a fairly good rate, and I found myself singing along to Moonbeams tracks I didn't know I remembered so well. "About to Walk" cuts GBV's late-period riffy pop with a little Death Cab serenity, and Reitherman shares both Mr. Pollard's and Mr. Gibbard's fixation on the meaningfully random. "This is the earliest we've ever played a show before," one of them remarked, a little amused. Not a bad way to kick off an afternoon, though, eh?

Saviours [Waterloo Records; 2 p.m.]



Man, in-stores are the worst. You can never see anything, you're always standing in front of somebody and too riddled with guilt about it to enjoy yourself, you always get distracted by King Tubby box sets or what-have-you, and it always ends too soon. Still, Waterloo Records is a beautiful, well-stocked record store (seriously, Austin, heed this unsolicited advertisement and shop there often), and kudos to them for actually having a stage-- or a drum riser, anyway-- to help alleviate at least some of the usual crap that goes along with rocking out amidst the record racks. And Saviours, for a metal band, were a pretty good fit for the scenario: They're spirited without being overbearing, possessed with an astute sense of rhythm, and just the right kind of metal to nod your head in agreement with while your eyes wander towards the rows of used CDs. Their recent Into Abaddon's one of the better metal records I've heard thus far this year, and they played it out with patience, precision, and zeal; plus, frontman Austin Barber looks a hell of a lot like ill-fated Metallica bassist Cliff Burton, which makes him hard to take your eyes off. I mean, it was a fairly technical metal band doing an in-store in the early afternoon, and they seemed just about as hungover as the crowd, so it was a far from ideal context for appreciating these guys. Still, they delivered more than expected under the circumstances, and I caught a glimpse of Eugene Mirman flipping through Chuck Berry CDs.

Ice Cube [Auditorium Shores Stage; 8 p.m.]



I got to Ice Cube's set at the gargantuan Auditorium Shores outdoor shack a few minutes before he was scheduled to go on, because, well, honestly, I had no idea Auditorium Shores was the kind of place, on a normal night, Travis Tritt might play. I'd spent the last several days catching indie rock shows in sweltering basements and fenced-in backyards, and I guess Ice Cube's recent history as the silliest actor in Hollywood led me to believe his draw as a rapper had waned a bit, so arriving to a crowd several thousand strong was both a shock and a delight. Ice Cube made three of the best rap albums ever after the demise of N.W.A., each building on the Bomb Squad's squalid sonic innovations with Public Enemy and Cube's ferocious, sometimes shockingly blunt rhyme style. Not a whole lot past his uneven fourth LP, Lethal Injection, has really been worth hearing, but Cube's a preternaturally gifted entertainer (confession: I love each and every one of his silly movies) with a new LP to plug, and if a few thousand folks want to lay out blankets on a balmy Austin evening and catch the man plugging his new album, well, I was glad to be far from the basement shows and out among 'em, if only for an hour or so.



Blasting off with his trademark "yay-YAY," Cube tore into the set like he'd never made Are We There Yet?, let alone a sequel. Accompanied by his longtime associate WC, he threw out the hits quick'n'easy, from "Natural Born Killaz" to "Bow Down" (before which a pair of hilariously gigantic "westside" hands were inflated onstage) to a parade of N.W.A. classics. Cube worked the crowd like the pro he's always been, cracking wise, crip-walking all over the huge stage, and betting Dub-C a cool grand as to which side of the audience was the livest. It was a draw, if you must know. "I feel good tonight, man," Cube brought to our attention. "Know why? 'Cuz we're live on uvntv.com, with that Microsoft Silverlight technology." Man, who would've thought a medium of data conveyance could lighten up such an intense dude? "And," he said, "because we're at South by South motherfucking West."

Cube's set was a whole lot different than all the stuff going on a few blocks northeast of Auditorium Shores, but it did give a lot of people-- including a lot of small children who I hope don't hear this much cursing on a normal day-- the chance to see some fine live music without having to wade through the downtown madness to bear witness. I had planned to duck out on Cube to check out London's fantastically obtrusive $hit & $hine at the Scoot Inn, but how could I leave something so unexpectedly great? Near the end of his set, Cube launched into a brilliant rant about the dismal state of the music business, saving some choice words for the major labels and making note of the role of the internet in the future of music, which did my heart good. But not as good as "It Was a Good Day"-- still the world's most powerful legal mood-enhancer-- or the fact that Ice Cube the movie star just reminded a lot of people that, hey, he's still a fine rapper with some not too awful sounding new material. Musical material, anyway: IMDB reports that Cube will soon appear in Comeback, directed by one Fred Durst.

Constantines [The Parish; 10 p.m.]



I don't carry the same baggage my buddy Dave Maher does with regard to the Constantines, which may explain my more favorable impression of the Canadian crew's set at the showcase put on by their new label Arts & Crafts. I've never seen 'em live before, and though I do enjoy their records a good deal-- particularly Shine a Light-- I figured a tightly wound set featuring some husky, well-timed vocals from Bryan Webb would do. I got that, all right, but Constantines did more to impress.

It's a little hard to put one's finger on just why I thought they were so so good: They hold back, hinting at a blow-out that only occasionally comes made all the more satisfying by its infrequency, riling up the crowd by rolling through their terse tunes with only a little added live muscle, and letting Webb do his thing all over them. When they go for it, it's astonishing: "Nighttime Anytime (It's Alright)" is one of the more well-crafted songs of the decade, and live, they really peal out the back end with those prickly guitars and that still-remarkable hook.

The rest of the set found them playing with this loud-soft dynamic to tremendous effect, and by the time it was over, I was simultaneously all riled up and all smiles. I overheard Dave and Bryan talking a little later in the evening, and Webb called it the worst set they'd played in Austin, too jazzy, full of blue notes. But it's those occasional rough patches that give the otherwise musically straightforward Constantines their palpable grit, and if this is, as Dave wrote the other day, "grown man" music, well sir, these guys make being a grown man sound like a pretty rocky thing.



Jason Collett [The Parish; 11 p.m.]



If the Constantines borrow a trick or two from Springsteen (fair use, I'd say), labelmate Jason Collett's more of a Mellencamp. Like Johnny Cougar, his tidy tunes have a little genial country edge to 'em, but he's a better singer than songwriter, and his spare arrangements and occasionally unremarkable melodies are really more pleasant than great. Live, Collett's easygoing tunes don't inspire a whole lot of passion, though they're no chore to stand through, unless, of course, you're the permadancing bassist in his totally underused backing band just looking for something to do.

Collett's tunes are simple and direct-- both good things-- but there's just not a whole lot to 'em, and though you want to root for the guy, you realize after Jason and company meander through yet another one just why Jason's fellow Broken Social Scenester Kevin Drew gets more love. There are chops here, for sure, but Collett probably ought to spend a little more time on honing them: 2006's Idols of Exile and the recent Here's to Being Here aren't a heck of a lot different from one another in many ways, with each tune trying desperately to out-mellow the next. Collett seems like a kindly fellow and I certainly don't dislike his music one bit: I'm just far from blown away, and I'm not sure just how long I can hold out for him to pen his "Cherry Bomb".

Los Campesinos! [The Parish; 12 a.m.]



I've seen one or all of Los Campesinos! out at a good many of the shows I've caught at SXSW, unassumedly taking their places among the crowds and always looking like they were just damn glad to be there. They are, it would appear, music fans first and a top-notch indie pop band second: Gareth Campesino even berated the capacity crowd at the Parish for choosing his band over Times New Viking, who were playing somewhere else in town at the same time. I love TNV more than the next guy-- I saw them three times this week, after all-- but I was still awfully glad about the choice I had made this evening.

So how were they? Just amazing. Bounding onto the stage with "Broken Heartbeats Sound Like Breakbeats", they were twice as much raucous, exuberant fun onstage as they are on record. At one point, Aleksandra danced her way across the stage, dodging a madly pogoing Gareth and all the rest to tell the soundman to turn up her monitor, when most bands would've just, you know, made the request into the microphone at a quiet time. There's just no quiet time with these kids: They tear through their songs, bopping up and down and making a glorious clatter with every move. You do catch a little bit of a "how did we get here?" expression on their faces and inflection in Gareth's stage banter from time to time, which is perfectly understandable: A year ago, it would've been inconceivable that this lot would be going on after seasoned vets like the Constantines and a guy from BSS (of whom I can only imagine they're fans), but there they were, and deservedly so.

Untangling the cables and setting the levels of the the seven Campesinos! proved more of a chore than the showcase organizers must've thought it'd be, so Gareth-- to a chorus of disappointed groans-- told us that he'd been told they've have to cut things a bit short. That in mind, he noted "this is the motherfucking megamix" before launching into a cover of The Wedding Present's Pavement's 1989 "Box Elder" and, seamlessly, "You! Me! Dancing!". You're right, man: That is a motherfucking megamix. They closed things out, probably to the chagrin of some official sort looking at their watch, with "Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks", which, at some point, found Gareth hopping into the crowd and singing along. He was hard to recognize among the likeminded sorts watching on.

I had a real good time at SXSW this year, but you know who I suspect had an even better one? This bunch.

SXSW: Saturday [Matt LeMay] (Potentially NSFW)

[Breeders Photos by Christine Tadler]

On the last big day of SXSW, a non-SXSW event was the hottest ticket in Austin: The Mess With Texas party, which began last year as an impeccably curated show at a small bar and has expanded this year to become an impeccably curated show at a huge park. Doing SXSW "right" essentially involves finding the right balance between frantically running across town to catch every band you want to see, and chilling out with the understanding that wherever you are, something good will probably be happening somewhere nearby. Though not officially a part of the festival, Mess with Texas Party perfectly embodies this balance; three stages, all day, a broad and exciting assortment of music and comedy. You can push up front and stand in rapt attention, or you can stake out a nice spot on the grass and chill out with a beer and some BBQ. Still recovering from Merge's excellent showcase on Friday night, I tended more towards the latter.

Hard 'n Phirm [Super Deluxe Stage; 4:15 p.m.]

Paul F. Tompkins [Super Deluxe Stage; 4:35pm]

Brian Posehn [Super Deluxe Stage; 5 p.m.]

Human Giant [Super Deluxe Stage; 5:15 p.m.]

The party's third and smallest stage spent most of the day hosting a rapid-fire barrage of excellent comedians. We arrived just in time to catch a pretty-funny set from musical comedy duo Hard 'n Phirm, and brief stand-up sets from Paul F. Tompkins, Leo Allen, and Brian Posehn (who, having lost his voice, whispered his jokes to Eugene Mirman for more robust delivery). Aziz Ansari and Rob Huebel of Human Giant finished the comedy set with a brief and hilarious bit involving t-shirt guns and armed robbery.

Pissed Jeans [Stage 1; 4:40pm]

Jay Reatard [Stage 1; 5:15pm]

Across Waterloo Park at the party's first stage, audience members were treated to a one-two punch from Pissed Jeans and Jay Reatard. If one were to reify the bands currently trading in rough, energetic rock into a "scene," Pissed Jeans (signed to Sub Pop) and Jay Reatard (recently signed to Matador) would both qualify as dignified ambassadors to the world of indie rock at large. The two bigger stages were set up perfectly for quick set changes-- each was adjacent and utilized the same soundsystem. As Pissed Jeans finished, Jay Reatard was ready to go.

Atlas Sound [2nd Stage; 5:25 p.m.]

Crystal Antlers [2nd Stage; 6:10pm]

Mr Free and the Satellite Freakout [2nd Stage; 6:30 p.m.]

After Jay Reatard's excellent set, the better part of the evening belonged to the middle stage. Atlas Sound provided one of the party's many pleasant surprises; I enjoyed their record just fine, but was really impressed by how their songs came across in a stripped-down, good-time live setting. Neon Neon showed up late to the party and couldn't play, so their set was split between Crystal Antlers (who put on an enjoyable live show but didn't seem terribly substantive) and some band called Mr. Free and the Satellite Freakout. The band's lead singer, who I can only assume to be "Mr. Free," showed up decked out in gross make-up and an even grosser sock on his scraggly junk. I have no idea why the party organizers tried to split one set between two bands, and I was pretty relieved when they cut sock-junk-guy's mic.

No Age [Super Deluxe Stage; 7:10 p.m.]

Back at the Super Deluxe Stage, No Age provided another one of the party's pleasant surprises, playing a short, fast, and extremely fun set. Guitarist Randy Randall made a brief run out into a crowd that was more than happy to rock out along with him, highlighting the festive mood of the day.

Black Mountain [2nd Stage; 6:50 p.m.]

Islands [2nd Stage; 7:45 p.m.]

As the sun began to set, the crowd around the second stage seemed to grow exponentially. Black Mountain provided a great soundtrack for a lazy forward charge, and their chugging riff-rock was equally inviting to those pushing their way towards the stage and those sprawled out on the grass. By the time Islands took the stage, the crowd was more dense and focused, the young'n Islands fans pushing against the metal barrier and the older Breeders fans congregating around the edges. Islands are a great band to push towards the end of a party; their show was energetic and engaging, their music upbeat and full of enough big, bright changes to keep things interesting. As their set drew to a close, people began shifting over to the adjacent stage to get a good spot for the main attraction.

The Breeders [2nd Stage; 8:40 p.m.]

This was my third time seeing the Breeders live; the first was their big Chicago reunion show in 2001, and the second was at the Bowery Ballroom in New York. This show was at once the best and the most frustrating. On the plus side, the Breeders as a band seemed more energetic and purposeful than I've ever seen them before. Unfortunately, the show itself was marred by lots of technical problems: There was something going wrong somewhere in Kim Deal's signal chain that seemed to be bothering her more than it did the audience. Also, as has been the case every time I've seen the Breeders, Kim's singing seemed to hover just a little bit behind the beat, a particularly irksome tic.

Undisputed highlight of the night: When the opening bars of "Cannonball" drew throngs of kids over from the NOFX performance taking place at the main stage. Familiarity is a powerful force when that many people are assembled in one place, and the Breeders' best-known songs have the added advantage of being, uh, really really, really great. "Divine Hammer" and "Saints", in particular, totally destroyed. It was hard to get a feel for the band's new songs; the way they came off at this show, they could either be more arranged and confident, or more "adventurous" in a kind of contrived and useless way. Point is, it didn't really matter-- this was the last show of SXSW for a lot of people, and everybody present seemed happy to relax and enjoy.

So, that was SXSW. Lessons learned: Get to big showcases early, stay hydrated, and eat lots of queso. My friends say that they spend the rest of the year looking forward to SXSW, and after this week I can understand why.

SXSW: Saturday [Matthew Solarski]

Press Here, Harp magazine, and Ground Control Touring hosted a "Garden Party" at the hilltop French Legation Museum on Saturday, corralling a diverse but solid cavalcade of acts from both sides of the pond. And, being the French Legation Museum, we were treated to plenty of Serge Gainsbourg and old yé-yé classics while the performers set up. I mention this because my goodness was it ever a balm after enduring some truly god-awful bar rock between sets the previous three nights. (Did Habana Calle 6 really need to play the Spin Doctors' Pocket Full of Kryptonite all the way through?) Anyhow, one spin of "Tous Les Garçons et Les Filles"-- even the English language version, as was heard here-- more than undid the damage.

Noah and the Whale [French Legation Museum; 12:50 p.m.]


Laura Marling [French Legation Museum; 1:40 p.m.]


Lightspeed Champion [French Legation Museum; 2:20 p.m.]




Lightspeed Champion, Laura Marling, and Emmy the Great (who performed earlier in the day and joined Lightspeed for most of his set) would seem to constitute a sort of UK anti-folk scene (appropriately, the Garden Party bill also featured anti-folk queen Kimya Dawson). I suppose we could also lump in Noah and the Whale, for whom Marling sang back-up vocals and shook a shaker.

A lesson learned: don't judge a band by its ironic sunglasses. Noah and the Whale sure as hell looked like another rag-tag bunch of Brooklyn hipsters appropriating world music or whatever, but they actually hail from London, and the music that came out of their mouths and instruments was in fact earnest and innocuous folk/bluegrass with the occasional Magnetic Fields-esque ukulele ditty thrown in for good measure. Pleasant enough for a Garden Party.

Despite her kickass Spice Girls t-shirt, Marling looked more or less catatonic as she returned to the stage with a three-piece band (including Noah's fiddler) to serve up a series of shanties marked by a very English brand of melancholy. While the lyrical themes ranged from dejection to, um, resignation, the songs themselves were actually rather lively. In one of them Marling asked, "What will you do with a girl who refuses to be alive?" to which I reply, "find myself oddly captivated by her."

I must confess I don't much care for the Lightspeed Champion record, but live the one-time Test Icicle's appeal began to make sense. There's just something so dadgummed endearing about his way of doing things, whether it's his choice of headgear, his polite and slightly awkward interactions with crowd and bandmates, or the way his songs struggle to go places they really oughtn't. It all feels very "real", for lack of a better way of saying it, and that feeling is not unlike one I felt some years ago when first embracing the early Saddle Creek roster (whose ranks, not coincidentally, contribute to Lightspeed's recordings). During a cover of Weezer's "Perfect Situation" it became clear: this is music for people to relate to, imperfections and all, and we could perhaps use more like it right now.

Sons & Daughters [French Legation Museum; 3 p.m.]




Scotland's Sons & Daughters look damn good and play some decent enough foot-stomping rock, but the most interesting aspect of this set by far was the way singer/guitarist Scott Paterson's hair matched the head on his Burns six-string. I've heard of people resembling their pets, but that is some next-level crazy shit right there.

J Mascis [French Legation Museum; 3:50 p.m.]


Thurston Moore and the New Wave Bandits [French Legation Museum; 4:30 p.m.]






J Mascis and Thurston Moore


From UK upstarts to American indie demigods, the tone of the Garden Party took an abrupt turn with the arrival of a seated, solo J Mascis. The long-haired one unloaded several Dinosaur Jr. cuts-- including "Quest", "Get Me", and "Not You Again"-- plus Mascis/Fog tune "Alone", which culminated in one ass-kicker of a five-odd-minute solo. With bass and drums stripped away, I found myself marveling at how well Mascis' chord changes and distortion resonances work in tandem to generate mood in his songs.

This was a "party" after all, and Thurston Moore came feeling festive. For starters, he introduced the band as "Bromance", meaning something along the lines of "the way two dudes show each other love." Thurston then demonstrated by bro-ing up to bandmate Chris Brokaw (or should I say BROkaw). "Bromance", rounded out by Sonic Youth's Steve Shelley on drums, Samara Lubelski on violin, and No-Neck Blues Band's Matt Heyner on bass, delivered some material off Thurston's latest solo album Trees Outside the Academy, but it was Moore's freewheeling banter between songs and during times of technical difficulty that made for the set's highlight. "I'll see you animals in the streets," he declared in closing. "Either that or I'll see you at Jandek."

Misha [Lambert's; 8 p.m.]


No Kids [Lambert's; 9 p.m.]




Thurston didn't see me at Jandek (who I caught last year and enjoyed very much, thank you), but he might have seen me smiling a bit had he wandered over to Lambert's for the Anticon/Tomlab showcase. First up was New York City's Misha, who were perhaps a bit too giddy for their own good. I felt like I was watching a group of youngsters showing ma and pa this neat music they'd been making, and like ma and pa, I feel compelled to be nice and encouraging. Keep at it, Misha, and some day you'll dazzle 'em!

A childlike glee of another sort underpins the genre dalliances of Misha's Tomlab labelmates No Kids, who performed next. Let me first say that I really rather like this Vancouver trio's debut, Come Into My House. What works for me is the sense of fascination, curiosity, and playfulness, manifest both in the lyrics-- which consider even the littlest things with a thoughtfulness such things so seldom receive-- and in the band's willingness to venture outside their presumed comfort zone sonically. It's like, hey, on this song, why don't we pretend we're Usher? Okay! That spirit, ultimately characteristic of childhood, poked through often during this performance, though I suspect the Anticon heads weren't feeling it so much, as evidenced by the din of chatter enveloping the room.

Nadja [The Ale House; 10 p.m.]




I may be guilty of getting a wee bit too excited about this gig. My favorite things about Nadja-- the dynamic sweep found on compositions like "Memory Leak" and "Incubation/Metamorphosis", and all those doomy layers that threaten to swallow the listener whole-- were largely absent from Saturday night's program. Instead, Nadja played a pair of pieces that fell more on the drone end of their sonic spectrum and emphasized subtle changes. And while I'd have happily submitted to these sounds, the volume level was simply too modest to allow for such a thing. On the bright side, Nadja did inspire at least one freaky goth person to interpretive dance through their set.

White Shoes & the Couples Company [Habana Annex; 11 p.m.]


And now for something complete different...indie pop! From Indonesia! Jakarta sextet White Shoes & the Couples Company (minus a guitarist here) came from halfway around the world to entertain, and entertain they did. Between the slick matching wedding band getup, the highly danceable retro pop stylings, and the picture-perfect poise of charismatic vocalist Aprilia Apsari, there was much to love about this Minty Fresh-signed act. Separated from this adorable performance, the music may have come across a bit hokey, but give these kids credit for their willingness to put on a show, complete with sing- and clap-alongs, much moving of feet, and even a cute drum solo bit.

So long, SXSW 2008! It's been real.

Additional Photos:

She & Him [French Legation Museum; 5:15 p.m.]






Okkervil River [French Legation Museum; 6:05 p.m.]




Minipop [Bourbon Rocks; 1:20 a.m.]

SXSW: Saturday [Dave Maher]

Slim Cessna's Auto Club [Bull McCabe's; 1 p.m.]

Though it's centrally located right on Red River St. in the stretch between Emo's and Stubb's, Bull McCabe's isn't listed as an official venue in the SXSW 2008 Pocket Guide. It's not quite a dive bar, but the place definitely has a local feel. There's no natural space for a band to perform there, so Slim Cessna's Auto Club were forced to block the bathrooms during their set of rumbling, overdriven blues tunes.

If Mad Max were a cowboy, this would be his favorite band. Between the banjo feedback and the vocal tag team of Cessna and second singer/guitarist Munly Munly, the Auto Club brought an apocalyptic snarl to the bar that had the two singers dancing like there was a revival going on. At the ends of songs, the audience would hesitate a second before cheering. Cessna and crew had done such a good job of establishing a wild, unpredictable mood that people weren't sure if the band was done.

David Bazan [Maggie Mae's Rooftop; 8 p.m.]

Speaking of revivals, the Christian dude formerly known as Pedro the Lion kicked off the Barsuk showcase. David Bazan has gotten a lot of flak for his faith, but as someone who got into punk through MxPx and checked liner notes for shout-outs to god until high school, I liked it. In fact, Pedro the Lion was one of the bands that ushered me into the indie music world. But somewhere along the line-- and I suspect because of all that flak-- Bazan got ornery. And frankly, his irreverent approach to Christianity got dumber. He went from writing songs about the merits of girls who don't shave their legs to a constant stream of adultery and corporate business tales with "casual" references to cum, like he was the Perez Hilton of indie songwriters.

Needless to say, I stopped paying attention. But my curiosity got the best of me the other night. Unfortunately, my expectations were justified, as Bazan played a set that felt more like a soundcheck than an actual show. The whole time he seemed distracted, and while he said it was a pleasure to be there, it felt like the exact opposite. There was none of the standby Q&A he used to do at shows, and overall, he was less spirited than he used to be. It's sad that someone who used to make music so insightful and touching has become so depressing. Instead of the new stuff he played, I recommend checking out the song about the girls who don't shave their legs.

Jim James [St. David's Church; 10 p.m.]

People who diss bands who use a lot of vocal reverb say that since it's not a natural effect (unless you're in a cave or grain silo), it's a mask for an insufficiency of some sort and shows a lack of confidence. Or, it might be simpler than that: reverb sounds cool. There are certainly worse reasons for making an aesthetic choice.

As it happens, another place with built-in reverb is a church, so My Morning Jacket frontman and reverb addict Jim James barely needed any in his mic for his performance at St. David's. His set blended directly into the M. Ward set beforehand, and the two shared duties on songs by both. They ended the partnership with a very sweet hug, after which James launched into the one song I most wanted him to play, "Bermuda Highway". The rest of the night held guest appearances by MMJ band members and light banter from James throughout. The Evil Urges songs sounded great in this context, and the fact that I quickly recognized them after hearing them for the first time only two nights ago felt like a very good sign. That record can't come soon enough.

Wiz Khalifa [Austin Music Hall; 9:30 p.m.]


Pittsburgh MC Wiz Khalifa played a totally competent set at the Austin Music Hall on Saturday, but that's about the most I can say for his portion of the show. It's always strange to see future mainstream/aiming-for-mainstream rappers play small shows, but the fact that the crowd was not particularly into him called into question his appeal beyond blogs. Really though, his biggest faux pas was wearing a Houston Astros hat. Sure they suck, but you should be repping the Pirates, dude! At least pick a team from a different division. That shit is shameful.

Murs [Austin Music Hall; 10:40 p.m.]

Assuming everyone likes sex and jokes and video games, Murs has an everyman appeal that's hard to deny. Couple that with a self-effacing, totally energetic stage presence, and you've got one of the best shows I saw this week. It took a while and a couple of utterly mediocre mixtape rappers for him to reach the stage, but when he did, it was worth the wait. Murs is such a generous performer, manifested literally through his vocal support of people who download his music, and he complimented his song choices with banter like, "MySpace fucked up my life. All these girls promise to give you some pussy, and then all they want to do is watch movies." The highlight of his crowd-altering set was "Bad Man!": sexual, frustrated, and hilarious, all at the same time.

Photos: Pitchfork/Windish Austin Bash

Emo's photos by Nilina Mason-Campbell; Emo's Jr. photos by Stacy Schwartz (unless otherwise indicated); Above: No Age by Nilina Mason-Campbell

Pitchfork and the Windish Agency hosted a party Friday afternoon that just so happened to coincide with the SXSW festivities. And what a party it was! No Age, A Place to Bury Strangers, Yeasayer, Times New Viking, Fleet Foxes, Atlas Sound, Bon Iver, Fuck Buttons, Jay Reatard, White Williams, Lykke Li, and High Places all brought the good stuff to Emo's and Emo's Jr. Here's what it looked like:

High Places [Emo's Jr.; 12 p.m.]




Lykke Li [Emo's; 12:30 p.m.]








White Williams [Emo's Jr.; 1 p.m.]




Jay Reatard [Emo's; 1:30 p.m.]






Fuck Buttons [Emo's Jr.; 2 p.m.]





Photo 3 by Matthew Solarski

Bon Iver [Emo's; 2:30 p.m.]








Atlas Sound [Emo's Jr.; 3 p.m.]



Bottom photo by Nilina Mason-Campbell

Fleet Foxes [Emo's; 3:30 p.m.]




Times New Viking [Emo's Jr.; 4 p.m.]



Bottom photo by Nilina Mason-Campbell

Yeasayer [Emo's; 4:30 p.m.]






A Place to Bury Strangers [Emo's Jr.; 5 p.m.]


No Age [Emo's; 5:30 p.m.]

SXSW: Friday [Amy Phillips]

The Ting Tings [Stubb's; 8:00 p.m.]

The Ting Tings have one great song: "That's Not My Name". It's a sassy little kiss-off that rides a bump n grind beat to an ecstatic finale, with singer/guitarist Katie White shouting the title over a chorus of multi-tracked Katies.

The British duo closed their set with "That's Not My Name", crushing everything they played before it. But hey, one great song is a lot more than most buzz bands plying their wares at SXSW can boast, right? The Ting Tings also have charisma and a grasp of rhythm and heft that's sorely lacking in most of their NME-boosted peers, which makes me think they might stick around. They just need to come up with a few more great songs.

Santogold [Stubb's; 9:00 p.m.]

Yet another artist riding a tsunami of hype to a prime SXSW slot, Santogold seems to be everybody's Next Big Thing pick, including the people at Downtown Recordings, who will issue her album this summer. The incessant hype has left a bad taste in my mouth, but I like Santogold's two songs (the rumbling "Creator" and "L.E.S. Artistes", which totally rips Madonna's "Die Another Day", amirite?), so I thought I'd give her a chance and check out her live show.

Well, consider me an official member of Team Santogold as of 9:30 p.m. last night.

First of all, this girl can sing. Really sing. Second of all, she has songs. Real songs, with hooks and choruses and twitchy, polyglot beats (some courtesy of Diplo, who acted as her DJ during the brief, 20-minute set). Third of all, she has backup singer/dancers who mostly stand there looking fierce, but every now and then bust out the choreography. Fourth of all, she has a crazy cute smile.

I've heard Santogold dismissed as an MIA clone due to the two women's penchant for culture- and genre-hopping, as well as their shared collaborators (Diplo, Switch). But you know what? I'm GLAD there are two musically omnivorous, defiantly individualistic women out there with strong, colorful personalities and fascinating backstories. In fact, I wish there were more! It's not like only one retro garage rock band is allowed to be popular at a time, or there aren't a hundred shoegazer outfits all vying for the same accolades. If we're OK with salivating over both Jay Reatard and King Khan, or My Morning Jacket and Band of Horses and Fleet Foxes, then we should be OK with giving our love to both MIA and Santogold.

Biz3 showcase [Emo's; 10:30 p.m.]

SXSW is full of wacky promotional ideas, from bands dressing up like robots/cowboys/cheerleaders to hand out fliers on Sixth Street to corporations plastering their names all over every inch of space (my hotel room key is sponsored by Island Records).

But far and away my favorite promotional idea of SXSW so far was the Kid Sister Pro Nails salon at the Biz3 showcase at Emo's. In the merch booth in a corner of the main space, a trio of manicurists painted patrons' nails for free, helping us all look just a little bit more fabulous.

I got mine done up bright red while watching Does It Offend You, Yeah? play. This, my friends, is the life.

That up there is a photo of Graham Walsh of Holy Fuck getting his nails did.

Mika Miko [Emo's IV; 12:00 a.m.]

Paul Thompson covered Mika Miko's extremely brief 8 p.m. set at the Lovepump showcase, and while their midnight set at the Kill Rock Stars showcase was short, at 30 minutes it was quite a bit longer than the earlier one.

Mika Miko are the sexiest band I've seen so far at SXSW, so effortlessly cool and confident and just plain down and dirty ROCKING. The pristine confines of Emo's IV made for an odd location to watch their grimy scuzz-punk in action, but the amped up crowd pogoed like we were all in some rat-infested basement.

I wish more bands like Mika Miko existed-- fearless girl gangs fucking shit up whenever they hit the stage. You know, bringing us back to the glory days of L7, Babes in Toyland, and 7 Year Bitch. Can we make that happen please?

Robyn [Pangea; 1:00 a.m.]

Pangea is a douchebag dance club infamous for its bottle service policy. Outside, there's a line of women in micro-minis and heels, accompanied by dudes wearing too much hair gel, waiting to get in. When I go to the bathroom, the girl behind me is startled by her reflection in the mirror. "Omigod!" she squeals to her friend. "I totally thought somebody just came up right behind me!"

When we arrive, the Vines-- who apparently are still a band-- are covering Outkast's "Ms. Jackson".

This, I say, is what hell is like.

A half hour later, Robyn is on stage, doing a medley of Snoop's "Sexual Eruption" and Salt-N-Pepa's "Push It". She's accompanied by two drummers and a keyboardist, and she's mugging it up like she's the biggest pop star in the world (which she totally should be). Everybody is going absolutely crazy.

This is what heaven is like.

That's the power of Robyn-- she literally lights up the room with her presence. "There are so many of you, and so much of me," she stated near the end of her set.

I don't think I could have picked a better set list. "Be Mine!", "Handle Me", "Who's That Girl", "Konichiwa Bitches", "With Every Heartbeat", "Cobrastyle", a version of "Show Me Love" accompanied only by drum pad beats that sounded just like the Knife's OneMusic version of "Heartbeats", a cover of Prince's "Jack U Off".

I am totally gay for Robyn right now.

These young men in the audience also seemed to be enjoying Robyn's performance a great deal:

SXSW: Friday [Paul Thompson]

Mika Miko [Flaming Cantina; 8 p.m.]

Mika Miko were either the first or second band I stuck into South by Southwest's showcase search engine deal. I have been turning Mika Miko's C.Y.S.L.A.B.F. over quite a bit in the last few weeks, I'm convinced the music coming out of the L.A. underground right now is among the best in the world, and I've never seen 'em before, so I had big plans to head down to the Flamingo and let 'em punk rock me for a while. A while, mind. Not six minutes.



Mika Miko were on first at the Panache/Lovepump showcase, and all five of 'em rolled into the club just about the time the Flamingo staff started admitting those of us in the small line that'd formed along 6th Street. They must've soundchecked beforehand, cuz they were raring to go, and I reckon I should've mentally prepared myself for a brief little blast when red phone-wielding singer Jennifer "Victor Fandgore" Clavin nonchalantly told the 50 or so folks in the crowd "we're going to play five songs."

The thing is, C.Y.S.L.A.B.F. jams 13 songs into just over 20 minutes, so five Mika Miko songs is, well, not a real long time. In their short stint onstage, they were good-- they hurried a bit too much to really be great, though it's there-- and they looked to be having a hell of a good time doing what they did. Hard to say just what this was a showcase for excepting perhaps brevity, but I sure hope they played a little more of the 45 minutes they were allotted at the Kill Rock Stars shebang later on in the evening. I was pretty bummed, but a minute later, I saw Bushwick Bill being interviewed in the middle of 6th Street, and that kinda made up for it.



Herman Dune [Stephen's F Bar; 9 p.m.]



I caught Herman Dune in a posh hotel lounge a block or so away from the downtown mobocracy, the kind of spot where they serve neon cocktails in all manner of fruit flavors and you feel kind of weird being all unshowered and covered in handstamps. It turned out to be a fine setting for Dune's sweet, silly Jonathan Richman-inspired, country-tinged American pastorals, made all the more charming by the fact that Dune is both French and seemingly the nicest man walking the earth at this moment. Dune's peppy little numbers about love and driving in cars are perfect mixtape fodder, and Dune knows how to work the crowd, alternating between a showy Chuck Berry duck-walk and a meek "thank you veddy much" to close every tune. "I don't know if you have had a chance to be puppetized," Dune muttered, "but I have." He then brought out a friend who manned a Dune puppet through "1-2-3 Apple Tree" to pretty amusing effect. The set occasionally threatened to veer towards the precious-- especially with the puppet, and especially in this pristine setting where even the appletini set were chuckling at his punchlines-- but the songs are just a bit too strong for that, and Dune curses just a tad too much for them to get too cute.



Telepathe [Emo's IV Lounge; 10 p.m.]

I took the kind of risk with Telepathe you're supposed to down here, I think: I went to see the Brooklyn trio having heard precisely one of their songs in my life: "I Can't Stand It", a swirly thing from the Rare Book Room's just-released Living Bridge compilation. "I Can't Stand It" is the jam, one of the best tracks on one of the better compilations in recent memory, pushing a big melody all over the place. And I was pretty jazzed to get a shot at seeing them play a few more tunes not unlike it and writing a nice thing about how we should maybe watch out for Telepathe.

And, in fact, you should watch out for Telepathe. They're not very good.



Live, Telepathe feature uncoordinated, awkward dancing, inaudible chatting, the occasional tuneless singing and some sorta spacey, minimal beats. That's really and truly about it. As a bit of confrontational theatre, it's interesting enough for maybe one "song," and then you get to wondering when the hell they're gonna stop swiveling and play something that resembles music. I scooted in a few minutes after they started and may have missed "I Can't Stand It", but believe me when I tell you nothing else they played is even in the same ballpark. This, I imagine, is what people who don't think much of the spare, shimmering High Places think of High Places, but at least those two put some tune in their tunes. This was just formless, dull, and, eventually, grating. Maybe I'm missing something.

Panther [Emo's IV Lounge; 11 p.m.]



Just shy of a year ago, I saw Panther play in this weird converted autoshop in Chicago. Armed only with an iPod full of spasmodic funk of his own design and some fleet footwork, Charlie Salas-Humara gave one of the only good performances I've ever seen using the generally dubious (or, I've noticed, generally electroclash) iPod-as-backing band setup. I was really into the satisfyingly strange Secret Lawns at that point, which I'd say is a lot closer to the record Beck should've made after Midnite Vultures than anything he's done since.

Panther recently became a duo, Salas-Humara recently enlisted Joe Kelly, late of 31Knots, to sit behind the drums both live and on record, and recent MySpace bulletins would suggest they're looking for a third. Yeah, the drums add a nice kick to the room, and the more streamlined funk explorations of the recent 14 kt God do sound better live than on record. But compared to Secret Lawns, which hit you at all angles at all times with its buzzing synths and Brainiac rhythms, the tunes are just a little dumb and more than a little too simplistic, and that's also made a bit clearer when it's just a dude chanting over a guy smacking the snare. And, since Salas-Humara now has an electronics rig and, eventually, a guitar to attend to, his dancing-- a sight to behold, as you can see here-- is broken up every few seconds by another knob to turn. It was a thoroughly okay performance, but I miss the dude with the jambox holding out his palm and blowing invisible pixie dust all over everything. Now that I would've liked to've seen again.



Kid Sister [Emo's Main Room; 12:10 a.m.]



I wrangled my way into the capacity crowd at Emo's specifically to catch Kid Sister and Clipse, but was told by the friendly young lady working the door that they were running "impossibly late." So, poor me, I had to catch the Cool Kids' last couple songs and then power through DJ A-Trak's cavalcade of remixes. The Cool Kids were live as ever, and I'm a little biased towards anybody who shouts out the Chi so often, but I was too far back to really engage with it. I muscled up a little close for A-Trak's jerky set, who threw out roughly as many bangers as he did pleas for the crowd to shout out his label, Fool's Gold, in an "are you ready to rumble?" voice. If they were trying to get me amped for what was coming-- and they were, cuz they told me-- mission accomplished.



And then, to the strains of the "Monday Night Football" theme, out popped Kid Sister. I know we cover Kid Sis and the whole Chicago scene on display here a lot in these diary things, but there's a reason for it: Live and in the flesh, Kid Sister is a sexy beast and a party monster, drawing all eyes to her even as those Chromeo goofballs mugged in the background. Kid Sis doesn't have a whole lot of songs to her credit at this point-- though that'll change soon-- so they're all familiar favorites to anybody with an ear to the hype machine. But the set was tempered by mic issues, and a lyrical gal like Kid Sister had to work extra hard to impress a crowd who couldn't make out a damn word she was saying. With her guy A-Trak on the boards and baby bro/Flosstradamus party-starter J2K echoing her lines, Kid Sister goofed with the crowd, juked and switchboarded and all that, and basically just got awesome all over the spot. And that's Kid Sister minus her best quality: all that glorious mess she's always talking.

Clipse [Emo's Main Room; 12:50 a.m.]



Kid Sister is a party, but Clipse is some contemplative head-nod shit. Sure, they bring the heat, and there's probably not a better live hip-hop act out there (though the one right before 'em is up there), but the incongruity of a bunch of soused indie rockers dry-humping to a bunch of songs about yayo makes me think not everybody there was really listening. Clipse, it probably goes without saying at this point, are absolutely at the top of their lyrical game right now, and their Re-Up Gang's recent third volume of their We Got It for Cheap mixtape series finds the foursome pruning some of their ill-fated commercial tendencies and honing their masterful craft even further. Still, there was a party going on right before Clipse showed, and a party it remained, which seemed to add fuel to Malice and particularly Pusha T's fire. Maybe dancing to Clipse isn't such a bad idea after all.

It was, in many ways, just your typical Clipse show: They came out, knocked every last line out of the park, bemoaned their recent commercial failings, asked if anybody had actually paid money for Hell Hath No Fury (how could you not buy that record?), and barely gave themselves a moment to breathe for the better part of an hour. The energy those two bring to the stage, disconsonant dancing from the crowd notwithstanding, is bigger than two dudes and a handful of great rap songs, and they're right to think they should be near the top of everyone's list. Not surprisingly, they eventually brought out Ab-Liva and, later, Sandman, and, with the Re-Up Gang assembled, tore through a good chunk of the new mixtape. Bringing out more folks at a rap show, as you probably know, is almost never a good idea, but Sandman and particularly Liva are operating on a level not that far from Clipse's, and it was a pretty great moment to be laughing right along with Pusha T at Liva's line in "Ride Around Shining" about how he'll "make Oliver Twist like Dickens". "No radio play, no video play," Pusha once again pointed out. "Ya'll the motherfuckers who kept us alive." Man, you are so welcome.

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