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October 08, 2005
If you want to get to heaven, you've got to live a little hell.
Note: This review is also on the Junkmedia site. Being the considerate person I am, I let them publish it first. Here you have the added bonus of being able to click on each band and see some of the photos I took. ACL was more fun than people should be allowed to have in 108 degree heat. I can't wait for next year.
This past weekend I died and went to rock and roll heaven. And even though it felt more like the fiery pits of hell, it was worth every sweaty dust-choked minute. The Austin City Limits Festival is like the grand finale at the fourth of July fireworks when everything's exploding at once and you don't know where to look and it's really loud and your senses get all overwhelmed and it's like a big Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally orgasm. With 130 bands on eight stages over three days, ACL is a musical smorgasbord of cruise ship proportions. There are gospel bands, folk singers, pop stars, country bands, and many of the best alternative bands around.
First we need to talk about the heat. Holy crap it's hot. Brain-melting, soul-sucking hot. Friday is 101 degrees and humid. We think that's bad, but then it gets worse. By Sunday, (the hottest day of the year in Eastern Texas) the temperature at the Austin Airport reaches 108. That's right. 108. With humidity. And full sun. So picture this: you're outside in this insane heat, you've been waiting months to see your favorite band, so you're damn well going to plant yourself at the barrier to get a good spot. You're slathered in sun block because the UV index is off the charts, you're sweating rivulets, and there's a hot wind blowing a desert's worth of dust around. The dust gets into your eyes, up your nose, into your lungs, and sticks to every part of your body. When you finally stumble home and into the shower, you watch the water around your feet turn black and even though you scrub and scrub, there's no way it's all going to come off. But hey, sometimes you've got to suffer for your rock and roll, and it certainly beats the original forecast which called for hurricane Rita to deluge the Austin area with rain and wind, worrying organizers that they might have to cancel.
On to the music.
Friday:
I miss the first band I want to see – Kasabian – because it takes an hour of driving around downtown Austin before we can find a parking garage that isn't full and doesn't say, "No Event Parking." I just catch the last bit of their last song as we walk onto the grounds. The first band I do see is Mates of State. I'm not familiar with their music, but at the urging of my friends I check them out. They are adorable – catchy, perky pop that sounds a lot fuller than just the organ and drums the two of them play. They attract a big crowd of fans who know all their songs. This proves to be true for every band I see and warms the cockles of my cynical heart no end. Alternative music is alive and well in the heartland despite lack of support from commercial radio and video stations. Long live the musical underground!
Next up is Lucinda Williams. She may not be young or indie, but boy does she have soul and grit. She looks and sounds great, and plays some new songs and some old favorites. She dedicates "Crescent City" to the victims of hurricane Katrina and ends with a breath taking version of "Get Right with God." I want to be just like her when I grow up.
I pop into the media trailer to cool off a bit after Lucinda and before Spoon and overhear one of the photographers grumble, "I guess I have to go take pictures of Spoon. Why does everybody like Spoon?" Excuse me, but how is it possible not to like Spoon? What's not to like about clean, rhythmic, danceable rock with interesting obtuse lyrics? I've wanted to see them forever and they do not disappoint. In fact they are so good, I stay to see their whole set and miss my chance to take pictures of the Allman Brothers, which is ok, because as I see when I make my way there, the Allmans are charting new territory on the grizzled front. They still kick all kinds of southern rock ass though, and they play a set of crowd pleasing hits like Melissa and Whipping Post.
I've never been a huge Black Crowes fan but I've always thought they'd be a great band to see live and they are. Chris Robinson says from the stage, "This is our first time playing ACL – the only place where hippies and rednecks can get together and have a little session. And the only place where you can say 'hippies and rednecks' and no one gets offended." Between the Allmans and the Crowes, the smell of pot is so thick that everyone in the crowd ends up stoned and goes home happy.
Saturday:
Tegan and Sara are one of the few acts to cancel due to weather related travel problems, so the first act I see today is Martin Sexton. He hasn't changed much from the time I saw him at a new artist showcase maybe eight years ago, but he blew the competition out of the water that night and continues to write engaging blues-inspired folk rock. His voice soars from baritone to falsetto and even though he's one person he fills the stage.
The funny thing is that before Martin Sexton I take pictures of Built to Spill, but I have no memory of this until I'm home four days later, and uploading my photos. I remember watching their set from the shade while drinking my Starbucks iced coffee, but that's about it. They were great. Yeah, great. No really, I liked them. And I met a nice guy from London at the Starbucks booth who says his friend works in music publishing and is looking for photographers. Did I mention it's hot?
Next up is Death Cab for Cutie who I've always thought of as the most boring band ever to become inexplicably popular. They're better than I think they're going to be; they rock more live and are less shoe-gaze-y than on record, but I don't think I'll ever love them.
The Walkmen really surprise me. When I saw them last winter I was unimpressed, but they must have just had an off night, because they explode with energy here. Despite the fact that the late afternoon sun is blazing down on their backs and into the faces of the crowd, they inject everyone with a dose of New York cool. They work hard, sound great, and look like they care whether people are enjoying themselves, which was not at all the vibe they put out when last I saw them.
I don't care how derivative Jet are, I have a weakness for 70's inspired rock sung by scruffy skinny boys. Unfortunately their set is up and down – they're great when they rock, but lose the crowd with too many ballads. It's only when they play "Are You Going to be my Girl" toward the end that everyone goes mental.
Next it's onto Bloc Party who provide one of the most fun and upbeat sets of the weekend. It's impossible to listen to this band and not move your body. Their CD's are ok, but they really shine as a live band. Again, the crowd for their set is huge and most people seem to know all the songs. Lead singer Kele Okerere says before their set ends, "This is our last song." Everyone moans. "Sad but true. Hopefully we'll be back in the not too distant future, but you've got Oasis to endure *cough* enjoy, so that shouldn't be too bad."
I couldn't agree more. Can someone please explain to me why Oasis is so revered? Has everyone been brainwashed by the Gallagher brothers egotistical hyperbole? Their songwriting is solid, but their voices are so whiny it's impossible to enjoy them. I keep an open mind for their set, but god they suck. They have no energy and look like they'd rather be anywhere but Austin. They're also the only band all weekend who show up late. Thankfully, I'm not the only one who thinks so. The next day I meet Marcus Congleton from Ambulance LTD. (who turn out to be one of my favorite new bands) and we have a nice chat about the extreme lameness of Oasis. Even people who like them say their ACL set is sub par. The night ends on a down note.
Sunday.
Sunday starts out with one of the bands I'm most looking forward to seeing: Eisley. They may not be dark or edgy (and lord knows I love dark and edgy) but they're one of the few bands who I fell instantly in love with upon first listen and have loved ever since. When I first got their Laughing City EP it didn't leave my CD player for months. If you don't know them, they're three sisters, a brother and a cousin, from Tyler, Texas. They started the band ten years ago, when they were pre-teens and now in their mid-teens to early 20's are seasoned professionals. I can't get enough of their piercingly lovely harmonies and dreamy melodic song constructions. I force my friends to leave the hotel early enough to catch their 12:30 set and despite the unbearable heat, their fans have turned out in great numbers.
Their set includes songs from their two EP's and one LP and they introduce a new song called "Many Funerals" which has almost a Celtic feel to it with Stacy and Sherri trading off lead vocals and harmonizing. Later I arrange to interview them and they are genuine and forthright. They all talk at the same time and I can barely scribble down what they're saying, never mind who's saying it. Stacy says her keyboard was so hot onstage it burned her fingers and Chauntelle says that they stay sane on the road by being their own support team. "We have fun together. We call ourselves the 'best time buddy hang out crew,'" she admits, at which Stacy gives her a horrified look and says, "I can't believe you just said that."
I also meet their parents Boyd and Kim, who I've always been curious about. They are friendly and open and don't seem to be stage parents with a hidden agenda to push their kids to fame and fortune. They're a normal family, just a very talented one. When Kim says she's not feeling well because of the heat they all agree to leave even though it means they won't get to see any other bands, including Coldplay, who they toured with in 2003. They start recording their next album in December.
After Eisley I head for something completely different – M83. These three guys from France blow me away with their dark brooding predominantly instrumental electronic stoner music. They're loud enough to make your eardrums bleed, but you'll hardly notice. They are one of the best acts of the weekend. Go see them if they come anywhere near you.
Next it's off to perhaps the oddest press conference pairing ever – Jason Mraz, Dierks Bentley, Marcus Congleton and Darren Becket from Ambulance, LTD., and Colin Meloy and Chris Funk from the Decemberists. The condensed version is that everyone is looking forward to seeing the Arcade Fire except for Dierks Bentley who has never heard of them but will now check them out for sure and Jason Mraz who is really bummed he's playing at the same time as the Arcade Fire. Colin says the Decemberists will start recording their next album in April or May and that their fans raised $15,000 to help replace the instruments which were stolen at the beginning of their tour last spring. "It's made us realize how profoundly lucky we are to have the fans we do," he says, making us all feel warm and fuzzy.
Between the press conference and the Eisley interview, I miss the Doves and the Kaiser Chiefs, but I hear the Kaiser Chiefs from a distance and they sound tight and very high energy. Then it's off to possibly the most buzzed band of all time – The Arcade Fire. They've had the buzz market cornered for the past year and don't seem ready to relinquish it anytime soon. Even Chris Martin name-drops them from the stage. In fact, during the Arcade Fire performance, none of the other bands or people with access are allowed to watch from the side of the stage because Chris, Gwennyth, and Apple are there and security protects them as if they were William and Harry. During his own performance later, Martin says something along the lines of, "When you see something as brilliant and original as the Arcade Fire, you have two choices. You can either let it destroy you or you can let it inspire you to do better. We've chosen to let it inspire us."
I've avoided jumping on the Arcade Fire bandwagon thus far. Nothing turns the music critic in me off more than a band that everybody's drooling over that I haven't discovered first. It's petty and I'm not proud of it, but there it is. I thought their CD sounded like Talking Heads lite and couldn't see what the fuss was. Well, ok, I get it now. Their set is amazing. There are at least nine people onstage and every one of them is having the time of their lives despite the heat and the fact that they're dressed in black. Regine has gloves on, for god's sake. They make a huge joyful noise that just builds and builds. They're quite irresistible and I succumb to their charms. A security guy standing near me comments that they remind him a bit of Polyphonic Spree and I can see the similarity.
Next up is the other highlight of the weekend – the Decemberists. Colin Meloy is at his charmingly nerdy best in a red and white striped carnival barker jacket, gesturing the crowd to be quiet and kneel down during "The Chimbley Sweep," and pleading with the one holdout before getting him to cooperate. I secretly think his real motivation is to try and hear Bob Mould, who's playing on a different stage and whom he earlier admitted hating having to miss. During "The Mariner's Revenge" they get everybody to scream like they're being swallowed by a whale and Chris Funk brings out a giant pair of white cardboard whale jaws and proceeds to "eat" all the band members.
Unfortunately I have to tear myself away forty minutes into their set to make my way across the field in time for Franz Ferdinand. They have an absurdly huge crowd gathered, all of whom go berserk with every song. It's hard not to like Franz. They make light-hearted angular pop that you can dance to and with the myriad natural and man-made disasters in the news lately, we all need a little fun in our lives. Their new songs sound great, if a lot like their old songs, but (and my friends are going to kill me for saying this) the band is two dimensional and lacks depth.
Closing the festival is Coldplay. As an obsessed Radiohead fan I have mixed feelings about them. On the one hand, their songs are genuinely likable, but on the other hand it's pathetic how hard Chris Martin tries to be Thom Yorke. It's also annoying that he's made millions and achieved mega-fame by creating watered down Radiohead for the masses. Having said that, I do enjoy their set. Martin knows how to please a crowd, changing lyrics to suit the setting and getting people to sing along and take pictures together to "light up the sky." They do a mini acoustic tribute to Johnny Cash and sing "Ring of Fire," which the Texans love. And as the music ends and 65,000 voices are left singing how the lights will guide you home, it's hard not to break out in goose bumps.
Posted by Laura at October 8, 2005 01:41 AM