Everyone told me that I wouldn’t get any sleep at SXSW, I can already tell they are wrong. A typical work week sees me out till one or two and up at six many days, here I can tell I’ll be sleeping in till eight or nine. Plus since I’m basically here by myself, I won’t be up drinking till dawn every night. OK, so that is a little bit of a bummer.
Today is Wrens day so I am especially grateful to have gotten enough sleep to bring me back to somewhat normal. I arrived at the Paste/Brooklyn Vegan party in time to gulp down a few free beers before they ran out and to take my place as close to the stage as possible for what may have been the most impressive run of bands I saw.
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart had “scheduling difficulties which prevented them from playing their set” (which I read as “overslept”) so The Wheel, the alter ego of stoned looking singer-songwriter Nathaniel Rateliff from Denver, who had just played inside did a few more songs outside. Bishop Allen’s Justin Rice took the stage drenched with sweat and looking somewhat dazed, and this was before they even played. As it turned out they had left something in the van and he “inadvertently ran a mile and a half” to retrieve it before their set. He took a couple songs to catch his breath, but rest of their set was so terrific I bemoaned the fact that they had skipped Madison on their last couple passes through the Midwest. While the days of them possibly playing my basement are probably past, an appearance in Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist guaranteed that, I’d love to see them at the High Noon. Sooner rather than later please.
The dude from Paste who introduced the next act stated flatly, “You can’t handle Daniel Johnston on his own, so here are the Hymns to start things out.” He may have been right- Johnston’s songs, voice, and let’s be honest, appearance, have always been a bit of a shock to the uninitiated, but his fans couldn’t be more devoted. The songs he sang with the Hymns backing him were probably the most palatable, but it was the heartbreakingly honest “This is Life” for which he was accompanied only by acoustic guitar that made me cry. For anyone who has seen the documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston this set was somewhere in the range of a miracle.
I’d started to suspect that maybe the Wrens Kevin Whelan had grown out of the sort of reckless behavior that led to him breaking mike stands and chairs, but somehow no bones (his own or those of the fans). The last several shows there had been just as much energy as ever, but he basically stayed on the ground. Today he remembered how much he enjoys jumping off five foot bass amps and swinging his beat-up bass over the crowd, catching it by the strap as everyone took a step back. And it was awesome. Sure, it was pretty much the same set they had played in New York, and probably the same set I would see two more times in the next 24 hours, but it didn’t matter, I couldn’t stop smiling.
Gulping down three beers and then standing in the same place for three hours had taken its toll, so at this point I was happy to give up my spot at the front of the stage and bolt down the street to catch Ian Moore and Oranger at Habana Calle 6. The outdoor venue located right behind our hotel was half empty when I arrived in the middle of their first song. Which was unfortunate for them, but it made me happy as I had no problem getting $1 Lone Stars and free pancakes compliments of Batter Blaster (pancake batter in a whipped cream can that you squirt directly onto the griddle, yes really). Their far too short set sounded terrific and I was rather depressed when I figured out that was likely the only time I would see Ian and Kullen. I spent the break talking to bassist Matt Harris’s parents who may have been the biggest music fans and the nicest folks I met in five days.
I stuck around for Red Cortez, one of the few new-to-me bands I saw during SXSW and they were fantastic too. I was starting to think that Austin was some sort of magical land where there’s nothing but great music. I was setting myself up for disappointment, but in fact very few acts fell short.
I arrived at the Prague nearly six ridiculous hours before the Wrens showcase, so early in fact that I didn’t even have to pay cover. Since I didn’t have a wristband I didn’t want to take any chances of not getting in to see the one band I had come to see. As it turned out that wasn’t necessary, folks who arrived as late as 11 pm reported they were able to pay to get in. Oh well, had I known that I probably would have missed the strangest act I saw all weekend. Popular Austin band Foot Patrol is a ska-soul band whose every song is about feet. When their lead singer, a blind black man, sat down at my table he accidentally bumped my shoe with his walking stick. “What kind of shoes are you wearing?” he asked me, and smiled approvingly when I told him Converse Hi-top knock-offs before asking, “Do you mind if I ask what size they are?” I could not make up something that good.
After that the hours before the Wrens started to drag. I think I liked their Absolutely Kosher labelmates +/- but I don’t really remember. I’d seen Chicagoans Sybris several times before, but other than worrying that the lead guitar player was going to break his ankle I zoned out during their set too. I think there may have been another band, but I can’t be sure. All I know is that when the Wrens finally came on at 1:15 it was worth the wait. With the exception of the always breathtaking, heartbreaking “She Sends Kisses,” the set was similar to that afternoon’s. And again I didn’t care. I was overwhelmed with a strange sense of pride as I watched every mind in the room get blown. Yep, they were absolutely that good. I love that band.
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