SXSW 2009 report: Day three

Bjorn Yttling of Peter Bjorn and John (Credit: Ryan Muir/Special to Metromix)

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Hot Leg, Spin party at Stubb’s, 2:30 p.m.
Here’s a shocker: The new band from Justin Hawkins, former lead singer of the Darkness, sounds—are you sitting down?—exactly like the Darkness! Who’da thunk? Hot Leg’s corny, over-the-top mix of ‘80s metal and Queen-style glam-rock probably would’ve been fun at 2 a.m. after a few whiskey shots, but in the heat of mid-afternoon, it just seemed a bit fussy and overdressed—much like Hawkins himself. “It’s hot, isn’t it?” the poodle-haired singer asked the crowd at one point. Yeah, dude—when you’re clad head-to-toe in biker leather, it is. Don’t they have Weather.com over in England?

Black Lips, Stubb’s, 3:20 p.m.
I had never seen the Black Lips before, and given the stories you hear about their shows—nudity, spit-swapping, piss-drinking, and all manner of rock ‘n’ roll excess—I really wasn’t sure what to expect. Turns out that when they keep their clothes and most of their bodily fluids to themselves, they’re just a perfectly good garage-rock band with solid musical chops and above-average songs. Singer-guitarist Cole Alexander is fond of a trick where he spits into the air and catches it in his mouth, but aside from that, and lead guitarist Ian Saint Pe’s ghetto fabulous, gold-plated gangsta grill, their show was positively tame. Fortunately, most of their new songs are solid enough that they held up just fine without a lot of gross-out antics.

The Felice Brothers, Dirty Dog Bar, 4:10 p.m.
This New York-based five piece, centered around a trio of brothers (actually or metaphorically related, it’s hard to say), plays a sort of itinerant, gypsy brand of folk-rock, heavy on fiddle, accordion and lurid lyrics. One of their most crowd-pleasing songs is, as singer-accordionist James Felice explained, about “drinkin’ whiskey and killin’ your woman.” So I need hardly add, the Felice Brothers are totally awesome and you should really check them out. Their boozy, swaggering set here at the Lucero Family Picnic (a party hosted by Memphis country-punk rockers Lucero, whom I unfortunately missed) was one of the day’s highlights.

Women/Hatcham Social, Fader Fort, 5:15 p.m.
It’s hard to kvetch about the Levi’s/Fader Fort parties, a SXSW institution that always has tons of open space, plenty of free booze and a chance to catch (usually) some of the festival’s best acts in a laid-back, outdoor setting with good sound and an appreciative crowd. All of those elements were in place when I finally made my way over to the Fort for the first time this afternoon, except for the “best bands” part. Women and Hatcham Social are from different continents (the former is Canadian, the latter hails from London), but in the world of indie rock, they live in the same cul-de-sac, a place that’s nearly always described as “dark,” “edgy,” “post-punk” and, my personal favorite, “angular.” SXSW is crawling with such bands, and by Friday afternoon, it’s hard to find many folks who are still interested in hearing them.

Tinted Windows, Fader Fort, 6:45 p.m.
This new “supergroup” is the kind of band much of SXSW’s hipster crowd would probably never admit to liking, but after the bleak guitar dirges of Hatcham Social, it was unmistakable how much the crowd perked up to their first blasts of buzzy power-pop. Visually, the band makes no sense at all. To one side of the stage, there’s the white-haired James Iha, radiating alternative cool; to the other, the eternally frumpy Adam Schlesinger of Fountains of Wayne, looking like he just wandered up on stage from the media tent. In the back, there’s Cheap Trick goofball Bun E. Carlos, happily bashing away, and up in front, it’s Taylor Hanson, dressed like Simon Le Bon in red jeans and a white shirt and belting his little pop-star butt off. But somehow, musically, all the elements gel, and the whole thing winds up sounding like Smashing Pumpkins for the Miley Cyrus crowd. At first, I couldn’t decide if it’s genius or the worst musical abomination since Queen + Paul Rodgers—but by the end of the set, God help me, I’m leaning towards genius.

Peter Bjorn and John, Fader Fort, 7:45 p.m.
Thank goodness I gave these guys another chance—with a proper soundcheck and all their instruments working correctly, they sound great, totally erasing the memory of their Wednesday night trainwreck. The biggest difference, to my surprise, is John’s digital drum pad—the new album features a lot of almost hip-hop style beats, and played live, they kick the new songs into high gear. You really can’t appreciate all the subtle nuances of the phrase “You are starting to piss me off” until you’ve heard it sung in three-part harmony with a Swedish accent over clap-along, schoolyard beats.

Kuroma, Aces Lounge, 8:30 p.m.
The new band from Hank Sullivant, a multi-instrumental whiz who’s done stints with the Whigs and MGMT, is a bit of a puzzle—a psych-rock group that veers between breezy, AM radio pop and noisy guitar assaults that can reach almost Mars Volta-ish heights of wankery. I only caught the tail end of their set, when the guitar assaults were clearly winning out—although it’s hard to argue with Sullivant’s technical prowess or showmanship, which were almost too big for the Aces Lounge’s tiny stage to contain.

Camera Obscura, La Zona Rosa, 9:30 p.m.
Across town at Stubb’s, there was a mob forming trying to get in to see Metallica (our photographer tried and failed); but over at the Scottish music showcase, the scene was low-key and orderly. Glasgow’s Camera Obscura are definitely kindred spirits of fellow Scottish twee-poppers Belle and Sebastian, crafting gentle, catchy tunes that deliver some rather dark sentiments. I’m pretty sure the chorus of their second song had a line about shooting one’s own mother to impress an unrequited love. Lead singer Tracyanne Campbell looks and dresses like an antique porcelain doll, but she’s sassy. “Is anyone here from Scotland?” she asked the crowd at one point, and when a rather loud cheer broke out: “Liars.”

The Proclaimers were up next, but much as I would've loved to bust out my fake Scottish brogue to sing along to “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles),” I had a DEVO showcase to attend. I can only handle so many ‘80s nostalgia acts in one night.

Datarock, Austin Music Hall, 10:15 p.m.
This Norwegian four-piece wears matching red tracksuits and plays high-energy electro-rock with lots of jangly guitar and the occasional saxophone solo. So you’d think they would be a perfect opening band for DEVO, but when I first arrived, the crowd was clearly not that into it—probably due to the fact that, although Datarock is a fun band with a couple of great songs, they don’t quite have enough quality material yet to win over the discerning followers of Mark Mothersbaugh and company. When they broke out those great songs towards the end of their set, the crowd finally warmed up, and by the rousing finale of “Fa-Fa-Fa,” there were plenty of DEVO hats bobbing along to the music. I watched the action unfold from the VIP balcony (thanks, MSO!), then ducked out in the hopes of squeezing in a couple more bands at other showcases before DEVO’s midnight set.

Mirah, Antone’s, 11:00 p.m.
SXSW is not kind to quiet acts. Over the din of industry chatter, it was hard to hear the hushed vocals of this outstanding Portland singer-songwriter for her first few songs. Fortunately, her mic got louder and crowd got quieter, and by the end of her set, she had us in the palm of her hand. Mirah’s latest album is full of unexpected world music and chamber-pop touches, and this set was much more stripped down, but no less affecting.

St. Vincent, Antone’s, 12:10 a.m.
Well, I never made it to DEVO, and it’s all Annie Clark’s fault. Her performance with her group St. Vincent was nothing less than mesmerizing. She played all new material from her forthcoming album, “Actor,” and based on what I heard, it should be a stunner, full of her trademark quirky vocal harmonies and unexpected squalls of guitar heroics. By the way, has it occurred to anyone else that St. Vincent is basically a prog-rock act? If Clark doesn’t own at least a few early Yes and Genesis albums, I’ll be a roundabout.

NOMO, Antone’s, 1:00 a.m.
At least I got to hear one band with a four-letter, all-in-caps name tonight. NOMO are a self-described “post-afrobeat dance explosion,” and that about sums it up—their music is a funky onslaught of layered percussion, horns, and weird African instruments (real and sampled) run through various distortion pedals and effects boxes to give them an otherworldly air. The seven-piece group they brought to Austin (I believe their home-base incarnation in Ann Arbor, Mich., has more members) jammed almost telepathically, generating some amazing syncopated rhythms and ghostly harmonics. They were definitely a great way to end the most action-packed day at SXSW yet.