SXSW: The Madness of Day One
Looking into South by Southwest (SXSW) is like peering into the abyss. There’s an endless parade of people on scooters, many dressed weird as hell. Many are begging you to check out this new ska folk project from North Dakota.. After a strong pep talk and a preparatory swallow of Jameson, I ventured into the bucket head-wearing throngs for night one. Accompanied by my spiritual advisor, the comic Trevor Keveloh, we dared to see what this year’s SXSW festival had in store for us, even though it was supposed to be only the “tech week.”
Generally, the first week of SXSW is always quieter, and downtown on Dirty 6th wasn’t a melee – yet. On the east side, events popped up in every nook and cranny in proper festival form, and every brand, musician, label, movie production, and everyone hawking their wares in between is wasting zero time to get back what they lost due to COVID.
After slicing through the hundreds of emails in my inbox, I settled on checking out the Museum of Graffiti’s Art of Hip Hop exhibit, which was a cool curated look into the 1980s and 90s eras of music. Flyers from DJ Cool Herc and the Treacherous Three lined the walls, while there was original art for De La Soul and prints of the Wu-Tang Clan from the 36 Chambers. Spray paint art, a boom box wall for photos, and plenty of free Modelo beer was the vibe, with local DJs spinning and freestyling, hoping to keep heads moving with the beats that changed the world. The crowd was decidedly not in their 20s but an older laid back, diverse collection of folks there out of enjoyment for the culture. I loved seeing old photos of the Fugees, pre-The Score on the wall, and a print of LL Cool J. The experience was curated and defined by its credibility as a legit source of cultural knowledge.
Just up the block, the Parish (shout out to Chelsea) was throwing a free rock and roll show. The Parish is quietly the second-best venue in town (after Mohawk, of course), and with its wrap-around stage, proved that the title is still very much intact with a killer sound and no bad views. The opening band, Bigfoot and the Gregs, are some local kids who can play the hell out of their instruments. The best way to describe the trio is that they’re somewhere between Led Zeppelin (they did a stripped-down, punk cover of Communication Breakdown) and the Meat Puppets. There’s an evident classic rock influence, but there’s also so much of that Seattle 90’s sound but bands like TAD and Mudhoney for their rawness. Don’t sleep on these kids, they’re figuring it out, and they’ve got chops to show off what they’ve got brewing for the next few years.
What was nice was for the opening band, there were a lot of young kids who knew the words, knew the band, and showed up for a rock and roll show. It’s nice to see the youth not staring into their iPhones for a moment over a pair of dumb cartoon boots and lost in the sauce of a good show.
Following Bigfoot and The Gregs is what I’ve said countless times to anyone with a set of ears that Rickshaw Billie’s Burger Patrol is the best band in Austin – full stop. And last night, for a packed room, proved that they are not the boys you came to fuck with. If you’ve never heard them, think of the band as a marriage between Primus and slamming hardcore riffs. And once they started doling out the audio beatdowns, the crowd never let up. For a local band who plays a lot around town, they showed why national bookers and people within the industry are on notice; the crowd gave them love like they were a band they’d been waiting to see all year with a roar of approval after each song and the boys fed off the energy, leaving nothing to chance.
Bailing on the east side for the throes of downtown, we hopped in the most reliable form of transportation during the event – the pedicab. If you’ve never learned this lesson, get your ass in one. You’re supporting the local economy, and you’ll beat traffic every time. Sitting at the bar at the Vulcan Gas Company, we took respite in the cold air conditioning. At the same time, absolute killers Eshan Ahmad and Deric Poston gave the gospel to a room full of people ready to laugh with their insane banter because the two are best friends, and it works every single time. Both comics are two of the best in the game, and you should not miss the chance to see their Solid Comedy show. As we left Vulcan for more rock and roll madness, we happened upon two other comics in town, Grace Kirk and Molly Vivant – who were both on hand at Chess Club, not working as comedians for the night but helping to manage the madness inside a raucous collection of bands playing all night long. The band Porcelain gave off strong Deftones White Pony-era vibes, which is never bad if done correctly. And they did it correctly.
Leaving the chaos of Chess Club, we had to eat, and one of the best spots to grab quality food downtown is hidden in plain sight: Marinara Miracles. If you’re looking to shove some of the best affordable Italian fare in the city down your neck, this is the spot.Handmade pasta, thick heroes loaded with all the cured meats, and a cheesy garlic bread that’ll cure a case of the “what did I do last night” – this is the way. Located in the mighty Valhalla, it’s a haven you should grab at any time on Red River.
Wrapping up the night, we ended up on the Creek in the Cave patio with comedian Colton Downing talking about the gay mafia while people casually puffed on joints, exhaling from a long night one. We heard about his ayahuasca trip to help him get sober while inside; younger comics worked an open mic. Following the madness of the first night, there’s the long ride home, contemplating what you just experienced, that these things don’t happen everywhere, but here in Austin, this is culture. (As I’m writing this, my neighbors have hired a mariachi band, and they’re going off with a big singalong right now.) As in all things odd, I dropped Trevor off and wound up eating McDonald’s alone on my couch. I saw a viral video on Instagram where a dude pours buffalo sauce and ranch on nuggets with some pickles, swearing it tasted amazing. It didn’t. It tasted like McNuggets that were messy. But I at least have nine more days to contemplate my place in the world, one big ass riff at a time.
Featured photo by Taylor Goreman courtesy of Rickshaw Billie’s
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