Photo via Nylon
I’m a SXSW newbie but I heard the Austin streets smell like BBQed meat (they do) and everyone drinks a lot of margaritas, so it sounded like paradise to me! Only problem is I woke up feeling like I had two hairy meatballs lodged in my throat, which meant my first order of business when I landed in Austin was not ordering an avocado marg and seeing Sophie, it was finding a walk-in clinic so they could tell me why there are white spots on my tonsils. Gross. Luckily my doctor looked like George Clooney in his medical clogs and while he tested me for strep throat and mono, he told me about loving 80s bands Fastway and Zebra. I have neither illness and I’ve heard of neither band.
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All of which is to say that, for me SXSW will be a no booze, no make out zone, and by the time I got my antibiotics it was 9 PM and I had to hustle to the Nylon party to catch Summer Moon. The NYC quartet are ostensibly a super-hip supergroup with The Strokes’ bassist Nikolai Fraiture leading proceedings—backed by Tennessee Thomas (formerly The Like) on drums, Erika Spring from Au Revoir Simone doing the Madonna side-to-side shimmy on keys, and a boy in a Daniel Boone fur hat on guitar. He looks the spit of Diana Agron (from Glee). Honestly I’m pretty sure, it was Diana dude-dressing. It was only their fourth ever show and apparently they were having terrible sound issues onstage—so far so festival—but their music is a mélange of motorik grooves, handclaps, doomy-pop, and Fraiture’s reverbed intonations. Lots of locking into a groove and riding it out.
It was actually great to see Thomas behind a kit again. In recent years she’s spent so much time DJing 60s hits to cool kids at night and by day, running her East Village clothing and knick knack store, The Deep End Club, that it’s easy to forget she can actually smash it on skins. Also worth noting: Strokes love continues to run deep. Even though there was plenty of space to move around and dance, four ardent fanboys stood all in a row, knees up against the stage, staring at Fraiture and snapping pics throughout. One guy was so moved by the 34-year-old’s bassline that at one point he tore off his baseball cap and headbanged… until a security guard told him to cease and desist. Yay rock ‘n’ roll.
Their set was followed by the ever-glam Mia Moretti, splicing Mariah with Khia, and—Ryan Cabrera Update!—he is still around and his hair remains disturbingly immobile.
Next up was Sweden’s Elliphant who straight up killed it. Dressed in a silk boxing robe, superhero sports shorts, a crop top and 90s platform sneaks, she stalked the stage with her brow furrowed, totally fearless with her patois-tweaked vocals fierce and furious. “Down on Life” and “Revolusion” were the clear highlights, the latter coming off as a fury-filled call to arms, with it’s dubby, bass-quaking breakdowns inspiring a thoroughly encouraged stage invasion.
Elliphant, photo by Kimi Selfridge a.k.a. Tancamera
On my way to see Angel Olsen close out the night I swung by a party tucked down an alleyway, in the fern-lush backyard of some fancy slatted house, hosted by SONOS, LA’s No Name Club, and Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. Alongside all the RSVPs and variously tiered wristbands, this is exactly the sort of thing that gives me social anxiety—you’ve got a lady on the door saying there are five different guestlists and, “Can you please step to one side, while you call your contact who put you on the list, thanks.” Then said girl accidentally spills her drink all over her laptop. Disaster. But once inside it was a little haven from the booze brigade of Austin’s strip. People were messing with Oculus Rift and members of Edward Sharp, Surfer Bloody, Night Terrors of 1927, and Bleachers were paling around. Also, man of the moment, Tobias Jesso Jr. was in the house: He’s legit 6’ 7” but with the face of a 17-year-old. It’s pretty weird. Nursing a grapefruit juice I learned that Edward Sharpe would be playing their new album in full in a church somewhere for the first time on Thursday. Done and done.
Angel Olsen was the perfect finale act, taking the stage at 1 AM. “I’m last so I tried not to get drunk,” she told the crowd. “I talked to Jesus about it and he said, ‘Fuck it girl, just have fun, this is not for you.’” With her pale face, deadpan expression, and sulkily downturned mouth she unleashed quavering, heart-quashing tones over sparse guitar accompaniment. Just her and her guitar onstage tonight—her music is a beautiful mope.
Back at the Airbnb—a concept I had to explain to an Uber driver that night—it was time to work out who was going to crash where. Time to inflate this magical mattress with its baffling box art. #GuestRest #ThisPictureDoesNotSuggestRestToMe #SwiftLift #HelloWhatIsThatPressedAgainstMyBack
Now it’s the next day and it’s slightly easier to swallow. Result! I opened the curtains to this sight. Happy SXSW Day Two!
