SXSW: In Annie's opinion...

Some things change, and some things stay the same:

One remarkable aspect of SXSW is, of course, the unbridled havoc it wreaks on any sense of equilibrium with which you may have arrived in Austin. As much as you feel compelled to do so, trying to plan any sort of agenda in advance feels intractably challenging. Somehow though, when you’re finally in it, you manage to create discreet experiences in the throes of what often feels like a timeless, endless loop of days and nights, stages and voices and bright flashing lights. Unsurprisingly, it’s the point at which you acquiesce to the cacophony of it all that things begin to come together. Trends become noticeable, for example.

One of those trends that I ran into repeatedly, and one I’ve been trying desperately to wrap my brain around and come up with something cohesive to say about, is the integration of prepared (e.g electronic) music that, for instance, comes out of a box or mobile device, with live music that comes out of instruments that have existed for centuries. Most of the more notable contemporary artists whom I watched play at SXSW use prepared music (beats, samples, their own previously recorded voices) as an instrument onto itself, whether they are composing it all on stage and looping it over live music, or playing along concurrently with electronic music they’ve already created, or creating more improvised moments by extemporaneously feeding the sounds their instruments make through any handful of new and crazy effects.

To put it more simply: it seems that the line between let’s say, indie rock and experimental electronic music is becoming increasingly more obfuscated by things like rapidly-evolving new technology. However, there's something else to it; When I watched folks like Washed Out perform--while yes, they utilize cutting edge music recording technology on stage as as a band member in and of itself (like when Ernest Greene stepped up to start singing, he waved his Ipad at the audience in silent acknowledgement of that of which I speak),  I also sensed an abiding evocation of decades-old ideas (heralded by the likes of Roxy Music and the Talking Heads, to name just a few) about the boundaries live music can test and trample altogether.

 Washed Out perform "New Theory"

Live music used to mean going to see a group of people coming together to showcase their technical proficiency, if not virtuosity, and play for you the songs you love listening to on albums at home (hopefully, if the band is at all decent). These days, you can find many of those people behind the counter at Guitar Center ready to talk your ear off about their favorite Jimmy Page riff. 

But things are changing dramatically. And what it all seems to indicate and reveal, is that live music has taken an almost defiant step away from what it has formerly endeavored to achieve--primarily the communication of specific and nameable talents belonging to individual band members--and toward something entirely new, possessed of a markedly different morphology that usually includes a glowing Apple logo. I haven't quite been able to put my finger on the pulse of this transformation, but I know that it's due to the convergence of the following: The rise of Apple and thus the proliferation of increasingly advanced music editing software, the disintegration of the record industry, and a shift in musical zeitgeist toward a movement that has been put on hold since the late 70's and 80's.

I'm not saying it isn't exciting to watch musical virtuosity on display. Now though, watching live music--at least in this new iteration I'm describing (one that seems to be pervading so many different genres, rather than continuously spawning new subcategories of electronica as it did in the past) --is compelling due to a myriad of other performative aspects besides the technical expertise of whomever is playing. 

Someone like Shigeto is a perfect example of this. While he's a great drummer in his own right, it's not his musicality that exhilarates those who watch him, nor is it necessarily the electronic components of his sets, which are also quite good. What's amazing about him, is the way in which he jumps back and forth between the electronic and live aspects of his work, juxtaposing these two different (potentially opposing) styles of music. And he toys with the opposition with brilliant fluidity, at times underscoring tensions between the two and at other times resolving it or showing how each can coexist with the other, all the while exhibiting to the audience the process he uses to compose his music. It's almost like watching a chef prepare a meal on cooking show.

Shigeto, live on Drums and Turntables, SXSW 2012
Lindsey has a great video of this performance, methinks

Anyway, so much more can be said, but for the sake of brevity I'll leave you, for now (over the next few days I'll be posting on my top ten shows from SXSW, the content of which will extrapolate further on all of this), with a video of Matthew Dear performing "Headcage", which I think encapsulates perfectly the ideas I'm attempting to formulate. This is a band whose sound hinges on the use of new recording and editing technology. However, there is no absence of talented musicians on stage here. This stuff is technically considered electronic music, but I think that kind of categorical imperative truly sells it short. Enjoy please!

i know what you did last year.

For some, 2011 was just a year where seemingly every other girl/gay man in Brooklyn decided to shave a random swath of hair down to the scalp. But for me, it was a collection of moments that have inspired me to whole-heartedly evaluate the way I experience music and actually make something out of my passion.

i know what you did last year.
a collection of tracks representing the highlights of a year's worth of live events.
by tiny_owl on 8tracks.
click band names in the text for youtube videos of select performances!

My meditations on this began out of a repugnance for getting older. I had tickets to see Washed Out with openers Blood Orange and Grimes, but the night of the show, a Monday, everyone bowed out, citing the old “have to be up early for work” excuse. It dawned on me that while I was still serving tacos in a tiny Mexican restaurant, these people, my friends, had careers, and that these careers were so important that they could not waste hours of sleep to see a once-in-a-lifetime lineup play to a packed house, everyone with dancing shoes on. I wrangled a friend who, like myself, had few daytime responsibilities, or at the very least could handle being a bit sleepy the next day. We had a phenomenal time, but even so I was bummed. Was I somehow immature or unaccomplished because I enjoyed this sort of thing? On Thursday, a heart-to-heart with a friend who had bailed resulted in the following conclusion: the two of us were at different places in our lives, and apparently I was not the adult.

The thing is, it didn't really matter to me. If being an adult meant forgoing unexpected Bastille Day fireworks over the Hudson after a free tUnE-yArDs performance so that I could efficiently alphabetize files in a cubicle for a steady paycheck, then I was content to sling salsa for at least a few more years. I wouldn't trade losing my shit over those first haunting strains of Dirty Beaches' “Lord Knows Best” billowing through Glassland's papery clouds to change a dirty diaper, because Alex Zhang Hungtai is the coolest dude who ever lived, and that night he vowed to “croon the fuck out” which is exactly what happened.

I wouldn't want to miss the chance to jump on the Music Hall of Williamsburg stage for Star Slinger's closing cut “Punch Drunk Love” or to witness Phil Elvurum on the altar of the gorgeous St. Cecilia's church, his soft voice reverberating angelically around the cathedral. Or to have folk hero Michael Gira kiss my hand after the Swans show, which was the loudest, sweatiest, and single most transcendent rock-n-roll experience I'd ever had. Nor would I miss the incredible stage set-up as it virtually came alive to Animal Collective's Prospect Park set, even as the heat and hallucinogens caused teenagers all around me to pass out. Had I not decided on a whim just a day before the show, I would never have seen Dam-Funk shred a key-tar as we sailed around Manhattan on a ferry, the sun setting against the Brooklyn Bridge and the Statue of Liberty waving her torch over the deck. I braved the pollution of the Gowanus Canal to see a Four Tet DJ in a garden that managed to be verdant despite all the toxins pulsing through the ground.

This was my fourth year at CMJ, and it stands as one of my favorite events because in that moment, you're right with those fledgling acts, waiting to see a performance that will build their buzz or totally break them. This year, at a Trash Talk performance replete with band members flinging themselves from balconies, a friend of mine well into her twenties found herself in a circle pit for the very first time. Later that week, I watched Pat Grossi of Active Child strum a person-sized harp, its strings practically glowing as they vibrated against his fingertips.

Fiercely loving music is one thing that doesn't get boring for me. As I age, it doesn't get old. Seeing a Party of Helicopters reunion performance at Death By Audio in February proved that. I used to see them religiously when I lived in Ohio. In my veins was the same blood that was present when I was twenty, and every muscle, every cell, remembered what to do – I damn near gave myself whiplash, working myself into a frenzy.

And despite spending hours researching obscure bands for music supervision projects I freelance, I still discover bands just by attending shows. While dancing my ass off at the 100% Silk Showcase at Shea Stadium, I discovered a whole label's worth of material harkening back to club jams of the nineties, and the Amanda Brown vs. Bethany Cosentino debate was forever settled in my mind in favor of the LA Vampires frontwoman; Brown is a visionary while Cosentino is just cute.

In roughly fifteen years of attending rock concerts, I'd say I had the best one yet. I've decided that since growing up is not worth the trade-off of giving up live music, or changing the way I experience the music that I love, that I will have to marry the two. While this trajectory began years ago, this is the first time I've felt any sort of mission behind the fandom. I am the person people call and ask “are there any good shows going on tonight?”, the person with extra tickets who drags friends along to see bands they haven't heard of, the person who brings a huge group of old friends together for a show, the person who barring all that will go to a show alone and still have a blast. I am one of the thousands of people who log on to Ticketmaster at 9:55am for Radiohead tickets and still won't get any. I'm the person at the front of the crowd, snapping a few quick pictures for those who couldn't make it, and then dancing like a thing possessed for the rest of the set. For me, it's dedication. It's all part of being someone who was there.