In the early morning of March 12, the mood turned from jovial to tragic at this year's South by Southwest Music and Media Conference and Festival (SXSW). Aspiring rapper Rashad Owens killed three and injured another 21 while fleeing the police in an effort to avoid a DUI charge. On that second evening of the Austin-based festival, the 21-year-old Owens crashed through a barricade outside popular music venue The Mohawk and was soon after apprehended by local police.
SXSW may be designed to insulate against the outside world, but this year that illusion was shattered. The story made national headlines almost immediately, and news of the accident quickly circulated around Austin, Texas. I had thankfully left a neighboring venue about half an hour prior and first heard the details from a passerby constantly refreshing his Twitter feed.
The Mohawk canceled the next day's concerts, and Austin Mayor Lee Leffingwell appeared on "Jimmy Kimmel Live" to announce a fund created to support those injured. While I commend the city's near-flawless PR campaign, it seemed to work almost too well. By 8 p.m. the next day, The Mohawk resumed business, and festival-goers continued on despite the whole ordeal. The only acknowledgement I witnessed came on Friday at midnight when participating acts observed a moment of silence. At that time, I watched post-punk trio Parquet Courts halt their rocking for a minute while a confused audience awkwardly shuffled.
I do not think the festival should have been canceled, and I cannot blame the patrons' willful ignorance. Many at SXSW attended for business, and vacationers spent ungodly sums acquiring passes and booking accommodations. It certainly affected me enough that I'm about to spend 1,000 words going into detail about my favorite performances without mentioning the accident again.
I arrived in Austin late Tuesday and was only able to catch two acts, one of which a personal favorite, Kurt Vile. Unfortunately, the ramshackle singer/songwriter chose to play all his SXSW performances without his band, a decision that ultimately saw him competing with incessant crowd noise.
On Wednesday, I set out confident that my press wristband would allow me to see whatever act I chose. No such dice. Lines at SXSW are ubiquitous, creating a strange, line dodging meta-game ruled by the Twitter savvy and well connected (#SXLines is a lifesaver). It took me 24 hours to understand how to time my day, and thus, Wednesday proved a learning experience.
Nonetheless, I caught a handful of acts, marked by incendiary sets by Speedy Ortiz and St. Vincent. Speedy Ortiz, originally a solo endeavor by Sadie Dupuis, tore through a set of taut, screeching guitar rock reminiscent of early Pavement covering Exile in Guyville. Dupuis' twisting melodies have a strange internal logic that separates the band from the 90's-copping pack. Later that night, art pop act St. Vincent played Stubb's BBQ, easily one of the largest venues at SXSW, which proved perfect for her theatrical live show. Her tour with Talking Heads' David Byrne has clearly given her a penchant for the dramatic, but even the strangest dance moves could not distract from her guitar pyrotechnics.
By Thursday, I learned the basics of SXSW and zigzagged across Austin seeing act after act. While far from the festival's center, Waterloo Records' outdoor stage featured a consistent lineup and no lines. There, I saw Chicago garage rock upstarts the Orwells, whose lead singer ended the set by jumping from the stage to a nearby van and then disappearing behind the vehicle. The band showed promise, but only hit the mark on their upbeat punk tracks. Next, British pop singer Charli XCX played a front-loaded set backed by an all-girl rock band. The arrangement worked surprisingly well for her unreleased material, but once Charli started playing songs off last year's True Romance, the band fell back on sampled synth loops.
At sundown, I caught Los Angeles act Warpaint. The group has always stressed freeform jamming over songs but here chose to cover as much of their recent self-titled album as possible. The straightforward performance reflected the unadventurous crowd, but as long as a few of the concert-goers Google influences such as Can or Cluster, the change is net-positive. Before ending the night with the aforementioned Parquet Courts show, I saw garage rock band Together PANGEA, easily the most fun act of the week. Together PANGEA is the West Coast's answer to Black Lips – the guitarist played much of the set with a GoPro camera strapped to his head, and band members played with a carefree looseness rare for the festival.
By Friday, fatigue set in, and only good company and 5 Hour Energy kept me going. Daytime highlights included Cate Le Bon and Mutual Benefit. Le Bon's performance came close to a Velvet Underground set. The group, dressed in all black, played muscular renditions of songs off Le Bon's latest, winning over the crowd with sheer musicianship. Later, Mutual Benefit performed their pastoral folk as a full band featuring some of the least "hip" looking people at the whole festival. The seven piece seemed oblivious to their skill, a refreshing change of pace from SXSW's de facto self-promotion. Their earnestness added to the twee-leaning set. The young act still needs to vary their production song to song, but Mutual Benefit is clearly heading for wider acclaim.
I ended SXSW with folk vet Mark Kozelek of the one-man band Sun Kil Moon. Over his 20-year career, Kozelek has gained a fanatic cult following, but has only occasionally reached larger audience. With this year's Benji, Kozelek has once again broached the critical conversation with an autobiographical album about the deaths of family and growing old.
At SXSW, Kozelek was not only a thematic anomaly but offered a respite from the so-called "hype cycle."
He played in a church packed with devoted fans hinging on his every word. In a festival filled with attention-seeking 20-somethings, Kozelek seemed comfortable with leading his small but dedicated flock away from the excesses happening on 6th Street and to something real and meaningful, if only for an hour.
By forcing the audience to contemplate the existential nature of human life, Kozelek calls attention to the meaninglessness of Rashad Owens' criminal mistake.
Like the freak accident that befalls Kozelek's second cousin in "Carissa," the three deaths at SXSW were cruel and random, and the only way to collectively heal is through recognition.
- By Jordan Francis
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