P.C. Shannon

Whenever I talk to music fans — indie rock fans in particular — from other cities, they’re always jealous of me living in Austin. Not because it’s the self-anointed “Live Music Capital of the World,” but because we play host to the South by Southwest Music and Media Conference (SXSW) every March. “It must be so awesome,” the music fans rave, “to go to South by Southwest every year.” Fuck no! SXSW sucks ass. For starters, you can’t get a seat in any restaurant in town for 10 days. But more importantly, all the cool bands that you wait all year to see all come into town on the same weekend. They’re spread across however many dozens of venues all over town, and those are all packed to the gills. You can drop $80 or $100 on a wristband, but that doesn’t guarantee you admission to anything, and people who went to the actual conference get to jump in line ahead of you. The bottom line here is, if you’re lucky, you might be able to get in to see 2 or 3 bands in a night, but you’ll miss 8 or 10 other bands you’re dying to see. The net effect is that there are no good shows in Austin for the three months prior to the conference and for three months afterwards because they all get crammed into that one weekend. Adding insult to injury, SXSW was started as a way to promote local acts, but since it’s turned into an industry confab, local acts are few and far between on the showcase schedule.

That’s why all the good shows in Austin are in the fall and winter, when SXSW is just a hazy memory. Enter the Austin City Limits Music Festival (ACL), which has grown in popularity since its inauguration three years ago. This year, I was afraid it was turning into the SXSW of the fall, sucking all the season’s good road acts into one unreachable weekend. Plus the idea of seeing favorite bands — bands that should be playing small and mid-sized clubs — on huge outdoor stages under the blazing September sun with drunken frat boys wandering aimlessly about was not particularly appealing. But I figured I had to experience ACL at least once in order to properly bad mouth it. Plus, you know, the Pixies.

So Caroline and I bought three-day passes at the last minute. We went down on Friday evening, along with everyone else who was going after work. I have to hand it to the city and the festival organizers, the bus system was well organized and efficient. It’s no mean feat carting 75,000 people a day into Zilker Park. We saw Franz Ferdinand that first night, and they put on a great show. Of course, it would have been much better inside and at La Zona Rosa or Stubb’s. And there wouldn’t have been the frat boys in front of us who only knew the words from the chorus of Franz’s one radio song. He kept singing it whenever they started a new song, even if it wasn’t that song. When they finally did play his song, “Take Me Out”, he and his buddies left right away, even though the band was only a third of the way through their set. Such rudeness, but what do you expect. Thanks, ACL.

Saturday I made the mistake of going to the festival around 1 in the afternoon, without Caroline and mainly to see the one-woman act Cat Power. She’s much more suited to someplace otherworldly, like the Scottish Rite Theater where I had seen her previously. Chan Marshall even apologized for how much her set sucked. I couldn’t tell how bad it was because I was stranded a good 50 yards from the stage. I’m more inclined to blame the venue. I’ll say this much, an ice-cold Lone Star on a hot afternoon is wonderful. Of course, that left me cranky and dehydrated by the end of the day. The Pixies suffered from the same problems as Cat Power and Franz Ferdinand — bad sound outdoors and an unappreciative or indifferent crowd.

By Sunday morning, there was serious talk of skipping the third day, Saturday having been such a hellacious experience. But somehow we rallied and managed to get to the festival in time to see one of the few local bands, Spoon, and another long-time favorite of mine, Cake. Same shit, different day. In fact, it was so bad that during the first half of Cake’s show, the crowd had to chant “Turn it up” after every song.

I think I would have come away with a better impression had I not suffered the long day on Saturday. In the end, it was a bit of a pain in the ass to see a few good bands put on shows that were mediocre at best. I did enjoy being outside in the evenings, when it was nice, enjoying some good music with my girl. But it was also expensive — $90 for the three-day pass, plus the $4 beers and $5 fish tacos. I would have much preferred to see the same bands in more appropriate venues, which also would have cost me much less. The real testament is this: will we go again next year? I don’t know, it depends on the line-up. But we’ll definitely buy passes earlier in the summer, when they’re cheaper, and only go in the evenings. Will it be worth it, since a lot of the bands I’d…

Caroline sent me an e-mail this afternoon and asked:

i like fugazi, sunny day real estate, weezer, and modest
mouse. what does this mean?! you like rainer maria and
at the drive-in. i think we might like emo :S

I guess she had been taking a look at the Emo page on All Music.com (search for “emo” as a style — I can’t link directly into their content). What follows is my response.

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Emo is hard to pin down. If Weezer is emo, then every halfway indie band of the nineties is emo, which just isn’t the case. The problem with All Music.com is that its all written by freelance, self-appointed “experts.” I think there’s some editorial oversight, but I don’t know how deep or critical it goes. The problem with rock criticism in general is that any asshole with an opinion and the conviction to get heard can be a rock critic. It’s not like film, where there are whole, respectable degree programs dedicated to its study. People with degrees in musicology are generally viewed as underwater basketweavers, and there’s not very much scholarly work on the subject — and what does exist is largely written and read by academicians. Your average Rolling Stone reviewer, let along the collective mind of the Internet, probably couldn’t or doesn’t care to understand it.So back to emo: do we like it? I like some bands that are clearly emo, like Modest Mouse. But we could spend the rest of our lives debating the exact classification of At The Drive-in or Fugazi. I think of emo as being pop-song lyrics without the pop-song music. But to say that anything that’s kinda punk-y and either addresses emotions or has inscrutable lyrics is “emo” is a gross generalization. The bottom line is this: do you like Dashboard Confessional?

As long as you answer, “No,” you’re still cool.

I suppose I should weigh in on all this nonsense… I went to a Supa Bowl Partay and drank too much beer. Damn, what a game! I wasn't rooting for either team in particular, but I was on the edge of my seat thru the whole fourth quarter. It was decided in the last four seconds. It's doesn't get closer than that.

But really, halftime is what everyone's talking about. So first, here are some good picks D sent me. You can see from this that Janet's not wearing a pasty, but some freaky looking piercing. That makes it look a little accidental. But after watching it about 80 times on CNN today, Justin clearly meant to rip something off her outfit. Which raises the question: What exactly is a “wardrobe malfunction”?

My verdict: MTV planned it all along. How could they not? They have a freakin Pilates video now! And all the conservatives who are offended need to get over it. We shouldn't shun or deny sexuality. That attitude is the real leading cause of teen pregnancy.

I was listening to “The Flashback Lunch” on 101X today as I went to get some food and heard a song which I though was called “Dead Come Home.” Apparently it’s actually “Nemesis” by Shriekback, but the chorus is still the same:

Priests and cannibals, prehistoric animals
Everybody happy as the dead come home
Big Black Nemesis, parthenogenesis
No one move a muscle as the dead come home

Parthenogenesis is a means of asexual reproduction that occurs in higher animals, such as snakes, under certain conditions. It amuses me greatly to hear this in a song. It is perhaps the longest word in a rhyming couplet in a pop song ever!

For some reason, I’m also reminded of War Games. When Matthew Broderick’s science teacher asks him, “Who first proposed the theory of asexual reproduction?” he responds, “Your wife?”

In the July 11, 2003 issue of Entertainment Weekly, Owen Gleiberman combines his two prior reviews of Legally Blonde 2 and Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle with a short introduction that names Chrissy of Three’s Company as the “patron saint” of the protagonists of the two films. His point is that Elle Woods and the “Angels” have “a woman’s right to revel in the sheer fun of being a chicklet” as well as the right to a successful career. Elle Woods is a Harvard-educated lawyer while the action sequences of Charlie’s Angels are “mini spectacles of ‘masculine’ style converted into pure feminine force.” The precedent then is that today’s young women can be girlie and accomplished.

I’m personally not too sure how I feel about this. Perhaps I’m not “post-feminist” (whatever that may mean). In real life, I would have a problem — at least initially — taking Elle Woods seriously. I would certainly be attracted to her, and after learning of her credentials and seeing her in action, I would be sold. In many ways, she is my ideal woman: very feminine and attractive, yet intelligent and accomplished. My girlfriend certainly fits this mold. I could just be intimidated by such a set of personal attributes, since I feel only slightly above avaerage (at best) in most respects. Or I could be overwhelmed by the possibility of having my cake and eating it too.

Whatever the case may be, Legally Blonde 2 and Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle set a precedent for womanhood that is both strong and feminine. I like it because I think that’s what a woman should be.