Thursday's dayshow at Emo's (under new
ownership from last year) brought the Creature Comforts. This was to be the last show of their tour with
the Figgs, and there was a good-sized crowd there to witness it. The CC's began their set with "Sentimental
Bliss" and never let up. They seemed to
really appeal to the crowd, which was good. It
gave me faith in the judgement of South By' attendees.
If you can't find at least one aspect of the Creature Comforts
to appreciate, you should get the hell out of the music business.
An unforeseen distraction kept me from
seeing the Figgs, but I saw all of Schatzi's
set. Showing a lot of Midwestern pop
sensibility, Chris, Monte, Erick and their guests had all in attendance bouncing about to
super catchy hooks and hummable melodies.
These guys have been getting a lot of
local radio play, and it's no secret why. "Death
of the Alphabet," their ep recorded partially at Red House last year and partially in
Chris's garage, is a perfect representation of the ear candy that pours from the speakers
when Schatzi plays. The
guys assure me that there's a full-length that's soon to come, and I hope to God it's
true. As far as I'm concerned, there isn't a
pop band in the country right now that has anything on these guys. See them soon.
That's an order.
After Schatzi,
I headed over to The Red Eyed Fly for a local act called Hobble. One of the first bands I saw upon my arrival in
Austin, Hobble is a Clutch-esque rock
outfit with a perhaps certifiably crazy front man named Oriah who twists and writhes on
stage and on the floor throughout their sometimes brutal, sometimes funny, always
ass-kicking rock and roll show. They've been
at this for a long time, and it really pays off in tight performances.
Hobble was
followed by Florida's own Syrup, a campy 70's throw-back band
who probably own every Kiss album ever made and spend large
portions of their days listening to said albums with Rhinestone Cowboy playing a double
feature with Saturday Night Fever on mute in the background. Got all that?
Good.
Now imagine all of it mixed up together
and applied liberally to tall, lanky good-ole-boys that perform in skin-tight polyester
bellbottoms and rhinestone covered cowboy hats, complete with synchronized dance moves. To give you an idea where they're coming from, Syrup
has songs called, "Get My Lick On" and "Sexy Swimmin' Hole."
This band stayed in town after their
show. They were never without female
companions. There's a lesson to be learned
here: in Austin, chicks dig kitsch. Seriously,
though, at least while they were playing, Syrup was my new
favorite band. Local hero (and
self-proclaimed Lover of the Ladies) Handsome Joel assured me that Syrup
occasionally visits the Midwest. You can be
sure I'll catch them if they do.
The night show at the Fly featured Austin
locals Honky. You
might recall Honky's bassist/frontman Jeff Pinkus from the Butthole
Surfers. Together with guitar
man Bobby "Rock" Landgraf (looking suspiciously like an Amish man gone terribly
wrong) and drummer Lance Farley (who used to book at the Red Eyed Fly...small world, isn't
it?), Pinkus and crew are a Lone Star beer and whiskey fueled rock machine not to be
looked upon by the weak of heart or those not at least a little red in the neck.
Living in the same town as Honky
is kinda like living next to the Supersuckers in the trailer
park at the edge of town. You can experience Honky
through their Man's Ruin release "Ten Inches" or any of their other albums (I
recommend their self titled release). See
them all at www.honky.net. By the way, you can also see Handsome Joel at this
site. Tell them I sent you.
Dallas rockers Speedealer
(formerly know as REO Speedealer until REO
Speedwagon threw a big enough fit to get the Texans to amend their name. Stupid REO Speedwagon. Just had to go and ruin one of the best band names
in rock today, didn't they?) followed Honky's lead. I can remember seeing their albums in the
"local" section at the Streetside Records in Manhattan back in my college days. Had I even the slightest clue how much this band
rocks, I would've bought everything Speedealer that Streetside
could throw at me. These guys look exactly
like the older kids who used to buy me whiskey when I was underage in small-town central
Kansas, but Speedealer comes equipped with AC/DC
style riffs and a Motorhead-esque knowledge of the best way to
shove those riffs right down your throat.
Normally, I'd walk over my own mother to
catch a Speedealer show, but seeing them at this SXSW was kinda
like watching Smokey and the Bandit on regular TV: I was entertained, but not fulfilled. It wasn't the same crowd that comes out for Speedealer
shows. I need drinks spilled and sweaty gas
station attendants hollerin' for Skynnard covers before I consider a Speedealer
show complete. Oh well. Maybe next time.
After Speedealer,
the demeanor of the crowd began to change. The
bar was packed, with barely enough room to turn around, yet two guys managed to tip over a
table during an argument. South By' attendees
traditionally tear it up on Thursday night, considering it to be the first
"real" night of the festival, and it looked like this year would be no
different. This thought was fresh in my mind
as I made a speedy getaway to rest up for the next two days.
Cara Hollandsworth
