Sarah Tomlinson: Blog

Well, that’s not exactly true. But since this batch of SXSW coverage has already taken longer than the actual festival lasted, let’s go ahead and get this sucker wrapped up already. So, here’s what the people want, anyhow: The highlights!

Bias alert: Tulsa features two of my dear friends from Boston. But it doesn't really matter, as I'd only heard a few of their songs before, and their afternoon set at Side Bar was still transcendent. The band's singer/guitarist Carter Tanton sings and plays his heart out, delivering lyrics with raw edges of honesty and sweet surprises over barbed washes of guitar, while Marc Pinansky lightens the proceedings with rich undercurrents of Rhodes organ and his silky harmonies. Plus, a taut, compelling rhythm section. It rocks, but it’s tender and sophisticated, too –- this is some real deal rock ‘n’ roll.

My friend Peter (of stellar Boston-based indie rock band Age Rings) was positively raving about his old friends in Edmonton’s indie dance outfit Shout out out out out. And for good reason: They are truly something else. Featuring three bassists, two drummers, no guitars, and an assortment of keyboards, samplers, and other electronic gizmos, they unleash a full-on indie pop onslaught, complete with bountiful high kicks and bouncing. The music is wacky and original, but highly danceable. And their joyous stage presence, funny banter about debt and life’s other inevitabilities, and song titles like “Chicken Soup for the Fuck You,” added up to a full on happening.

Midway through a cross-Atlantic melt down rumored to be set off by a recent breakup, Amy Winehouse made it through one of the few performances that she didn’t cancel on her current tour, playing before an eager crowd at the Fader Party. And while her personal life and liver may be in tatters, her pipes were in great form. Backed only by an acoustic guitar, she still held the audience rapt, with little more stagecraft than her beehive, as she belted out one old timey gospel blues song after another. And her oh-so-good single “Rehab” gets credit as one of the three songs that was stuck in my head at the end of this weekend of musical madness.

I love, love, love The Pierces’ new record, "Thirteen Tales of Love and Revenge," (see my review in the next issue of Preen), so their weak set was particularly disappointing. Their voices are as pretty as they are, but their vocals alone weren’t enough to anchor the set. Recorded, the songs are still super catchy (and sexy), though.

A nighttime set by Valient Thorr found the guys inflaming the crowd with their wild, sweat-drenched antics and power to the people rallying cry. And in one of the weekend’s most epic moments, they were joined for their final song by none other than the MC5's Wayne “Kick Out the Jams” Kramer on guitar. He paid tribute to the lads by donning one of their Valient Thorr-adorned denim vests at the end of their set. This was the weekend's "my plane ticket just paid for itself" moment.

They may come from the inauspiciously named hometown of Peaslake, in the UK, but the Winterkids have the style and moves of city scenesters. And, most importantly, they’ve got the songs to back it all up. Singer James Snider vamps and shakes it with the best of them, preening and prancing around the stage, adding even more charm to the band’s already winsome pop rock anthems. “Tape It” is a delicious dance floor ode, and although it's presumably dedicated to television addiction, it's just good enough to inspire a new generation of kids to set their TiVos and hit the town.

Across the street at the NY2LONDON party being thrown by my friends at +1 Publicity, which was, hands down, the best soiree of the weekend, it was a nonstop block of stellar indie rock fueled with free Bloody Mary’s, Heineken, and (swanky to the last) Fiji water. Michigan’s Thunderbirds Are Now! delivered a driving set of atmospheric, lo-fi rock that sounded sort of like emo indie (but not bad, really!) They were super engaging and good, and one of their singers sounds just like a girl sometimes, which makes for fun neck craning during their set. (There’s really no lady up there?!) New York City’s Takka Takka were my SXSW surprise –- the band I’d never heard of before who impressed me the most. Sporting white shades and boy-next-door charm, singer Gabe Levine wooed the audience with a set of loose and lovely indie rock that contained traces of Pavement and the Modern Lovers. The Fratellis deserve each and every ounce of the hype they’re getting. Although they played a stripped down set featuring only singer John Fratelli and another guitarist, their songs are so massively catchy that it was completely riveting. And they get credit for the second of the three songs that was stuck in my head at weekend's end (the sexy roustabout “Creepin Up the Backstairs”). And I couldn’t even see how much Master Fratelli resembles the late great sovereign of my heart – Marc Bolan of T. Rex. Now that I've seen the photos, I'm really smitten.

My friend Carter is all about Vancouver's Ladyhawk (I remember seeing him walking on air after he first caught them live back at the Middle East in Boston), so I had to follow his orders to check them out. And they delivered. The opposite of too cool for school, they gave up some earnest, feel good, think good, indie rock with plenty of witty banter between songs. They even had a Leprechaun piñata in honor of St. Patrick’s Day, which almost decapitated an unsuspecting audience member when they hurled it into the crowd, but did yield candy.

Playing some of the most authentic garage rock this side of the ‘60s, The Strange Boys from Dallas have the look, the sound, and the songs. Singer Ryan Sambol is all long eyelashes and pouting lips on the outside, but inside, he possesses the kind of murky whine that makes the band’s sound truly transcendent, rather than merely retro.

Bias Alert: They’re old friends and they played my birthday party in January. But it must be said: Former Bostonians, and current Silver Lakers, the Unbusted, are rocking harder these days than they have ever rocked before. In fact, they rocked harder than just about anyone else who set out to rock at SXSW this year. All that recent practice means they’re tight enough to play loose, and the new songs are sexy and heartfelt, reminding that rock can be tough and funny and full of great riffs all at once. In fact, one of their new numbers was the third song stuck in my head at the end of the weekend. Will someone please give these guys whatever they ask for?

Speaking of taut, ambitious rock, The Whigs from Athens, Georgia delivered a set of smart, sweaty rock ‘n’ roll at the Blender Bar on Saturday night. They sure make a lot of noise for a trio, and their songs are super catchy.

And then it was time for the night’s big attraction (at least for me), and the final band I saw at SXSW. While everyone else was scratching each other’s eyes out trying to get in to see The Stooges, I caught a rare performance by another group of garage rock innovators, The Saints from Australia. Their first two albums, “I’m Stranded” and “Eternally Yours” remain benchmarks of rowdy, romantic rock ‘n’ roll. Their new material doesn’t quite capture the old magic, but hearing “Stranded” played live was a truly miraculous experience.

And, last but not least, there was the weekend’s real highlight, the $40 rickshaw ride to the final Vice party. Our sweet, very determined driver pedaled us across the river, off-road over the grass, and miles further than he should have felt obligated to, while my friend Lisa and I giggled like banshees in the back of his carriage. Of course, once we arrived at our destination, we learned that the party location was literally crumbling around guests, and that the Black Lips were going to be playing under a pedestrian bridge instead. So them! We hit the Pure Volume party instead for, of all the things you really don't need at 3:30 a.m. after a weekend of drinking, Red Bull and vodka, and then called it a year. Until 2008!