The ladies of Bitch Magazine.
So it's the first day of the SXSW music fest extravaganza orgy, and we kicked it off by rolling up to Mohawk on Red River to try to catch local songstress Caitlin Rose. The door guy said both stage's sets were running about half an hour behind (thanks, dude) so we used the time to head next door to the Bitch
Magazine party at Club Deville, where Paper Chase were onstage rocking their rap-leaning, white-boy rock.
All photos by Lance McDonald. More after the jump.
Paper Chase's bass player.
|Paper Chase's bass player.|
It was aggressively rap-rocky but with piano keyboard parts that made it sound aggressively white. Actually, the bass player ruled pretty hard with his sludgy assault. But as a friend of mine once said, "I feel like I'm trapped inside a 'Stuff White People Like' blog entry." So do these people:
They're nodding their heads--really.
|They're nodding their heads--really.|
So we went back to Mohawk to catch Caitlin Rose, only to find out her set--as well as the sets of all the bands playing the inside stage--was right on time. Rose actually went on early, so being horribly misled, we headed up the street to catch the scrappy garage rock of The Thermals. Turns out, so did everyone else:
The Thermals at Red Seven.
|The Thermals at Red Seven.|
It was pleasant enough, but packed in next to dirty-haired hipsters with the blazing sun in our faces, it made more sense to check out something a little less well-attended. Especially since The Thermals are playing 8,000 times this year. So we headed inside, where trio Damaged Goods rapped about black dudes in tight pants and universally relatable concepts such as the "same old bullshit" and things being fucked up in general. All with fuzzy thumps that white people could kinda dance to.
But shit, ya'll. I wanted to see Yoni from the band Why? perform a few songs, so I moved back inside to a one-man show. Dude was missing a sustain pedal, which, if you think about it, is really just completely unacceptable. I mean, seriously, who does he think we are? He actually asked us to clap the snares or something! But seriously. It was a sparse set of new songs I hadn't heard yet, and it quieted the throngs of painfully cool hipsters. Like this guy:
Get it? It's turquoise dude. Turquoise. Think about it.
|Get it? It's turquoise dude. Turquoise. Think about it. |
And everyone had on shoes like this:
The official shoes of SXSW.
|The official shoes of SXSW.|
I've said many times that the only thing worse than being around a crowd of people who are nothing like you is being around a crowd of people who are exactly like you, so when you run across a dude so pathologically himself that he doesn't give two Tecate shits about the rest of it, you just kinda love the guy.
Back of the shirt says just what you thought it would: 'Slow Zombies Rule.'
|Back of the shirt says just what you thought it would: 'Slow Zombies Rule.'|
And then it's time to eat after all those brewskies, so you're gonna wanna hit Kebabalicious, because it's spicy hot, tasty good pitas.
This guy will remember your name five minutes later at the venue across the street.
|This guy will remember your name five minutes later at the venue across the street.|
And then outside in the dirty, dirty streets slowly filling with industry types and rabid fans and random onlookers, you're just gonna run into your fair share of this kinda thing:
Angry Vs Bear from Essex, England.
|Angry Vs Bear from Essex, England.|
Oh, but remember how I wanted to see that band Wavves, whose lo-fi skate punk reminded me of No Age? Turns out their drummer injured himself in a vague, undisclosed way, and so dude was just solo. No drummer? No thank you! To be checked out later.