SXSW: Reatards, tacos and Drew Carey

By: Austin L. Ray

Most of my Wednesday was spent at our day party at Volume, whether that meant cage blogging while Colour Revolt rocked out, loving Destroyer’s live show or watching Peter Morén march around in the crowd while ending his set with a song from that other band he’s in. But all the Paste fun was over by 6 p.m., leaving me free to roam the city in search of something interesting.

After re-charging (both my phone and my legs) at the hotel, I was off. On the way towards 6th St., I couldn’t help myself, and stopped off at an obscure, out-of-the-way bar to watch Mahjongg again. Just a few songs. Really, I don’t have a problem. I can quit at any time. But seriously, what if it’s three years until I see this band again? I don’t feel guilty. They thoroughly rocked it once more, this time for an intimate crowd amidst tiki lighting and decorative rocks. The surroundings added a certain charm.

I trekked up from there to Vice’s club to see Jay Reatard, a man I’ve listened to a fair bit on record but have only heard about in terms of his legendary live show. As the curly haired Tennessean pulled his stark white Gibson flying V from its case, the excitement was palpable, and his set delivered on the anticipation. Reatard plays a very particular type of melodic punk, the easiest reference point of which is probably The Ramones. His tunes as fast as they are catchy, he sings down into the microphone, his hair covering his face as he compulsively throws it back, stepping away from the mic only long enough for a quick guitar theatric.

Possibly the best part of his stage routine, though, is how Reatard introduces his songs. Considering that his entire set was 21 minutes long, you’d be right to assume that this was no Storytellers gig. Instead, at the precise instant when one song ended, he’d shout the title of the next, the drummer would start it off, and two minutes later they’d rinse and repeat. Of course, with the crowd noise, it wasn’t always easy for Reatard’s bandmates to hear the marching orders. This led to one particularly amusing exchange:

*song ends*
Reatard: Nightmares!
*crowd noise*
Reatard: Nightmares!
*more crowd noise*
Reatard: *looks back at drummer*
Drummer: *looks up*
Reatard: Nightmares!
*song starts*

I left wanting more, but I guess that was kind of the point. On my way out, I walked past Patrick Carney, the lanky, vicious drummer of The Black Keys, for which Reatard will serve as opening act on a tour stint beginning in two weeks. Carney had a big smile on his face and was chatting with an excited friend about the mosh pit that broke out toward the end of Reatard’s set. His grin suggested that they are going to have a great time on tour.

The Secretly Canadian/Jagjaguwar/Dead Oceans showcase was my next destination. I met up with some of the Paste crew on the extremely crowded Mohawk patio just in time to catch recent 4 to Watch artist Bon Iver. But because the author of that article is our expert on the man born Justin Vernon, I’ll let her blog about his set. For what it’s worth, shortly after Bon Iver finished up, a dude behind me provided the funniest snippet of out-of-context conversation I heard all day:

“Speaking of showcases, have you seen The Price is Right with Drew Carey yet?”

Maybe it was just my mood at the time, but that made me giggle.

Up next was Jens Lekman, a gifted songwriter I’m unabashedly all about. When I saw Lekman in Atlanta last fall, he was alone with an acoustic guitar and whatever electronic trickery he could cook up via samples and loops. Last night, however, he offered up the full-band treatment, complete with an excellent violinist. The result was predictably lush and wonderful. Highlights were numerous, but two particular standouts included 1) blending the beat of “The Opposite of Hallelujah” with DJ precision into The Chairman of the Board’s flawless 1970 single “Give Me Just a Little More Time” complete with full band pantomiming that will never, ever grow old, and 2) an extended version of “A Postcard to Nina” with between-verse spoken word that filled in extra gaps in an already great story.

So yeah, Jens Lekman was all right. I guess.

I left the venue with every intention of catching a 1 a.m. show somewhere before calling it a night, but it proved to be too much for me. I went first to the inexplicably empty Red Eyed Fly where I thought I would walk into El Guincho mid-set (too tardy), then had a taco outside of Emo’s while High on Fire raged inside (too loud), and finally strolled by a window where Har Mar Superstar was doing his usual chubby-guy-in-tight-clothing ironic dance routine (too...much). Chalking it up to fate, I headed back to the hotel to get some sleep.

And now, Friday begins…