Unofficial SXSW 2009: The Hipsters are Coming

Austin is a massive, wonderful and gorgeous place.  And SXSW is equally as diverse and awesome, unofficially and officially.  And this is not a hipster bashing rant.  But if the only stain Austin has is the big stain of Texas that surrounds it, then the one bad thing about SXSW is hipsters.  Not the polite, nerdy ones, who flood the rapidly gentrifying minority establishments with cash for Lonestar and Shiner Bock so they can survive.  But the assholes that don’t give a damn about who the hell is even playing, bring their own damn beer, throw it all over the street and proceed to bum rush the stage in all their filthy, flannel glory and break drummers ankles for a peak at cool.  

John Dwyer's rockness face. 

Maybe I had a little pent up aggression from the second coming of the Fuck By Fuck You festival at the adjacent metal house, The Typewriter Museum, as for the poke at hipsters.  Still, the place is a certifiable punk-rock shit hole, with pet goats and free beer, typewriters lodged into the earth and sides of walls. Not to mention the talent pulled together: Black Cock, Clint’s Clit, Baby Got Bacteria.  And people still had the decency to throw their trash in a can.


Yes, somebody in the crowd screamed their love of Black Cock at least five times. 


The Typewriter Museum's pet goat. 

Okay.  I promise.  No more hipster typecasting.  Really, during the day I caught some of the most relaxing and authentic slices of unofficial SXSW.  Literally, at Home Slice, a pizza joint on the South side of the city, with giant New York-style slices of pie and indie-pop talent pulled from all over the nation, from Earlimart to Deertick.  And then ten-fold at Yard Dog across the street, where the venue took some time off from hosting Chicago showcases (Schubas, Bloodshot Records) and threw a mid-day heel-stomper slash arts and crafts fair with some tasty bits of alt-country.  Born-again punk, Jon Langford, stole the afternoon, toasting a sea of cowboy hat-clad fans with flasks of whiskey and old Sadies sing-alongs about getting money and not leaving anything behind, “just some pieces of your heart, fragments of your mind.” 

Home Slice talent - St. Helens Vietnam Band. 


Jon Langford licking his chops over local, rockabilly starlet, Rosie Flores' licks.

Though I also spent a good hour sampling everything from the nearby trailer park of mobile goodness, mowing infamous cupcakes (Hey Cupcake), gourmet popcorn (Cornucopia) and meat in a cone (The Mighty Cone).  So I could have just been fat and happy.  Either way, no, the hipsters will not overbearingly come.  And yes, SXSW on the free is growing infinitely stronger than the festival proper.  And we may not know what that means yet for the survival of Austin’s “weirdness,” but it’s still damn near impossible to leave that town without a missing a piece of your heart and some fragments of your mind.          

Tasha makes a mean dill-flavored popcorn. 


Mmm - meat in a cone.   


The "24 Carrot."

And a few more festival cap pics:


Instructions at The Typewriter Museum. 


The Gay Duo's last minute attempt at exposure, on the front porch of the Typewriter Museum.


I believe at this point the Mexican natives dedicated an abusive punk squall to Mr. Potato head. 

And lest us not forget the biggest rock art poster convention of it's kind, Flatstock.