It's time for the music at SXSW: Bring it on
By Michael Corcoran
American-Statesman Staff
Thursday, March 14, 2002
`Less is more" was the advice Martin Goldschmidt of London's Cooking Vinyl record label gave to a ballroom full of musicians, managers, booking agents, publicists and others Wednesday afternoon at the Austin Convention Center.
He certainly wasn't talking about the South by Southwest music conference, which even in a down year for the music industry is the biggest convention to come to Austin. Goldschmidt's message at the "Indie Label Opportunities" panel, one of 10 on Wednesday for entry-level registrants, was a call to economize when seeking a record deal.
"You should send only three songs," he said. "And if your first song isn't your best, you've blown it."
Simplicity is a nice concept, but it has little place in a city that, during the next four days and nights, truly is the Live Music Capital of the World. The idea behind attending SXSW is to cram in as much activity as possible, and even on the customary day of acclimation, the town's energy level surged.
"It's a real jolt," local guitarist Gurf Morlix said. "South by Southwest beats me up every year, and I love it."
Short or nonexistent lines to get badges exemplified the fact that registration is down at least 15 percent. But the festival features as many bands as ever, with more than 900 scheduled to perform on various sanctioned stages and at least a couple hundred more playing "pirate" showcases. The official SXSW acts are paid $175 -- or they could opt for credentials. Most go for the badges: There's much to do and many people to meet.
At the same time, most of Austin was untouched by the black-clad invasion. Leslie Cochran, the city's mascot in mascara, worked on a crossword puzzle at Sixth Street and Congress Avenue as a rockabilly band handed out fliers. Dozens of sullen, unshaven men sat in line outside the Austin Resource Center for the Homeless, unaware that they lived in the city that Gov. Rick Perry, just 100 yards away at La Zona Rosa, called "the epicenter of music."
"This old Republican knows how to rock!" Perry said when he spoke between Junior Brown sets to a crowd of young politicos. The governor's annual 5 p.m. soiree is usually the kickoff party for the music side of a conference that also includes film and interactive events.
Besides the panels, which started a day earlier than usual, several parties, including a soiree featuring power-pop bands at Momo's and a reunion of Loose Diamonds in a tiny room above Opal Divine's, preceded the governor's bash.
After the governor's party came the local music community's biggest night, the Austin Music Awards. Bob Schneider walked off with the Musician of the Year plaque for the third straight year but gave way to Toni Price's "Midnight Pumpkin" in the album of the year category and Eric Johnson's Alien Love Child as band of the year. It was a special 41st birthday for Price, who was serenaded with a boisterous "Happy Birthday to You" from the near-sellout crowd.
Since most out-of-towners look for something a little hipper than an awards show being headlined by Asleep at the Wheel and featuring mumbled acceptance speeches, the event remained as Austin-centric as Eeyore's Birthday Party.
True to its hometown feel, this year's show honored two recently deceased musicians not well known beyond these parts. A musical tribute to Champ Hood featured Lyle Lovett, who was an acolyte of Hood's Uncle Walt's Band in the '70s. Another touching moment was when "Mambo" John Treanor was inducted into the Austin Music Hall of Fame by the biggest-ever margin of votes by readers of the Austin Chronicle.
In accepting the award for the best radio station, KGSR (FM 107.1) staffers gave out a prize of their own: They presented Peyton Wimmer of the SIMS Foundation musicians assistance program with a check for $217,592. The donation, the proceeds of KGSR's "Broadcasts" CD, took the communal mood even higher.
After the official showcases started at 8 p.m., the streets began filling with clubhoppers, the swirling wind whipping their badges around to their backs. A blues guitar solo filtered out the front door of Antone's as if to signal that the party had begun, at least within those four walls. Like so many live music clubs in Austin, Antone's has fallen on rough financial times. But this week the registers will ring out like those of toy stores in December.
The club's marquee, often jammed with band names, said only "SXSW." In that case, less is more. |
