Love means never having to say you're crazy
Sunday, March 17, 2002
Michael Corcoran
Like most years of SXSW, I hit the wall on Saturday afternoon. Didn't want to go to any more parties. Didn't want to hear any more bands. Didn't want to talk to anybody wearing a badge. A walk through the trade show gave me a sick feeling. I needed a normal day, but I still had a column to write. Think this page cares that I'm burnt out? It's a beast that needs to be fed, and the way to do that is to get out and pound the club and party circuit day and night.
Thank God for Courtney Love. The widow Cobain's rambling, unanchored and annoyingly self-indulgent one-on-none "interview" Saturday afternoon at the Convention Center was everything a daily SXSW columnist could hope for. Free speech is to Courtney Love what the free throw line is to Shaquille O'Neal, the weakest part of her game. But what juicy fodder.
Here I thought I would be pressed into doing another boring piece on the Love-led artists rights movement, but the cause got buried under the weight of so much gibberish that all her talk offered was the experience of seeing a celebrity unravel without apology. How did the major labels get so lucky as to have the opposition spearheaded by someone who can yak for an hour and a half without completing a thought? Novice rodeo riders can stay on a bucking bronco longer than Love could stay on message. On the other hand: Would you rather hear Don Henley speak?
Sniffling and complaining of a tequila hangover, the grunge Yoko was a brilliant wreck from the start, dropping names shamelessly, imitating friends and enemies alike, delving into her junkie past without context and overestimating the popularity of her band Hole, all in answer to questions like, "When is your lawsuit (against Universal Records) coming to trial?" For the most part, L.A. Times reporter Chuck Philips didn't ask questions as much as repeatedly suggesting, "OK, let's move on." But Love kept coming back to the same subjects, like the 221-page deposition she gave recently that drops such bombshells as the names of record execs that do cocaine, hire hookers or wear toupees.
When one registrant tried to slip away for an early escape, Courtney singled him out. "Don't you leave," she said. "I'm gonna tell a real good story." After several more detours, she finally got back to her "scandalous" tale and it ended up being a bunch of blather about how Universal tried to let U2's latest album flop. After Love called the Dixie Chicks' lawsuit against Sony a significant action against "bogus accounting practices," we thought we were finally going to get some cheese with the crackers. But then she drifted off again on a tangent about how she dumped actor Ed Norton after current boyfriend/manager Jim Barber made her a mix tape that opened with "Shake Some Action" by the Flamin' Groovies and how the new garage scene in England is going to bury the Strokes. Philips tried to get her back on track with the Dixie Chicks case at least half a dozen times, to no avail.
It was gruesome. It was fascinating. And the Recording Industry Association of America, which reps the five major labels, should've picked up Courtney's expenses.
LAST GASP GAZETTE
Apparently, the Hard Rock wasn't punk rock enough for L.A. band the Icarus Line, whose 1 a.m. set Friday ended when the singer smashed a display case containing a guitar that once belonged to Stevie Ray Vaughan. After bouncers wrestled the guitar back, the Trail of Dead wannabe got free and sprinted out the doors. "The bouncers chased him for about four blocks, but he got away," says Hard Rock manager Steve Fleming, who adds that the band's record label will get the bill. "We got the name of the individual from South by Southwest and may consider filing charges." . . .
Say what you will about Mary Lou Lord (and Courtney Love has certainly said a bunch about the former Kurt Cobain flingstress), but you've gotta admire anyone who'll play in front of the Littlefield Building for five hours, as the Bostonian did Friday night/Saturday morning. When a drunk guy yelled out "Jewel!" in derision, Lord answered with a great 3:30 a.m. version of "Thunder Road." It's the little things that make the night. . . Here's a much-touted band that'll soon disappear: Clinic. The British group's Friday night set at La Zona Rosa lacked any sort of energy, which makes me think that maybe wearing surgical masks onstage is not a smart move. Like my pal Rollo Banks used to say, once you put on the clown suit, you can't take it off. . . Buffet spreads were down at least 15 percent this year, but the New Times party at Antone's Saturday was the culinary king. Plus, Neil Finn wasn't too shabby as entertainment, especially when he played requests of Crowded House and Split Enz songs after he announced that the set was over. . . Celebrity spotting: Ethan Hawke at Blender magazine's after-hours party Friday at the Acoustic Cafe; VJs Matt Pinfield and Ian Robinson hanging out during Murder City Devils-meets-Godheadsilo project Dead Low Tide's set at Emo's Black Sheep Fellowship party Saturday afternoon. Audience members mockingly yelled for the return of "Headbanger's Ball". . .
Boy, the Metro just can't win at SXSW this year. Friday night, club manager Josh Cisneros was arrested on the charge of purchasing or furnishing alcohol to a minor and released on $3,500 bond. Club owner Bob Woody says three other bartenders were arrested the same night for giving away beer. You'll recall that on Wednesday, one employee was taken away in cuffs when the Sixth Street club decided to get around its lack of a liquor permit by giving beer out for free, but charging $5 for cups. Friday's violation, Woody says, was because SXSW was collecting cover of $16, which constituted an illegal all-you-can-drink charge. "We didn't see a penny of that door money," Woody says. "It all went to South by Southwest. We were trying to be nice guys to the crowd, getting them in a party mood, and our employees get arrested."
My favorite time of South by Southwest is midnight Saturday, when you realize that it's almost over and the second wind blows you down the street in search of the final magic moments. It's then that you realize it's really been a blast, despite the unrelenting pressure to accomplish as much as possible. A good and greasy set by Alabama blues great Willie King revitalized me at Antone's Saturday night, and off I went. Tomorrow we'll be just Austin again, but for now, it's still SXSW and the night is young. |
