David's SXSW Journal, Part 2 of 5
DAY TWO
Collins and I are staying with our friends Teddy and Danny, who live incredibly close to downtown. We slither out of bed and pick up Will and Matt, who are staying with our friends Laura and Jennifer. Laura and Jennifer, it should be noted, do not live as close to downtown, but do live in a house that is maybe the most stylish, spacious, and all-around cool place I’ve ever seen. I can only imagine that Matt and Will slept on sheets of raw silk, under blankets filled with bald eagle feathers, while fountains gently gurgled out a soothing stream of absinthe in the background. Not that I am in any way jealous. Luke and his wife Sydney made separate sleeping arrangements like me and Collins, and, also like me and Collins, clearly chose poorly by not staying with Laura and Jennifer.
Ultimately, we all get downtown and load in for the Planetary day party. Our friends Michael, Paul Michael, and Laura (a different Laura from the Laura mentioned above, but equally special) have come down from Arkansas and graciously hang out with us and watch our set. I’ve been excited about this show for quite some time as we get to play with, among others, Portugal, the Man. We’d had a show with those guys several months ago, at which point they became one of my favorite bands.
They play at essentially the same time we do, so as we run through our set, it dawns on me that I’m missing them. I contemplate trying to sneak offstage after our first song, but figure that it’d be poor form. That said, we have a fun show. It’s loud, which is good, as every band in the world is playing at the same time within a one mile radius. We get done and I run over to try and catch the last of Portugal’s set. I don’t succeed.
Next up is a backyard party at Teddy and Danny’s. It’s a lot of fun, and we get to see some incredible bands, particularly She Keeps Bees and, at the end of the evening, Danny Malone (our host). Matt joins Danny on drums, having never heard the songs, and does a remarkable job. The band is flawless and the songs are astounding. Even though my hangover is still raging, I leave feeling inspired.
At 11, we saunter over to Spiro’s to catch our road bros, J. Roddy Walston and the Business. One of the most incredible bands in existence, J. Roddy’s live set is the type that leaves you feeling as if you’ve just witnessed the birth of rock n’ roll. This evening, they don’t disappoint. The room is packed and, in between songs, you can almost hear the sound of the crowd’s collective jaw dropping. We all agree that we’ve witnessed something legendary.
At 1:45 AM we head to Smokin’ Music, a venue that was created only days before by American Spirits and curated by American Songwriter Magazine. The “club,” which heretofore had been an empty brick warehouse, went through a multi-million dollar makeover solely for the festival. In a stroke of inspiration so misguided that it actually ended up being genius, they put a group of smoke machines on top of the building so that it looked, felt, and smelled like we were playing in a giant cigarette.
At this point I should mention that the show is a ways behind schedule, so we end up playing at 2:45 AM, which is miserable. Additionally, I should really mention that the band on before us is Six Pence None The Richer. While we’ve shared the stage on many occasions with throwback mainstays of 90s Modern Rock Radio, this is a unique experience if for no other reason than the fact that the sound guy cuts them off before they can play “Kiss Me,” their hit. I’m secretly bummed, but we’re pretty far behind schedule by this point.
In shelling out millions of dollars to outfit the club, the one thing that was overlooked was getting an after-hours liquor license (if one, in fact, exists…to be fair) so, while an open bar was promised to everyone, a bunch of surly dudes come by to grab and dispose of every alcoholic beverage in the room by 2 AM. Consequently, no one sticks around for our show, save for a few loyal friends like Chuck Brody and Gabe from The Fireplace, John and Roy from Lucero, and Cory Branan. Props to you, gentlemen.
After the show, the American Spirit folks give us each a carton of our preferred cigarette and we head home, presumably to get cancer. It is now a zillion o’clock in the morning. The next slew of shows looms darkly on the horizon.
Read On: Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
Shows
Summer Shows TBA
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