Day 3 report from SXSW: Booze, hookers and other pieces of American poetry.

review and photos by Peter Lewis. some photos from his sometimes sober friends.

And I thought Wednesday night was fun …

Thursday night’s shows began for us at The Mohawk, the symbol of Austin hipness. Friday began with an afternoon mohawk. There are few things better than lounging on a back patio with a few beverages, some close friends, and a grill. In fact you can take away any of those secondary factors and lounging on a back patio would still be wonderful.

After a quick trip to the nearby HEB (Central Texas chain of grocery stores) for a few essentials, Cookies and I cruised over to our friend’s house, the TC Lounge (Tank & Cara). For the next three or four hours, as the madness of SXSW continued to roll on just a few miles west of us, we partook in the best kind of entertainment: human conversation. Somehow this innocent affair took a left turn and I was sitting in a chair in the yard getting a mohawk. Did I ask for one…? No. Somehow my little faux-hawk haircut request got convoluted into an actual mohawk. Tank ignored the “faux” and instead worked on the “mo.”

YOUNG REPUBLIC
Never one to let adversity dissuade my plans for the evening, we parted (momentarily) to begin the night. Cooks, Skip, and I drove downtown to hit up our first show: The Young Republic. This Nashville outfit was playing on the rooftop at Maggie Mae’s on 6th street (it was from this vantage point several years ago that I looked down upon an intoxicated Arkansas fan I knew from high school yelling and screaming in the street the evening after the Hogs embarrassing win over the Horns. Somehow he avoided arrest … that night at least).

The evening air was perfect and the Young Republic showered us with a straight ahead rock performance. Which was somewhat surprising. They had a doll of a gal playing fiddle, two guitarists, a fellow on bass, one on drums, and another splitting time between fiddle and keys. My experience with this outfit is an album called “12 Tales from Winter City.” It has elements of “rock” within it but for the most part it’s intricate folk-rock, with very audible lyrics and crashing crescendos. Once again, though I was surprised by what I heard, I wasn’t disappointed.

After leaving Maggie Mae’s, Cooks and Skip left to see a band play next door while my friend Mark and I walked down 6th Street to the Habana Bar. This Cuban restaurant and bar was hosting three different showcases, the largest one being behind the building next to Waller Creek. Housed underneath a tent, the crowds were already packing it in.  We both assumed it was for the next two bands (the Felice Brothers & Jason Isbell). However the 9 p.m. act, Dawes were the siren song for the crowd. We both were quickly met not only with an education in great music but also by our long lost friend’s from Tank & Cara’s place. Our crew intact, our ears were pleasured and our minds were opened to the wonderful group from Los Angeles. Their soulful Americana rock tunes were just the right thing for the evening. I’m a rater, so if I had to rate their performance, it’s slotted at about the three hole, close to Phosphorescent but behind a band we had yet to see (but you’ll read about shortly). It is a true testament to a band’s ability when you’re able to truly groove on their music without ever having heard a single composition prior.

AMERICAN POETRY
It was the 10 p.m. act that was my “must see” for the festival. If nothing else happened, I had to make it to see The Felice Brothers (luckily I was so nervous about missing them that I went early and was rewarded with Dawes). No matter what you are excited about there is always the high probability that your experience will not meet your expectations.  As a result, I try to keep my expectations low when it comes to things like shows or films so as not to be let down. Despite all of this, I was truly excited to hear the Felice Brothers play. One might even say too excited.

What transpired was one of the most amazing shows I’ve experienced. Their tag line is simply “American Music.” And, considerate readers, they are as American as it gets.  With hard hitting songs of booze, robberies, hookers, and transients, they are rough around the edges but pure poetry throughout. As American as it gets.

Playing mainly songs from the soon to be released album, Yonder is the Clock, they came out of the gates swinging.  Their jangly tunes had the crowd bouncing and screaming (maybe that was just me?). Then out of the blue, the fiddle/washboard player broke down into some freestyling that caught us all off guard, yet was still an enjoyable 60-second performance. There is always that one song you go to a concert wanting to hear and it breaks your heart if you don’t. For me that song was “Frankie’s Gun!” (you can here it here at myspace). The mark of a great concert is your reaction to the concert despite not getting to hear that song. My reaction was visibly off the charts and simply summed up by my friend Cookies. “Man, you really liked those guys.” To say the least.

WAITING FOR ISBELL
Our plan was to stick around for Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit then try our damnedest to get into see Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears (think a more bluesy version of the young James Brown) followed by Okkervil River (savant and lyrical rock, if that makes sense) at the Parish. Unfortunately Mr. Isbell was taking a long time to do his sound check so for fear of missing out on the shows at the Parish, we left during his sound check. The line was quite long at the Parish and we were told they were accepting badges only.

Tails tucked we walked back down 6th street to the Habana Bar to catch Jason Isbell. We were rewarded with a great show. With Dawes and the Felice Brothers both bringing their A-game, it was a tough spot for Isbell to follow. Though I wouldn’t say he knocked it out of the park, he put on an entertaining show. The night was made for me when the band broke into Danko/Manuel, his paean to the fallen legends Rick Danko & Richard Manuel.

Nights are never complete without a visit to a street side food vendor. On this particular morning (yes it was that late), we opted for lamb gyros. Maybe it was my boozy taste buds playing tricks with me but that was the best gyro I’ve had. And my boozy taste buds weren’t the only ones saying so either. It was the consensus among a lot of boozy taste buds. Somehow not content or not full from the gyros, I decided we should also try to the taco trailer next door. My boozy taste buds weren’t nearly as impressed with them as they were the gyro so I’m pretty sure I could still differentiate pretty well.

Many, many hours after it began the day was finally over. With gyros, a mohawk, transient tunes, and a jumping journalist, it was indeed an historic night. One that will be hard to surpass on Saturday. Check back tomorrow to find out if it did.