All week I've been struggling with a general sense of ennui; I know there are things I should be doing, even want to be doing, but I can't seem to be arsed to do any of them. And that's doubly true for coming up with a blog topic, as everytime I sit down to my computer (in my fixed apartment, hooray!), I sort of give a half-hearted sigh and then give up, flop on the couch and watch episodes of Top Model.
Maybe sometime this weekend I'll find it within myself to talk about this week's Top Model, and the tragedy contained therein.
As I was driving home from my department's team building exercise of go-karting (which, I might add, I unilaterally sucked at. Also the go-kart people misread my nickname of E2 as EZ, which is so not the impression one should make amongst coworkers. Unless your company is on a street corner in the Third Ward somewhere or you are a cast member of The Hills. However, I did take home a lovely head covering which can be used as part of an executioner's outfit, should I ever feel the need to axe someone to death.), I was pondering prospective blog topics. Then The Wombats came on shuffle and as I was singing along to a story about strippers, it hit me: I still haven't finished my sxsw coverage. So, I should probably do that.
You thought you'd get away with not having to hear anything more about sxsw, just because it was almost two months ago. Sorry.
Okay, so where we left off, I'd spent the day waiting in one form of line or another and was haunted by giant pandas and tranny vampires. Day three of sxsw dawned bright and early, as I had to get my roommate/partner in crime Courtney off to the CLE by 10:30. Sometimes it pays to know a lawyer, but I don't think this is one of those times. While Courtney went to continue her legal education, I chilled out in the convention center next to Johnny Flynn:
He was writing a new song, and it seemed entirely in the spirit of south by to relax and listen to a musician tinkering with his lyrics for a while. I passed an enjoyable hour reading the Chronicle, drinking my mimosa-to-go and watching the world go by.
Eventually though, I knew I had to buckle down and get to work. My primary target for the day was Filter's day party at Cedar St. Courtyard. It was one of those magic line-ups, where I wanted to see everyone on the bill. I love parties like that because I am lazy and hate darting from place to place.
First up were Sweden's Shout Out Louds, who are a great, fun little pop group. Their song Please Please Please has been in heavy rotation at casa de erin all year. It's just so much fun! Even if it is about the dangers of being an aging hipster. Amusingly, this song is right next to Please Please Please, Let Me Get What I Want in my itunes/ipod, which makes for an interesting contrast. Fucking Morrissey is always bringing me down.
Besides being a fun pop group, the Shout Out Louds are also really attractive.
Well, at least that guy is, and as I was standing right in front of him, that worked out well for me.
I should mention that by this point (about noon), it was already 88 degrees, with no breeze to speak of and the sun a giant ball of fire bearing down on us. Y'all, it was m-effin' hot that day. And all I'd had to eat or drink was that one mimosa, so I was feeling a little bit like dying. This feeling would only progress as the day went on.
You know how, sometimes, you'll find out that you were in the same place as someone else that you know of, but don't actually know? Somewhere in this crowd near me is Becs, my friend Kaisa's bestie, of whom I have heard many a delightful tale. We apparently stood right next to each other and never recognized one another, despite both of us having seen photos of the other. Ah, well. Maybe next year, Becs.
We'd already seen how the Swedes fared in the hot Texas sun, next up were even less likely subjects - Wales' Los Campesinos! (ed note: The exclamation mark is part of the name. I do not feel quite so strongly about Los Campesinos! to express that adoration with grammatical markers, although their excitement about themselves does tend to infect those around them.) It had become even hotter by this point, and the sun was so blinding that no one could see their equipment readouts:
Despite the unbearable heat, though, Los Campesinos! still brought their infectuous Welsh excitement to the stage. They also brought an asthma inhaler, sunscreen and awesome fashions for the girls:
(I fell a little in love with her. I don't think it was the heatstroke talking, either.)
At one point, the lead singer decided he was too hot to be wearing a shirt and took his off. This was such a bad idea. He got very, very sunburned.
This little girl was watching from a window upstairs. I envied her both her view and her a/c:
The lack of water or food led me to create a fanciful story about this girl, and how she was trapped in a tower like the Lady of Shallot. This girl didn't die, though, in my story; instead she started a punk rock band and did a lot of performance art.
This is Matt Bowman, of Leeds' The Pigeon Detectives:
Matt Bowman enjoys pints of lager, Michael Jackson, and spitting on people. I got spit on (and sweated on, and gyrated upon) a lot. It was the closest to catching the syph from a musician as I'd come in quite a while.
He's also very, very energetic:
Good on you, Mr. Bowman. At this point in the day (3 pm), I could not even summon the energy to clap for people. You, meanwhile, are doing cheerleading moves off the drum kit. Of course, you, unlike me, had probably consumed food that day. And maybe some cocaine.
Of course, I perked up when I saw Cherub taking his rightful place on the stage:
This is Cherub. He's The Wombats' stuffed, well, wombat, which as I recall they got after finishing two cases of some sort of Australian wine. He is their faithful companion and goes to every show (except for the one they did on Saturday; apparently he was back at the hotel pool being blown by prozzies). I love him. It is because of Cherub that Courtney and I even know about the Wombats: we caught the tail end of their set at last year's sxsw and quickly decided that any band that played on stage with a stuffed wombat was a band worth listening to.
Plus, they're just the most fun people ever, what with their barbershop quartets about marsupials and their slice-of-life ditties about strippers, caravans and attending your ex-girlfriend's wedding.
Also their adorably pudgy lead singer plays a flowered guitar:
The last act of the day party was Lightspeed Champion, which was great for me, because I love and worship Dev. Like, if there was a Church of Dev, I'd be the alter girl.
And he had the charming/adorable/poignant/lovely Emmy the Great with him as well:
And also this fella:
Oh, Lightspeed Champion. Sing songs about how everyone is listening to crunk all the time, okay?
By this point, Courtney had stopped learning things about the law, and we went to get some grub:
First meal of the day - 6:30 pm. It was gone in less than 2 minutes.
We were meant to go to see Santogold/MGMT/The Cribs at Stubb's, but I just couldn't take all the people after the long and hot day I'd had. So we decided to go over to the NME showcase, where we saw this guy:
This is Aimi, of Make.Model. We talked to her a lot before the show and she was super-lovely. Also her hair is amazing.
After Make.Model's set, I went to the bathroom, and who should I run into but Ed Larrikin (see Day Two)! We chatted a bit and he scolded me for going to see The Pigeon Detectives. He told me he was there to support ox.eagle.lion.man, and at the time, I wondered what interested him about them.
Within about five seconds of ox.eagle.lion.man's set, I figured it out:
It's like if Cousin It and an extra from Witness got together, read a lot of Becket and decided to sing about pain. It was . . . tedious. To put it mildly.
And then I ran into Sarah 3! I met Sarah 3 (so noted to distinguish her from Sarah 1, a contributor to this blog, and Sarah 2, aka poshdeluxe) last year at a Locksley show, so it was nice seeing her again. We made fun of people we don't like, which was also nice.
After that, it was time for Fanfarlo:
In the crowd? The mysterious and notorious Becs who, along with my friend Kaisa, is a friend of Fanfarlo's. Did we notice each other? No, we did not. Maybe next year, Becs.
Fanfarlo were having tons of problems with their equipment, and at one point actually had Courtney and Sarah 3 playing their rhythm section for them. This led Courtney to tell me that she was now a sxsw showcasing artist, and that I should treat her with the according amount of respect and awe. So I punched her. (However, Courtney, I'm meant to tell you thanks from Fanfarlo for playing the egg, according to Kaisa.)
Around 1 am or so, we called our friend Jeni and told her to come meet us for breakfast:
ILU Magnolia! And I miss you always!
Jeni and Courtney talked about their upcoming (now: currently on) trip to England while I constructed a metaphor for the meaning of life with my avocado omelette.
After breakfast, Courtney and I went to Wal-Mart, because . . . I'm not really sure. Because it was four in the morning and we weren't quite ready to go to bed yet. We bought heel gel things for our shoes. It was v. exciting and glamorous.
And then we went back to our hotel and crashed, because we had to be up even earlier for Day Four. So long, sxsw day three! You were hot and sweaty, but you sure were fun.