"a backstreet lullaby"

SXSW Day 2 (Thursday) dawned bright and early. Too bright and too early, thanks to the giant window in my hotel room which, because I am lame, did not have the curtains closed. Actually, I didn't close the curtains once during the entire week, and while that may seem pretty dumb, I sort of think if someone has a telescope trained specifically on the window of 603 at the Embassy Suites, they can see whatever they'd like.

Armed with a mimosa-to-go, Courtney and I decided we wanted Actual Food. A few years ago at south by, I came up with a new rule: must consume one sit-down meal a day. Preferably with something green in it. Man cannot live by Roppolo's alone. So we ate at the fairly new (I think? Wasn't there last time I drove by it) tex-mex restaurant near 4th and Lavaca. I had ceviche! Which, as you may very well know, is a biological imperative to keep my body functioning at optimum levels of contentment.

After that, Courtney really wanted to go down to Trophy's, on So Co, to see The Gin Riots perform. So off we went!

A quick note on Trophy's: They had no cold dos equis. This is of course a travesty. I mean, it was okay, there was Shiner 100, but MY GOD, PEOPLE. This is Texas. WE HAVE A REP TO PROTECT. No dos equis is like a tex mex restaurant saying, "Sorry, we ran out of queso." It just shouldn't happen.

The band playing before The Gin Riots was a band called Here Holy Spain. I do not understand from whence their title springs. I have nothing at all to report on them, except that they SEEM nice, even if their look didn't exactly match their sound. It was sort of like watching the musical equivalent of drinking water. I don't mean that in a rude way. Water is important. They just did nothing for me.

But the next act, London's The Gin Riots, certainly did. You guys, this band is sheer fun. I'd heard their single, "The Polka" before, and it's a fun, dance-worthy tune. So it came as a nice treat that the rest of their set was just as fun and dance-worthy. Courtney, in fact, did dance. I mostly took photos. Can you blame me? These boys are pretty:





The lead singer, Guy, has a sort of Elvis Presley-meets-Mark Bolan swagger,which I realize is giving him far too much credit as it stands now. But he was a pleasure to watch. And the members of the band were a pleasure to speak to, which Courtney and I did after their set. The conversation quickly jumped from "nice to meet you; are you enjoying Austin?" to an in-depth discussion about the last cycle of America's Next Top Model and the rape of dead squirrels. I would like to say that this is an unusual turn of events, but to be honest, it happens to me a lot.

Here is a video of them performing "The Polka" which doesn't really doesn't show their stage presence very well, but is good quality:



After we left Trophy's, it was time for that most sacred of So Co traditions: cupcakes. I actually didn't go to Sugar Mama's that day (IKNOW, I KNOW. But don't worry, that's coming.) but rather just skipped across the road to Hey Cupcake:



Later on in the week, I was walking down Sixth street with a British person I had met, and we happened by the Hey Cupcake trailer, and he said "everything that's wrong with america can be summed up by the idea of a travelling cupcake caravan." That is a stone-cold true statement, if you replace the word "wrong" with the word "amaaaazing." I wish Sugar Mama's had a travelling cupcake caravan. And that it would travel to my office.

Sugar in our bellies, Courtney and I ventured onwards and upwards, back to downtown. The plan was to go to Latitude and see Frank Turner perform. Frank Turner is a British singer/songwriter, notable (for me, anyway) for having a song called "Thatcher Fucked The Kids." I enjoy songs which are both political AND about ol' Mags, so I knew I'd like Frank Turner. Except he didn't play the song! What the eff, Mr Turner?

Here is a photo of Frank Turner, and Courtney:



Why are you doing that with your hand, Frank Turner? You're not cute enough to get away with douchebaggery. Pretty much no one is.

At Latitude, before Frank Turner's set, Courtney and I happened to meet a SuperFan for a man who was playing guitar for Frank Turner. (Like many overseas solo musicians, Turner hired a local band to perform backup.) Constantly bordering on the verge of SuperFandom myself (seriously, do not mention the words "Yeti," "Pulp," or "The Libertines" to me - you will live to regret it.), I'm always interested in talking to SuperFans. What is their motivation? How far have they travelled? Why do they exist? I am not going to cast aspersions on the actions/motivations of this particular SuperFan; however, I will say that, because I am a selfless human being, I manipulated SuperFan into switching places with Courtney so that Courtney could get closer to Frank Turner. You can thank me later, Courtney!

Frank Turner's set was over, and it was time for Courtney and I to part ways! I was going to go over to the Mohawk to see Bishop Allen, but quickly changed my plans when I saw the line to get INTO the Mohawk. Some other time, Bishop Allen! Instead, I went to Elysium, where Aqualung and Ed Harcourt were playing.

I feel I should pause for a second and explain that I'm not ACTUALLY obsessed with British people, despite my taste in music, cider and, perhaps, boys. I just try to plan my sxsw schedule to see bands I won't otherwise see throughout the year. Lots of North American bands, as well as some from other countries, will come tour Texas. British bands, on the other hand, have some sort of fatwa against touring the southern states of America. So I grab the chance to see them when I can, which is usually sxsw.

Moving on, I arrived at the Elysium, grabbed a drink, and immediately was hit with a wave of sxsw-related fatigue. All I wanted was easy access to booze and a place to sit down. The perfect place was on the stairs, next to where the artists were storing their equipment. This led to Aqualung bashing me in the head with his guitar case. THIS led to an unfortunate joke I made later in the evening to some of my friends, likening the guitar case to a bunny slope and me to Natasha Richardson. Too soon?

Around this time, I received a text from a guy I'd met previously in the evening, and he came over to meet me. We drank and listened to both Aqualung* and Ed Harcourt, and I wasn't too impressed with either act, but then again, I was drunk and busy talking to a cute boy, so what can you do? Maybe someday, Ed Harcourt. Maybe someday.

From Elysium, I went over to Maggie Mae's, where I had no idea who was playing, but I did know that I could stand on the roof and take in the great Austin night air. It all seemed perfect until I had to look for the restrooms, and realized that I had to WALK ACROSS THE STAGE to get to them. What an insane set up, Maggie Mae's. I do not want to be a member of a band just because I have to go to the bathroom. Besides which, if I'm going to be onstage with any band, it's going to be one of these:

Unexpected Bassist
Secret Baby and the Big-House Bruises
What Are Your Thoughts on Yaoi?
The Funky Meercats

These, by the way, are the band names that I have come up with over the years. They can't be any worse than Natalie Portman's Shaved Head.

I have to say that I actually didn't see any bands past 11 pm on Thursday night. Instead, I wandered around Austin in the guise of showing it off to someone else, spent time at a church, and, in typical Klutzy Erin fashion, managed to totally eat curb whilst trying to catch a taxi. (my knee is still skinned) In typical sxsw style, though, it's the down time, the moments in-between, which fill up the expanse of memory. I may not remember the exact hook to a song I heard, but I will always remember the breeze against my face on the roof of Maggie Mae's, the heat of the sun pressing insistantly against my arms earlier that day, or the feeling of a warm hand holding mine. I call South by "magic time," and it is, but everything that's magical about it is merely the exaltation of the mundane. I just appreciate it more during that week than I do any other time.

* I originally typed "Aqualunch" which is so good that I'm going to claim it as another possible band name.

SxSW Stats for Day Two:

Hours Slept: 3.5
Acts Seen: 8
Acts Loved: 2 (ooh, slow day)
Drinks Consumed: 12 (5 of which were bought for/given to me)

you think it's like this, but really it's like this

First off, hi, welcome back, sorry I've been crap at updating this thing. Blame laziness; I certainly do.

So as you may know, I'm currently at south by southwest, which is pretty much my favorite time of the year. There's something for everyone, from the music to the drinking to the making fun of tragic hipsters. Good times.

Today I stood in line for a very long time so that I could get into Fader's party to see Graham Coxon. For those who don't know who he is (or weren't friends with 15 year old Erin), he's the guitarist from Blur. And is amazing. He's releasing a solo album (about, in short, a boy who goes off to war, goes a bit mad, dies, is brought back to life and guided by the spirit of Madea, who, according to Mr Coxon, got a bum rap in Jason and the Argonauts. "Jason was a twat.") and is at south by to promote it.

The set wasn't spectacular, but that's entirely owing to the shitty sound. But even though I could BARELY HEAR HIM (and i was standing next to the stage), I could still tell that the album was going to be lovely. This opinion was validated when I later heard two cuts off the album.

After Graham's set, my sxsw partner in crime and I saw Graham doing a spot for a radio show. He came out and my friend Courtney started talking to him, and then I did that thing I do. Which is, basically, insulting musicians on accident.

Courtney and I have a running joke about my inability to hold a conversation with someone who is in a band without insulting them in some way. It's not something I try to do, and I'm always left thinking, "why the hell did I just say that?" Esp. when it's someone that I've loved for years. But nevertheless, when I meet a musician, out comes some crazy bitchiness.

I think the problem is that my mind is at war with itself. I want to treat musicians like they're regular ole' people - because they are - but at the same time I'm completely filled with awe at their talent. So that gets jumbled up in my head and what comes out of my mouth is less "It was a pleasure to meet you" and more "why do you suck so very badly at life?"

At any rate, Graham, if ever you should read this, I'm sorry that I inferred that life had basically stopped for you now that you've turned 40. If it's any consolation, you look more adorable at 40 than I looked at 4.

More news tomorrow, as well as thoughts on the inherant problems of listening to bonin' music whilst in a church.

"just play the feckin' chord!"

This weekend was the host of a Very Large Checkmark In The Con Column in the lives of many people who are tired of living in America. No, I'm not talking about the release of Indiana Jones IV or some mishap involving a bbq grill and a can of lighter fluid, not even of Hillary Clinton vaguely alluding to Obama getting assassinated during the California primary, although that was certainly awkward. No, my friends, this weekend saw America once again missing out on perhaps the greatest spectacle ever to be simulcast on televion: EUROVISION.

Why is it that America, land of the free, home of the brave (eh, ish), inventor of the light bulb and the phone and cable tv cannot enter Eurovision? WHY? Oh, because we're not European? So? Who wants to be European anyway?

Well . . . I do. But only vaguely European. Like, can I be European, but only with regards to cheese? Would that work?

Even though Eurovision coldly and without good reason prevents the United States from joining the competition, it's still one of the greatest things in the world. I first learned of Eurovision like I learn of many things: through television. In this case, I learned about it through an episode of Father Ted, in which Father Ted and Dougal decide to enter a song in Ireland's Eurovision qualification competition. Their song is a MASTERPIECE, obviously:



In all honesty, I didn't realize that Eurovision actually existed. I thought they'd just made it up for the show. I mean, a giant, multi-country contest about SINGING? Seriously? The Olympics aren't cheesy enough, now we have to add power ballads to the mix? This opinion wasn't helped by Father Ted's video for "My Lovely Horse."



I think I persisted in thinking that Eurovision was a made-up comedy bit for about two years, until Courtney sat me down very gently one day and said, "no, no, Erin. You see, Eurovision is REAL. That's where ABBA comes from."

Which is true, ABBA did win Eurovision for Sweden. And even MORE AMAZINGLY, Katrina and the Waves won it for, I guess, England. (Germany? Where the hell are Katrina and the Waves from? I always thought they were Canadian. Don't tell me Canada's allowed to enter!!)

But perhaps you, like me, were unaware of the existance of Eurovision. Or perhaps you, like Meredith, are unconvinced of the awesomeness of Eurovision. Never fear! Thanks to youtube, all your musical prayers are about to be answered.

This year's Eurovision final was held in Belgrade, because Serbia won the contest last year. See, the winner hosts the next year's contest. This was Serbia's winning song/performance last year:



This gives you a general idea of your typical Eurovision entry. There are ALWAYS interpretive dancers in crazy costumes. ALWAYS. Sometimes the interpretive dancers are dressed like VAMPIRES, like in Switzerland's painstakingly literal entry from last year, "Vampires are Alive:"



By the way, the exclusion of "Vampires are Alive" in last year's finals really threatened to put me off Eurovision. For some reason, the people voting (uh, Europeans, I guess) are not quite on the same page as to what Eurovision is supposed to be about. It is NOT supposed to be uplifting Celine Dion-esque ballads performed by spunky lesbians. It is DEFINITELY supposed to be techno songs about vampires. Jeez, Europe. Get a clue, would you?

This year, I missed out on watching the English airing of Eurovision, with Terry Wogan's wry, steadily-getting-drunker commentary about all of the shitty performances, as well as his conspiracy theories about the Eastern European voting bloc and how Eurovision is merely a herald of the eventual rise of Eastern Europe and the fall of London and Paris. Sometimes I think poor Wogan's been through too many Cold War drills. But I can still bring to you some select highlights from this year's Eurovision contest:

Here we have Azerbaijen's entry. As you can tell from the DEVILS and ANGELS and their DANCE BATTLE, this country has the right idea about Eurovision entries:



Germany's entry, however, is not so great. In fact, the less said about it, the better. I do wonder how Heidi Montag (surely that is her, the blonde in white?) got a girl group together and managed to convince Germany to let her perform their entry.



And then . . . we have Bosnia. What they do well, they do REALLY WELL. I mean, crazy Flashdancing by a woman dressed as Raggedy Ann? Robotic lead singer who looks like a Hedwig reject? People in overalls doing dances with brooms for which I can only imagine is an homage to the Buffy musical? Yes, please. And yet, they had to RUIN EVERYTHING by putting a live bird ON STAGE. Bosnia! What are you DOING to me?? The 90s weren't bad enough? Now there have to be birds involved?



And now, let's narrow it down to the winners, shall we? Greece came in third, with their impression of a pre-breakdown Britney cribbing moves from Bob Fosse:



This video reminds me of one of the STRANGEST things about Eurovision: non-English speakers singing songs in English. I don't know why they do it, unless they're pandering for votes from the UK, but it always tickles me, because the songs don't make any sense. "To win a destination in the center of my heart?" Huh? What does that even mean, Greece? Sing in Greek! It's a lovely language! Why are you trying to sing in English?

Also, who is directing this show? Does he have to use the bathroom, or something?

Ukraine came in second, because their Fossian moves were better, plus the entire performance was a bit more eau de strip club:



But because Eastern Europe is going to rise up and take us all over soon, Russia won the show with their song from some guy who enjoys writhing around the floor and singing with a lisp. Well, who doesn't? I presume that they won for their addition of a random, nonsensical ice skater:



Seriously . . .why is there an ice skater? What am I saying? This is EUROVISION. Why isn't that ice skater wearing a live turkey on his head, that's the question I should be asking.

Still, though, if I had anything to say about it, and, as an American, I think we've established that I should have EVERYTHING to say about it, I would have voted Latvia as the winners of Eurovision 2008. I mean, how can you beat PIRATES? You seriously can't.



Sarah, Mere, why didn't we get these guys to play the Pirate Party? Would have been amazing. Plus, I am sorry, but "Wolves of the Sea" is really catchy. See if you don't start humming it to yourself at work.

I mean, it's no "My Lovely Horse," but what can be? Actually, Ireland's entry from this year, Dustin the Turkey, comes pretty damn close:




If you can't beat them, write a song mocking them and have it performed by a giant puppet turkey with what looks like disco balls for boobs, that's what I always say.

Okay, now that you've seen some of the videos, what is YOUR favorite part about Eurovision? And don't you think Americans deserve to enter, even thought we're not technically a part of that continent??

"i'll make you a tape."

This weekend in between weddings and dinners out with friends, I read Love Is a Mix Tape, the memoir by Rolling Stone's Rob Sheffield. (I also finally got around to reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which was much better than I expected it to be, being surely the second most overrated book in the world, behind Anna Karenina.) The book had been in my To Read pile since it was published last year, but I'd sort of shuffled it to the bottom week after week, because I wasn't yet ready to face a book about people dying both suddenly and young and/or the rise of Hanson. Do you remember when VH1 put out I ♥ the 90s, like in 2001, and it was a miserable failure? It was just too soon, and that's how I felt about this book.

But I'm glad I've read it now, as it was lovingly crafted and deftly written. Sheffield writes of the relationship between he and his wife, Renée, about her early death and how he goes about trying to pick up the pieces, and does so under the banner of fifteen different mix tapes from different periods of his life. It's really warm and moving and you totally fall in love with Renée, so if you, like me, kept shuffling it to the bottom of the pile, I urge you to pick it up and read it.

But that's not really what I want to discuss today, because that would be depressing. Rather, reading about Rob Sheffield's old mixes led me to think about some of mine. I was the queen of the mix tape in my younger days. I think I had a mix tape or cd for everything I did. I had one for the morning ride to my high school - it was a lot of angry grrl music that validated my sense of isolation and self-importance. There was Aly's SuperAwesomeMix mix, which had everything from Garth Brooks to Cowboy Mouth to Aretha Franklin, which was what we played when we needed a self-esteem boost. (All the songs were designed to tell us how SuperAwesome we were, natch.) I had one for showers when I was a freshman in college which was mostly classical - I remember that Tchaikovsky's Pathetique was on there, as well as the Moonlight Sonata. Two bonin' pieces, really, so I don't know why I relegated them to the showers. There was the Sunday Afternoon mix when I was a junior in college - all Etta James and Billie Holiday that produced the desired effect of me lounging around in my pjs and drinking whiskey while finishing up human ev coursework. I remember one from when I was eight that was just 15 different Michael Jackson songs, taped off the radio, called "The Boogie Mix." My parents had one from a party they had - Dance Mix 2 (I never could figure out where Dance Mix 1 had absconded to) - which I stole from the tape deck after the party and played on my Walkman for three months straight. I am not even kidding when I say that it had a track from Alabama on it. I remember one tape Mandy made for one of our many rambles somewhere that had Dr Demento, KMFDM and Paul Westerberg on it, which is so Mandy that if there was a course called Mandy 101, that tape would be in the list of required materials. And then, of course, Matt's Spring Break '99 (2002) mixes 1 and 2, which provided the perfect soundtrack for our group's drunken tour of Austin's scenic highways. (Don't worry, we had a DD, obviously.) That featured both Tiny Tim *and* Journey, which is how you know it's a good mix.

Over the years, I've made tons of mixes (tape, cd, and iPod playlist form) for friends, boyfriends, strangers on the street. I consider them to be the perfect 90-minute introduction to Your New Friend Erin. I mean, what about me can't be summed up by the simple fact that I love, without shame, Paula Abdul, Kanye and french music? Nothing; there is nothing more to add to the wonder and glory that is me - I adore the pop culture of my childhood, I harbor affection for self-involved whiners only if they can make me dance and I like immersing myself in languages which I cannot speak. et voila, you have Erin.

So my question for you guys today is two-fold: One) what's your most memorable mix? Did you make it or was it given to you? Did it have a purpose beyond being, was it for a specific event, etc? and Two) Make me a mix about your day! I don't mean that you have to ACTUALLY make one (although I will of course accept one), but tell me what would be on it, and why. If I had to make a mix today, it'd be full of music to bop along to, like Mika and the Jackson 5 and Chuck Berry , because I've had a busy day and I don't drink caffeine, so something has to keep me on my toes. What would be in yours?

In other news, today is gingerbiscuit's birthday!! Happy birthday, Anne! I wish I were there to sit on your couch and watch Buffy and talk about how I want to marry your brother.

sxsw day three, or, "things tend to get a bit . . . wet."

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:



Amazing, no?



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.

sxsw day one; or, "are you from brooklyn and if so are you Vampire Weekend?"

I think sufficient time has expired between the booze-fueled dance parties of last week and the vague sense of ennui of this week to finally get around to doing my sxsw write-ups. I tend to want to put sxsw behind me every year after it's over; it always seems like a bit of a losing battle to capture exactly how I feel as I wander along the streets I used to call home, catching snippets of flirtations and heartbreak and desperation and always, always, the feel of music pouring out from every corner to cruise along my skin. But then when I don't write it down, I tend to forget it all in a month anyway, so that I can't even remember essential things like exactly what Ginger Fratelli said to me when he was trying his best to woo me. So recaps it is.

Your father's writing me all the time/He says he just wants to say hi/I send him Out of Office Auto Replies.

After thinking that I was going to be the late one (I'm always the late one), it turns out that I got to our hotel a full half-hour before Courtney did. So I waited for her in my car and listened to Jens Lekman singing to Nina about her father. While I was waiting, I studied the other characters in our hotel - there was one who looked just like Donny Tourette who I ended up seeing out and about all week. Sadly it was not actually Donny Tourette, whom I adore for being so fantastically rubbish. Courtney FINALLY showed up, and we proceeded to talk about stalking Russell Brand through the streets of Austin while we got changed. Then we were off to the convention center to pick up Courtney's badge and my wristband. I thought it might be crowded, but check it:



Very few people were in line.

While Courtney was getting her badge, we saw Elijah Wood. He is really short, y'all. I mean, I know that's what everyone says when they first see Elijah Wood in person, but he is RLY short. He is wee. Poqueno. Petite. Pixie-like. However, he totally seemed like an awesome, regular guy - he was getting his badge himself and waiting in line and not pounding away on his iPhone (unlike yours truly, who was totally trying to mobile-blog the fact that I was standing mere inches away from Frodo). Also I found out that his label reps The Apples in Stereo, and I love them. So, in summation, Elijah Wood has it all over my celeb-encounters from last year, who were all douchebuckets.

remember me/honestly i don't/remember who you are

After getting our respective credentials, I dragged Courtney over to the austinist/gothamist party at the Mohawk so that I could see my one true love, Liam Finn, play. We got there a few hours before his set, so I quickly got down to the most essential part of sxsw business:



In case you've never been inside the Mohawk, it looks sort of like this:



Pretentious music snobs come extra.

The first set of the week that we caught was Johnny Flynn and the Sussex Wit, who have sort of a traditional sound which has been given rock sensibilities. I really liked them and when I got home, I instantly legally purchased everything I could find for them. Also, despite being twelve, Johnny Flynn is totes cute:



You can tell from the angle on this shot that I had yet to make it to the front of the stage, but never fear! My powers of persuasion are strong indeed. Also I've learned that after you manage to smuggle in a dSLR without a press pass (srsly, next year? I'm getting a press pass for my camera. I got nothing but grief from the door all week. I even tried to buy one off a photog, but nothing doing.), people seem to think you're a professional photographer and will totally give up their front-row spots to let you get better photos. This worked out well for me all week, actually.

After Johnny Flynn, Phosphorescent came on. I'd never heard of these guys, but it was clear the audience had, because they went nuts for them. There was an inebriated fellow to my right who would clutch the bassist's monitor and sort of sway back and forth to a beat known only to him. Then he would offer up his own vocal interpretation of the song lyrics, punctuated with a lot of "yeah"s and "UH"s. And then he'd use the monitor as a base for pogoing, even though the music of Phosphorescent is not what I would recommend for bouncing up and down.

This is a picture of the lead singer from Phosphorescent:



In case you're invested in BeardWatch '08, I must say that this fellow's beard did not impress me as such. I think it's just a little too crazy. Calm down, buddy, BeardWatch '08 is not a competition (Note: BeardWatch '08 is TOTALLY a competition.); the quality of the beard is more important than the quantity. Let's just tone it down some, okay? And maybe invest in some concealer.

Moving on!

Next up was my number one, can't-miss act and also the man to whom all other men pale in a race for my affections, Mr. Liam Finn. I am not going to continue to go on and on about Liam Finn in this blog, I promise you (liam, call me!), since we've already discussed him, but I did want to show you EJ Barnes's shoes, for they are awesome:



Yes! Red, sparkly Converse All-Stars. Like if Oz had a street basketball team. She told us that she'd gotten them for free, just for singing with Liam, which is probably the second best perk she could get for singing with Liam - the first obvs being that she gets to give him a cuddle whenever she wants.

Right. Moving on from Liam Finn. I mean it. Right . . . now.

in the meantime let me tell you that i love you/buona sera, signorina, kiss me goodnight

Okay. After the show was over, Courtney and I went over to Jamie's, which is just next door, and ate dinner. She had chicken mole and I had verde enchiladas. And, of course, sangria:



Mmm, delicious sangria; nectar of the gods.

After dinner, we wandered over to Antone's for the Domino showcase, but paused on our way to take over a haberdashery:



I really wanted this hat, but it was 70 dollars and Courtney pointed out that I do, in fact, live in Texas and would never need it. But it was so comfy!

On our way over to Antone's, we randomly ran into Dev of Lightspeed Champion doing a stand-up interview for MTV. He talked at length about Vampire Weekend and tried to sell us a joke with the punchline "A-Punk." It was about as terrible as you would imagine. I love Dev, though; I saw him everywhere last week and he was always friendly and happy. All through the interview, this guy standing next to me in a blue-striped sweater was laughing, and then when it wrapped up, he stepped up to talk to Dev:



Why, it is John Norris! That was very strange for me. One just does not expect to run into Skeletor on the streets like that. I mean, I grew up with John Norris. Running into him on the sidewalk outside Antone's would be like if Kurt Loder came to my door to sell my Girl Scout Cookies. It just doesn't seem right.

But John Norris was actually very nice and friendly, and so I almost feel bad about spending most of my formative years writing tortureporn screenplays in which he starred as the evil, scarred villain who is so ashamed of his own terrible visage that he must lift the skin off pretty blonde girls. Almost, but not quite.

We got to Antone's and there was already a line, but we happened to run into some friends there, so we snuck into their spot. Whoever was running the show at Antone's that night was perhaps not well-versed in the whole idea of sxsw, as they didn't open the doors until ten till 8 pm. By that time, the folks with badges were lined up around the block, and I knew there was no way a lowly wristbander like myself could get in. So I hied myself down to the We Dreamed America showcase at Latitude 30, where I'd heard of a grand total of 0 bands performing, but figured there might be English people to chat with.

It actually turned out to be a pretty good choice - the music was all Americana and roots, but for the most part performed by UK people, who definitely had a purer interpretation of the music than their American counterparts would. The highlight of that show were Kitty, Daisy and Lewis, a jump and swing band from London. They're a family band, which is always sort of creepy, but I think maybe it cuts down on the possibility of any Fleetwood Mac-ian shenanigans going on. God, one would hope. At any rate, the eponymous members are all still teenagers and they were going to town on their instruments. It was totally a dance party, as captured here:



That man in blue up front is Joe Lean of Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong and I am here to tell you, the boy likes to dance. Badly, but who cares when he's that cute?

"despite being a racist homophobe, he wasn't a bad guy."

It seems like every year at sxsw, I'll have a random encounter with someone which will determine the course of my entire week. For example, last year Ginger Fratelli randomly walked up to me in a bar (there's a punchline to that, somewhere) and then we ran into each other approximately 200 times in the week. Which was lovely for me, because, see below in re: scottish, bearded, ginger bassist. Especially scottish bearded ginger bassists who like to whisper things in my ear.

At latitude I randomly ran into various members of popup, and as I've just been texting a friend of mine who was at their Dallas show last night and is traveling to Austin even now, I think it's safe to assume they were my "jesus christ, this town is small" band of the year. Popup are everywhere; it's a testament to their Scottish charm that I'm not completely sick of them already. I don't know if I can say the same from their end, as I fear they were beset on all sides by myself and my vast network of friends, but if they're tired of us, they're hiding it with good grace. Extremely good grace in some cases, from what I hear.

the resentments ride high/but emotions won't grow

The last act of the evening was Alabama 3, who I guess sing the Sopranos theme song. I don't watch the Sopranos (a quote from our gingerbiscuit about the Sopranos pops into mind - "It is possible to be a decent, upstanding citizen in today's America. Obviously you have failed, but . . . ") so I had no idea who they were, but it was clear that I was the only one. They were okay, but to be honest I was a little thrown by the visual of a small Asian woman and a man who thinks he's Lou Reed singing country music. Also, there are clearly four people in Alabama 3:



They started things off with a cover of uncle Ian's "Love Will Tear Us Apart." I might have to legally purchase that as it's sort of my thing to have as many cover versions of that song as I can find. But for the most part, I wasn't all that impressed, so when Courtney showed up at quarter after one and suggested we call it a night, I concurred.

And so ends day one of SxSW, which is already fading from my memory. That's the after-effects of too much free beer.

xx erin

Music Monday - Liam Finn

Can I even get away with Music Monday on the day after south by southwest? Isn't that a bit like a rehash? Well, whatever, I don't care. Let's talk Liam Finn, people, who's just released his first solo album.

Fact: I love Liam Finn. I love all Finns, I was a Crowded House fan, I've got this recording of Neil doing a cover of MJ's "Billie Jean" which is amazing and, also, covering Michael Jackson is the easiest way into my heart; basically the entire Finn family is one I want to hang out with and cook for. So you may think my love for Finn the Younger is due to his musical heritage, but I assure you that is not the case. Like snowflakes or the voices of young children at play or pure uncut columbian powder, my love for him is pure.

Why? Well, there are several reasons, which I will enumerate for you here:

1) The beard. I love beards, all scruffy and charming. I am extremely pro-facial hair on a man. And Liam's beard is amazing - both scruffy AND ginger! (Erin's Requirements for Hotness are as follows: bassist, Scottish, scruffy beard, Jewish, curly hair, ginger, and sarcastic. The more of those factors men hit, the more I'll want to shag them senseless. It is just my way. You can't fight nature.) Liam can turn his guitar into a bass and he has curly hair, so he's really hitting the upper registers on my attraction scale. He's sadly not Scottish, but he does have a charming kiwi accent, so that's something.

But, srsly, check this beard:



Don't you just sort of want to rub your fingers along his jaw and watch him purr like a cat?

2) His vocalist/harpist/munchkin basketball player, EJ, is amazing. I'm sort of in love with her as well, despite the fact that she doesn't have a beard. This is EJ:



Does she remind you a little of Summer Glau, or is that just me?

3) The music. (it does, eventually, come down to that. Even I am not so shallow.) Basically, he crafts songs using just his guitar and a lot of equipment. He lays down chords and then loops them and distorts them to build the rest of the song. Then he goes and bangs the hell out of the drums:



Also, all his equipment looks like it'd be really fun to play with, even though my brain gets crossed just thinking about all the pedals and monitors and stuff. (I would, however, have the perfect job as a roadie. I don't know shit about making music but I love running wires to things. It'd basically be like the fun of installing home stereo equipment, but as a JOB. I mean, I guess installing home stereo equipment is a job also, but that one doesn't have the same perks.) Look, he even has a joystick:



If you'd like to see exactly what I mean, check out this youtube video of Liam doing his thing:



Just ignore David making the same old lame joke about "giant cds." Shut up, Dave.

So, anyway, go out and buy his album, I'll Be Lightning.



I mean, look, he's JUMPING on the cover. Bearded AND jumping? Yes, please.

xx erin