Sore Feet and the Sound of Sound
In the 14 or 15 hours since my last post -- the last two of which were spent miserably wandering Austin's streets looking for a cab and shaking my fist at the heavens -- there's been a honkload of music to catch up on. The bloggers' party I mentioned in a previous post featured, among other bands, Page France, whose off-kilter pop was praised in Song of the Day here a few months back. And rightfully so: God knows I hear a lot of quirky indie-pop acts, but this one's songs are built of the right stuff, namely hooks.
Outrageously long lines discouraged entry to the likes of Field Music and Midlake, whose "Roscoe" (audio) is fantastic either because or in spite of the fact that it starts out sounding just like Fleetwood Mac. At one point, so many shows were inaccessible that I passed the time by ducking into a club just because I knew it would be selling Bloodhag T-shirts. Bloodhag's inscrutable grindcore metal songs are written entirely to celebrate science-fiction writers -- here's "Anne McCaffrey" (audio) -- but in my mind, it's all window dressing for awesome album art and merchandise. Even though popping in to buy a shirt meant listening to some of Jello Biafra's joyless spoken-word hectoring, it was totally worth it: My new Bloodhag shirt features a horned skull wearing reading glasses. Seriously, what the hell could be better?
Buying a Bloodhag shirt provided a natural segue into the adult-contemporary song stylings of Irish singer Fionn Regan -- a major up-and-comer who, like about 350 other Europeans with acoustic guitars, sounds like he might be the next Damien Rice. Fortunately, and crucially, he's got some nice songs to back up his aims: Here's "Be Good or Be Gone" (audio) from his debut album, which comes out here in June.
After a much-needed stop to see gifted Twin Cities rapper Brother Ali -- here's his wonderful celebration of being ugly, "Forest Whitiker" (audio) -- the night's remainder was all about raging against the dying of my feet. But I did get to see one of several SXSW performances (here's one from NPR station KEXP) by the reunited Stooges, led by singer Iggy Pop, who turns 60 next month and has probably never complained about his feet in his life. Given the abuse his body has taken over the years, watching Pop jump around like a 19-year-old gave me much-needed perspective as the festival wound to a close: Iggy Pop is a spastic force of nature, whereas I am a weak, creaky-jointed, prune-eating crybaby old-timer who can't wait to go to bed. Rock 'n' roll!
5:28 AM ET | 03-18-2007 | permalink
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