SXSW 2015: Gettin' Mighty Crowded
The registration line at the Convention Center is the Ellis Island of New Austin
Austin cues the Jaws music when the calendar flips from February to March, as people start freaking out in a mix of horror and excitement. Since 1987, the third month has meant South by Southwest and, godammit, we’re going to do it right this year!
SXSW turns Austin into a dead buffalo and all the people who come are the Indians who use every piece of the animal. Every building, every parking lot, every side street, every park. They dance to tribal beats and go a little crazy in the spirit of celebration. And when they go home there are always some they leave behind.
The Pandemic killed SXSW for two years, maybe three, making us feel like Bulls fans when Michael Jordan left to play baseball. But it’s done little, if anything, to slow the influx of drivers and renters and hikers and the names ahead of you on the waiting list at your favorite restaurant.
One of the advantages of our town is that we have a built-in conversation starter that bypasses the weather. “What brought you to Austin?” Cab drivers to yoga instructors, they all have a story. The number one answer used to be “attended the University of Texas and decided to stay.” But today it’s because they came to Southby one year and decided they could definitely live here. New Austin is a land of opportunity for people with reasonable expectations.
SXSW used to be “the music industry’s best kept secret” and the people who came here from all over the country (mostly Oklahoma and Louisiana that first year) went back home and told everyone about this paradise they had found. The music was good stuff from road-tested professionals, the clubs were right next to each other and the weather was better, the beer cheaper and the people friendlier than back home. Some got laid. We didn’t even need breakfast tacos. This town during SXSW in the ‘90s was a moveable feast equal to Paris in the ‘20s.
The monster of mid-March became an action-packed trailer for the indie film Move To Austin. The word got out like a mutha, as SXSW became the cultural party of the year, not only for the acts discovered: White Stripes, Amy Winehouse, the Strokes, Kid Cudi, Billie Eilish, etc., but the startups: Twitter, Foursquare, AirBnB. “Buzz to bust” used to mean Scruffy the Cat, now it’s Meerkat. SXSW got Interactive quicker than a bordello with a full lobby.
Austin is no different than any other cool place- it had to show off. It’s only natural, no one is to blame. I was one of those doing the bragging, writing a seven-page spread on the Austin music scene for Spin magazine in 1986. “The New Sincerity” was the headline and the piece focused on bands like True Believers, Zeitgeist, Wild Seeds, Glass Eye, Daniel Johnston and Dino Lee. All that and cheap rent!
Then SXSW started and legitimized Austin as a music industry town. Nashville with soul, an affordable L.A., Manhattan with free parking. Hundreds of people a day are moving to Austin, while half as many move away, because they can’t afford to live here anymore. Used to be you could rent a house in Hyde Park for the whole band and the roadie for $650 a month. For that price these days you get two roommates and a view of a Jiffy Lube south of Stassney.
So what brought me to Austin nearly 40 years ago? I thought I’d never ask. I got a postcard one day from a friend who toured with the Cramps as girlfriend/ lighting tech. She said the band had just played a punk club called Raul’s and I wouldn’t believe how hip this town in Texas is. (Then the obligatory “Yee-Haw!”) I had moved back to Honolulu to run tattoo artist Mike Malone’s t-shirt and tattoo design businesses, and we were getting bored on “the Rock.” Advertised in Easyriders magazine, the t-shirts were getting big with bikers on the Mainland, and there was no cheap way to mail them in bulk from the Islands. A move to a more central part of the States was in order.
The day I got the postcard from Andrella, Malone received a newsletter from an Austin jug band his friend Travis Holland was in. Then I remembered that my rock critic hero Lester Bangs lived in Austin for awhile, so it must be cool. The dart didn’t need to be thrown.
We arrived in the Spring of ‘84, before the oil/banking collapse made rent dirt cheap and easy to find, so we felt lucky leasing a former record store at 2712 Guadalupe St. for the tattoo parlor, with a t-shirt shop in the back. It was on the main drag, three blocks from UT, but hardly anybody came in because only sailors and bikers got tattoos back then. Malone ended up returning to Hawaii, where he could make a couple thousand dollars on military paydays, after a couple years.
But I stayed, long enough to attend every SXSW. Long enough to watch Austin become a favorite bar overrun by trendies. You can’t even remember that night that girl who’s now your wife surprised you by rubbing her bare foot on your crotch from across the table. That booth is still there, but it’s not available to you after about 7 p.m. Or when there’s a festival in town (AKA “the weekend.”)
A couple of ironies to point out: SXSW was started by the Austin Chronicle, a liberal weekly with an anti-growth agenda, and it was held on Spring Break week because all the college students would be out of town.
In recent years, as the buzz got out about celebrity sightings and free concerts and free booze at music industry parties, Austin became a Spring Break destination. Padre Island still gets the bronzed and the blasted, but the more parsimonious and musically-adventurous collegians head to ATX to get their free(k) on. It’s the party of the year if you know how to work it, and if you don’t and you have $40 you can get one of the RSVP services to enter your name in as many free party lotteries as they can.
The foliage has overgrown base camp. The afterparty now goes on before, during and after the main event and “influencers” are as important as people who’ve worked hard to create something. RSVP service? In the old days, you just slipped the guy at the door a couple of joints. Or gave a free haircut.
“I thought SXSW was supposed to be for unsigned bands,” is the old sandwich artist’s mope, but the conference/festival has always been a way to show that you’ve arrived. Even if nobody will let you in.
The whole game has changed at SXSW, just as it has for the entire entertainment industry. The music portion used to be the main focus, with about 90% of the attention, and the other 10% going to fledgling interactive and film components. Today, music lags far behind interactive for the simple fact that the Internet made music free. In 2019, Spotify rented a big house in West East Austin for around-the-clock partying, while the record labels had cheese and vegetable trays in the corner of a dive bar.
The city has become so overrun with a Mardi Gras- like party atmosphere that even the city government noticed. Unlike the New Orleans blowout, SXSW is an industry event. Aside from the few superstars- like Jay Z, Prince and Justin Timberlake - who are paid handsomely to play corporate parties- almost all the 2,000 plus acts come to SXSW to play basically for free in front of industry folks who can help their careers. The energy from true fans can help the show, but generally the more the public gets involved, the more watered down SXSW gets. A lot of folks who used to come to the convention every year to discover and network and learn, have sworn off SXSW forever. Navigation has just become too much of a challenge.
In an attempt to limit the madhouse’s scope, the city began putting a cap on the number of special event permits in 2014, reaching capacity almost two months before the conference. The Pandemic will make the scaling-back natural, as we look to SXSW’s 2022 return.
The bitching will continue at an epidemic pace, but what I what I hear from friends when we sit around and talk town is, “yeah, it sucks, but tell me a better city to live in?”
There are two Austins, and the one you loved when you first moved here is still there, you just have to look for it. “The land of opportunity for those with reasonable expectations,” remember that motto.
One Sunday afternoon I went to an old haunt, the Hole In the Wall, and it was almost like the old days. Someone had a Weber grill going on the patio and bands were playing country music and blues and stompin’ folk. People were sitting at picnic tables draining pitchers, talking politics, gossiping, laughing. It brought me back, but I couldn’t stay long. My feet hurt.
The mistake a lot of people make when SXSW approaches is becoming obsessed with seeing it all, being everywhere. You want to be where they’re “killing it” on Facebook or #facemelt on Twitter. FOMO is wasted energy, let me tell you as a veteran of every SXSW.
The big picture is too much to take in. Look at what’s in front of you and you just might stumble onto a set that makes you fall in love with live music all over again. Stop reading nametags and you’ll meet the people. Finding the individuals in the crush, the artists in hucksterville, is not usually something you can plan.
Sometimes you just come up empty when our town becomes Super Austin, the Burning Brand Festival. But one thing has never changed in the 35 years, minus 2, that I’ve attended. SXSW brings out the best and the worst in all of us.