"We only drink Miller Lite," said Fleet Foxes frontman Robin Pecknold, amidst his comedic, impromptu shout-out to all of the sponsors listed on the large SXSW banner behind them during a set last Friday, "unless," he said laughingly as he noticed another beverages' logo listed there, "we're drinking Fuze!"
South by Southwest, the yearly Austin, Texas-based music festival and venerable industry institution, did more than ever this year to bring sponsors into its fold. Frustrated with the amount of unofficial business—and pleasure, for that matter—that goes on when the rock 'n' roll circus gets fully swinging, this year saw sponsors being invited to throw official day parties (which generally have been competing events in years past, though they are as much of an incentive to come down to Texas for some serious March madness).
The trouble with unofficial parties, as far the fest is concerned, is really that some may opt out of paying any money to SXSW at all, and rather than purchasing one of the many badge or wristband options available, simply latch on to the endless opportunities that exist for the uncredentialed to rock.
And then there are those, such as myself, who have official access to SXSW showcases, but want 14 hours of bands a day; the sanctioned daytime programming (mostly panels and speeches) are a pitiful alternative to those aforementioned sponsored shindigs that lure music's taste-makers with free bands and free booze, and represent even-more opportunities to take in the thousand-plus acts perpetually presented on downtown Austin's ample stages.
So how much unofficial stuff did I see? And, horror of horrors: Was I marketed to by the wrong organizations?
On Friday, I went to see the U.K.'s British Sea Power tear up the stage at The Mohawk before the sun had even set. Colorful flags draped across their amplifiers, psychotically wide-eyed and stone-faced during much of the set, they blasted their anthemic, geography-and-history-tinged madness-we're talking songs about war and glaciers, for a start-at an enthused crowd. Whoever threw this day party (Beer? Blog?) may not have gotten their money's worth, as the band's angular guitar and dynamic vocals had, by the end of the set, wiped my mind dry of who was shilling what for the occasion.
And just the same every other day, before the evening arrived and my press privileges kicked in, I wandered the littered streets in search of free music and found plenty.
A talented young Brit called Lightspeed Champion, strumming an acoustic and accompanied by a violinist, wowed the audience inside a big tent outside the French Legation Museum (though I never really figured out quite what that is) on the festival's final afternoon. A leading member of the big-glasses-and-white-sneaker movement, he sang sunny pop songs with morose lyrics: "Baby, won't you kill me?" he sang/asked, at one point.
Earlier in the week, Port O' Brien, a quintet from the Pacific Northwest with a pleasant sound to match, played on the wooden back porch of a vintage retailer located a good bus ride away from the heart of Austin. The bassist wore a poncho he found inside (he must have suffered a bit for fashion as the sun bore down during the set), and the group's lone female plucked on a banjo.
Not every free, open-to-the-public show going on down there feels like a sales pitch, however. Our own city's DIYest show booker, Todd P, may even have a sorta sponsor (a charming little newsprinted list of New York area all-ages music listings called "Showpaper"), but the five-day long "patio party" he put on, with impressive-if-outcasted weirdo acts playing every half hour on two stages, at an east Austin bar called Mrs. Bea's, has all he appeal of his famed way-out-on-the-L-train affairs.
Mr. P even got the jump on SXSW proper, starting his first show on Tuesday evening, a good 12 hours before the official music portion of the festival kicked off at the convention center. And the very first band to take the stage, a Baltimore duo under the moniker Videohippos, made the most astute observation heard in Austin that week.
Playing to the crowd with a video projection behind them and audio soundbites broadcasting between the songs, the voice of President Bush was heard to remark to everyone attending, none of which had paid a cover, flashed an ID to get in, or hold a sponsored drink in hand.
"We have left," said the President, "more money in the hands that earned it."
South by Southwest, the yearly Austin, Texas-based music festival and venerable industry institution, did more than ever this year to bring sponsors into its fold. Frustrated with the amount of unofficial business—and pleasure, for that matter—that goes on when the rock 'n' roll circus gets fully swinging, this year saw sponsors being invited to throw official day parties (which generally have been competing events in years past, though they are as much of an incentive to come down to Texas for some serious March madness).
The trouble with unofficial parties, as far the fest is concerned, is really that some may opt out of paying any money to SXSW at all, and rather than purchasing one of the many badge or wristband options available, simply latch on to the endless opportunities that exist for the uncredentialed to rock.
And then there are those, such as myself, who have official access to SXSW showcases, but want 14 hours of bands a day; the sanctioned daytime programming (mostly panels and speeches) are a pitiful alternative to those aforementioned sponsored shindigs that lure music's taste-makers with free bands and free booze, and represent even-more opportunities to take in the thousand-plus acts perpetually presented on downtown Austin's ample stages.
So how much unofficial stuff did I see? And, horror of horrors: Was I marketed to by the wrong organizations?
On Friday, I went to see the U.K.'s British Sea Power tear up the stage at The Mohawk before the sun had even set. Colorful flags draped across their amplifiers, psychotically wide-eyed and stone-faced during much of the set, they blasted their anthemic, geography-and-history-tinged madness-we're talking songs about war and glaciers, for a start-at an enthused crowd. Whoever threw this day party (Beer? Blog?) may not have gotten their money's worth, as the band's angular guitar and dynamic vocals had, by the end of the set, wiped my mind dry of who was shilling what for the occasion.
And just the same every other day, before the evening arrived and my press privileges kicked in, I wandered the littered streets in search of free music and found plenty.
A talented young Brit called Lightspeed Champion, strumming an acoustic and accompanied by a violinist, wowed the audience inside a big tent outside the French Legation Museum (though I never really figured out quite what that is) on the festival's final afternoon. A leading member of the big-glasses-and-white-sneaker movement, he sang sunny pop songs with morose lyrics: "Baby, won't you kill me?" he sang/asked, at one point.
Earlier in the week, Port O' Brien, a quintet from the Pacific Northwest with a pleasant sound to match, played on the wooden back porch of a vintage retailer located a good bus ride away from the heart of Austin. The bassist wore a poncho he found inside (he must have suffered a bit for fashion as the sun bore down during the set), and the group's lone female plucked on a banjo.
Not every free, open-to-the-public show going on down there feels like a sales pitch, however. Our own city's DIYest show booker, Todd P, may even have a sorta sponsor (a charming little newsprinted list of New York area all-ages music listings called "Showpaper"), but the five-day long "patio party" he put on, with impressive-if-outcasted weirdo acts playing every half hour on two stages, at an east Austin bar called Mrs. Bea's, has all he appeal of his famed way-out-on-the-L-train affairs.
Mr. P even got the jump on SXSW proper, starting his first show on Tuesday evening, a good 12 hours before the official music portion of the festival kicked off at the convention center. And the very first band to take the stage, a Baltimore duo under the moniker Videohippos, made the most astute observation heard in Austin that week.
Playing to the crowd with a video projection behind them and audio soundbites broadcasting between the songs, the voice of President Bush was heard to remark to everyone attending, none of which had paid a cover, flashed an ID to get in, or hold a sponsored drink in hand.
"We have left," said the President, "more money in the hands that earned it."
