facsimile: SXSW 2008 (a story for Verve never published)

Arriving to Austin, early Thursday, Sarah, Jess, Rob, and I drove immediately to the Red Bull party on Caesar Chavez. In the parking lot we took hurried swigs and drinks of imported whiskey from El Paso. A salud to our safe arrival, and, “it’s SXSW, let’s drink!” Once inside, we found our brother caravan of friends and began to exploit the unforeseen open bar. No one was carding. Yes! Many Lonestars and exotic-looking drinks consumed, in a few minutes, and everyone was looking photogenic. The persistent physical exchange of friendship and debauchery; rubbing each others hair and faces, like we were checking for lice and cavities.

I managed to reach the stage and catch photographic shots of The Octopus Project, a local favorite. I saw a woman with a violin one shot; there was the typical guy with a guitar on another. Nevertheless, my 3am waltzing wasn’t so disconcerting, the open bar wasn’t leaving. More Lonestar and the cute nameless orange drinks. I remember seeing The Lemurs close the first night of the RB party. Good tunes to send your poisoned belly home for the night. Open bars will be the death of me! Arriving at our friend Michelle’s apartment, our temporary home, Maury made out with me; he did all the tongue work. Maury is Michelle’s ADD-symptom pug. My first time having my nostrils licked, thoroughly. I slept next to a cat litter box. Good thing I have short hair.

We woke up a few hours later. There was no time to shower this year at SXSW, no time to sleep. I splashed some water on my face and applied my favorite body spray: Victoria’s Secret Love Spell. Try it out, guys. I say it’s unisex. The only showering done was from the sweat exiting my pores at shows; being in the crowds is participating in a human Tetris experience.

Our group headed downtown where alcohol and humans and music converge. I decided not to buy a wristband this year. Day shows are more fun, have a better line-up than their night counterparts, and are free. We found the line to the Parish entrance. Vampire Weekend is playing at 4pm. The most popular band on-line and on the Barnes and Noble magazine rack playing a free show fucking happens at SXSW. Prior to seeing Vampire, we heard the charming tellings and sounds of Jens Lekman and Bon Iver. Four finally arrived and I saw my favorite band of right now. I got to hear my favorite songs, including A-Punk and Campus. Singing along to their songs about love and friendship and all the things that make a great Hugh Grant movie made my day.

We met our El Paso comrades on 6^th street. This caravan began drinking long before us and started a marking system to commemorate each Lonestar consumed inside their warm car. My friend, Charles, had seventeen marks to his name at the end of the day. God bless him. However, with my group, our constant recovery, and our sporadic drinking, marks could not be proffered. We chatted about the bands we saw and departed again. This being my third SXSW, the shock of so much activity and foreign beauties never ceases to amaze. This year I decided not to give myself a schedule to adhere to and not to make any eye contact with any girls. SXSW makes itself into a small town filled with music lovers and their demigods. Not everyone knows each others name but one can spark a conversation with a stranger and share a bands colorful performance. There is no mayor and no sheriff. But they have more than one town drunk.

On our visit we got to see El Paso’s mark on Austin. My friends and I call the move from El Paso to Austin a great migration. An El Pasoan will always meet an old friend in Austin whose roots derive from the border. We saw many friends who moved to the capital to start a new chapter in the livers. Of course, the mention of Chicos Tacos always surfaces. We also caught a glimpse of some Exist 1981 stickers and wheat pastes. How reminiscent of home. Though six hundred miles away, El Paso is always close to you here.

The night arrived and so did the prospect of scoring. To make it short, nothing became available to us tourists; and we weren’t about to pay skyrocket prices for something not entirely necessary. Again we made it out to the Red Bull party. We caught Die! Die! Die! and Brazilian Girls. A note on Brazilian Girls. They rekindled my love for sexy foreign accents.

The one sighting of sex for the trip goes as follows. Rob had to use the bathroom at the RB party. However, the line reached titanic proportions and an ultimatum needed to be thought. He went behind the bathroom where he caught a man receiving a certain service from a girl. Rob asked if they minded. By the time Rob zipped up an audience had amassed in the back. Sadly, the girl could not scream in embarrassment.

Friday was a monumental day for me. First off, I wore my sports coat the entire day downtown. Tall foreigners were wearing their nice leather boots and fine tailored coats under the hot despondent weather. Why not me with my five dollar Goodwill garb?! Second and last, I saw Hot Water Music’s reunion show, a free show. With a furtive wet back, I caught one of my favorite bands. I don’t need to give them an introduction. If you’re a patron of punk rock, you will have one or two of their albums or their entire discography. The crowd went berserk for them. Bearded fellows shared their shoulders and sweat as they sang along to anthems of what was and what never will be.

Saturday, the last day of the music festival—Sunday being a ghost town, completely vacant of bands and crowds—was my busiest day. Waking at noon with only a few hours of sleep to our name, we headed to Stubbs to catch Digitalism and Chromeo. I decided to wear my blue short shorts an account of the weather, and cheap laughs. We arrived in time to catch Digitalism’s set. I’ve learned it’s hard to get motivated and ecstatic over a DJ in the hot sun, so Digitalism didn’t meet my expectations. However, Chromeo was something different. The Jew-Arab duo rocked my world and baptized me to a lifelong fan. Every song they played caused a lightening storm inside my belly. Download their album Fancy Footwork immediately. You will sing-along, you will dance, you will smile. After the show we caught some Thai food and then got in the car and drove to Waterloo Park to catch Mess With Texas, a free one-day festival worth the drive alone. We caught the last bands playing. I saw the beginning set of No Age. I saw some of Black Mountain. A footnote on Black Mountain. If you wear Black Sabbath t-shirts, Black Mt. is for you. Long hair rock n’ roll with a woman vocalist twist. I saw Lucero, another favorite of mine. A testament that Country music can be punk rock. They played El Paso four years ago with Against Me! at the old E9. Remember that show? Closing off the festival was everyone’s favorite, NOFX. Fat Mike decided that they should play the entire album, Punk in Drublic. I didn’t catch the El Paso show but Smelly, the drummer, had sirens installed to the PA to alert Fat Mike when he ran his mouth. The band made fun of every punk rocker that stage dived or looked unattractive.

After leaving Waterloo Park, we lollygagged until Rob went to get his first tattoo on Congress St. Sarah and Jess went to the RB party. I stayed with Rob until 2am when his tattoo was finished. It came out beautifully. The both of us exhausted, we went to the RB party to pick up the apartment keys and call it an early night. But the South By gods thought otherwise. Once inside the Red Bull compound, I found out that Crystal Castles were playing in a few minutes. Completely dumbfounded and exhilarated, I headed for the front stage. When the duo came out, the floor shook. Everyone began to dance. Crystal Castles were an inspiration; a bright mood swing for rock n’ roll. After they left the stage, we caught our breath and had some drinks from the bountiful open bar. Thanks, Red Bull and Arto. The last firework to my night was DJ Z-Trip. While waiting for him to come on stage, a stocky man next to me began to urinate in public thinking the absent stage lights would keep his activities stealth. Everyone in his surroundings shortly became of aware of his urinary agenda. The liquid sprinkled everywhere, including my bare shins; remember the shorts! My anger subsided as I remembered Z-Trip was soon to come on stage. The stocky fellow would later be found at the entrance incapacitated on the floor, dry heaving and probably wet his pants. To paraphrase, I’m DJ Z-Trip and I’m about to close this bitch. I hate to say it, but he outdid his El Paso performance. I can’t explain his performance. If you caught him at Club 101, raise it to the tenth power.

The Red Bull party closed its doors at 5am. After gathering the troops we returned to the apartment. We began to finish the last remnants of our whiskey with some leftover Coca Cola. I called it a day at 8am when I went outside to catch a glimpse of the soy milk sky. It was an ambiguous feeling seeing the daylight. I put my feelings of the moment on the backburner and headed to bed. We woke up hours later and caught some last minute shopping, lunch at Magnolias—a must for anyone visiting Austin—and refueled the car. We gave our good-byes to Michelle, our hostess, and were homeward bound. With tired eyes and exhausted feet, we took 290 West and headed to the familiar I-10.