The Real SXSWI hate Jay-Z and Lady Gaga.OK, I really don’t, but this past week in Austin during SXSW, I really, really thought I did. It has nothing to do with them as artists, or their work, or their ability to draw crowds, or what brand sponsored them to play what other brand’s show. I’m not concerned with any that. What I do hate is when an artist of their profile swoops into a town bursting at the seams with industry sorts and music die-hards, and takes the attention off of the pulsing heartbeat of SXSW, young bands.As far back as I can remember, the process for SXSW was that a young band would play the festival as many times as they could, try to kill it at an early set, and as people began to talk about who they’ve seen and enjoyed, the buzz would build during the week. But in recent years, SXSW has grown by leaps and bounds, with labels, artists, and brands swooping in for a sort of arms race as to who can create the most attractive bill, which naturally lends itself to bigger and bigger artists. It’s not the fault of any of these larger artists, it’s a natural progression that unfortunately leads to natural selection, and neglects the crux of why many journalists go to SXSW (besides the, uh, networking, I mean beer).So my goal at SXSW this year, and every year, was to JUST see the young, buzzy and the hopeful, surpassing invites to many of the giant names that swooped into Austin. Of the over 50 bands that I saw (some several times), the following resonated the most and of those, many took place in odd spaces like the Beerland patio or South Lamar Pedestrian Bridge.
(Source: Vice Magazine)
Music writer Sophie Saint Thomas of Shuffle and Splooge fame breaks down what it’s like to not just bone down with musically inclined people, but take that extra step and date them. Do people even do that anymore? Seems gross.
You will never be his girlfriend (or her girlfriend, or his boyfriend). You must obsessively check their genitals for signs of herpes and always use a condom, even a god damn dental damn with these fools because they’re sleeping with a minimum of six other people. You will be forced to socialize with many French people and drink a lot of Tito’s Vodka. Any sex you have will be very drunk and bad at 5 in the morning because DJs do not sleep. They’ll ditch you at Le Poisson Rouge for new blonde pussy. He’ll have a little penis, or perhaps just a very soft one due to MDMA consumption. Cease this relationship before abnormal discharge sets in.
After taking him to prom, you’ll de-virginize him in a tent in the woods and then he will never speak to you again. His older brothers and him form a somewhat successful country band, and despite their good looks all the older brothers are still virgins as they are strict Evangelicals. The youngest will forever remember you as the atheist whore who raped him.
For the first few weeks he’ll leave you love notes at your apartment after you’ve left for work. He’ll sleep until noon and then use your computer to watch Twin Peaks on Netflix. You’ll realize he’s technically unemployed and Google his last name to discover he has family money and feel simultaneously deceived yet relieved. You’ll do yoga in your apartment to his music and fool yourself into finding it original. You won’t care about how curved his penis is because he’s so good with his fingers. You discover female ejaculation is not a myth. The love notes stop. You realize his love is intense yet fleeting and that he’s struggling with a severe case of ADHD and rich white boy entitlement.
It’s been nearly three decades since the Big Boys commanded, “Now go start your own band!” For the most part, everyone has complied. There are more bands now than ever before, clogging nightclubs, burning millions of unwanted CDs, straining the nation’s broadband infrastructure. “Being in a band” has become the default activity for several generations of adventure-seeking youth, occupying the space previously held by “joining the military” and “having a career.”
Read the rest at Vice Magazine: THE VICE GUIDE TO NOT BEING IN A BAND - Vice Magazine