More music came to Austin on Friday at South-by-Southwest.
Jaded party @ Empire Control Room
Bubble Tea and Cigarettes
Bubble Tea and Cigarettes brought wobbly melodicism and 3/4 swoon to the interior room (appropriately dimmed) for a darkness-at-afternoon guitar-and-synth trip. The hazier, gentler side of shoegaze, they evoked The xx and Beach House, but left enough shimmering space to meaningfully differentiate themselves. Apologizing for not having a drummer (but sharing his love of Texas’ Whataburger in his absence) the two-person team merged reverbial wonder into new forms and reborn throwback ballads. It seems like a silly bad name; then you hear the music.
Space Agency / Spacecamp showcase @ Hotel Vegas
Soda Lilies
Austin bootgaze locals Soda Lilies were last-minute subbed onto schedule at Hotel Vegas, possibly over some RTX/Army protest drop-off, but they spun it into some memorable banter: “Boycott your local struggling rock club to take down western hegemony and the IMF!” one member wryly spat between noisy bursts of psychocandy. My grungy valentine pulsed hard, riveting 64th notes dissolving into noisy, formless guitar, distorted cooing melting into glazed shimmer. The complete medium was the message – text unceremoniously buried – so much so that when an audience member asked for the mic, the band obliged.
Showcase @ Cooper’s BBQ
Swamp Dogg
“Good to be back in Miami!” 82 year-old weirdo-soul/alt-R&B troublemaker Swamp Dogg winkingly greeted the crowd for his all-too-short stint upstairs at Cooper’s BBQ Friday night. You could say the bassline in his rendition of his cult classic “Total Destruction To Your Mind” evinced a “Taxman”-feel – but that would mistakenly place Mr. Dogg on the periphery of the Beatles universe, and ol’ SD is unmistakably in the center of his own. Dressed head-to-tapping-toe in a yellow suit, sunshine-hued ballcap, and mustard boots, he punctuated songs with “maniacal screams” (his descriptor), bantered about the ideal dose of Viagra (“60 ounces”), and proved charmingly unaware that SXSW strictures mean you don’t even get an hour to prove your mettle (he didn’t need it). Best songs, bester banter, besterest dressed. We were on the second floor and yet the crowd’s post-show exit still required an upward crawl from the muck.
