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March 25, 2004
Don’t Forget Our Monday Date
Mark your calendars — the debut of Camp X-Ray (featuring Doug from the Manikin and I forget who else) is on Monday, April 5 on the Lamar Street Pedestrian Bridge at 10:00. For those of you too nervous to attend, they will be playing a proper set on Wednesday the 14th at Beerland.
Now, someone, please help me remember. I’ve got no head for dates.
Posted by pogo at 07:17 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
March 24, 2004
Overboard and Down and Strung Out Twice
Best things about South by Southwest: seeing Jim Jarmusch’s “Cigarettes and Coffee” sneakily at the Alamo, seeing Mark Mothersbaugh’s weirdo “Beautiful Mutants” photographs at the Escapist Bookstore, seeing the Lost Sounds for free at the Church of the Friendly Ghost, having free-toe pie with Tecate in the middle of the day at Beerland, watching a nice Minnesotan eat his first Frito Pie, the Super Secret and Mortville records showcase at the same Beerland (which is really the sort of thing that SXSW should be all about), going to a house show, organized by roller derby queen, Sherry, that made me remember the Austin of the good old days, getting drunk in a tiny, dark room with some maniac band clanging away, skipping work in the middle of the week, hating on wearers of too-new cowboy hats (usually paired with tennis shoes or, heaven forfend! sandals), seeing old friends back in town, running around for days, fueled on fumes, fortified with tacos and cheap beer and springtime in Texas with everything around me in a rainy bloom, and finally, hiding away on Sunday with my boyfriend, and not seeing any badges or bands, just reading the paper and drinking coffee and quietly recovering.
And, as a favor to you, I’ll graciously omit talking about all of the worst things of the week, if I can be spared any more talk of the whole silly thing for another year.
Posted by pogo at 12:32 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
March 17, 2004
Remorse For Intemperate Speech
William Butler Yeats
I ranted to the knave and fool,
But outgrew that school,
Would transform the part,
Fit audience found, but cannot rule
My fanatic heart
I sought my betters: though in each
Fine manners, liberal speech,
Turn hatred into sport,
Nothing said or done can reach
My fanatic heart.
Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother’s womb
A fanatic heart.
Posted by pogo at 07:30 AM | TrackBack
March 09, 2004
You Can’t Have Me
So Big Star is coming to South by Southwest. I’m sure none of the locals who actually give a shit about seeing them will be able to get in either, just like always. The place’ll be packed with badge-toting, cell phone-yakking industry types who couldn’t care less (A few years back some friends and I were lucky enough to get let into Emo’s for the Locust’s show, which was packed. As I wandered around the floor, trying to get nearer the front and the onslaught of grinding noise, I actually jostled a few of the aforementioned motherfuckers, talking into their damn phones in the middle of the floor. At a Locust show!)
I can at least take comfort that I got to see Big Star in Columbia at Springpeace, where my friend Amy endeared herself to my heart forever when, looking around at the (I thought) legendary band loading in, she screwed up her little Chicagoan’s face and asked, “Who’s the damn hippie band?”
For the record (ahem) they called it Missouri University, but it’s the University of Missouri at Columbia, not that these things matter to me.
Posted by pogo at 07:28 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack