Despite our strongest efforts, at it more than 12 hours per day (pausing only to reinforce ourselves with beer to stave off dehydration), we only saw a tiny fraction of the 1900 bands that appeared this year.
50 bands. 3 days. No hangovers. An expanded group of co-conspirators.
What’s not to like?
Well, besides squeezing four aging guys into a one-room apartment for one thing…but why quibble?
As always, Austin was a fanciful wonderland that showed us incredible extremes:
- Great music. Crap music.
- Some of the funniest cabbies I have ever encountered; and one who tried his hardest to kill us and run his car into the ground…
- Great barbecue (Iron Works). And slop (can’t remember the name, but it was reminiscent of R. Kelly’s so we should have known better).
On the slop thing… Sadly, we went in to visit what had been a jewel in the town’s bbq crown, Ben’s (home of the greatest mutton plates in Texas, says me). Ben was out of business and had given way to the other R&B freaky-sound alike. You would think we would have better sense than to eat food from a place seemingly named after a guy who pees on…well, with a sordid past. We did not and we paid for it… But we did have an interesting pseudo-celebrity sighting there with John Wesley Harding popping in with a chunk of the bit-part cast from Flight of the Conchords in the shape of comedians Todd Berry (Todd the Bongo Player—Ruff! Ruff!) and Eugene Mirman (the landlord). Apparently JWH and Mirman have a show of their own they are touring with… The sighting did not make the food go down any better though…Some important lessons learned over the weekend…
Craigslist is populated by idiots. We tried a new housing option this year. Rather than stay at one of the overpriced, overbooked downtown hotels, Pete lined up two nice apartments that we could split between the four of us. The writeups on both were great---and one of them lived up to it. We never saw the other one because the owner had mistakenly double-booked it; not realizing he had been talking to two different Petes. The other Pete got there first...so we got the floor...
Place matters. Friday, we spent a chunk of the day at The French Legation. Blissful. Not so much for the quality of acts as the quality of setting. A gorgeous, sun-dappled grassy oasis. Quite the contrast to evening venues like The Radio Room, a cavernous crushed rock-floored tent that stinks of sour beer. Guess which is better to watch a show...
My camera sucks. I should have known this, afterall I have seen the other photos it has taken… The image above of my co-conspirators Pete, Steve and Kyle (Stephen B was there too, but not for the photo) is about the only clear shot I’ve got from the weekend. That does not mean I will not foist the blurry shots on you in my rundown anyway.
I am still old…and sleeping on the floor does not help. It is amazing I forget this every year, but 14 hours a day of walking, standing, and walking is starting to do funny things to me; like making my ankles swell and back ache. I sound like a Jewish grandma; but clearly I am not the only one as the only other clear shot from my camera is of Pete and Kyle clearly looking uncomfortable and stretching their spines...
And since Jo-Elle put me to work as soon as the plane landed yesterday (helping with PhD stuff at the zoo straight from the airport; and cooking for a small dinner party soon after), I am still beat. So you’ll have to wait for me to post dark and blurry photos from my crappy camera over the next few nights with a rundown of the bands we saw...
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