Rock Blogs from antiMUSIC's staff & Friends. 2004 SXSW Conference Concert Report � The Heavy Stuff by Ed Rivadavia

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With the industry's trendier contingent falling all over themselves to catch the current, no hope, flavor-of-the-month acts (hello Franz Ferdinand!), this year's SXSW was once again a wonderful opportunity for the hard and heavy set to glimpse some awesome acts in relative peace. So here it is: the heavy stuff�

WEDNESDAY:
SPEEDEALER / ANGRY AMPUTEES
After successfully concluding my first SXSW mission (stuffing my face with some good and decadent Texas barbeque), I found my way to a funny-looking club called (and there's plenty of those in Austin) Red Eyed Fly to get the concert-going exercise started. I have to admit I only attended the Angry Amputees showcase because of next performers Speedealer; but I was ultimately glad their peculiar name enticed me to get there in time to observe, to my astonishment, that their bass player was an actual amputee! Even cooler was discovering that this curious detail has no bearing whatsoever on their very entertaining brand of punk rock, which they delivered with amazing energy and power behind frontwoman Stacey Dee � prompting me to buy their cleverly named Slutbomb CD right there and then. 

As for Speedealer, the band's return to action following a year of major strife would have been inspiring enough (they effectively broke up in 2001 after all their gear was stolen with their van), but the re-vamped quartet proceeded to lay waste to the assembled throng. In fact, this was probably the most vicious and motivated performance I've ever seen from them, and the heady mix of old and new material had the local, cowboy-wearing rocker-types running here and there in a melee to shout along. 

THURSDAY:
SUPAGROUP
Mexican food was the focus tonight (and that's the last food reference, I promise) before I headed to the very dive-y Room 710 to catch my old favorites: New Orleans' spectacularly named Supagroup. Having already seen the band live on a number of occasions, I can safely say that they always seem to be ON � and this shortened set proved to be no exception thanks to the band's electrifying boogie rock. But whereas they used to sound like little more than an AC/DC cover band, Supagroup's Alaskan-bred brothers-in-charge, singer/guitarist Christopher Lee and his lead guitar-playing younger sibling Benji, have come a long way in establishing a more distinct personality for the band. Sure, Benji's basic schtick still revolves around Angus Young-derived hyper-activity, but his playing is undeniably top notch, and Christopher has definitely stepped up his cool, Joe Perry-like stage presence to at least take some of the charismatic workload for himself. And of course there's the great songs, which tonight ranged from rowdy sing-alongs like "I Need a Drink," to the hilariously tragic slow blues of "Murder, Suicide, Death," to the furious, set-ending hammering of "Back by Popular Demand."

HIGH ON FIRE / ZEKE
After a bungled encounter with the Brian Jonestown Massacre (see more info below), Thursday night wrapped up (for me at least) at the Relapse Records showcase, taking place at Emo's Annex � essentially an improvised tent in what looked like a parking lot across the street from the actual Emo's. Anyway, recently reformed and desperately intense speedcore trio Zeke were tearing up the stage when I walked in, and, although I quite dug the majority of their two-minute outbursts, their set still seemed to drag on foreeeeever! Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the Mexican food, maybe it was anticipation for the evening's headliners, but whatever the reason, by the time their belligerent little, no-necked, bird-flipping dough-boy of drummer started challenging the audience towards the end of their performance, I'd wager many in the crowd were ready to rush the stage and pop him one. 

And so to High on Fire, who, as any self-respecting metal head will tell you, are as close to a unanimous heavy metal success story as any band working in the genre today. Now squeezing the last possible concert dates (one would imagine) out of their brilliant sophomore opus, 2002's Surrounded by Thieves, the hard-working trio have effectively conquered the underground metal world, with huge expectations riding on what will come next. Anyway, with all due respect to the colossal rhythm section comprised of bassist George Rice and drummer Des Kensel, it's singer/guitarist Matt Pike (he of 90's doomster Sleep infamy) who remains the engine behind the High on Fire locomotive. Not only does he attack his Les Paul with Neanderthal-like brutality, he kinda looks the part too! Although hardly the most distinctive soloist, he's hands down the most prolific power chord conjurer since Sabbath's original master of disaster, Tony Iommi � I s*** you not! Having said all that, despite setting every head in the place a nodding with second number "Nemesis" (it works every time) and easily winning the "Loudest band in Austin" award, I didn't feel as helplessly overwhelmed by the band's set tonight as on previous occasions. But then, a medium night for these guys would be considered a life-altering experience by most other band's standards, so no complaints from me.

FRIDAY:
DIXIE WITCH
I was back at dingy (but refreshingly inexpensive of bar) Room 710 Friday evening to glimpse Texan stoner rock trio Dixie Witch. But, although I must confess that they impressed me more on stage, than they'd done with their latest album "One Bird, Two Stones," their retro grooves were still not memorable enough to tear me away from the vintage Centipede machine I was slobbering over. What I did manage to ascertain, in-between blowing away attacking spiders and scorpions, was that singing drummer Trinidad may not look the part of a prototypical rock star (bald pate, white shirt, hefty belly and all), but his soulful grunts nevertheless managed to sell the band to a very enthusiastic and partisan crowd.

SATURDAY:
THE WILDHEARTS
Another cause for my distracted state of mind while witnessing Friday night's rather lackluster performances, may have been the anticipation of watching recently reformed English cult heroes The Wildhearts play their first American show in nearly a decade (or maybe ever � I'm still not sure which) the following night. Of course nothing comes easy when you're talking about the Wildheart's severely starcrossed career, so theirs would ironically be the only concert I'd have a real hard time getting into � and not because of the band themselves, mind you, but because the kind folks programming SXSW scheduled them almost alongside the heavily hyped Hives at Emo's Jr. Thankfully, I managed to fight my way inside only a couple of songs into the band's short set, and, although I won't lie and say that they absolutely knocked me on my ass (how could they possibly live up to 10-year-high expectations?), their vibrant renditions of old favorites ("I wanna go where the People Go," "Beautiful thing You," "Caprice," etc.) had me smiling like a fool anyway. Singer/guitarist Ginger definitely needs to update his at times Axl Rose-ish moves somewhat, but his band's incredibly catchy, heavier take on the magical power-pop of Cheap Trick remains as timeless as the originals � so here's hoping they make some waves while opening for classic rock saviors The Darkness in coming months.

EARTHRIDE
Next on my list were Baltimore-based stoners Earthride, whose singer, David Sherman, not only sounds like Lemmy from Motorhead, he may even be as old! Seriously, there's probably no band on the planet with smaller commercial prospects than this scruffy quartet, rounded out by a trio of aging, hairy, overweight geezers you'd never expect to find pursuing a serious music career, never mind conjuring top-notch heavy metal albums. And yet, that's perhaps why Earthride rocked the small collection of equally aging, hairy and overweight faithful in the tiny, self-contained upstairs balcony of the Ritz. Aside from easily qualifying as the weekend's most intimate concert, the most memorable aspect of the gig may have been realizing that the band's Orange cabinets were so juiced, they set the both rafters and floorboards trembling with low-end guitar and bass thrum; consisting of the sort of sped-up doom metal which would still be called "stoner rock" had the title not fallen out of favor about five years ago.

YOUNG HEART ATTACK 
And that was supposed to be it for my weekend in Austin. My feet were hurting so bad from walking back and forth (my daily New York walks were clearly not preparation enough) that I was already setting my sights on crawling back to the Hilton and grabbing a few Z's before my super-early flight out. Luckily, local rising stars Young Heart Attack happened to be taking to the stage at a club along my path called Rockstars, so I figured I'd give them a chance to out-perform the mostly forgettable downloads I'd recently sampled on their site � they did. Essentially, yet another AC/DC-worshipping group of boogie rockers (and if you haven't figured out that I'm an absolute sucker for anything along those lines, hello!), this quintet's most distinctive quality has to be pairing vocalists Chris Hodge and Jennifer Stephens (who, forgive me for being so bold, is surprisingly hot in a trailer-park sort of way) to trade vocal lines on most every tune. Rounded out by a powerhouse rhythm section and arguably the least rock star-looking lead guitar player ever, the band followed their amusing introduction: "We're Young Heart Attack, from East 7th street," with a blistering shot of pure southern dynamite. All things considered, the band could still use a little fine-tuning of their material (read: more of it, and better developed) before taking it nationwide, but a few memorable numbers like the s***-hot "Mouthful of Love" show mounds of promise.

Postscript:
And that about covers it; but for the sake of variety, here's a quick run-through some of the other, more mainstream attractions I witnessed:

Easily the wackiest vision during my Austin stay had to be the sight of an actual operatic tenor named Byron Mino taking the stage at Spiros for a non-SXSW-sanctioned event. Belting out orchestral favorites ("O Sole Mio," "Nessun Dorma," etc.) fit for Carnegie Hall in a dusty, backyard venue not wacky enough for ya? Then consider the fact that said gentleman is none other than the uncle to Vanilla Ice, who would perform later that night! Bizarre is putting it lightly, and no, I didn't stay for f***ing Vanilla Ice!

I didn't catch too many unsigned acts over those four days, but in one of the exceptions, I saw young hopefuls Matador Down from Chicago playing perhaps the shortest and latest set Wednesday night to a rather ambivalent, A&R-packed crowd at � of all places � Coyote Ugly! Honestly, their somewhat safe, radio-ready hard rock (think Nickelback, but harder and with better haircuts) didn't really impress me (it probably thrilled those A&R geniuses!), but their energy in the face of music biz sterility, bar-top dancing absurdity, and redneck, fist-pumping virility had me kinda pulling for them anyway.

I can't say the same for Friday's terribly underwhelming performance by those robe-wearing members of the Polyphonic Spree, who commanded a nearly packed crowd at Stubb's � an open-air, dirt-stomped, cattle corral of a venue. I dunno�call me clueless but I just don't get it. All I know is that by the 50th repetition of "You gotta be good, you gotta be strong�" I was ready to take an icepick to my forehead. I'm probably missing the plot, but to me, this crew sound like Jellyfish with ten times the musicians, and about a tenth of the talent and songs.

Another disappointment for me was the Brian Jonestown Massacre performance, Thursday night at Club de Ville � but only because I got harassed by the infamous Anton beforehand (don't ask!) and bailed in disgust after only half a song.

And my biggest surprise all weekend was saved for the start of Saturday night, when, on the recommendation of a friend, I caught the Haden Triplets at a conspicuously cheesy out-of-the-way club (and boy, are there lot's of those in this town!) named Buffalo Billiards. Simply put, here was a diminutive trio of sisters backed only by a mic-ed acoustic guitar player (who, incidentally, didn't always seem to remember his parts), and harmonizing to both originals ("Wishing Well") and folk standards (the Carter Family's "Single Girl") to stunning effect. At once angelic and haunting, their delicate, intertwining voices left the small, but captive audience gasping in awe, ears and spines a-tingling.