At 10 minutes to 5 a.m., I watched as Tempo Editor Kenneth Smith,his unmistakable coiffeur silhouetted against the rear window of ataxicab, drove right past my apartment building and into pre-dawndarkness at the western end of University Avenue. Thus was thebeginning of The Daily Aztec’s visit to the South by SouthwestFestival in Austin, Texas.
Even at that ungodly hour, we were both excited and eager to getto Austin, the vaunted “Live Music Capital of the World” and SXSW,which had long been on our respective wish lists of events to see.
After an uneventful flight to Dallas and equally placid one intoAustin, we made our way from the airport to our functionalaccommodations at a La Quinta Inn just over the southern bank of theLower Colorado River, about three miles from the heart of the city.Our hotel was located on Oltorf Boulevard. I point this out becausethroughout the course of the weekend, I couldn’t, for the life of me,remember the name of the road. It was alternately known as: WaldorfStreet, Boldiff Street, Mordor Avenue and my personal favorite — OldPot Street.
We checked in and spent the next couple of hours unwinding at thehotel, sipping on Shiner Bock, a local cheap and delicious Texanbrew. At around 6 p.m., we went to the SXSW headquarters at theconvention center in order to register and pick up our badges.
The badge is the festival’s equivalent to the golden ticket inWilly Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Ken was issued a full pressbadge with his mug emblazoned on it and “Daily Aztec/ San Diego, CA”next to it in a tidy font. I, on the other hand, was given a meager”Photographer/Videographer” badge, made all more ridiculous seeingthat I do not own a camera. I think my pass entitled me unlimitedaccess to the local Denny’s. I wore it all weekend.
Feeling hungry, we shuffled down 6th Street, where the majority ofAustin music venues are located. We found a cafe, ordered turkeysandwiches and glasses of beer, and sat down to map out what shows wewanted to attend. We almost immediately struck up a conversation,something quite easy to do in the city, with a woman who was sittingnext to us. She helped us get our bearings and then, for some reason,started to explain the laws governing the shape and design of dildosin Texas. Ken wondered aloud what those legislative sessions musthave been like.
By the time we finished our dinner, the night had settled in andpeople had begun to crowd the sidewalks. As one might imagine, Austinis an easygoing, informal city, where people don’t really bother toget dressed up to go out. That said, in terms of my attire, I feltwoefully inadequate. I pride myself on having hip T-shirts. The kidsin Austin had me beat, hands down. There were literally swarms ofthem, ranging from ones advertising motorcycle shops, to JethroTull’s 1975 tour of America.
Ken and I stuck together for the first few bands at the Room 710.It was there that we met one of Austin’s more famous residents –Charlie. A 40-ish guy with a gruff voice, he began to talk to uswhile plunking quarters into a bar video-trivia machine. He is, likemostly everyone in the city, a musician. “I play punk rock on theacoustic, man” he grumbled. It was there that city and the festivalbegan to coalesce for me. I had never been in a place where the vastpopulace cared so much about music.
For the most part, all of the people that I met, music, of allkinds, is just part of the vocabulary. In Austin, going to see bandsembodies a sort of dailiness that is akin to going to the post officeor running to the corner store to get some milk.
On the cab ride back to our hotel I had what has become for me thequintessential Austin experience. We were making small talk, as youdo, with the driver. The topics ranged from high school football, torent prices to, of course, music. I asked what he’d been listen tolately. “Patti Smith,” he replied.
