SXSW 2009: Day Two

AUSTIN, Texas — Discovering new favorites is a big part of the South By Southwest experience, and it keeps attendees scurrying all over town in search of that next-big-thing buzz. But it can be just as much fun to reconnect with old favorites, and be reminded all over again why you love 'em. Day two's highlights fell in the latter category.

The day began at the live-performance room of cool Austin radio station KGSR, which brings in SXSW acts for live-performance broadcasts during the festival. First up were Gary Louris & Mark Olson, former co-leaders of the Jayhawks -- and there is probably not a more mournful sound on this earth than those two voices locked in high, keening harmonies in a song of yearning: Saturday morning on Sunday Street/How I long to be there...

Sad and subdued, yet beautiful.

Then came Gomez, an English rock band I've probably not listened to in years. But that's gonna change because they were fantastic (even though the group's best singer, the raspy-voiced Ben Ottewell, remains an under-utilized resource who just doesn't sing lead often enough). "Airstream Driver" opened the set, with a pulverizing groove that seemed to spiral outward like a giant rope uncoiling; by the end of the song, it felt like it was covering up most of Central Texas. "Girlshapedlovedrug" and "How We Operate" were also both just huge, and marvelous; much head-bobbing glee.

After that came a mad dash to the convention center downtown for the keynote address from legendary producer/band-leader Quincy Jones -- a man who has never been shy about touting his own legacy. But heck, if you've got it flaunt it; and Jones definitely has it, having produced everything from Frank Sinatra to the top-selling album of all time. Of course, he namedropped just shamelessly. Felt like it should've been a drinking game, so I started keeping track of names that came up. A partial list:

Willie Nelson, Christopher Cross, Ray Charles, Lyle Lovett, Michael Jackson, Julia Roberts, Robert DeNiro, Harvey Keitel, George Burns, Sinatra, Jennifer Hudson, Astor Piazzolla, Ahmet Ertegun, Jerry Wexler, Yo-Yo Ma, Leo Fender, Prince, Madonna, Billie Holiday, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Count Basie, Stevie Wonder, 50 Cent, Kool Moe Dee, Usher, Mary J.  Blige, Bo Diddley, Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong, John Glenn, Aretha Franklin, Confucious, Plato, Socrates, Kirkegaard, Diana Ross, Rick James, Paul McCartney, Gloria Vanderbilt, Steven Spielberg, Barbra Streisand, Benny Goodman, Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker, Ted Turner, Alex Haley, Catherine  Zeta-Jones, Richard Burton, Condoleezza Rice, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Flatt & Scruggs, Miles Davis, Cannonball Adderley...

That was fun, as were some of the 76-year-old Jones' words of philosophy ("The good news is, when you get over the hill, that's when you pick up speed."). And so was an afternoon and evening spent wandering hither and yon to drop in on performances, for anywhere from a song or two up to a full set.

South by Southwest turns all of central Austin into one big live-music venue, and having that much music around can be rejuvenating. Late in the afternoon, I was hoofing it to a restaurant east of downtown because I couldn't find a cab, and dragging a bit -- until I heard this great little band, Lovely Sparrows, playing in a tent in a parking lot; bounciest flute-accompanied rock you've ever heard. I drank it up like an energy drink, picking up a spring in my step that even a massive plate of enchiladas didn't slow down.

I also saw a bit of Raleigh's Annuals, whose cut-to-the-crashing-waves-of-chorus dynamic was great as ever (even when played for a mob of chatty and hard-to-impress hipsters); The Rural Alberta Advantage, a spooky folk-pop band with a knack for strange electronic flourishes; and Chapel Hill expatriate Alina Simone, whose new songs from her upcoming album sounded mighty fine.

Then there was Grizzly Bear, a Brooklyn band that is absolutely peerless at the use of echo and empty sonic spaces. Grizzly Bear makes you aware of shape as a sonic characteristic, the way sounds can fit together, blend or bounce off each other. The group is sort of like Talking Heads, but with texture rather than rhythm as focal point -- and principle singer Daniel Rossen is a brilliant vocalist whose spectral wail seems to pierce right through you. The master stroke was a haunting cover of the Crystals' "He Hit Me (It Felt Like a Kiss)" that had to be heard to be believed.

Rossen's voice was the one echoing in my head as I walked to the car at the end of the night.