South by Southwest last year was my first full on experience with the event that brings over 8,000 bands from all over the world to Austin for 5 days of musical mayhem, and it went great. With proper pacing and maybe a little luck, I got everything out of the experience I could ever want. 2011 was one of those experiences you hear many people talk about that is proceeded by “…and I will never go back.”
Despite my SXSW preview blogs being horrifically under-read, and misunderstood as boastful bragging pieces about what others can’t experience instead of creative ways to promote artists I may otherwise not be able to talk about, and despite Saving Country Music being eaten by Facebook, ripped in half by XXX, and the last vestiges of readers descending into pointless polarized rants about Hank III and Jamey Johnson…
I am quite astonished with this in so many different ways I don’t even know where to start. Actually I do. How about with the fact that Gwyneth, across multiple platforms, including movie, radio, and performance, and from a critical and commercial standpoint, has already failed in country music. The movie “Country Strong”, which is the impetus for this whole country music career, was a colossal critical and commercial failure.
Of course, not every one can be here, but I will be, and leading up to SXSW, I will be doing my best to get everyone ready for the big shindig, including everyone that cannot attend. As I prepare for it, cover it, and then wrap it up, I’ll do my best to encapsulate the experience for everyone, and through articles, pictures, videos, audio, and interviews, help you live the experience vicariously through me, and through osmosis hopefully turn you on to some great music.
When music fans think about the art of songwriting, they usually want to have a romantic vision of the process–their favorite songwriters sitting down late at night in a dimly lit room, deep in the throes of passion and inspiration. Maybe a candle flickering above a blank piece of paper, with a glass of wine or whiskey to the side, and tears staining the page as they alleviate their heartache by bearing their soul in a song.
In truth, mainstream songwriting more resembles the unappealing aesthetics of industrial food production . . .
It would make life much easier for me if on Saturday night, Justin Townes Earle put on the performance of a lifetime. With all the negative publicity he has received here and other places, but especially here, it has characterized me as a madman on a mission to destroy him. From NPR stuff, to more NPR stuff, to breaking the story on his arrest, it has branded me a Justin Townes Earle adversary in a way that has adversely effected my standing with many people I respect.
Last night was an occasion I’d been looking forward to for a while: Justin Townes Earle sober (hopefully) return to Austin, TX, but in the traveling party as the support act was Catlin Rose, a Nashville-based singer/songwriter that I’ve been asked to give an opinion on many times, but for whom online music and videos had rendered my opinion inconclusive heretofore.