Working in a soul mine: Lil' Danny Lanois puzzles with his SXSW keynote.
Related Content
More About
At the risk of souring our chances for a free pass back to Austin next year, it really must be said that the annual South by Southwest music conference is little more than a paid vacation for its 7,000-plus attendees. Viewed honestly, SXSW is just a four-day rock 'n' roll Club Med for publicists, A&R peopleall manner of music industry flotsam and jetsam. Well, that and a much-deserved respite for those of us among the noble breed of rock 'n' roll scribe.
Sure, there's always plenty of action to report and even more gossip to revel in. The juiciest bits from 2003 included a rumor that the Stooges would reunitethey did not get together in Austin but will re-form for a spate of gigs next month. Or tasty industry morsels like the unconfirmed whispers that Sleater-Kinney may be switching from Oly-indie Kill Rock Stars to Chicago imprint Touch and Go. But for the large majority of folks blazing a trail to Texas, SXSW is merely an excuse to get embarrassingly wrecked on the company dimeat least judging by those lushes over at Sub Pop.
Still, we must grudgingly admit, after this year's festivities, we came away with the sense that there is, perhaps, a greater purpose to the whole SXSW experience. Indeed, there's a strange, re-energizing effect to spending four days baking in the heat and chasing after free beer and barbecue in the hopes of stumbling upon some form of fresh musical manna. Austin in March does have a certain special magicit's a place where even a sneering churl can come away with his or her passion for music renewed and reignited.
But for you, dear readers, those unable to enjoy the fruits of this great business we call show, it's time to present our own tale of SXSW 2003. And like the great Sergio Leone epic, it is a story filled with its fair share of good, bad, and uglythe latter of which can be best summed up in five words: Billy Bob Thornton in concert.
DANNY BOY
Although SXSW officially starts with its Wednesday night showcases, the event's symbolic kickoff has remained the Thursday morning keynote address. Depending on the speaker, it's always a hit (Ray Davies) or miss (Michelle Shocked) affair, often marked by the public unveilings of some of the music industry's biggest egos. For example, Robbie Robertson's self-congratulatory 2002 address should have been titled "And then I . . . ," as the former Band guitarist simply decided to review and enumerate his many exalted rock 'n' roll achievements.
But no onepast, present, or futurecan hope to match the sheer unmitigated cojones and New Age hokum displayed by this year's featured speaker, Daniel Lanois. Ostensibly on hand to plug his new solo al-bum, Shine (Anti-), superproducer (U2, Bob Dylan) Lanois charged through a rambling, beat-poet-inspired diatribe where he referred to himself in the third person at least 47 times, and usually as "Lil' Danny Lanois, who started out making records in his mother's basement." Lil' Danny, reading from what appeared to be a giant sketchbook, talked about making music as a form of "soul mining" and went on to bizarrely describe how he'd gone down the "shaft" and run into Chris Blackwell, Bob Marley, Jimmy Iovine, and others along the way.
When Lanois finally paused to open up questions to the audience, things improved temporarily, but by the time he took the stage to perform several sleep-inducing steel guitar instrumentals, it had many hoping he would start speaking again. In all, a keynote that most in attendance will not likely be able to forget . . . no matter how hard they try.
(In fairness, Lanois did redeem himself somewhat during his Thursday night set, as Woodstock vet Richie Havens joined him for a blistering, nearly punked-up version of the hippie anthem "Freedom." Even the most hard-hearted cynic would have to concede it was one of the week's more inspired performances.)
POTTYMOUTH GIRL
It's odd that hip-hop divas can traipse around wearing nothing save a couple Band-Aids covering their nipples and a bit of floss draped across their ass, and yet barely raise an eyebrow. But if a white girl with a guitar flashes the tiniest bit of thigh, the rock world falls worshipfully at her feet. To wit, Liz Phair, mid-'90s alterna-sexpot, making her "triumphant" return to SXSW. Phair's interview/performance session drew a healthy crowdincluding plenty of salivating geekscurious to see what's become of music's most hyped female talent since she fell off the radar a half-decade ago.
Little has changed, however, as Phair appears intent on milking her reputation as an indie-rock vixenwith her Kewpie doll lips, turned-up nose, and revealing hemlines, Phair has always come off like a sexier version of Meg Ryanwith a batch of new songs that play up that very angle. Phair's forthcoming self-titled effort is, as she puts it, a greatest-hits album of sorts, compiling the best songs she's collected in the period since her last album, 1998's whitechocolatespacegg. Early wordand Capitol's tight guard over album advances is an indication that Phair's sitting on a real stinker and may be a sign that she needs to update her image and tunes for the new millennium.
