The Morning After: Coming to Terms With SXSW

I approached this festival from a skeptical point of view because I’ve lived in Austin most of my life and never once regretted missing SXSW (yeah, way overpriced). I always note an increase in the urban outfitted—people dressing like band members, Ray Bans, smug grins—but I never quite want to join in the fun.

Once I got all up in it this year, however, I simultaneously felt both as if I had just stepped off the golden elevator on Heaven’s top floor and like I had fallen down the broken escalator onto the set of Real World vs Road Rules’ Ultimate Circle Jerk Smackdown. I went into this thing like so many rookies: wet behind the ears and full of hope, thinking I was immune to callusing of the soul. On the first day this held true. I went to the 4AD showcase and when it was over I said, “Enough’s enough. Time to get some rest.”

Day Two, however, gave me a little more to chew on. I witnessed the slow decline of all my diligent planning: the carefully highlighted pages detailing my schedule were more or less useless due to unexplained stains. A basic understanding of digital photography continued to elude me. I was still in the early stages of the disease but it was becoming clear I was in it for the long haul. That night I made the next obvious jump up the ladder of privileged behavior by abusing my right to free Tito’s vodka at the Auditorium Shores stage.

By Day Three I had opened the back of my 35mm Promaster, accidentally exposing the film from the Black Lips’ show, rewound an entire cartridge of unexposed film, spent more than forty dollars on vodka tonics and Lone Star and had learned how to show my photog pass, press badge, and fake id all at once in order to achieve a momentary sense of credibility—a reflex I found reassuring at times. At this point I had become the bane of the concertgoer’s existence: the unruly photographer who wasn’t shy to throw dem bows to get as far up front as possible.

Day Four found me somewhere in the Convention Center claiming I was the manager of The Daze, an idealistic underground DIY project from Austin with an average draw of one hundred fifty plus, distributing copies of “The Master Sword EP” in hopes of landing a summer tour in promotion of a new album. In other words, the real Mike Fleming was somewhere in there; it was just hard to see him through all the bullshit aliases and credentials. So it is with your benefit in mind (as well as my own) that I give you the following advice for SXSW 2010.



Hints for Concert Survival

1) Never, under any circumstance, use the ATM’s on Sixth Street or Red River. I was in line talking with two kids from Brazil when a mild explosion from the front made me turn around: a drunk fratboy apparently took the ten dollar convenience fee as an insult to his intelligence and kicked the machine damn near over. He careened off into the night, a bike-cop following him. I can’t say I blame the poor bastard. I was upset, too, but in no shape to do anything about it. I secretly hoped that his aggression would cause a malfunction in the machine to spew cash into the street; a mixture of money, booze and hobo piss frothing around high heels on dirty pavement.

2) Find yourself idly relaxing during a spare moment? Don’t be an idiot: read the SXSW schedule during times like these. Consult it as often as possible. Fucking memorize it. I cannot exaggerate how important it is that you don’t miss Grizzly Bear at the Cedar Street Courtyard because “there aren’t any good shows tonight.” Plus, people like people that look like they know what’s going on. Maybe you’ll make a friend or two since you’ve already got your schedule out.

3) There are plenty of places to park downtown that don’t cost a thing. It’s really not worth it to blow thirty dollars or more on parking for a single day when you can catch the bus downtown for thirty or more cents. Bikes are also extremely useful things. They allow for maximum speed and maneuverability through even the most unruly horde of tourists (“I hear Sixth Street is SO bomb. Let’s check it out.”).

4) You’ll smell like a sweaty bottle of Jose Cuervo at the end of the week no matter what you do. Push the limit: don’t change clothes or bathe. Eliminate those lengthy personal hygiene sessions from your schedule—they’ll only cost you precious time.

5) SXSW is definitely a big networking session so talk to as many people as you can, odds are that everyone wants to make friends. Just try not to do it during the shows. Which brings me to number six.

6) Don’t talk during shows. Seriously. DO NOT MAKE CONVERSTION DURING A SHOW. It is fucking rude and makes it hard to hear the music when everyone is asking each other what shows they’ve seen or who they’re going to see next or whether or not you can exchange a handjob for an unpaid internship. Concerts are terrible first dates. Why? Because she doesn’t have a chance in hell of hearing what you’re saying over the music and you don’t want to yell because she’ll think you’re an inconsiderate ass of a person. This is why.

7) This last one is something that took me some time to figure out. I take tons of photos at shows, something I started doing with film. Since a roll of 120 film only has about sixteen or so shots in it I will either shoot intermittently or for a short period of time. This allows me to get some good photos, sure, but it also lets me look at the players with my own eyes instead of through the peephole of a Holga or the viewfinder of a Rebel or D60.
There were a couple concerts (like King Khan and the Shrines) that had me in photographer mode trying to catch some of the crazy-action the entire time. Wish I hadn’t done that. Most of the photos didn’t turn out and I could have been watching an incredible show. The sad truth is that no photo or audio recording will ever fully replicate a live show, so when you’re there try to soak it up a little. You’ll get a better idea of what you should really be paying attention to if you just listen.