The Parish is completely empty when I arrive.  Austinites haven’t adjusted to the near-freezing temperatures yet, so it’s not surprising that rosy-cheeked audience members only start trickling in during the opening act.  After I buy a whiskey on the rocks, the only respectable drink order for this winter weather, I take a look around.  I’ve never seen this venue, really, because the last time I was here was for Thom Yorke and people were stacked three high.  The aesthetics are beautiful, ornate wall decorations and scuffed hardwood floors, so intimate we could be in someone’s living room.

The whiskey warms me up as Paper Bird, the openers, take the stage.

Sisters Esme and Genevieve Patterson (vocals), brother sister combo Sarah and Mark Anderson (vocal/trombone and percussion), Macon Terry (upright bass), Caleb Summeril (banjo) and Paul DeHaven (guitar).  Sarah announces that they’ve driven straight from Denver, leaving last night at 6pm and arriving in downtown Austin within the hour of their stage time.  These guys are really embracing life on the road.  I’ve heard their name before, floating in the air at ACL or eavesdropping on a conversation in a crowded bar, but I have no idea what to expect.  Turns out, Paper Bird and Infamous Stringdusters are the best combination since PB&J.  They’ve got enough bluegrass to be relevant, but something about the three girls’ synchronized dance steps screams The Supremes.  Later, researching the band, I found out they have been classified as a ‘Baroque Pop’ band.  Sure, that’ll work.  The three vocalists are only as talented as the music men behind them, who have been trading off every other song to take turn on the stand-up bass and guitar.  It wasn’t enough that they just master the one instrument, I guess.  I’m awestruck as I listen to these three dainty girls effortlessly switch from innocently harmonizing one moment, to holding the microphone three feet away because they’re gutterally bellowing.  It’s soulful.  It’s transcendent.  They’re the sirens from Greek mythology, they have captivated every pair of eyes in the room.  I tear mine away from them long enough to survey the crowd, and it seems everyone is sharing my thought: “Man, I’m glad I got here early.”

Then, they exit as unceremoniously as they arrived.  There’s just enough time to shuffle towards the bar to refresh the drinks and warm the hands before it’s showtime.

The two Andys, Chris, Jeremy and Travis file onto stage without any to-do.  Andy Hall, who’s responsible for the majestic sounds of the Dobro, takes lead vocals on You can’t stop the Changes, off their 2010 album Things That Fly.  As the show unfolds I realize it would be impossible to label any of them “lead vocals,” as they share the spotlight almost equally.  (Except for Chris, who sticks to finger-picking the Banjo like he made a deal with the devil.)  They also don’t stick to showcasing their most recent album, Silver Sky.  The audience and I are just settling in to this set like easing into a warm bath, letting out a collective “Ahhh” of appreciation when the third song, an instrumental powerhouse, hits us like a baseball bat to the face.  Lucky for you, I have the upper body strength to hold my phone still enough for seven minutes so you could enjoy it too.

Yeah.  How do you keep having a show after… that.  Nevertheless, they did.  Andy #2, the newest member of the group and also known to the world as Andy Falco, announces while he’s tuning his guitar for the next song, that she was made right here in Austin, Texas.  The crowd explodes into cheers.  We Austinites, native to the home of Stevie Ray Vaughan, do not take guitar compliments lightly.

Halfway through the first set, they slow down to play a song from their album Fork in the Road and mercifully grant us a chance to catch our breath.  I’m actually panting.  For the second set, they launch into I Am a Stranger, off Garrett’s first solo album.  For the live version, it features an ethereal guitar solo that Falco is able to manipulate such that it sounds more like Spanish guitar than folky accompaniment.  The rest of the set quickens its pace and pulls us out of reverie, comforting us all with the warmth of familiar, traditional, back-to-our-roots bluegrass.

The rest of the set is so delicious my brain is saturated with good music and I’m having trouble processing the talent in the room.  I take a step back to survey the mood of the crowd: it’s jubilant.  An over-zealous fan, (you might remember his bouncing head and pumping fists from the first video) starts a conversation with me about the band.  Soon after learning that I intend to write an article about these guys for the Grateful Web, he offers me a soundbyte about their effect in his life.  He tells me he’s 37 and he had it all: big job, wife, kids, the dream, and that this past year he’d been hit hard.  He didn’t elaborate except to tearily nod towards the stage, “If they weren’t in my life” he says, “I wouldn’t have made it."

That’s just the side effect of incredible music.  It makes you feel incredible, too.  And there’s something about this group that radiates genuine passion for their craft.  As Chris Pandolfi put it, "Instead of burying ourselves in the work and hoping that one day we'll take time off ... we're doing these things as we go," he explained. "Like a lot of things, when you're doing what you love to do, you're doing your best work, and when you're doing your best work, that's when success comes."

I’ll leave you with one last video of this infamous band, I hope you love it.  Like I do.

Real musicians make their home anywhere, including the cramped backstage area at one of Austin’s best music venues, The Parish.  Over cups of instant coffee, Grateful Web’s Caitlin St. Pierre sat down with The Revivalists, who are not strangers to life on the road.  The band, due to re-release their album City of Sound with an additional hour of live tracks, is excited to be kicking off their tour in the ‘Live Music Capital of the World.’  Their fresh energy, hysterical banter, and undeniable talent makes for an easy interview, and one hell of a show.

Grateful Web: You are re-releasing City of Sound on Mardi Gras, which is appropriate since you guys originated in New Orleans.  How much of your sound was influenced by local music like Dixieland or Blues?

Zack: I don’t think you really have a choice of how much it’s going to influence you or not, it’s like whether or not you want it to it just does.  Just from being there, and listening to all the New Orleans music, there’s constantly good music around.  So, I would say a good amount, maybe more than we think, just because it just gets into the way you play. 

GW: It gets in your blood.

Zack: Yeah.

Rob: It’s not something that you necessarily… you could almost listen to us and not be able, on the surface, really be able to tell that we’re from New Orleans, because we don’t necessarily play the styles that are really prevalent in the area.  It’s kind of an undercurrent, there’s something in it that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

Andrew: The sound, in New Orleans, it gets into your playing because there is so much going on, you go out to the clubs, you can be with people that do it better… some of the best musicians play there throughout the year, and they’re all willing to hang out and play, it’s a very uplifting community.  It’s easy to learn, everyone’s accessible.  It gets into your playing just from being around other people who inspire you. 

GW: How many of you were born and bred?

All: Zero.

GW: Really?  None of you are from Louisianna?

Zack: Yeah, we’re all transplants.

George: Curveball!

Zack: Many of us went to college in New Orleans, at Tulane and Loyola, but our lead singer {Dave} moved down right after he graduated Ohio State. 

GW: So Dave, how did you come into the picture?

Andrew: Ooh, tell the story.

Dave: I was sitting on my front porch playing guitar, just playing a song, and Zack just rode by on his bike, and heard me.

GW: That’s too good! So he just stopped, dead in his tracks, and said: YOU.

Zack: So I stopped, and he was just playing some songs, and I pointed at him and said, “You wanna make a million dollars?”

{Everyone laughs.}

Andrew: Zack and I met, a few months before that, at Tipitina’s, at this workshop, and we had played together a little bit, but we hadn’t really started, we just kind of played at my house, and then we found Dave.

GW: Since your formation in 2007, how have you watched the Indie Rock scene change around you?

Zack: I think in 2007 it was much more of a “thing” to be Indie, it was almost like a stylistic choice. 

Ed: Indie used to mean “Independent”, now it’s a style of music.  It was a hot thing to be “Indie”, like a trend.

Andrew: But the Indie music scene has changed a lot, the stuff that was Independent in terms of not necessarily just its genre, it’s gotten bigger with people like Lumineers, Mumford & Sons, and Gary Clark Jr. winning Grammys, and that has changed since 2007, partially because Indie artists have gotten big.  A lot of that is done through touring.  There seems to be a renewed interest in playing, and musicians, as opposed just types of music being popular now.  There’s just such a wide audience, it was in 2007, too, but people are really using the tools at their disposal.

Dave: Yeah, musicians are able to be Independent while still reaching the masses.

Rob: The things that can count as huge.. multi-platinum—I don’t even want to say that because I don’t know if there really are multi-platinum albums anymore, but the things that can be huge that everyone’s into, I think there’s a lot more range of that nowadays than there has been in the past decade or so. 

GW: So it sounds like it’s changed in a positive way.  This next question is more of a two-part question, so here’s the first—Was music always a part of your life?

All: Yes, absolutely.

GW: Across the board?

Dave: My mom sang in church.

Ed: My Dad played guitar. 

Zack: Yeah, my Dad taught me how to play guitar.  Mike {Girardot, Keys/Trumpet} who’s from Austin, he’s as musical as they get.

Rob: His family cooks breakfast in four-part harmonies.

Ed: I think we all played instruments since we were really young, so it’s been with us for a long time.

GW: What bands inspired you to become musicians?  And, what bands still inspire you today?

Ed: Guns N’ Roses.

Andrew: I grew up, well, learning how to play, it was the Chili Peppers.  But in terms of being inspired to do music, it was just the stuff my Dad was playing which was like Motown stuff, 1950’s doo-op, and then also The Beatles, Allman Brothers.

Zack: This is not corny but I remember being on a field trip, sitting on the bus, I’m in like 4th grade, and thinking “I think I want to be President when I grow up,” and I was listening to the Best of Sting, and The Police, and the songs were so good, and I was just like “Yeah, I think I wanna do music, this stuff is too awesome.” 

George: Kind of like Andrew I grew up listening to a lot of Motown, my Mom was really into the Beatles, Rolling Stones, a big James Taylor fan, and I started playing, formally, saxophone in the 4th grade, did it all the way through highschool.  Led Zeppelin was the first band that I heard and thought “Holy shit I wanna do that.”

GW: So there’s a definite note of rock n’ roll pulse at the core of this band.

Dave: Yeah, a rock, soul, pulse.

George: Well we’re into all different styles of music, which I definitely think helps cater to our sound, cause if we were all into the same exact thing, we’d probably end up sounding exactly like those people, unintentionally.

Zack: The Jam Band community, and the Grateful Dead community sort of like… the way that the Grateful Dead played all kinds of American music, from their time period: rock, folk, blues, stuff that was cutting edge at the time like psychadelic experimentation kind of shit, I think we kind of embrace music the same way, we appreciate a wide variety, as well as experimenting with music the same way.  So we have an appreciation of history as well as an appreciation for the craft of songwriting, which is really important to what we do.

GW: Excellent segway, Zack.  How does a group of six go about songwriting?  Is it an individualistic endeavor or more of a brainstorming as a whole?

Ed: Every way that you could possibly think of is a way that a song has been produced.  It could be one person coming in with it, it could be written in a jam or even in a soundcheck, somebody just doing something, someone else adding on, and then Dave just writing some lyrics over it.  I really think a song has come in every possible form that it could, in this band, because we all have our hands in it in different ways—composing or writing, or things we’re creating.

Andrew: People bring in songs that are incomplete or ideas… but it’s the same thing as what we were talking about before.  Everybody listens to different kinds of music, everybody’s writing different music, if the band just embraces different styles, it’s what we do.  We like a lot of things, we write a lot of different stuff.

Ed: A good song is a good song no matter what form it is in.

GW: I love your sound, it’s really unique.  I love that you marry different ieas from different genres and refuse to fit into one specific category.  When you guys take the stage, what is the message you’re trying to convey to the audience?

David: I think it’s a positive one.  You know, we’re trying to convey the emotion of the song, first off, maybe what the emotion was at the time that it was written.  There could be some darker songs that we play, but that doesn’t mean the theme of the night is dark, you know, it’s more just creating a mood and creating an experience.  And it’s about keeping it fresh, for us, too, because we do it 200 nights a year. 

Zack: It’s not just going to be like “oh this is a good dancing concert” we try to be able, as musicians and artists, to play on a bunch of different moods and emotions, and it’s all just fun.

Andrew: Exactly, it’s all about just having a good time, at the end of the day.  I mean, the songs are serious and are about things we’ve gone through, and the songs individually have messages, but in terms of when we take the stage, live, more than anything else I want people to just leave and be like “That was a good time.”

GW: You guys tour a ton. How do you balance life on the road with—to steal Rob’s term—Girlfriend Reconciliation Interval?

George: What was that term Rob?

Zack: Dinner!  Buying them dinner. 

Ed: Gifts from along the road!  Scarves from India!

Zack: Emojis.  Lots of winky faces, you gotta give them lots of good emojis.

GW: So emojis are key.  Take notes, guys.  What about just in general?  How do you guys do it?  How do you tour two-thirds of the year?

George: You kinda get… if I’m home for more than a week or so I get cabin fever I wanna go back on the road.  If I’m stationary for more than a week or so I wanna get back out there.

Rob: For me, it’s a modes thing.  If we’re at home for a while, then I’ll get on ‘home mode’, and be like “Ahh, I don’t want to go on tour,” for instance this is the first show of the tour, but within a couple days or so I’ll get into tour mode like “yeah let’s fuckin do this.”

Andrew: Now we’re two weeks on two weeks off which is pretty solid.

Rob: Yeah, we’re getting a lot more GRI {Girlfriend Reconciliation Interval} these days, we were getting to a point there where we are touring a little bit smarter rather than harder these days. 

Ed: It’s tough being in a relationship and being away so much, but ultimately though, it’s part of who we are and they love us for that.  They would rather us be interesting, and having these cool experiences, and participating in a lot of them, than just get crammed in.

Rob: They might get sick of us if we were around the whole year!

Ed: Touring, being musicians, makes us who we are.

GW: What does 2014 look like for you?

All: Busy.  Fun.  Wild.

David: We’re gonna get to do a lot of festivals that we didn’t do last year—

Andrew: But we can’t talk about lots of them.  I don’t know what we can and can’t talk about!

David: Yeah some of them haven’t been announced yet.  We’re doing Jazzfest, which we did last year, Counterpoint, in Atlanta, Ora, Tortuga.

Andrew: Lots of festivals.  We just got out of the studio two days ago, we spent eight days in the studio recording our next album.  So we have the re-release coming out in March with some live stuff, and we hope that before the end of the year we’ll see the next disc too.

GW: Wow!  Really busy!

Andrew: Exactly.  That’s why it was the first word you said when you asked us.

Zack: I just want to add also about the re-release that’s coming out.  We’re excited because it’s pretty much a live album, and people have been asking us about it for years, and this was the way for us to do a live album.  We didn’t want to just re-release the disc as it was.  We’re also releasing it on vinyl.

GW: Exciting!  What can you convey with a live album you can’t with a studio recording?  Is it grittier? More raw?

David: We fuck up a lot more!

Ed: It’s a different project, that’s the thing.  One is about the energy of the room, the other one is more about moving you as you’re listening to it. 

George: When we’re live, you have to fill a space, whereas in the studio it’s totally okay for there to be no space.  It’s different, it’s very different.

Andrew: They’re just different goals.

Rob: Our live recording has more of an appeal to the festival scene, we get a little bit more explorational during live shows.

GW: Well, it was so nice to meet you, thank you guys so much for sitting down with me.  Can’t wait to see you guys tonight!

All: Thanks!  You too.

In the big scheme of things, The Revivalists are still a relatively new band.  They’ve been together 7 years, which in dog years is only 1, but I’ll be damned if they don’t have as many die-hard, cult-status fans as The Rolling Stones.  The venue was packed even before the opener, and the minute These Mad Dogs of Glory had cleared the stage after their spectacular performance, the air was buzzing with feverish anticipation.

I, a virgin to seeing The Revivalists live, was in the minority.  All around me people were trading stories about how far they drove to see the band, how many towns they’ve followed them to.  Surprisingly, it didn’t sound like the overwhelming majority of people had that drawling, southern twang to their accent, which means that while these guys are still adored by their hometown, the music will make road-tripping followers of us all—regardless of your address.  Luckily, I had a chance to sit down with them before the show, so I had already formed a crush on the six of them.  Before I met them, I had a crush on their music, their unique sound and soulful, mind-bending lyrics are impossible to deny, but, as Rob put it in the interview: “we get more explorational during live shows.”  I can testify to that.

Have you ever heard the saying in Austin: “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes?”  That sentiment was forefront during the performance.  You’re not a huge fan of funk?  The next song will be soul. Rock is too harsh for you?  Then you’ll love this track that’s reminiscent of R&B.

And here’s the killer part—they nail every genre.  When I spoke to them, they were very clear about it being a point of pride for the band that they don’t fit a specific genre.  What they failed to mention is that many bands don’t ‘fit a specific genre’, but they alone sound like professionals in every single one.

Although it’s hard to make out David’s voice over the crowd belting out every single verse, it’s made easier due to the fact that he rarely stays on the stage.  For the better part of the show, he’s standing on benches, amps, speakers, or on the floor in the middle of it all, inciting dance riots.  Girls are swooning, guys are swooning, everyone is fallen victim, no one is safe.  If funktastic bass lines, kickass saxophone solos, and rock n’ roll vibes are your thing, this is a can’t-miss show.

The energy is inexplicable, it’s something you just have to witness.  They were right, there is something (dare I say it?) voodoo about their live perfomance.  New Orleans has rubbed off on them for sure.  Like Andrew said: “it’s all about just having a good time, at the end of the day.  I mean, the songs are serious and are about things we’ve gone through, and the songs individually have messages, but in terms of when we take the stage, live, more than anything else I want people to just leave and be like ‘That was a good time.’”  So while there’s certainly nothing wrong with their studio album, my advice is to buy yourself a little Mardi Gras present this year:  City of Sound with the added live tracks.  It’s magic.

Before Looshuss’ Austin show this month, GW’s Caitlin St. Pierre sat down with the promising new artist.  If you haven’t heard of him yet, you will soon.  In the past couple years, he’s dropped his debut, self-titled album, won Best Electronic Dance Song at the Independent Music Awards, is gaining traction with fans and listeners, and is currently working on his second record.  If you’re in the Austin area you should drop by the next time he plays and buy him a beer, and if you’re not, you can buy his album on iTunes—but be warned:  Looshuss is addicting. 

GW: As an artist, you’ve worn a lot of different hats.  Most of your career you’ve played with groups, and now you’re fusing electric guitar with electronic sound.  How does writing and performing alone stack up?

Looshuss: Well, it’s a lot easier in a lot of ways, and it’s a lot harder in many other ways.  On one hand, you don’t have to deal with the drama of other people, and be married to the other four guys in your band.  Dealing with their schedules, problems, and personalities can be difficult, but then being up there by yourself is also really difficult because if you mess up it’s all on you.  It’s a lot more pressure, I guess.  Because for me, I’ve never been in the spotlight like that, I’ve never been a singer, guitar player, and producer simultaneously.  So there are a lot of challenges but it pushes me to become better.

GW: So performing is harder but writing is easier?

Looshuss: Writing is still really new for me.  I used to just write guitar parts and help out with lyrics here and there but I wasn’t involved in the writing process.  Now, when I write, I need to be completely alone.  Even knowing there is someone else in the house will throw me off. 

GW: At least you know what works for you.  You’re currently working on your second album, following your debut album, Looshuss, which came out in 2012.  How would you describe the album?  What will set the two apart?

Looshuss: The Looshuss album was kind of an all-encompassing work… it spanned 3 ½ years of work while I was developing my style, it’s kind of my take on electronic music and as you can tell throughout the album it is pretty eclectic. The next album will be that, but probably more cohesive.  My thought at the time was just, get the stuff I have out there, you know?  The second album will probably also sound better, I have learned a lot about the technical side of things since then.  Creatively, I think it will be more dance-oriented.  It will be more uptempo, something people can move to.  I want people to have a good time.  As far as live performances go, getting people moving, that’s the most fun.

GW: For Grateful Web readers that can hear you on Spotify, or buy your album, what are they missing by not seeing you live?

Looshuss: Thats a good question.  There’s more energy and of course, a laser light show!  It's just me up there, and I don't ever have a lot of light directly on me. So, the attention is more focused on creating an experience.  That is one of the things I have always loved about electronic shows, you feel a connection because you are just enveloped by the music, people dancing together, and the lights. You get lost in it.  So that is what I try and accomplish with my live shows.

GW: What song got the best response from the Looshuss album?

Looshuss: Not Myself.  It's more dance-oriented, I think that has something to do with it.  It's also the song I won the IMA’s for Best Electronica/Dance Song for 2012.  I probably spent the most time on this song and it was one of the last songs I wrote on the album.  It is my favorite to play as well.

GW: Congratulations!

Looshuss: Thanks, it was really cool to receive some recognition. 

GW: When writing, how do you draw inspiration?  What’s your process?

Looshuss: I draw inspiration from anything I can haha.  Sometimes it can come from the weirdest places, and other times it comes from just listening to my favorite artist.  My creative process is solitary, absolutely.  So I can get completely lost in whatever idea that starts to form.  It’s still something I struggle with because the process is different every time.  Usually, though, I start with a beat, and then I work around that.  After the beat, I get some kind of chord structure in there, maybe throw in some bass, and then I’ll loop a section of the song and then start messing around with the melody lines.  

GW: Do you start thematically and then work out the technicalities of the song?  Or do you work in reverse?

Looshuss: I start small and grow big.  As far as the idea of the song, I can hear it in my head the way I want it to sound… then I’m able to create that by adding different instruments, effects, whatever.  For lyrics, I won’t have any idea what I’m going to write about, but once I have the melody line words will kind of start coming to me and fitting into the song, that’s usually how it works.  Every time I start from scratch, I don’t have a recipe that works for every song.  But creatively, I think that’s what keeps my songs sounding fresh.  It’s harder, it takes me a lot longer to write songs.  I’ll go weeks without drawing inspiration, but then an idea starts to snowball, and I lose myself in it. 

GW: You grew up in the Live Music Capital of the World, home to some of the best musicians in history.  Did this exposure affect your becoming a musician?

Looshuss: Absolutely.  Two of my biggest influences are Stevie Ray Vaughn and Ghostland Observatory and they’re both from Austin.  It’s affected me… completely.  SRV was the reason I started playing guitar, and I’m a blues-oriented player because of that.  Ghostland was what made me start creating electronic music.  I listen to everything and have many different influences, but these two artist have invoked the most dramatic musical transformation in my life.

GW: What would you be if you weren’t doing this?  What’s the Plan B career?

Looshuss: That’s a really good question… I guess I’d still be connected to music, somehow. I really like the lights and production side of music.  So, if i wasn't writing music/performing I would either be mixing/mastering other peoples music, or being a light designer.  Luckily, I haven’t really had to think about it.  Music has worked out so far.  It is weird to think of my life without music in it.

GW: The electronic music scene, not just in Austin, but everywhere, is exploding.  How have you witnessed it change?

Looshuss: I guess I got into it about 5-6 years ago.  Ghostland was my first electronic show.  They were kind of hitting the scene (at least, in Austin) before it blew up.  Then I got into dubstep when Bassnectar came around.  The first electronic music festival (Future fest) I went to, the "dubstep stage" was the smallest one.  It was so small that there wasn't even security, we were just walking right on stage when Datsik was playing his set, with him offering us "pulls" out of his vodka bottle.  I hadn't even heard of him at the time haha.  Then, 3 years later, the same artists are playing some of the biggest stage's in the world.  It’s been really crazy to witness how fast and much it’s grown.

GW: Do you think the boundaries are being tested and reinvented?

Looshuss: There have been so many sub-genres that have emerged already, I am really interested to see where it is going next.  Some people say dubstep is dead, I don’t think that’s true.  But there’s a lot of room for growth.  New sounds are being created everyday.  That’s the cool thing about electronic music, you have infinite sounds to manipulate and create, you’re not held back by anything, except your imagination.  I think electronic music definitely pushes the boundaries, it is the new frontier.  Although, I think with its great popularity now,  that a lot of  the new producer/dj's are just trying to sound like other people and sticking to formulas too much.  Artists like Tipper are really pushing the boundaries, in my opinion. 

GW: Being an artist is not an easy life.  You choose it knowing there will be many months of scraping for rent, early mornings, late nights.  Nothing is guaranteed.  What makes it worth it?

Looshuss: Being able to create music.  That’s it, for me.  I haven’t gained a lot of success yet, but I feel successful.  I am able to create something that other people listen to.  The most rewarding thing has been finishing the album, that was a huge thing for me.  It was difficult gathering all the songs I thought would make the album as good as it could be.  There are still all these half-finished songs, ideas I didn’t use.  But I set the goal for the album, and I met it.  And the coolest moment was meeting Aaron Behrens {Ghostland Observatory} backstage three years later, after I’d finished my album, and I got to tell him and Thomas Turner that they were the inspiration for my album.  Long story short, my brother-in-law gave Aaron my album and the very next day I saw them for the annual summer Ghostland show at White Water Amphitheater.  This was the first place I had seen them play, so it was full circle for me being backstage talking with Aaron about my album and him saying "It's in my car cd player right now!".  That was pretty much the highlight of my career, and made it all worth it right there!

GW: What do the next 5 years hold for Looshuss?

Looshuss: Just creating as much as I can, pushing myself harder and harder to get better at my craft. 

GW: Is Austin the place for you?

Looshuss: For now, it is.  Moving would definitely spark some new creativity.  Meeting different people, going to different shows.  I would like to move at some point.  Colorado’s pretty high on the list.

It’s Wednesday afternoon, smack-dab in the middle of the tornado we call SXSW.  The music portion of the festival officially starts tomorrow, but for the people who know where to look for it, it’s well underway.  Dogwood, a popular watering hole on the West side of 6^th street, had lined up a number of stellar artists for the week.  My Aunt Julia, a music writer and magazine editor in town from LA, texts me to come meet her here.

At the outdoor patio bar, we each indulge in some hair of the dog.  Although an hour ago I pledged never to drink again, somehow I’m holding a glass of red wine and she’s sipping a shot of tequila.  And so it goes.  She briefs me on the show we’re about to see, and in the two minutes it takes her to do so the crowd doubles in numbers, everyone edging towards the stage in anticipation.  They’re the Alvin Brothers, formerly known as The Blasters, a beloved band in LA in the 80s.  They disbanded in ’86 when Dave Alvin took off on his acclaimed solo career.  Now, the brothers, Phil and Dave, who have had a notoriously rocky relationship over the years, play together every now and again, and luckily for us, in Austin at SXSW.

It’s difficult to surmise what kind of crowd they draw—there are young and not-so-young fans in the crowd, huge Hells Angels bikers, hipsters, nerdy dads, music diehards, the works.  It seems like there’s quite a bit of diversity and disparity here except the one important common denominator: we’re all here for their music.  I decide it’s time to take a long, hard, honest look at my life and really ask the tough questions:  You know you’re not as trendy as you thought you were when your Aunt has to tell you where the best bands are playing.

There’s a distinct Folsom vibe in Phil’s slicked back hair and crisp white shirt, Dave’s wayfarer sunglasses that hide his expression and heighten the mystery—the whole band is outfitted in textured leather blazers.  These guys invented cool.  They span decades with their songs, their short set included hit songs from the past, songs they haven’t played in thirty years, songs they only wrote in 2012.  This is nothing short of an intimate reunion for the audience.  They play the Blues the way the Blues were meant to be played—rolling drum beats and polyrhythmic verses—the kind of singing that strikes a chord in your soul.

Towards the end, Dave introduces a song off his latest album, saying “We’d like to do a song about brotherly love, not necessarily us but more the brotherly love concept,” inspiring chuckles on and off stage.  They launch into What’s Up With Your Brother and you can hardly hear them over the singing from the crowd.  They go out with a bang, following a Double Trouble-worthy guitar solo and erupted applause.  All around me I hear the same comments—“I haven’t seen them since ‘85”, “Man, they hold up,” “They’re better now than they were then.”  Of all the things that I love about music, that just might be my favorite: no matter how much you change, no matter how much the world changes, music will remain.

It’s late afternoon at Javelina and I’m starting to sweat.  The unpredictable Austin weather is up to its old tricks, and I’m drowning in layers.  I just finished my beer and am about to go do some more aimless wandering, following the sounds of good music or loud cheers, when the guy next to me at the bar strikes up conversation.  He’s from California, a pediatrician, an obvious Austin enthusiast, and had a friend who knows a guy that knows the girl who’s about to play next.  She’s supposed to be really good, he says.  That line gets me every time.Ten minutes into her set, I’m so glad I stayed.  Her name is Rachel Kate, she and her band mate Diego Villena are based out of Charleston.  She characterizes her music as Fiesty Power Folk and I’m inclined to agree.  She’s pint-sized with white-blond curly Lauryn Hill styled hair and as we all do, subconsciously, I formed an idea about her based on her appearance and expected when she opened her mouth it’d be breathy, sweet, folksy.  It wasn’t. The girl can howl.  After she finished grating her vocal chords and jamming hard through the first song she explained, “This is what happens when a white girl gets the blues.The biggest appeal, for me, was that she was interesting.  Nothing about her style, the music, or the set was striving towards perfection.  Everything was raw, all of it was real.  Her voice is unpolished, ragged, beautiful, pure.  She seemed equal parts sweet and evil, and when she sang the first love song she told the crowd: “Here’s a love song for ya, because I like love as much as I love hate.”As I listened to her, I realized she had the same anger that made it impossible for Janis and Alanis impossible to ignore.  I was so interested in her that after the show, I checked out her facebook page.  Here’s what she wrote in the About Me section:  “She is a rainbow circus ninja dream catcher soul kite flying smiling river flower and a lover of all things people, music, and arts. Rachel Kate creates creations from the soul. Interested in harmony and eeri-ness-sunshine and daydreams. Rachel Kate is a way of life. Step into her world.”  My advice is to listen to her.

It’s Saturday night, the last official night of SXSW on the infamous Rainey St. in Austin, Texas, and local musician Ricky Stein got the call for a 7:00 slot at the Lustre Pearl mere hours ago.  A solo gig, nothing fancy, but when you’re playing to a packed house not to mention the thousands of people walking by, stopping, leaning against the rod iron bars and listening for a minute or ten, asking people around them—“Do you know who this is?” the pressure is on whether you acknowledge it or not.  Some people rise to the challenge, others cower away.  Ricky Stein falls into the former.You can feel the energy of the worn but zealous music-loving show-goers dwindling and wavering with the setting sun.  The hum of chatter rises after the last band starts to pack up, and not too many people take notice of the guy in the plaid shirt and jeans, Lonestar in hand, starting to set up on stage.  A couple minutes later, without introduction, he starts to sing, and all eyes are on him.  It’s a simple set, a guy and his guitar, a couple harmonicas.  He finds his girlfriend’s eye in the crowd and winks at her, a few fans yell requests from the crowd, and he derails from the set list to oblige.  It’s casual, accessible.  This is how Austin music is done.This set is a breath of fresh air after enduring a week of the 3.5-hour average line that snakes around corners and down blocks to get into some corporate-sponsored bash or surprise show at packed bars to hear artists who were paid the big bucks to show up.  It’s nice to be away from the frustrated locals, or the disgruntled badge-holders, or the confused foreigners.  This show, this singer—an unenhanced, unedited, untweeted, unmarketed show—whose music lines people up on the sidewalk to get in, this is the raw talent the festival is all about.  This is why we’re called the Live Music Capital of the World.  This is why we live here.He sounds a little like a lot of people—there’s something Van Morrison-esque about the way he’s got everyone footstomping and two-stepping on the dirt ground in front of the bar.  There’s something Boz Scagg-y about the growly texture of his voice, something reminiscent of Bob Dylan in his soulful harmonica solos.  Although he was heavily influenced by existing artists, the only person he really sounds like is himself.Music is meant to move us, and I glance around after the show—people hooting, hollering, still dancing, clapping, smiling—everyone is leaving happier than they were when they arrived.  People are crowding around him to compliment, question, and inquire as to how they can get his music.  It was just flat-out a good show, no bells and whistles.  The lyrics were relatable, the melodies memorable, and there’s nothing we’re left wanting after the last song is over—except more.

GW: Thanks so much for taking the time to answer some questions, you’ve had a whirlwind SXSW week and GW appreciates your time.  To get started, give us a little history into the evolution of you as an artist.  You’ve been playing for almost a decade, not to mention that music is in your blood because your dad is also a musician.  What was the impetus to become one yourself?  Did you begin, in the days of those solo hole-in-wall gigs, with a clear image of yourself as an Americana artist?

RS: I caught the music bug in high-school and started playing bass and writing songs for a rock band. I fell in love with playing shows and the musician lifestyle and have been hooked ever since. Eventually our band broke up and I developed an act as a solo musician. I’d always loved Bob Dylan and Neil Young and Townes Van Zandt, so the transition into the roots-rock genre came pretty naturally.

GW: Do you see yourself ever venturing outside of the Indie Americana realm of your last album Crazy Days or is that who you are as an artist?

RS: My two favorite musical genres are classic Americana and modern indie rock. I seem to go back and forth between these genres -- Crazy Days was more of an Americana album while the Warm Guns record Something in the Night leaned more towards indie-alternative. My ultimate goal would be to write music that appeals to fans of both kinds of music without alienating either, similar to artists such as Old Crow Medicine Show, Gary Clark, Jr., Shakey Graves, etc. It’s tough to do, and you have to be really careful during the songwriting process.

GW: Generally speaking, do you think it is limiting or clarifying that we so quickly lump artists together or under a specific genre or classification?

RS: I don’t think it’s limiting. People are gonna listen to whatever speaks to them, no matter the style of music. A great song can be interpreted by a jazz band, a rock band, a country band -- it’s still just the right combination of lyrics and melody. Classifying music into genres just makes it easier for people to talk and write and read about.

At the same time, no artist wants to feel limited as to what they can or can’t do or who they’re supposed to be. I think the key is to somehow carve a niche that appeals to a cross-section of music fans, and then continually develop and expand upon that sound.

GW: You’re a history buff and a musician, and you’ve blended the two passions to write a book about the evolution of the local music scene—how do you balance the two creative outlets?  Which writing (books or songs) gives you the most satisfaction?tell

RS: They’re both extremely satisfying and I’m really glad that I’ve been able to do both. Writing song lyrics and writing history or journalism are obviously different disciplines, but they often can play off of and inspire one another. The key for me is just to sit down and try to write something interesting every day. One aspect of songwriting that stands out, however, is the live performance. Being able to sing words that you’ve written to people every night is pretty hard to top.

GW: Your last tour was in 2011, when do you predict you’ll hit the road again?

RS: Well, it’s hard to say. Touring is so much fun, but it’s incredibly hard to make money if you don’t have a strong media presence. Right now I’m trying to write the very best set of songs that I possibly can and make a really strong record out of it. If it’s on the level, everything else will work out.

GW: I understand you play both solo acoustic sets and with your band The Warm Guns—what are the joys and woes of each?  Which do you prefer?

RS: There’s no better feeling than playing with the raw power and energy of a rock n’ roll band. Unfortunately it’s also really hard to find a group of people who are all on the same page, both artistically and professionally. Especially here in Austin, where many musicians are by necessity in multiple bands. It gets really hard to coordinate gigs and rehearsals, and if one band member cancels, it affects the entire show. Playing as a solo can be limiting in terms of what you can do on stage, but it also gives you complete autonomy as a performer. Plus, it serves as a really good litmus test for your original material.

GW: Your slick southern sound and catchy melody lines don’t distract from the integrity of the lyrics themselves.  As we know, songwriters are poets with better rhythm.  Where do you draw inspiration for your work?  And follow-up, what’s your process?

RS: Lyrics are tough. Anyone can write down a set of words, but it’s really difficult to put them together in a way that makes them meaningful. I think songs usually begin with an observation, some kind of pattern you notice in life. It can come from watching a movie or reading a book or driving your car or just walking around the block. Or it can just come out of thin air! But I think there are ways to coax out inspiration. Working on it every day is good, and experiencing things that fit the mood of whatever song you’re trying to write can help as well.

GW: Austin is home to not only SXSW, ACL, but also thousands of young, budding, hopeful, starry-eyed musicians.  What advice would you give them?  What’s the best advice anyone ever gave you?

RS: I think the best thing you can do is just work hard at it and keep trying different things. Don’t settle for anything less than the best songwriting, the best recordings, the best live shows you have to offer. If you do you’ll just get swallowed up--there are too many talented musicians in this town, and having friends will only get you so far. The best advice I ever got came from Gurf Morlix. He told me to just keep writing songs and keep trying to improve. When you write something that really moves someone they will let you know.

GW: We at GW really appreciate you taking the time to talk to us—now for some well-deserved R&R! Take care, we can’t wait to see what’s next for you.

Considering what they’ve done, it’s hard to believe London Grammar released their first album If You Wait a mere six months ago.  It featured their already-popular EP Metal & Dust from earlier in the year.  Immediately, they were on the radar, hitting the top of the charts in UK and Australia.  One more example, last week they opened for Coldplay.  Yes, really.  It sounds beyond ludicrous that they have already had so much success, until you hear them.Following Hannah Reid’s {vocalist} and Dan Rothman’s {guitar} meeting in—you guessed it—London, they picked up Dominic Major a year later who plays drums, djembe*, and keyboard.  Hannah’s presence is a force to be reckoned with, blending the range of Florence Welch with the brooding huskiness of Lana del Rey.  Their melancholy beauty isn’t far off the mark from The xx—if you like one, I guarantee you’ll like the other.The band, who writes the songs collaboratively, describes the songs as “emotionally affected.”  There’s no attempt to appeal to mainstream expectations or conform to catchy bridges that are the empty makings of so many manufactured pop artists today.  They brought across the pond uninhibited talent and nothing else.  Put this album on:  If you’re going through a breakup**, wanting to boost creativity, need mellow music to work to, or are having a particularly good/bad day.  Just put the album on.  *A djembe (/ˈdʒɛm.bɛ/ jem-be) (also spelled djembé, jembe, jenbe, djimbe, jimbe, or dyinbe[1][2][3]) is a rope-tuned skin-covered goblet drum played with bare hands, originally from West Africa.**Particularly useful if you were dumped.

If you only saw one show at SXSW, I hope it was Polica.  If you didn’t see them, I hope you’re listening to them in your cubicle right now.  Although, to be fair, their recordings don’t do them justice.  The band’s live performances are like breathing life and reality into the abstract.  If bands were pieces of art they’d be a Picasso masterpiece.I saw them at Banger’s, an outdoor venue on Austin’s Rainey Street which never disappoints.  The backyard was at max capacity as soon as the show began.  At the beginning, there was a clear division between die-hard fans near the stage and casually curious listeners loitering in the back near the bar.  After their set, there was no difference—we all left die-hard fans, not to mention nursing a bit of a girl-crush on the lead singer, Channy Leaneagh.If you’re the kind of person who goes to shows for the entertainment value (dance, lights, a feast for the eyes) you’ll love them live.  If you’re the kind of person who vehemently refuses to see anything sub-par, you need to see them.  If you go to shows to make you happy, or to make you think, or to give you a taste so you develop yet another costly band addiction—see them.  They’re transcendent.  She’s ethereal.  The show is otherworldly.  I’m going to burn a hole in my thesaurus trying to describe the way this show makes you feel.  You just have to experience it for yourself.

Hundred Visions will be your next search on Spotify if you’re into jam bands.  Assuming you’re reading this on The Grateful Web, you are.  I saw them at my first official showcase of SXSW, at one of Austin’s best under-the-radar music venues, Hotel Vegas.  The band is local which makes the experience that much more personal—a reminder you never have to look very far to find the next great thing.The guys playing in the backyard under a tent because every five minutes it decides to rain, then quickly reconsiders.  There’s been a line to get in since they started playing, and there’s a vibrating in my chest from the bassline (or is that because I’m standing directly in front of the speakers?)  Either way, they’re impossible to ignore.Whether or not you can make out what Ben Maddox {vocals} is saying, you’re head banging in time with him—this is the music that you can’t not move to, or it’ll move through you.  The rolling drum solos are reminiscent of John Bonham and anyone who knows who that is without consulting google will love these guys.Look them up, follow them on twitter.  Their web presence isn’t well known yet because they’re just about the music but that’s what this week is all about.  Enjoy.

Well, Austin, it’s that time of year again.  Forget about driving anywhere in or near Barton Springs and Zilker Park, and double the average commute time, the number of bloody mary’s at brunch, and the excitement.  The obligatory grumblings about sudden and temporary population inflation are nothing compared to the how grateful we are, as locals of this wonderful city, to be hosting visitors and artists and creatives alike.  This is our favorite time of the year, guys, and not just because it’s timed perfectly with the arrival of the Pumpkin Spice Latte.

Mercifully, Austin City Limits has been held in October the last few years.  Mid-September weekends spent wholly outside is a recipe for a slow and painful death.  In true Austin fashion, we spanned the entire weather spectrum the span of the two weekends.  (Did I mention ACL took a page out of the Coachella book and started splitting weekends?)  The first highly-anticipated weekend was met with atypically beautiful weather (highs in the 80s????)  So we second-weekend goers got to turn green with envy as people live-tweeted and instagrammed the shows from their comfortable shaded views as the light breezes grazed their fringed vests and feather-infused hair.  The second weekend was a mixed bag.  Let’s start at the beginning.

After a boozy brunch I managed to park, walk farther than I would have if I just left my car at home, and weed through the congested security lines to make it to the festival at a respectable 4 p.m.  The timing could not have been better.  I walked right to the Honda stage, guided by “We Sink,” Chvrches kickoff song.

The stage was minimally decorated, which was the perfect backdrop for the adorable Lauren Mayberry (nominated for cutest lead singer ACL 2014, by me) who rocked the latest fashion trend, flash tattoos, on her face like a rebel badass.  She was joined with her aggressively Scottish bandmates, Iain Cook (bass/guitar) and Martin Doherty (synth/samplers)  who held down an impressive time slot for a band that has yet to really break the mainstream scene.

The band pulled the majority of the crowd from the stage over after the Bleachers set ended, which I only caught the end of and is a sore subject for me so I’d rather not talk about it.  The mood was upbeat, relaxed, and simmering.  (A four o’clock set time means the sun sits about eye-level and glares at you the whole time.)  Lauren paused half-way through to express gratitude on rounding out their tour here (they launched at SXSW) but the Scottish native was a little thrown by the mid-October heat wave, calling it “hotter than a dog’s balls!”  She isn’t wrong.

It was my first time seeing them live, but I knew they were on my must-see list after listening to their album, The Bones of What You Believe, a handful of times before deciding I was irreversibly obsessed with them.  It’s always a refreshing and pleasant surprise when a band has an equally powerful presence live as they do on their tracks.  Lauren’s voice was clear and poignant, and there was no need for excessive production like fireworks (Eminem) or dancing digital bananas (looking at you, Skrillex) because they were just there to jam.  Their set was long enough to include 12 songs, serendipitously the number of songs on their debut album, and they omitted only one, “You Caught The Light,” in order to include “Richard Pryor.”

The most important thing, of course, is that they played “Recover,” which is my favorite song, and for the purpose of this article, which is based solely on my subjective opinion, their best song.  The set left nothing to be desired and set the tone for the weekend of music, madness, and fun.

There are some bands you never tire of.  You’ll pay any price, drive to any city, and enjoy each show with the unvarnished enthusiasm of someone seeing them for the first time.  That’s how I feel about The Avett Brothers.

The Honda stage drew a crowd from the festival over… they’re the kind of group that transcends category.  These days, (if you’ve been to a recent ACL and a long-since-past ACL you probably have an opinion too) there are complaints uttered about ACL turning too commercial, too mainstream, starting to headline and divide listeners into easy and separate groups.  Here are the EDM kids, the FOLK adults, the METAL rockers, the SKA potheads, and such.  I imagine that’s how the groups of us are labeled at a headquarters somewhere, with who I can only envision Dr. Evil being the one holding the sharpie.  I digress.  This band, certainly folksy but in the vein of rock, with enough strings to make you second-guess typecasting them, and enough earnest feeling to make you gobble up every word of theirs as if it is indisputable Truth.  And it is, its raw truth.

Scott and Seth Avett, everyone knows very well from their swoon-worthy gene pool.  PSA:  Ladies, Seth is single.  But just because the next bandmates aren’t mentioned by name in their band’s moniker doesn’t make them any less crucial to the familiar sound: present on stage were Bob Crawford on double bass, Joe Kwon on cello, Mike Marsh on drums, Tania Elizabeth who tore it up on violin, and Paul Defiglia, keys.

The melodic, bluegrass strumming isn’t the loudest, most expensive set ever produced.  There aren’t lights or fireworks, everyone on stage is dressed in flannel and denim instead of ice-cream cone bras, but it is the most entertaining and engaging show I’ve seen yet.  They opened with “Colorshow” off their 2006 album Four Thieves Gone from which they played a few other songs.  I appreciated this, that they didn’t play down the list of their Top 40 hits, of which there are many, but also some of their early work, before they were The Avett Brothers we know today.  Included in their fourteen song set list were three covers, my personal favorite was “Country Blues” by Doc Watson.

Never failing to disappoint, though, the show was ended with a rendition of “I and Love and You” which means something different and personal to each and every one of us but no one more interpretation more important than another.  Seth hopped on the keys and Scott plucked his acoustic guitar, and for each chorus he leaned his microphone enthusiastically into the crowd.  Sigh.  I and Love and You, Avett Brothers.  See you next time.

#outkast

#outkastACL2014

@outkast

OUTKAST!!!!!!

If you know anyone that attended the festival this year, your social media was probably flooded with these hashtags and retweets about how mind-blowing this show was.  It was so highly-anticipated I feared it wouldn’t live up to the bar everyone from the previous weekend had set.  But at 8:15, they buried my fears.

Opening with Bombs Over Baghdad isn’t just the best way to open a show, it’s kind of the only way to open a show.  The slot was at 8:15 and the last glimpse of the sun was barely visible over the thousands of heads and the tops of trees.  I popped my cold beer and let the sounds of my middle school dance (anybody else???) transport me.

The outfits did not disappoint:  Andre 3000 was decked in a white wig to match his white-framed sunglasses and white spacesuit.  Big Boi was decked in what can only be described as an America-inspired cargo outfit.  They were flanked by two trumpeters, a full band, and various dancers for each song.

The show was so much more about the experience than the show.  Maybe that’s what all live shows are about, but there was something especially unique about this one.  Taking a time-capsule trip back to the time when you played “Ms. Jackson” a million times consecutively to try to memorize every word and inflection, breaking it down when you didn’t know exactly what breaking it down entailed.  Everyone was living in their own head, their own memories, but we danced the night away, shoulder to shoulder. 

#imsorryMsJackson

#iamforREAL

Seeing Interpol live has long since been at the top of my bucket list.  It’s not that I would ever claim to be among the longest or greatest fans, it’s just that they’ve been around forever (to someone born in 1989, being a band since 1997 IS forever!) and I’ve built such a huge reverence for the collection of music, and very specific sound, they’ve cultivated and stayed true to.

Yours truly managed with a little skill and an enormous amount of luck to get her hands on a guest wristband for Saturday.  Because of my affiliation with Grateful Web, I had already acquired a media access which earned me access to the media tent, easily the most access I’ve ever had, and then I slip onto my wrist an unused Guest Pass and BOOM—I’m watching Interpol from the sound stage.  The 4:30 slot and weather conformed accordingly to what I consider ideal Interpol show weather:  it was cloudy and cool, a sharp contrast to Friday’s steamroom and much drier than the rest of the day proved to be.  Infinite musicians with sculpted hair and wayfarers surrounded me and spoke only minimally to one another.  This was not the event you came to in order to socialize with decent background music, this was the event you came to.

Everyone was impressively decked in black leather in some version: Paul Banks (vocal/guitar) Daniel Kessler (guitar) and Sam Fogarino (drums) were buttoned up in black with a cool, New York indifference.

This was the second day in a row that I aspired to arrive to the festival before noon but my dreams were slashed as the realities of parking and temptations of luxurious brunches beckoned me to roll in around 4.  That didn’t faze me, I walked right to the Honda stage to the sounds of the opening song: “Say Hello to the Angels.”  The backdrop to their stage was the elegant and elusive artwork from their latest album cover El Pintor (rearranged letters of Interpol, for anyone who’s not super-quick like me.)

They played an impressive amount from this latest album, cramming in “All The Rage Back Home,” “Anywhere,” “Breaker 1,” but balanced well with tracks off their 2002 and 2004 albums, rounding out the show and making it impossible for someone to accuse them of favoring.  Even without Carlos Dengler (not a member since 2010) the songs sounded exactly as they were meant to sound.  And the late afternoon slot, although strangely early for a band of this calibur and magnitude, left the best taste in my mouth that I savored throughout the rest of the bands that evening.

Phantogram’s first song at their 5:00 slot on ACL’s Miller Lite stage was none other than the first song off their new album Voices, dropped earlier this year.  The time slot had to fight with simultaneous performances from Jenny Lewis and Chromeo, but looking at the crowd you wouldn’t have known.

This was far from a controversially commercial EDM dance set, but everyone moved, danced, and shook as if it was a mandatory part of the experience.  Which I suppose it is.  For two people, the presence they make on stage is impressive.  If you’re looking for a fun fact (and one that I only found out about 3 minutes ago) Phantogram was originally known as Charlie Everywhere.  I for one am happy about the name-change.

The show was highly-anticipated and one of the buzzwords you kept hearing long after the show ended:  “Who were some of your favorites?” “Definitely Phantogram…”  Except because it took about a full day to shake the ringing in our ears it played out a bit more like this:  “WHO WERE SOME OF YOUR FAVORITES?”  “…WHAT?”  Equally buzzed about though, was Sarah Barthel herself.  Pictures of her danced around my Instagram feed for a while, and I don’t blame admirers.  She was rocking leather pants better than Interpol (sorry guys!)

Most of the show debuted the album Voices, except of course to include “Don’t Move,” what is to me their most recognizable song.  Judging by the thousands of people who sang along, I’d say it was unanimous.

After complaining about the heat, (like you’re the first artist to do that!) Sarah introduced “Fall in Love” by saying “This next song is about Texas..”  Back at ya, Sarah.  Thank you, Phantogram.

You know how our dads will turn us green with envy while casually mentioning seeing The Wailers or Led Zeppelin live?  Nope?  That’s just mine?  Well the disappointment and jealous expressions on my future children’s faces was what was playing and re-playing through my mind on Sunday night as Pearl Jam took the stage.

I sipped my red wine (because after dark I become classy and beer just doesn’t do the trick) and watched the crowd trickle in and settle in, nervously, anxiously, chatting about what songs Pearl Jam would play.

It was 8:00 p.m., and the last shadows of light had fallen out of view.  The stars were visible, it was a cool, clear night, or maybe it just felt cool because the mixture of rain and sweat was drying on my skin and making me shiver.  Nonetheless, the ingredients were perfect for a magnificient show.

The blow-up live-stream that had flanked every stage for every show was for theirs, solely in black and white.  So when Pearl Jam walked on, it already looked epic and they hadn’t even begun to play.  I was close, close enough, considering I had seen many other shows that day and hadn’t been reserving my place and peeing in bottles like most fans that crowded the stage.  This was the most die-hard group I had ever associated with, and I could feel myself becoming more of a badass every second.

Eddie Vedder’s instantly recognizable voice came crooning, bold and seamless, “Elderly Woman Behind The Counter in a Small Town” off Vs., easily more words than they’ve ever used to name a song.  After that soulful number, they launched into a Pink Floyd cover.  I mean, c’mon.  After “Intersteller Overdrive” I almost needed to sit down and take a break because I was so overwhelmed by just…listening.  Then there was “Cordorouy,” “Mind your Manners,” the classics just kept piling up as we watched in awe up at our black and white rock gods.  Before “Daughter,” one of my favorites, Eddie introduces the drummer, and says “He’s never smoked pot once in his life!”  To which Matt Cameron responds, laughing, “Once… once for 37 years.”  You could barely hear the opening chords for “Daughter” over all the stoner cheers.

As an audience member, this was the most aesthetically-pleasing show I’d seen all weekend.  Cameras were insterted in or near the guitar pedals so we had this incredible fishbowl wide-angle view of the stage.  The stage and the guys were backlit and there were shadows dancing around the stage mirroring the flinging of hair or drops of sweat.  I suddenly understood why people became groupies.  This show, the way it was presented, reminded me distinctly of the old ACL live tapings that used to be done, fuzzy and raw, before HD and real-time.  My personal journey with music started to come full circle.

I slowly come out of my reverie to the sounds of “Even Flow” and the crowd throwing confetti cannons into the air.  It’s 8:47 and every member of the band is completely soaked in sweat.  Mike McCready rips a nine-minute guitar solo with a solid three minutes of it behind his back.  I have to actively try not to slap myself in the face.  I have to be dreaming.

Eddie takes a break between songs to ask the audience how many of them did the ALS ice bucket challenge.  Interrupting their cheers, he asks, “Can someone nominate me?  I need an ice bucket challenge right about now.”  Laughing, crying, sweating, moving, singing with eyes closed, singing with eyes open, tattooed everything, more beards than people.

Jam wasn’t the only star of the show.  Interpreters have never, in the history of the world, rocket out harder on the air guitar than they did that night.  During one of McCready’s guitar solos Eddie Vedder climbs up the stage and stands behind an interpreter in sheer respect.  When the light shines on her she laughs, realizing he’s behind her, and he bows to shake her hand while the crowd erupts.

They wrap their set with “Porch,” but we all know they’ll be back.  We cheer for a few solid minutes before they grant us our wish.  Before launching into “Better Man,” Eddie gets serious and starts to tell a story to the crowd about a fan they played to in Peru had lost his hearing a couple years later and was a hardcore fan.  But he didn’t let that deter him and went on to get his Bachelor’s degree and then recently, had surgery to implant a hearing device.  They show him on screen, in the crowd, and his face is overwhelmed with emotion.  It cuts back to Vedder, who is equally emotional, and he says “So he got his ears back, and tonight he hears us again.  This is for you man.  So we’re gonna play this one a little louder than usual.”  “Better Man” resonated across the muddy, abused fields and into the heart of the city itself.

Suddenly the emotion, wine, sun, rain, music, and acute epic proportions of the night and weekend caught up with me, and I started the long Moses-like journey to my car.  “Alive” served as the soundtrack to my trek to the parking lot, and then, the most amazing timing…

As I crossed the Congress bridge, the light of the skyline reflected in the glass of the lake, Mike McCready ended the show, the festival, with an electric National Anthem, not entirely unlike Jimi Hendrix’s at Woodstock.  That was the sound that stayed with me, echoing across the skyling of Austin, resonating within each of us in different ways.  Immortalized, forever, in the Austin City Limits Music Festival.

GW: How does it feel to be highlighted by such a well-established presence in the music world like NPR?

CB: It's honestly...really crazy. People are always saying "the internet is so powerful," and you know that, but, when we hit NPR, we got easily 30,000 music video views, it just happened, we got 200 likes on Facebook in like an hour. It's just crazy!

GW: You're one of 10 people in the whole year of 2015 that we're gonna be telling our friends about... I mean, does it feel like a dream?

CB: It's surreal! It's really weird! I was at the dentist when I found out it happened, you know, just getting braces... It's just so crazy.

GW: Austin is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to local musicians. Inspiration is everywhere, but it also makes the competition really stiff. What are the best and worst parts of being from here and trying to play around Austin?

CB: I think it makes a difference of what kind of musician you want to be, like if you want to make a lot of money or if you like playing a lot around town and...not making a lot of money. (Laughs) So I think if you want music to be your profession you might have a hard time making money off that, since a lot of shows are free. I would also say that as a U18 musician it's especially hard because a lot of people don't take you seriously. I'm 16 and the youngest member of our band (brother Gyasi, drummer) is 14 and a lot of places look at you and are like "Yeah...we're not gonna book you."

GW: But you booked ACL last year!

CB: We did, yeah, was it last year? I think it was 2 years ago.

GW: Wait, so you were 14 and your brother was 12?

CB: Yeah, (laughs) yeah, we were.

GW: Okay, that's insane, but moving on. Your band Charlie Belle has an impressive roster of live shows, playing at really legendary venues around town. Do any favorites stick out in your memory?

CB: I would say, Stubb's... man. We played outdoor, and it was easily the biggest crowd we've ever had. There had to be at least 1200 people there. It was so cool. And then we played The Moody Theatre (ACL Live) and the sound was so good at that show, that's the reason I really liked that show, the sound was...perfect.

GW: The Chronicle called you an 'it' girl. What kind of image or example do you want to set for young girls or musicians who are now looking up to you?

CB: I want them to know that they are capable of what they want to do. Even if it's not music. Even if they're like "Hey I'm really into art" totally just jump in. You can do it, and you can do it well. I've been surrounded by so many people who are telling me 'this is a possibility for you,' so I know if I want to do music seriously, I can do music seriously, because I take myself seriously.

GW: And you completely live by example, you don't even have to preach.

CB: Right, exactly, just work hard, and people will take you seriously.

GW: So, how on Earth do you handle being a teenager, a student, and a songwriter? How do you juggle that?

CB: I don't. (Laughs) I don't. I don't know!

GW: (Jokes) So you have two other clones that do that for you?

CB: Yeah that's how I feel! Um.. right now, I am homeschooled, I have a job, I row, everyday after school... and I do this. I don't know! I don't know how it all gets done!

GW: But it sounds like none of the parts of yourself would work unless you were all these different people.

CB: Yeah, they're all different aspects of me. I don't know, different parts of your life open doors to different people. Being a teenager, and being a musician, I would say it's hard and easy. It's easy because you have so much songwriting to do! You can write about everything because you're going through everything. But the hard part is being taken seriously, like I said before, and separating...recognizing my music as something to be prioritized. A lot of my friends play sports or have a hobby and sometimes I forget this isn't just something I enjoy doing it's also my job. I have to remind myself "Hey, focus. You need to write this song."

GW: Your Get To Know You EP is ready to drop, and it delivers a sound that is all your own. Who can you credit, which artists along the way, shaped the person who became?

CB: I listen to patches of a bunch of different music, and if I told you all the names and then you listened to my record... it wouldn't make sense. (Laughs) Like, you just wouldn't hear it.

GW: What'd you grow up with?

CB: Well my parents... My Dad is from D.C. So he listened to a lot of groovy, go-go, rap music. And my mom is from Princeton, NJ and she listened to Bowie, and The Clash. If you listen to our EP is kind of indie pop and some of it's a little funky too-

GW: And so much soul! Where did you get all this soul!?

CB: I really love the soul, I need to have it. I need to move to it. I listen to a lot of groovy electronic music too, lots of DJs. I have friends that are DJs. The musician that I look to the most is Alex Turner (frontman of the Arctic Monkeys.) I don't think our genres are very similar, but his songwriting, his lyrics, the way he uses metaphors...I'm always listening to his stuff, trying to challenge myself.

GW: Last question: 2015 looks like your year. What does the future hold?

CB: People have been asking me this question, and I guess all I really want is for someone who could change our lives to decide that they want to change our lives. So I don't know, I don't have this specific goal in mind like, "I need to be signed," you know? But I want someone to be like "I'm going to put my time and attention into helping you guys out."

GW: So head's up Grateful Web, putting out the call!  

CB: (Laughs)

GW: Any personal goals? As a musician, or a songwriter? Even as a human being?

CB: Definitely... I want to keep challenging myself to be more and more serious about my music. And I want to improve my performance ability. I've got songwriting down but there are aspects I need to master... all the different parts that come along with being a performer.

GW: Well, you've got nothing but time!

“Oh, yeah.”

If you’ve ever heard liquified velvet in voice form, chances are it came from the mouth of Alejandro Rose-Garcia. That sound will creep into every crevice of your ear drum and stay with you for the rest of your days. With those two words he greeted the packed house at Gruene Hall in Gruene, Texas. The scuffed wooden floorboards of the stage have hosted some pretty intimidating shows, but Shakey Graves does not cower away. This is his home. Texas is where he’s from. The room is brimming with his people. Don’t believe me? Wait until he starts playing his first song, and the sound of collective cowboy-boot stomping, perfectly in rhythm with his on stage, drowns out all sounds except the beat and the lyrics. And, of course, that voice.

At some point in life, if you find yourself at some point in Alejandro’s home state, perhaps near the magical city of Gruene, do yourself a favor and stop by the infamous dance hall. More than likely, on any random night, there will be someone you’ve either never heard of or always wanted to see playing a show. Either option will lead to great live music. It is in your best interest to dance on that dance floor at least once. It feeds the soul. Especially so if what you’re dancing to is the new album, And the War Came, by Alejandro himself.

He started the set with a bang, playing with a guest stand-up bass player and a drummer, both regulars on his touring sets. After a few songs, he took the stage alone. What’s incredible is how difficult it is to tell the difference. (And I didn’t, being too short to see the stage.) The man sounds like a full band.

During a short break between songs long enough for Alejandro to wipe the sweaty hair from his forehead and take a pull from his ice cold Lonestar, a particularly vocal fan yelled “Let’s go skating Wednesday!” Everyone chuckled at the strange nature of this request, and immediately Mr. Shakey Graves responded, “Let’s do that. But it is hard for someone who needs their feet and hands… and face… and dignity for that matter…” 500 people laughed and he toasted the crowd before launching into another guttural, soulful song, and if there was any man or woman in that room that wasn’t in love with him before that - there sure as hell weren’t any after.

When I was going through a period in my life where I thought there was a real chance I would become a percussionist in a reggae band or a ska legend, my dad would casually say things like “When I saw the Wailers here…” or “The first time I saw Bob Marley…” and I would endure the crushing realization that I was simply born at the wrong time. Well, thankfully, I’ve restored balance to the universe. When my hypothetical children get into classic rock and country (which is inevitable, considering their mother’s flawless taste in music) I will start sentences like this: “Honey, when your mom saw Willie Nelson play at his ranch…”

It’s historic. It’s perfection. Never has a piece of property so aptly embodied one man’s true mark on the world. I drive up with the windows down to a sprawling, rolling hillside ranch where I swear even the landscape had a southern accent. People are all casually interacting, conversing, and coexisting in scuffed handmade cowboy boots and flowing white linen. There are tents with musicians tightening their strings and strumming old tunes. There are two stages being inhabited by equally awesome artists. There is no sense of competition here: this is a place to enjoy and hopefully, inspire. This is the mecca of music. It’s Willie Nelson’s ranch.

At 9, he takes the stage. It’s a warm, breezy, only slightly sticky Texas night. Nights like these have been written about. By Willie Nelson. Preceding him was his granddaughter and nephew, each with different sets but real talent. It must be true— it runs in the family. He’s wearing a red bandana around his head, two braids, and a black shirt. When I imagined him before now, this was what he looked like in my mind. He walks on stage with minimal help. When he comes into my line of sight, I gasp. You never know how much you’ll be affected by seeing certain people. Although his albums were played pretty constantly throughout my childhood, I didn’t think I would have an emotional reaction to seeing him. By the way, he hasn’t begun to sing yet. And yes, I’m already crying.

The first act was a bit of a blur. A better music reviewer would have diligently taken notes but the journalist inside me sort of dissipated the moment he took the stage. I was blinded by an admiration that I’m sure our parents felt for acts like Led Zeppelin or Bob Marley & The Wailers. While you’re watching them, you can feel the magnitude of this experience. Of this performance. There is no way to minimize it.

He included a number of my favorites. It was like walking down Wille Nelson Memory Lane, but arm-in-arm with Willie Nelson himself. Like a guided tour through his remarkable life. He hit major songs like “Across the Borderline” and “On the Road Again” and I swear if you closed your eyes his voice hadn’t changed over the years in the slightest. I could’ve been 10 years old, dancing along to these comforting chords on my living room floor. He sang Whiskey River, and Ain’t Misbehavin’. When he sang “Always on My Mind” and stopped playing and stopped singing and used his hands to guide the crowd, I lost it again. Impressively, through my tears, I managed to snap some photos.

His son joined him on stage for the last half of the set. He looked at his dad the way we all were: with reverence. The two bounced off one another and let the sweet songs drift into the quiet night, complimenting the sounds of the cricket lullabies all around us. For miles and miles in every direction, we are alone. This moment, captured by only a couple hundred people and very few reporters, is ours. It isn’t supposed to be a big production. It’s exactly as intimate as he wanted.

Afterwards, everyone reluctantly finished the last of their beers and headed back to the cars. Back to reality. The next day some of us would go to work, or RSVP for more highly-exclusive corporate-sponsored SXSW events, but as people who had seen the legend take the stage. Good music changes you, on some level, even if you don’t realize it. And as I walked back to the car, somehow a little lighter and little heavier at the same time, I felt like he had just stirred my soul. That’s what I’m going to tell my kids when they ask, anyway.

After hearing from dozens of people that Sufjan Stevens puts on one of the best live shows, I knew I had to go when I saw he announced a date in Austin. The venue was Bass Concert Hall, typically reserved for orchestras, ballets, and classy events that exist on a plane far outside my reach. It was the first concert I’d been to that included a seat number on the ticket since the Backstreet Boys rocked my world in the Spring of 2004 and I forced my dad to bring my gaggle of wildly-hormonal and irrationally-loud pre-teen friends. My braces and I had a night to remember, and after that I was hooked. I became a concert junkie.

I sat in my designated red velvet seat and listened to the pre-show buzz steadily grow as more and more people arrived. This was definitely a different musical scene for me. Typically, you can find me at any Austin dive bar - the dodgier the better - with a LoneStar in my hand and half of it spilled down the front of my shirt. I’m not that clumsy of a drinker, but booze-soaked clothes are somewhat of an occupational hazard when you write for The Grateful Web. When I’m not dancing to the music with my eyes closed I’m employing tired old techniques to try and squeeze my way to the front of the crowd. None of that here. I sipped my red wine, (all of which stayed in my glass, thank you) and exhaled. I was mentally prepared for this experience.

Opening for Sufjan was an equally remarkable act: Moses Sumney. His sound was both fresh and uplifting, he had a voice like an angel but the 6’4” stature of a Greek god. When he received applause after his song “Seeds” he commented, “Thanks. That’s really nice. You could’ve booed…or left.” As humble as he was talented, he kept us on the edge of our seats the whole of his 35-minute set.

Then, the act took the stage. The lights came on and he was already seated at his piano. His band launched into their set without small talk or fan fare, and it would be over an hour before he finally addressed the crowd. For those of you who have never heard of Sufjan Stevens, he sounds like Iron & Wine had a baby with Paul Simon, but there was speculation that Thom Yorke might be the father, so genetic testing was requested after Sufjan was born. He sounds exactly like his albums, which always a pleasant experience when you see an artist you like perform live for the first time. The thing about his concerts, though, is that he creates an experience. He takes you out of your seat, and plants you in the world he has carved out within each song.

Accompanying the music was an ever-changing visual aid. For many of the songs, reels of home videos (I’m assuming his) played in the background. The intimacy this created between himself and the audience is not possible to convey in this article. For others, he employed strobe lights or graphics that were timed perfectly to the nuances of his songs. He played a couple of his more popular songs; many from his most recent album that was dedicated to his mom.

When he finally greeted the audience, he received spontaneous applause. This launched a monologue from him about how positively reinforcing encouragement is. How he used to hate it, find it distracting, clapping would pull him out of the moment so he’d wear noise-cancelling head phones and “tune the world out.” He took a sip of his beer. “Don’t do that,” he mused. “That’s terrible. Let the world in.”

And when Sufjan Stevens gives you advice, you probably should take it. So we did. We let the world in. We let his songs physically remove us from where we were and take us to a place that existed in his imagination. And it fucking rocked.

Leave Austin at 4:45 a.m. Having never been up before the sun, I’m only semi-lucid and aware that it is dark outside as we drive to the airport. Land in D.C. at 11 a.m. Get picked up by friends, short reunion on the sidewalk, and then it’s time to put on the Festival Game Face. Caravan to Dover, Delaware including multiple stops for food and water, then food and Gatorade, then to look for a bathroom. Bathroom is a single Port-a-Potty behind gas station… not ready to resort to that camping life yet. Pee on grass by fence. Get yelled at by woman for peeing on her property. After 2 hours in the car, arrive at our campsite. Since the festival technically started Thursday, we’re not the first ones here. We’re not even the first 150,000 here. Park and unpack. We have enough food and water to sustain a small city for a decade. Lay down tarp and construct giant 10-person tent with shocking teamwork and ingenuity. Slightly impressed with ourselves. Pop a beer in celebration. Guys pop the shirts off, girls glitter-bomb themselves and flash tat each other. Finally arrive in the mental state necessary to enjoy the festival, and walk from our campsite to the grounds.

Trashcans. That was literally my first thought. There were trashcans everywhere. They lined the walkway, the bridge, the entire stretch to the festival. That led me to my second discovery of the day: cleanliness. It would take me a minute to find it, but I’m pretty sure there’s a connection between my first and second realizations. Finkle. Einhorn. Finkle. Einhorn… Anyways. We arrive at the well-marked, clearly-signaged entrance, and then, once we’re through: paradise.

Firefly is nestled into tall, strong Pines in such a tender way it reminds me of the way I would cradle things precious to me- like food, or a joint. The stages are each set back into the treeline so your view of the stage encompasses both your artist of choice and a kick-ass nature scene. If you think that doesn’t sound incredible just stop reading this article now. It’s only going to get worse. Our first show was Odesza, in a tent. My experience with tents + festivals extends only as far as the Gospel Tent at ACL but this was pretty close to a religious experience. The foot-stomping, dance-jumping, and general debauchery set the tone for what we would later realize was our ‘EDM day.’ We all ended up dancing up a little harder than we realized, and no one did the proper stretching exercises before. So we hoofed it, slightly wheezing, back to the camp. By the time we drank beers and flipped burgers, Paul McCartney’s set was coming to a close. It remains one of my great regrets, but hearing “Can’t Buy Me Love” through the forest as the sun began to set sounded like my childhood. Next up: Kygo. There were a… let me search for the right word… ah yes, a shit ton of people there for a dude I’d never heard of. I was the fool. He put on an incredible show, for my eyes, my ears, and my body— which did not stop moving. My boyfriend, who has a habit of crushing hard on male artists (we’ll get more into that in Day 2) did a little research on this Norwegian rockstar. Turns out he’s solely responsible for coining the term ‘Tropical House.’ He’s 23. My greatest talent when I was 23 was pretending I didn’t hear relatives when they asked me what I planned on doing with my degree.

Last up was Zedd. The show started after midnight and I’m pretty sure there were more hamburgers consumed in the time between Kygo and Zedd. Our weekend diet can be best described in two words: alcohol and meat. Feel like I’m making Ron Swanson proud. This makes me walk with my head held a little higher on the way back to Zedd. Walking is starting to wear at our will to live. Keep walking. Keep bitching. Each time it gets longer, and I’m starting to have a questionable (and slightly painful) relationship with my Converse. We reach Zedd, and even though there are hundreds of thousands of sweaty people on all kinds of drugs, it is strangely calm. You can hear the excitement and the buzz from the crowd, but you can also hear the crickets chirping and the soft sounds of people hallucinating all around you. I think I see fireflies against the night sky but then I remember I’m tripping balls. This is what I remember: lights. sweat. cold beers. semi-professional mosh pits. confetti. smoke. yelling. smiling. dancing. laughing. euphoria.

No idea what time we woke. Hot, hot, hot. Momentarily think I woke up on the surface of the sun. No breeze in the tent. Raise my head off boyfriend’s chest, cheek peels off with a perfect imprint of his chest hair. Our twin blow-up mattress has deflated and there is a rock in my ass. Go outside. At the time, I said in my head “I have never been this disgusting.” That thought will seem hysterical to me two days from now. Friend and I grab a gallon of water and some shampoo and attempt to clean each other. In nothing but a bikini, we thought it would be unfair how sexy and flirty we’d look, soaping each other and pouring water on our heads. Almost comical how un-sexy we look. Ugh, reality. Breakfast of champions: burgers, screwdrivers, bust out the rose at 11 am. We’re classy, ok? Boys rise and don’t even attempt a shower, immediately start throwing a frisbee with one hand with a beer in the other.

Joe Pug played at noon, and since none of our friends were interested/drunk enough, boyfriend and I start the now-tortuous trek to the festival. Remember the part about him having huge crushes on male artists? This guy is the OG crush, and with good reason. The whole walk there, we have parallel conversation about how I think we’re already late and we probably won’t get close enough to see him and boyfriend thinks we’ll get really close and that Joe will recognize us from a show in Austin a month ago and say what’s up to us from the stage. Turns out we were both delusional.

There are like 20 people crowding the stage, which means we have enough time to get margaritas and walk directly to the front of the crowd with enough room around us for activities. This baffles me. There are 300,000 idiots at this festival who don’t know what they’re missing. Joe Pug has the voice of an angel if the angel took guitar lessons and could shred on the harmonica. He’s a perfect fusion of blues, rock, folk, and a hint of gospel. He finishes his set (shockingly, without recognizing us) and we walk back to the camp with big smiles, like we just got away with seeing a badass show to ourselves that everyone else slept through. Oh wait. That is what happened.

Ladies and gentlemen, Joe Pug.

Play games, drink alcohol, eat burgers. Play drink eat. Repeat. Don’t get our shit together until 6 for Matt & Kim. There’s no telling how many awesome shows we missed in the time between, but at festivals you can’t have FOMO, it’ll kill you. Just gotta have YOLO. Matt & Kim was, in a word: awesome. If you haven’t seen them live yet, go to your computer and google their tour dates right now. There’s nothing like it. She wrecks the drums like it’s her last show ever and leaves it all on the stage. We left that show, and saw Foster the People next. There was a food stop somewhere in there. This wasn’t my first time seeing Foster but it was when the sound guys actually did their job. Much more entertaining show when you can actually hear the band. Realize at this point that Firefly hasn’t had one technical error yet. Silently curse myself for potentially jinxing them. (Don’t worry, they kept their perfect record the whole weekend. It’s gotta be some kind of a record.) Leave for a good spot at Kid Cudi, which was insanely fun. When your expectations are on the lower end, the fun you have at the show seems to be at the higher end. If I knew anything about Excel, I’d demonstrate with a graph of an inverse relationship here. I don’t though, so we’ll all have to rely on our imaginations. After Cudi finishes, we all start to walk to see Kings.

Everyone’s got the jitters, this is one of the biggest names of the festival. Ominous clouds begin to form over the festival. We keep walking. Someone walking the other direction tells us that the last few shows of the night (it’s about 10 pm at this point) have been cancelled due to bad weather. Less of a rain scare, more of a we-don’t-want-the-audience-getting-struck-by-lightning-liability scare. Grumbling, 200,000 bottleneck and try to get out. Quickly, we drop our polite facade and turn into animals. People are tearing holes in the fence, other’s are pushing girls into the mud to get ahead. How lovely. We end up making it out with all of our limbs, and on the walk back to the campground enjoy a rowdy lightning storm. Now insanely grateful the shows were cancelled. Get to camp, start to tie canvas down over the tent, look like a Three Stooges skit. Push all the twin mattresses into the half of the tent that isn’t taking on water, pull in a lantern, and grab essentials like beer and weed. If you ever get stuck inside a tent, wet, sweaty, muddy, and sticky, with no entertainment but each other: this is the crew to do it with. Keep that in mind the next time you plan festival with friends. Change into dry sweatshirt and sweatpants, hotbox the car, blast the A/C, and fall into a blissful sleep.

Where the magic happens.

No idea what time we woke up. Am sure of nothing except the throbbing pain in my feet, the acute level of gross I’ve let myself come to, and that it’s now time to repeat the whole cycle again. And somehow, that makes me really excited. (That’s a sentiment you could probably only understand if you, too, have made the decision to camp at a music festival.)

These are called dunkaroos, and they are essential to survival at festivals. You submerge your head in a cooler of ice water, hold for 15 seconds, get up, and chug a beer. (Beer bonging is the preferred method, but shotgunning is acceptable when there’s no beer bong around.)

Getting our shit together is a foreign concept until about noon. Don’t even attempt a “water gallon” shower, instead enduring the oppressive heat by rubbing an ice cube across my neck and staying as drunk as I can. Shots of hot vodka, games of 20 questions. $5 sunglasses are now my most valuable possession. All of our belongings are soaking wet and drying on our tarp like the beach scene in Castaway. Thinking of myself as Tom Hanks makes me feel like a f*#&ing rockstar.

Steve Aoki and Kings of Leon were the two acts (that we wanted to see) that were cancelled due to the storm. Kings had something better to do on Sunday, but Steve filled in at a 2:30 slot. Get there just in time. Everyone’s moving a little slower, a little more grumbling, sunburn, and hangovers, but other than that - there’s a definite excitement in the air. It’s Steve fucking Aoki, ok? The set is awesome. Don’t remember much. He uses lights, confetti, and his classic cake prank that is now the mark of an Aoki show. Classic. Time creeps on, the sun stays brutally bright. Rude

Next show was Hozier, who, if I’m being entirely honest, I don’t remember much of. Bastille was great. The catchiness and the British-ness all totally translate from radio to live performances and he blew everyone away. It doesn’t hurt he was the most polite artist I’ve ever seen, saying “Thank you so much” after every single applause. Boyfriend develops his third male crush of the weekend. I don’t blame him, I smell like an armpit. I exhaust the last of my energy on dancing for Bastille. The crowd was big, but not huge. They scheduled Citizen Cope at the same time, whose familiar sound drifted over the treetops between sets. At some point we remembered to eat, sat in the middle of the festival in an open area of grass, and feasted on some seriously good trailer food. It ended up being one of my favorite moments: people watching, eating, and drinking… all my favorite things!

Tove Lo was next, in the same tent we saw Odesza in. The area was big, but not big enough that you’re not one sneeze away from face planting into a stranger’s back. I knew she was a big deal, but I didn’t know exactly why. Once at the show, however, I recognized almost all of her songs. The energy was great, and she’s easy on the eyes. Awesome show.

The Killers and White Panda are the last shows… struggling… towards… the… finish… line. Sentences aren’t really forming in my mouth or my head. Feet kill. No walk more. Can’t do. Showering and AC seem like luxuries so intense I’d have to pay the devil my soul in exchange for them and at this point it seems like a fair trade. Having seen The Killers back in 2008, I was excited to see them again. The show did not disappoint. His distinguishable voice rang through the festival, which all of a sudden felt massive in the darkness. I spent almost as much time looking at the stars as I did looking at the stage. It was magical. It transcended. My feet were fucking killing me. Three quarters of the way through the set, I gave boyfriend a look, and wordlessly, he understood: he was carrying me the 687 miles between us and our campsite.

Here’s the takeaway:

Go to Firefly. Seriously, go to it. If you consider yourself a “music fan” or a “festival regular” you’ll buy your ticket tomorrow. The lineup is almost overwhelming.. carrying easily more headliners than I’ve ever seen in a weekend. It’s well-organized, clean, and badass. Do it. Do it. And camp, too. Don’t let my slightly-biased city-mouse take on the experience sway you… if I could go back I wouldn’t change a thing.

All in all, we tallied our collective damage from the weekend:

Gallons of sweat expended: 390,000 tons

Beers chugged: 410,000 tons (hello, hydration)

Shots of Vodka: your guess is as good as mine

Hamburgers consumed: in the millions

Bottles of Gold Bond sprinkled on sweaty parts: 7 bottles

Baby wipes thrown into the tent once used: 86 muddy messes of dirt and tears

Shoes burned: 1 pair (mine)

# of times I verbally cursed my life: 3 (one for each hangover)

# of times I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to be here, with the people I was with, listening to good music and being happy: infinite

What the first shower felt like after 3 days of grime: priceless

Austin during Austin City Limits is the best version of Austin. It’s a magical weekend (now, two weekends) where the queso flows like wine and people flock to Zilker Park like the salmon of Capistrana. I swear, even the margaritas taste better. For anyone who has experienced a music festival in Austin, SXSW or FFF, for example, there’s still that buzz in the city. A collective restlessness for live music in all its glory. But there’s a different energy to Austin City Limits. Maybe because it predates an Austin that had people moving here by the thousands, before there were hip restaurants and unmarked bars popping up like wildflowers. Not that there’s anything wrong with this Austin, it’s bigger and better. But there’s an acute authenticity to ACL. A sort of “we were cool before it was cool” vibe. The energy isn’t like a bigger festival - a Coachella or a Lollapalooza - the focus isn’t on the younger generation or what the celebrities showed up wearing. It’s about surviving the heat (bandanas soaked in ice water) coming prepared (bathing suit under your jean shorts, duh) and finding friends (toting around the dumbest, biggest sign/flag you can create.) There are families, young couples, gaggles of teens, old timers and… shit - was that Paul Rudd? It’s genuine. It’s live music, hot temperatures, and cold beer. It’s Austin at ACL.

, I’m going to step off my soapbox now. As much as I’d like to take off work Thursday, to mentally prepare, Friday, and Monday to recover… I can’t. Someone’s gotta put bread on the table. So I tried to ignore the media blasts, live Tweeting, and beautiful sunshine all day on Friday while I slaved away at my desk. At 5pm, ACL had officially begun for me.

First show once inside was at a small hillside concert: DeRobert & The Half-Truths, ya’ll! This sound is a little Blues, and little Gospel… and some enviable, MJ-inspired moves. Some of the best shows I’ve seen at ACL have been at the smallest stages. Sometimes, small stages yield BIG talent. The set was great and the beer was cold, the perfect start to what promised to be yet another unforgettable weekend.

Next up was Gary Clark Jr.’s set which started just as the burnt orange sun was setting on the skyline. It was so perfect. The guy I call “the Jimi of our generation” put on one hell of a show, but Austin has come to expect nothing less. He played a solid amount off the Black & Blue album, which kept the crowd equally stunned and sated.

Bringing his signature style and sound, Gary Clark Jr. made look effortless some of the most innovative sounds of the weekend. If you are searching for a religious experience, his guitar solos will have you looking towards the light.

Next up, Disclosure. Immediately I kicked my shoes off. They had no place at that show. I felt the grass under my feet and let the music move me (and no, I hadn’t just dropped acid) but I was feeling myself. The production value was high, the set was kick-ass, and everyone was moving. I decided that although all musicians get laid, but few probably get as much as two young British DJs. I smiled a bit inside for them - they were about to have the best weekend of their lives, because there’s nothing better than Texas women.

The night wrapped with some Foo Fighters action. We collided with a group of highly-drunk friends who distracted me (temporarily) from the glory that is Dave Grohl. Yes, he still had his leg cast. Yes, he still rocked the fuck out. If you haven’t seen Foo Fighters live, there is nothing to say but to go - see them. Do it. And if you can, see them again. And again. And again.

Day 2 started at noon when I deemed it an acceptable time to roll out of bed. Signs of life began at 1 pm when I had my first cup of coffee (with a side of mimosa, please and thank you) and Counter Cafe East Side. I was expecting a heinous 3-hour wait like most brunch spots during ACL weekend, but the best food in Austin seemed to have slipped under the bloggers’ radar. Stupid tourists.

By the time we squished, squeezed, sweated, and slid into the park, I had missed Misty. Not seeing Father John Misty bring down the house will forever be one of my biggest regrets. That, and the phase that I thought glimmer light blue eyeshadow defined the height of sophistication.

LUCKILY, we were just in time for Shakey Graves. Crisis averted. I calmed down with a beer and the sweet, perfect sounds of Alejandro. If you’ve ever seen an Austinite talk about Lone Star Beer (the most average, normal, light beer in the world) you know how we feel about things that are homegrown. We think Lone Star is the greatest elixir the world has ever seen. And we think Shakey is the most perfect human musician specimen in this galaxy or any other. I missed most of his set because I kept looking behind me and making “Isn’t this amazing?!” faces at my boyfriend. As usual, he left a huge smile on my face and a flutter in my heart.

Next up, beer tent. Whoever thought of this deserves the Nobel prize. There comes a time when $8 tall boys just don’t cut it anymore, and for me, that’s 5pm on Saturday. We cooled down with some shade and pale ales while Texas fans around us freaked out over the game.

Now, this is the part that my story takes a sad turn. It was there, in the madness and the chaos of it all, that I had the faint feeling I was getting a migraine. The painful, biannual visitor, that wrecks my life for about 6 hours had chosen TODAY of all the days to rain on my happiness. Regretfully, shamefully, unhappily, I left ACL before it was dark and/or I was happy and buzzed. I had to miss A$AP, TV on the Radio, and Walk the Moon. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.

Back at it. Feeling refreshed! Probably had something to do with the 18 hours of sleep I got the night before. Started it right at Green Pastures, doing the Most Epic Brunch Ever.

If you haven’t done it, and you want to have lobster, pork, and eggs benedict all in one meal… go. Go now.

Did I mention Green Pastures looks like a time capsule to Charleston circa 1920?

Post-brunch Pre-Festival drinks at The Grackle.

Then we headed to Zilker. There is a nostalgia that already sets in, the beginning of Day Three. An awareness you’re about to miss this, for another 12 months. An appreciation to every detail.

Now, ladies, I know how we all feel about Vance Joy. As my boyfriend calls him, “the Adrian Grenier that pursued music instead of acting.” We heave a collective sigh when that soft, gravely voice comes on the radio. I get it, I know. But if you thought you loved him before, listen to this:

“So I was on Facebook one day, and I saw this post about simplicity. This inspirational quote that really struck a chord with me. I was so inspired by it I sat down and wrote a song. I played it for my parents and my I was really excited until my dad said “I like it but the lyrics sound familiar.. Check it out to make sure you didn’t steal those lyrics.”

Here, he sips his beer.

“Turns out it actually wasn’t my song at all. It was a song by Lynrd Skynrd called “Simple Man.”

Crowd roars, women swoon, and he launches into what he renamed, and re-worded into ‘My kind of Man.’

ALT-J. Oh, Alt-J. This coveted 7 pm slot coincided with Of Monsters and Men, another favorite of mine. And although it was a tough mental battle, Alt-J won out. I am so glad they did. Easily the best visuals of any show on Sunday, and those perfect, alternative, and glorious sounds. I mean… It’s Alt-J. It’s Alt Fucking J.

I have nothing to say except they played everything off their new(ish) album and if you haven’t listened to it yet, stop living under a rock and get your hands on it. Next was dinner on the grass - Nachos with brisket and Kimchi Fries with Shredded Pork and everything covered in cheese because WE ARE ADULTS. Oh, and Hozier was on in the background.

For the headliners, each ACL attendee was presented with a conundrum: The Weeknd or Florence. You had to choose. We started at Florence… And although I have fiercely loved this vibrant fireball from afar, I have never heard her in person. She is extreme. She is like tinker bell, if tinker bell also had the voice of a gospel singer and the soul of an angel.

She literally, runs across stage. Not like, hop skip run while clapping and rousing the crowd kind of thing. No, she Usain Bolts across the stage. It’s something else. There’s an energy, a fire, that is palpable. You could be the 10,000 people back, watching her from over everyone’s head.. and you still feel the same amount of warmth as if you were backstage. She’s enigmatic. She is an unstoppable force.

Halfway through, because we couldn’t NOT see the Weeknd, we walked halfway across the park so we could still hear Florence’s rounded, full sound… but we could clearly see the Weeknd. We listened for under half and hour and it played like 20 minutes of Top 40 on the radio. This guy has literally written every hit. And to boot, he is an incredible performer.

The freakin Weeknd. P.S. this was FIRE. One of his production effects was FIRE.

Now about halfway through her set, after Florence had abandoned her jacket and stopped running for a moment… she asked everyone to get rid of something they didn’t need. Something physical, or something not. “Because tonight,” she announced, “Austin…. you are RELEASED.”

And just like that, everyone was.

The other day I heard a startling statistic - over 200 people move to Austin every day. As a native Austinite, this doesn’t rattle me in any way… it just gives me a sense of unease for the future of my city. There’s a reason that droves of people are attracted enough to this energy to move here every day, but will too many people dilute that essence, that thing about Austin that gets into your bones? I don’t know. But there are certain spots that keep it intact… there are certain names that alleviate the stress that our city is dissolving into a myriad of condominium parking lots and fancy hotel high rises.

One of those names is Stubb’s. As long as it’s still here, Austin is still Austin.

My brother is one of the foolish people who actually moved out of Austin, and he’s been regretting it for two years. For his birthday, I knew I wanted to take him to see live music. Where else would I go but the place that you can 1. Be outside 2. Listen to great music, and most importantly, 3. Walk ten feet in any direction and buy an ice cold Lonestar tallboy? With two tickets to the Thursday night show at Stubb’s, I had cinched my place at the top as Sister of the Year, and, in one fell swoop, cured all his homesick blues.

The opener was Israel Nash. I have a habit of classifying people immediately by deciding which two famous people hypothetically got together to create them: (Thom Yorke looks like Tilda Swinton had a one-night stand with a David Bowie look-alike, Gary Clark Jr. would be the by-product of a passionate affair between Jimi Hendrix and actual voodoo magic, and so on and so forth) Israel Nash is a combination of eras: 1973 Robert Plant, Billy Gibson’s beard, and a pair of bellbottom jeans were all equally responsible for this folk-rock phenomena who could have just as likely been cast on Dazed and Confused. While I was still in my head allowing these random neuroses to take over, my brother leaned in and commented, “They have a really inviting groove.” And in 6 words, he summed them up. This is very indicative of our personalities.

Israel Nash was an inviting groove, his 5 song set was borderline hypnotic. My body swayed from side to side, my arms loose, my face upturned to the sinking sun through the oak trees above. Earlier that day, the nation had mourned the loss of one of our musical icons: Prince was dead. And when Nash wrapped up his set with a killer rendition of “Purple Rain” woven right into one of his songs… it was all we could do to not rush the stage.

After a short gap between the two shows, the sun had completed its cycle for the day. It had sunk past the horizon but left a trace of light pink light that faded slowly into the sky. It was balmy and sticky, it was dark and quiet, and it was time for the Nathaniel Rateliff to play.

Before you see anyone take the stage, the lights come on and they’re playing. The band leads with a “music first” attitude, and it’s palpable. They’re not here to work the crowd. They’re here to jam the fuck out. First up is I Need Never Get Old, and it’s like someone hit an energy switch. The crowd of 400-500 people went from static to jumping, dancing, moving, shaking, within seconds. There’s plenty of entertainment onstage, too, a line of brass and horns behind Nathaniel to the left is moving in the classic old motown way - synchronized dance. There are jazz hands, two steps, and shimmies done by grown men who are simultaneously blasting away on trombones and trumpets. It’s fabulous.

Immediately, it’s evident that each member of this band can play. I don’t mean they can play… I mean they can play. Luke Mossman shredded the electric guitar so hard I was surprised he didn’t pop a string. Saxophonist Andy Wild stopped the crowd with his lengthy and vibrant solos, and Mark Shusterman controlled the tempo of our heartbeats with the keys. It was mesmerizing, soulful, and sweaty. The band’s name no longer seemed like a coincidence but a promise, and they had delivered.

The swift success this band has seen since their eponymous debut in the summer of 2015 has not altered their course or gone to their heads. Yes, maybe they’ve been on Jimmy Kimmel a handful of times and shared stages with names like Bon Iver and The Lumineers, but these guys are about the bare bones necessity of filling a space with people and inviting them to lose themselves. And if you’re going to lose yourself for a night, forget the bullshit and the boring jobs and the bills and just live… Stubb’s is just about the most perfect place you can think of.

P.S. And yes, since you’re wondering, their encore song was S.O.B.

It was one of those hazy days between Christmas and New Years, a day when you’re not sure what time it is or even which month, that I stumbled into the Sahara Lounge and heard Emme for the first time. A duo comprised of two people: Sowmya Somanath and Walter Nichols, both classically trained, both pushing the envelope of what that means. On stage, the two are an electric combination that is much better seen than described by me. After their show I sat down with them with a single intention in mind: to get a better look inside the minds of people who can create music like this.

GW: Let’s do this chronologically: Where did the music come from?

W: For me it was elementary school, I saw the saxophone on TV, 90’s dudes with all the reverb. I absently thought, ‘Yeah! I want to play that!’ The same way you’d say ‘Yeah! I wanna be a baseball player!’ But then when I was ten I actually started playing the saxophone and was like ‘Woah. I love this.’ 

S: I’ve sung for as long as I can remember. My mom says I sang my first song when I was 2. There was never a time that I considered not singing - it was my most natural language of expression. Growing up in a conservative Indian family influenced me to aspire more towards math and science, but I abandoned those desires. I realized music was my home.

W: It came really naturally. I’ve been in a classical place for most of my musical life, then I released W, which was my attempt at something more experimental. Emme is an attempt at using aspects of both of those styles but more accessible.

GW: Walter, how is Emme’s sound different than your 2015 album W?

W: First of all, it has lyrics. Instrumental stuff like W is a little less accessible because it’s abstract. That album was especially abstract because it had such unconventional forms. One song literally had a fugue in the middle of it, which is an old form of composition where you employ different complementary melodies played together in various ways. It’s like a super intense math equation and I slapped one right in the middle of an electronic/ambient saxophone song. Needless to say — not super accessible.

GW: Would I ever hear the fugue in the song?

W: No, (laughs) never.

GW: Sowmya, where did you develop your voice?

S: My mother was my first mentor, and began training me in South Indian classical singing at age 4. In middle school I began Western classical singing, and after college, I realized I loved North Indian classical music, and began training in that too. I have always loved dreamy, mellifluous melodies.

GW: Which influences have guided your work? Which ones overlap for you both?

S: Learning three classical systems (South Indian, North Indian, and Western) has undoubtedly shaped my musical intuition. One of my favorite bands growing up was Eisley, then in high school my brother got me hooked on Radiohead. In college, Walter and I discovered we were both huge Thom Yorke fans. I would say our shared influences are Radiohead, Sylvan Esso, Bjork, Grimes, and anything classical.

W: Our tastes in music line up very closely. We have comparable knowledge of music theory which allows us to use similar language when we’re talking about chords or song structure or melody.

GW: Did you ever fear that your tastes were too similar?

W: Never, her background is in Indian classical music and other types of non-Western music. She thinks in a different way. I think about music in a vertical way, like chords, but in Indian and Middle Eastern music they think about it horizontally, like in terms of melody. That brings a whole different perspective to the table. It has actually become a joke between us - like, ‘Where do you hear this?’ ‘No I totally hear that a different way.’ It’s really refreshing.

GW: What is the writing process for Emme?

S: Usually Walter will have a chord progression that I listen to. I will already have a few ideas about what I want to write about, and I’ll write some poetry or lyrics while listening to his progression. Sometimes, I have to modify my words to fit the structure. Making sure the text reflects the music and vice versa is something we are very particular about.

W: It depends — sometimes the song is constructed more by one person and finished out by the other; other times one person will write the whole thing and the other will sprinkle their little fairy dust on it. The process is usually very interconnected though. Often she’ll have an idea floating around in her head and will write about it. We’ll talk through the idea and her text and I’ll make some music with a mood that (hopefully) matches up. It’s tricky though. I catch myself sometimes, like, ‘Oh man, I was just doing that because I thought it sounded cool… not because it’s what the song needed.’

GW: Looking at your first album, does it look the way you imagined it would?

W: Certain songs have gone through rewrite after rewrite, but I think the things we set out to communicate have stayed in focus.

S: I think everything we both brought to the table was more or less what I expected, and I couldn’t be happier.

GW: Describe your live performance: what is most important to you as the performer?

S: I value the exchange of ideas by using music as a vessel. I’m very interested in encouraging original thought in listeners - whether it is political, social, or emotional. Each idea embedded in our songs is precious to me and being able to communicate them is a privilege.

W: The live experience is intimate since it’s just the two of us. We try to focus on engaging with the audience. I do quite a bit of improvisation on saxophone, synths, and effects, so I have to always be mindful about that. Like there’s a line between something being fun to watch and something that is clouding the point of the song.

GW: Which genre would Emme fall under?

S: Electro pop, Electro-alternative.

GW: I haven’t heard that genre before.

W: Yeah it’s not real.

GW: What’s next for Emme?

W: We’re young and green, so we’re gonna bungle our way through it and focus on making music that makes us happy.

S: I can only hope that every time we play, our message resonates as deeply with the audience as it does with me.

GW: 3 adjectives to sum up your first self-titled album, Emme:

S: Honest, dreamy, synchronistic.

W: Atmospheric, lush, romantic.

It’s a winter night in Manhattan and the three members of Edison are unloading their gear in the exclusive underground stage of the infamous Rockwood Music Hall. There’s an electric excitement buzzing between them - the kind that only comes when you’re busy doing what you love. After this show they’ll load their gear back into their van, which doubles as their home, and drive through the night to be on a radio show in the morning, hundreds of miles away. It’s all part of the magic. So is this basement stage, intimate, with tiny oak tables and cafe chairs, candlelit and tucked away underground, beneath the chaos of the sidewalks, the taxis, the millions of people living their lives. When they take the stage it’s casual, as if they’re playing among friends, but you could hear a pin drop. We’re ready to listen.

Coming into this show, I had scant background about the band. I had read a couple interviews and had listened to a few songs on the band’s website, but apart from that I had little context for what kind of sound I would hear from this up and coming trio. It turns out my timing couldn’t have been better: the three members of Edison, Sarah Slaton, Dustin Morris, and Maxwell Hughes, had just come off a two-week music and writing retreat called The Music District in Denver. It is one of the many perks they attribute to the millions of revenue pouring back into the arts by profits from the sales of legal marijuana. The creative hiatus produced a handful of new songs that were given to us, the audience, like a gift we weren’t expecting.

Lead singer Sarah Slaton engages the audience in easy conversation between sets. Introducing her “blue-haired boy” Hughes and sharing rare insight into the inspiration behind some of their biggest hits before falling into lyricism that appears to captivate her own body as much as she captivates ours. Her voice has a mercurial quality that can be smoky, then clear, a Joplin-esque power behind her words. For one of their newer songs, written about the window of time after a bar closes, before you take someone home, about the loneliness that can’t be sated from one night’s companionship, she takes artistic risk with vocal manipulation in a way both surprising and fitting. Guitarist Maxwell Hughes, whose illustrious solo career has included fronting for The Lumineers, plays a song of his off their record that, as Sarah said when she introduced it, “is unlike anything else.” Lastly, although Morris classifies as the drummer of the band, calling him that would be a disservice. He played trumpet, banjo, harmonized, and drummed, sometimes all at the same time. I would be no less surprised if he pulled out a skillet and started flipping pancakes on top of everything else. These three people are so brimming with talent that it spilled over the stage and onto the audience, striking all of us with the infectious desire to create.

These Denver natives are putting in their hustle as aspiring musicians on the road. They’re already a year in of living full-time on the road but their enthusiasm for their craft or their lifestyle hasn’t wavered. Their song Open Road which will no doubt be climbing the charts any day, is their anthem for this stage of their lives. Before you question their lasting dedication, they shared that a few weeks ago, they got drunk after a show and got matching tattoos. If that doesn’t say commitment - then nothing else will.

The thread of alternative folk is consistent throughout their hour-long set, but by no means do they always stay in that silo. Exploring electronic, rock, and indie influences, the band keep you leaning forward on your seat until the last song. It is the kind of set in which not one soul checks the time, or glances towards the door, but rather, feels a little deflated when it has ended, and reemerges in the world somehow, slightly, anew.