Slipping Through The Cracks Of Austin's Biggest Shin-Dig. By Mari Wadsworth BY NOW YOU'VE no doubt heard all you want to hear about Austin's annual South By Southwest Music and Media conference (SXSW), which swarmed the capital city of the good ol' Republic of Texas for a long week in the middle of March. So we won't bore you with too many factual details. It's online, on the radio, the Daily Star ran a big spread on it. Heck, even the venerable New York Times devoted substantial ink to the whole overblown affair. Suffice it to say it was big. Really big. "Texas-sized," some might say, just like those muffins that leave you full but sort of sick and unsatisfied. That's the SXSW experience: inevitably overindulgent. With 750 bands playing some 43 venues, no matter what you may have been doing while you were there, you missed the majority of whatever it was that was going on. Once you accept that, SXSW can be a lot of fun. Pay no attention to the swirling masses orbiting around you, trying to get a surreptitious glance at the ridiculous laminated badge hanging around your neck; or the angry wristbanders jockeying for position outside the overcrowded clubs. There are, after all, worse situations to be in than wandering around a trade show floor with faceless people thrusting free CDs at you. Once you hit sensory overload, the din of buying, selling and networking becomes a pulsating, insectine hum in the background. It's almost pleasant. Call it "ambient," since that seems to be a word on everyone's lips these days. SXSW truly does seem to offer something for everyone, though perhaps not as much for relative unknowns as previously imagined. We saw a lot of live music, mostly by bands you've already heard of, which seems unfortunate. Maybe it's all just a big misunderstanding, but wasn't the idea behind South By Southwest to create a great big showcase of budding regional talent, to unite industry pros with tomorrow's talent? It's more of a Who's Who than a Who's that?, with alternarock darlings like Soul Coughing, Cake, and the Smoking Popes making their grand appearances following big-label debuts. Even quintessential underground acts like Yo La Tengo seemed to suffer by association, with a set so over-the-top and self-indulgent we had to leave after the first two songs (which lasted for more than 20 minutes, anyway). A parking garage was packed to the gills waiting for the Flaming Lips' audio experiment, in which they intended to create some new piece of music by simultaneously blasting recorded music from the tapedecks of a fleet of parked cars. A fuse blew, rendering a key stereo useless, leaving one of the flapping Lips to try to explain over a bullhorn to a thousand people what it was they were supposed to have heard. Cool, huh? Just to orient you, this happened after Matthew Sweet and before the Supersuckers, the two big, official draws this year. Without diminishing the incredible feat of organizing such an event, it's sort of like a few years back when U2 won a Grammy for alternative album of the year, or whatever. It seems embarrassingly inappropriate. The band roster at SXSW has become formulaic: the tried-and-true past performer, the new-and-hip commercial success, and the necessary quota of relative unknowns with either incredible good fortune or a well-connected manager. Everyone seems to agree the festival has gotten too big. The organizers tried to downscale this year, ensuring a smaller percentage of folks, all of them Austin residents, would shell out $65 for a wristband only to stand outside a club all night waiting to see their favorite bands. Hey, they were warned to arrive early and not move until that one band took the stage at midnight. In light of the fact the fest probably isn't going to change much, the really cool thing about SXSW now is the anti-SXSW movement. This consists of a loose network of rejected or renegade bands who set up in parking lots and non-venues all over the city to play free shows. Their antics are advertised by playbill and word-of-mouth only. One such show, among the most inspiring showcases we saw all weekend, was an Austin-based chick band called Morning Wood. We found them in the parking lot of the San José Hotel, directly across the street from the famous Continental Club. These four ladies, costumed in thrift store gems including silk housecoats, faux fur, fishnet stockings and purple pumps, dashed off a 45-minute set of irreverent songs like "Taffeta Girl," a punkish, prom-rock ballad, "I Dated An Asshole," and the driving pop song "Brad Pitt," all against the backdrop of a white cloth banner with "SXSJ" (South By San José) carefully printed in black Magic Marker. There were less than a hundred people there, some of them transients who probably lived in the parking lot at least part-time, and we all had a blast. "How many of you have a wristband?" lead singer/instigator Stacey hollers out, raising her arm in the air. Everyone laughs. "Well, you don't need 'em here!" "Badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges!" bass player Karen Linder spits into the mike, and they take off on another rockin' romp to wild cheers. They're kind of like Princess Superstar (who released last year's Strictly Platinum on 5th Beetle Records) waiting to happen. Meanwhile, the 30-something gals are keeping their crummy day jobs. Asked if they had any plans to come through Tucson, Linder laughs. "Seriously, we've never even been paid for a gig (in seven months). We usually just pass the hat around for donations." Hey, SXSW record people, are you listening? WELL, IT COULD HAVE BEEN WORSE... A few amendments to the Musician's Register, which appeared in the March 13 issue of The Weekly: ALL BAND LISTINGS were entered as received from the band members or their representatives. This is unfortunate for The Drakes, who called to say that Joe Whitcomb is absolutely not their representative. Joe Whitcomb submitted a form which described The Drakes as "slack-jawed, wildly infectious country rock with guitar-driven riffs and thought-provoking, wild-eyed lyrics." The Drakes submitted their own form, which read "multi-faceted, bouncy, intelligent pop-rock combined with insightful lyrics, thoughtful violin and tight harmony vocals." We called Whitcomb to ask him what he was thinking, but he doesn't work for TCS Music Entertainment Productions, as listed. Tom Schutte, who does, was very sorry for the confusion, and has been forwarding calls to the appropriate bands. We like The Drakes. We don't know Joe Whitcomb. We're sorry if any other bands with Joe Whitcomb listed as their contact person were similarly offended by his aesthetic sensibilities. We regret the error. To contact The Drakes, write 5557 E. Mabel St.; or call 296-2711. Atomic Frog was inadvertently omitted from the alternative band listings. The four-piece band plays music that is "frogadelic." They have a 10-song, self-released CD called Babat Duag. Contacts are Beau Vanderford or Spazz. They can be reached by mailing 1724 N. Campbell Ave., or afrog1@aol.com; or by calling 325-5912. Check out their web site at http://member.aol.com/AFrog1/AtomicFrog.html. Sorry, guys. We regret the oversight. Meecho Orosco, who's band listing appears under the Latin category, wanted to know if he was listed under "Latin" because he has a Spanish name. The answer is no. He was listed under Latin because under "description of music," he wrote "Latin, standards." He would like to have been listed as Meecho and Mimi, under either the jazz or variety category, which we would have been happy to do, had he included the name of the band on the form. We regret the error. Denise Osbourne called us with some changes to the listing for her husband's band, One Blood: Sonny LaMotte has been replaced by keyboardist Elliot Keyes, and Ira Osbourne, the lead vocalist who filled out the form, and bassist Billy Banks, were not listed at all. They'd like to change their contact number to 624-0256, which is voice mail. Also, the description "authentic Jamaican reggae and roots rock" should have read "authentic Jamaican roots rock reggae." We regret the errors. Shoebomb's web site is located at www.primenet.com/~jmana/shoebomb.html, not all that stuff and "jmamal," as printed. Typos in web addresses are very bad. We regret the error, and hope we haven't turned anyone off to this exciting new media. The Psychic Friends' phone number is 791-2742. Please make a note of it. We blame the band for not using their alleged powers to inform us before we made the mistake. Nonetheless, we regret the error. We are also very sorry to all clubs and venues omitted from our mammoth listing of live music. Some are: The Empire Café and Lounge, 61 E. Congress St., a ritzy downtown venue that just burned. We understand their beautiful bar and back room escaped the blaze, and they hope to reopen soon and resume with intermittent live music by local and national acts. Call 884-9779 for information. The Shelter, 4155 E. Grant Road, a hip and trendy lounge-type place, was the launching pad for local swing royalty Kings of Pleasure, who play there on Tuesday nights. Call 326-1345 for information. The Maverick, purportedly the largest country-and-western club in town, is located at 4702 E. 22nd St. They have live music six nights a week. Call 748-0456 for information. Stampede, formerly the Wild Wild West, is located at 4385 W. Ina Road. They book out-of-town acts on a regular basis. Call 744-7744 for information. Shedman's, 6211 E. 22nd St., features classic rock of the '70s and '80s with live music by local bands every Wednesday through Sunday. Call 747-8488 for information. The spelling of Wherehouse is that, and not Warehouse, thus proving spell-check isn't as helpful as everyone assumes. We regret the error. The recording studio Crash Landing, much as the name implies, ended up on the MIA list. They are solidly located at 5720 E. Camden Ave. Call them at 721-7516. We regret the error. Doug Ayres, sales manager of TCI Media Services of Southern Arizona, called to say they are neither a recording label nor associated with Muzak, as listed. This is true. The name at the top of the listing, TCI of Tucson, should have read Tucson Music Co. All other listed information is relevant and correct to that company. We regret the error. We apologize to everyone else who has the slightest complaint or modification regarding the first annual Tucson Musicians Register. We welcome your comments and suggestions, though no future corrections will appear in the paper, and it is unlikely anyone will return your call. Mail inquiries to: Musicians Register, P.O. Box 2429, Tucson, AZ 85702.

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