>> Friday, March 15, 2013
The ScatterKat and I went to South By Southwest this year. I went two years ago by myself and liveblogged it; this year, somehow, I couldn't be bothered. Not precisely sure why. I could try guessing. I'm not writing much anymore; that has frozen in my veins and the thought of writing seems like a better idea for a thing to do than a thing to actually do. Besides, the man said, writing about music, it's like dancing about architecture.
(I am reduced to cliches.)
We've been having a great time, anyway. Tons of good music. A snake-oil salesman told me and twenty other people he'd love to invite us to sit in Neil Young's car and listen to music. Dave Grohl confessed his undying love for Gungam Style. Nick Cave told some loser text messing during his set that Satan could get him a better cell phone. Mexican anarchists covered "Rock Me Amadeus" while the sun set over a flock of probably-confused ducks. Amanda Palmer made my girlfriend cry. Rodney Crowell and Robyn Hitchcock taught me some things about The Beatles and Richard Thompson observed a songwriter could do something "simple, like this" before unloading an acoustic guitar riff that would turn my fingers to spaghetti knots if I even tried (several minutes later he made me cry; bastard).
You know, typical SXSW, no big deal.
Some kids almost young enough to be my kids if I'd ever gotten laid in high school lauded the virtues of the post-(music) snob world today. I'm not sold. I'm pretty sure I'm a music snob, and I'm not sure I have a problem with that. I'm not sure I want to live in a world where you're not supposed to say a piece of music is shit--especially when it's shit. These kids today, with their smug idealism and naive tolerance.
More to do. Just checking in. Posting this from the tablet, so it may look funny. Might have more to say later--or not. Rock on.