We here at The Hard Times believe we have our finger on the pulse of music culture. Well, we will be the first to admit that we completely forgot about South By Southwest this year. No one really wanted to go and everyone thought someone else was covering it. Meh, we aren’t really all that upset honestly. It probably sucked.
We’re sure there was 800 people trying to cram into a 100 person venue to see some noise artist play Velvet Underground through a looping station. Then we probably would have gone to see Dan Auerbach play a solo set in a Greyhound Bus Station sponsored by Flamin’ Hot Cheetos or some shit.
Honestly, had I gone right now I would be shitting nothing but food truck tacos and Tito’s Handmade Vodka. My ears would be ringing after watching some metal band from Cleveland try to perform on zero sleep and some other band’s equipment. I’d be bragging about seeing some gritty indie film about crust punks holding roman candles.
There would be a sold-out rap show filled with nothing but white people pretending to relate to the music. Then it would be off to watch whoever the next St. Vincent is play a xylophone in a graveyard and I’d pen the same 300 words about what a magic, transcendental experience it was.
I would tell myself to go back to my hotel to write my review but instead I’d take Ayahuasca with UT film students and end up watching an unofficial Peruvian throat singer after-show in Elijah Wood’s backyard. Just like last year.
I’d catch some sleep during the conference panels while Brian Eno drones on about the future of music or the CEO of Columbia Records whines about CD sales. I’d politely sneak out to go vomit in the bathroom only to find Mitski doing a secret show in there.
I wonder if I know anyone who went who could hook me up with a swag bag.