Day 4 – march 17th
I eventually made my way in to this fucking place as the Crystal Method was starting their set:
They were the same as they every were, forgettable but fun, and this crowd needed some fun right about now.
This would be extended as after their set a dude a came out to introduce a special guest that he accompanied with a fun story – The guest turned out to be a blissed out set from my man Questo from the Roots:
I felt like it was Thurs and I was back in Brooklyn at the Bowl Train party he throws weekly. He did just what he does best, play shit you wished you owned, from Slum Village and J Dilla joints you only hope to hear again one day.
The place started to jump and get a little restless in anticipation for Erykah Badu who was debuting her new act tonight, a group with the unfortunate play off the word cannabis – The Cannabanoids.
I couldn’t be more tired of the hip-hop/weed synergy – I don’t think even Cypress Hill raps about marijuana anymore.
However, I am a huge fan of hers and like everyone here was excited to see what she had up her sleeve.
The band takes the stage, which consists of just a bunch of producers taking their place behind their laptops or samplers, as she makes an entry only she is capable of. However this momentum was totally squandered by the most irritating intro tape ever –
This intro loop with its accompanying video footage would introduce each member and the joke was that they each had so many a.k.a’s – Ok this a bit a funny, but they would spend seriously like 2-3 mins on each member and their were like NINE OF THEM!!
That means that the crowd had to wait seriously another 15-20 mins while being assaulted by this thing.
The concept as she explained it, or more accurately boasted, was this whole thing was an improvised “jam” meant to show off the individual as well collective talents of the group – all plugged into one brain so to speak – Badu even had a prop of a brain to illustrate this. However the results were pretty disastrous and totally weird even for her. This might work at a really intimate venue on a late Tuesday, but this was Saturday night, St. Patrick’s Day, in a giant open-air festival on the final day of the festival, everyone has reached their limit and the only thing that’s keep them going is a party – so to subject them to some strange vanity project was a bit naive I thought. Badu could tell too, as with each jam came another collective sigh that people had climbed the fence to see this and were disappointed. Several times she asked “What’s up? Yall not feeling this?” – Sorry Erykah but no.
It was almost midnight and I wanted to stick around for Z-Trip and had heard that Nas was gonna make an appearance, but for the first time this festival, I was just plain bored, by myself and tired of standing on the pavement. Their was one business associate that I still hadn’t met up with this trip and tonight being the last night and now close to midnight, I should probably makes some plans like now to do so right?
No sooner had I thought that, she text me to come hang and see one of her artists – we have been texting all week, but she can be a little unpredictable in my experience so I hadn’t been willing to make much effort but now, this was perfect. She gives me the address, I’m about 6 blocks away so I head on over.
When I get to the address she gave me, it was some abandoned building, but it was across from the Pure Volume Party and I thought, “not this shit again?” – So I text her to ask, and she realizes that she has given me the wrong address – ok, shit happens, so I know I go to the RIGHT address, 3 more blocks away, that I BELIEVE is the address, and when I get there, it is but her artist had already finished, and then she notifies me via text, that also had already split – WTF?? you invite me over, give me shit directions and then leave before I get there??
She explained that they had to head to the performer’s next gig and that we could meet over there and that she would leave my name at the door – Ok fair enough, and this next gig was at the infamous festival-closing Vice Party –
For those that don’t know, since 1998 when I first started attending this festival, their is always the ultimate party that ends the festival on the last day – it used to be the Spin Magazine Party, that was held in some remote place every year that you weren’t told until the day of the party. I remember seeing the Flaming Lips in an abandoned used car dealership at 3am standing next to Tom Waits and Jeanane Garafolo.
For the last couple of years its been (appropriately) the Vice Party – always the young gunslingers associated with violence (last year it was Off! and Odd Future) free booze and the ultimate in bragging rights for those that give two shits about such a thing. It’s primarily like I mentioned before, the last party, and everyone, regardless of who’s playing wants to say that they made it to the finish line.
Quite frankly for me, I could give two shits, the party starts at 1am and is supposedly going till 7am – God fucking help us.
Kelly had made it out and she was with Matt over at Scoot Inn, that was conveniently one city block from the Vice Party, so I got invites for all of us and decided to go out with a fucking bang.
Unbelievable I found parking rather easy but that is where my good luck ran out. Kelly and Matt where gonna meet me when their show was over, but what greeted me at the venue was a shitshow, to end all shitshows – the perfect summation of the vibe,dysfunction and all of my aggravations with the festival this year, and just current youth culture at large.
Remember how I keep mentioning that if you were not on a band’s list you weren’t getting into anything this year – at this fucking thing their were actual performers having trouble accessing the building.
The people out front were not getting in period, thankfully I had an ace in the hole (or so I thought) at the side door where the artists’ were entering to use my invites.
I get over there and let me tell you something – what transpired was one of the most vulgar displays of social hierarchy from the grossest generation ever to exist – it was like Lord of the Flies on Hipster Island brought to you by Iphone and Isanyoneup.com – these fucking soul-less vampires were ready to eat each other for entry. Because what it meant to these bloodsuckers wasn’t the booze or the bands that I’m sure they had barely heard of if it all, it meant the inner sanctum for those that care about such things – with all the Facebook and Twitter and just constant self-promotion of their inane thoughts and postings of 10 clothes changes a day, it meant they had won the attention whore contest motherfucker and fuck her if she don’t like it.
I get up to the door and its such chaos that I can’t even get out if I changed my mind, and if I was alone, I would have just gone home, but I didn’t wanna disappoint Kelly and Matt who were expecting me, in fact Matt was downright harassing me via text, and I wanted to keep my business meeting.
People were actually fighting to get in and revolting by just jumping over the check-in table causing a fire-hazard crush blocking the door to get in.
It could have been a reformed Talking Heads playing inside and wouldn’t have subjected myself to this based on the verbiage alone:
“I know so -and-so – do you know who I am bitch? – my daddy OWNS this building – why don’t you follow me on Twitter?” – etc.
My buddy Nate could see me from the inside and offered a suggestion of a bribe to gain entry – if only I could get to someone even to negotiate that without getting killed.
So I text the business associate that invited me who had been giving me the run around earlier and here is where shit gets beyond weird:
She comes to the door, sees me, smiles, acknowledges me, but is now scanning the crowd again – I yell to her if she has any suggestions in a humouros manner, she ignores me. OK, I get her attention again while she’s looking around, and annoyed she curtly states that she can’t get me in to this party, as if she had completely forgotten inviting me in the first place – WTF??
Seconds later, while we are facing each other she texts me that “She doesn’t see me” – huh?
I hold up my phone to her and say “ummm…I’m right here….” – for which again even more curtly she states – “I can’t get you into this party!” – is this chick crazy?
So I hold up my phone to show her that she had just text me, and say “Oh yeah? well you just sent me this text looking for me” –
She looks back at her phone – realizing her mistake and without apologizing or even fucking ACKNOWLEDGING ME she walks back inside leaving me to rot with a sea of American Apparel employees.
A glutton for punishment, I couldn’t resist texting her if she had been texting the wrong person all night, or hell maybe all fucking week!
Finally I gain entry, my man A-Trak was also stuck outside and he squeezed me in – Matt had pulled some Matt shit and got in so all we had to do now was find each other.
I arrived just in time to see A$AP Rocky and his crew of 12 or so bringing their punk-inspired ruckus to the crowd. But, as the clocked edged closer to 3 a.m., shit was starting to turn nasty.
As the group, who encourage that stage diving shit, was in the middle of its set, an overeager crowd surfer grabbed one of the A$AP Mob’s doo-rags, causing the group to stop the show until it was safely returned. Unsurprisingly, the audience, themselves St. Patrick’s Day drunk and exhausted, didn’t’t take well to alot of inane berating the group was laying down and began throwing beer at the performers.
While A$AP pleaded for a truce so that they can get back to partying, another free beer made its way to the stage, prompting a warning: If one more drink that was not water was thrown, there would be “a beatdown.”
As soon as the words exited his mouth, a foamy beverage struck several members of the crew, and that’s when all hell broke loose. Quickly, the entire stage was vacated, and fists, bodies and blood were splattered across the floor.
You can see a brief video here –
The whole thing took five minutes tops, but left several audience members injured, and soon the police and security cleared the venue — four hours before the party was due to end.
I didn’t want anyone to get hurt naturally and was hoping my friends were ok, but if this means we can get the fuck out of here now, than I would have stolen that mothefuckers bandanna and started all kinds of shit an hour ago.
The place is in total chaos as the police are making everyone evacuate – I head for the exit and take to finding my friends once I’m outside, which looks like a battle zone as I’m seeing people hurt and nursing bloody head wounds.
As with last year’s Death From Above 1979 riot, SXSW 2012 ended with a striking display of violence.
I tell them to meet me on the side, and we finally meet up – Kelly looks like a million and one dollars in this strapless mini-dress, a ray of light at the exact moment I needed it.
Fuck it, now I wanted to dance with her so let’s find another party?
As we were walking to my car, I hear someone calling my name, and its my old buddy Eric Castillo, a fine DJ from Houston, who the last time I saw, ironically was last year at the Vice Party.
I tell him that we are headed (once again) to the ol’ faithful, the Pure Volume Party – and he and his friend join our little posse.
When we get there, and it was now 3:30am, the party was already over and apparently for similar reasons as the Vice Party.
Man, people are really fried this year –
Ok, last ditch hope is a few blocks away is the Hype Hotel – where we had our showcase on Wed – where it all began – how fitting to come full circle and the end the festival here.
We get there and of course they are not letting anyone else in, but the promoter sees me and waves us in and is generous to give us all drink tickets as well.
Alls well that ends well
See ya next year (maybe)….
Photos –
Roy Turner
Michael Plata
Jan Janner
Oscar Amos
Destiny Mata