Tuesday night

It’s 3am. This isn’t a Matchbox Twenty song, it’s real life. The rain has subsided, but the good times have not. The first hour of the afternoon was spent wandering through the Austin Convention Centre, looking for a) cool things, b) place to register, and c) more cool things. Unfortunately, not much more than b) are available. Random Pepsi, Chevrolet and AOL sponsors litter the floor, but as I squirm my way through the crowds, not a whole lot differs from the craziness than personifies any city.
I pick up my Golden Ticket, meet my Bunny Brown, and jam on the front porch of our hostel. It’s been years since we have strummed guitars together (think Greyhound Hotel, St Kilda, in 2008) and despite the rain, the good times dominate. However, after a couple of hours, it’s time to head D-O-W-N-T-O-W-N.
First stop, Austin Convention Centre, where Mr Brown can purchase a wristband. Luckily for him, his wrists have been present above his hands and below his forearms for some time, and the acquisition of said band is done without serious difficulty.
Second stop is some random food house. Where the basketball and football run non-stop, where everywhere you look a big plasma screen is looking down on you with forbidding eyes, wondering where you got off the train to heaven and settle for an eternity of unending football… Anyway, the Lakers beat the Spurs and everyone was disappointed, so it was time to get out of there and head on over to Stubb’s off 7th Avenue, where “the action” was really happening.
We roll in as local band The Sword are finishing their set – a real shame considering the reputation the four-piece have gathered over the years. Solid heavy rock’n’roll from an Austin group that the locals have really gotten behind.
10:15 – Motorhead come onstage. Even without the umlaut, the band dominate the stage like few others before them. Lemmy, Phil Campbell and Mickey Dee rock the stage like they have done for decades beforehand, and the crowd laps it up like newborn puppies at a mothers’ teat.
Despite the fact that Motorhead don’t seem to get into their set straight away, by halfway through the crowd is not only jumping into each other, but into fences, barricades and, well, each other. The smash session that is occurring around the front of the stage – men, women and children – is ridiculous to say the least.
Throughout the set Motorhead rip the crowd up, not only encouraging a hearty mosh, but also some hardcore crowd-surfing. By the time the band come on for their encore, the 500-odd people – yes, it is certainly an ‘intimate’ crowd – at Stubb’s are rabied and ready for more. More is what they get. Three more songs, including “Ace of Spades”, finish the set off, and despite some angry security guards, we manage to escape with our lives, and drummer Mickey Dee’s towel.
It’s onto the Paste Magazine party @ 504 Trinity St, and it’s got to be said, a massively disappointing Jakob Dylan. Working in his favour are a solid rhythm section, keeping the songs humming along, and not getting too tied down into their arrogance. However, working against him, are not only the very average acoustics (holding the crowd back from hearing Dylan’s lyrical-based songs), but also the fact that even though he has the brilliant Canadian Neko Case onstage, she is stuck singing backup vocals. Clearly over-qualified for such an average position, it is tough to take Dylan seriously with Case playing such a minor part. When (and they are very sparse moments) Case is given room to vocally move, the set highlights come hard and fast, but unfortunately such moments only occur once or twice during the band’s 1 ½ hour set.
And so as we wander onto 6th Avenue, where the bogans meet the Texans, the clock has struck 3. It’s time not to reflect on the “unofficial SXSW Tuesday”, but what lies ahead. Wednesday. It’s only a few hours away…
d.

5pm update.

It's 5pm. The rain still hasn't subsided, but things are looking up. My adventure to the Austin Convention Centre was fruitful, yielding me a badge (think Willy Wonka's Golden Ticket, minus Gene Wilder then exchange chocolate for music and good times), a big ass - we'll call it a "Texas-size" - showbag with magazines, earplugs, condoms, and various other paraphenalia. Could use the earplugs.

With beer and back jams in progress, it's about time to hit the town. My accomplice Bunny Brown has arrived after a 40 hour bus ride from Vegas (more on that later) and there is need for a serious steak injection before Motorhead. Random Spaniards from the Greyhound station have recommended their compatriots Telephunken as a late-nite party fix, so it could prove a little wild.

Next report - post Gene Wild-ness.

Welcome to Austin

Rain. Sweet, sweet rain. As if a 16 hour day of trans-continental transit yesterday wasn't enough, we touched down at midnight to the Big Cheese upstairs letting go like he's been holding in a prostate for the last month. And today, Day Zero of South by Southwest 2010, seems like He's still letting loose. As if to rub salt into the wound, this is the day for exploring Austin - checking out the Convention Centre, sniffing out the venues, and hopefully finding a place to buy a cord to upload some photos (not that there's much to photograph for non-rain buffs).
Motorhead are on at Stubb's tonight - an unofficial SXSW gig but an absolute bitching way to start the week off. Lemmy is doing a presentation as part of the Conference, but seeing as attending that will be a waste of precious Band-Seeing Time, tonight is the one and only night for some facial hair metal.
Right. It's time to locate some sort of rain-cloaking device (most probably in the form of some garbage bags) and get in there. If I'm not swept away I shall return...
d.