Due to a myriad of situations beyond our earthly control, we Eds. of Pinpoint Music will be unable to attend this year’s SXSW and that sucks because there’s so much to see, to hear, to eat and drink and flirt half-blind and three-quarters naked with over a swirling boil of Manchaga Stew. Those are the breaks, it seems, sometimes and though we are all a little devastated in our own quiet ire and childish rage, we still wanted to take a moment to clue you in on some of the bands, acts and actionists set to liberate the Lone Star State this week and maybe, just maybe, go on to shake the musical landscape down from Swifts and Wests back to the basement where life is cheap as free and totally worth living. This is a legitimate and kinda arbitrary shortlist. Here’s hoping for new epics next year. Rockit.
Avid Dancer – There’s something oddly enthralling about the man that is Avid Dancer. I believe his name is Jacob. He strikes me as the stoic sire of M. Gira’s slate suit empire, cutting free from the shackles of percussive pedagogy with a map-splitting crack at pop and also country and then there’s the psych tinge of loner rock. Good shit, I think. Like that Footloose town after Bacon left the kids to teen pregnancies and Dick Clark.
Beech Creeps – Rock out with your nuts out but keep your dick loose and limp as Ms. Dickens. That’s a terrible introduction but I bet it pleases Hazelmyer.
B L A C K I E…All Caps, With Spaces – B L A C K I E is loud and terrifying and as raw a directive of pure human truth as has ever been committed to wax and his performances are spare actions of total fucking liberation. Seeing him will change you. Hell, it might even end you but if you have any taste for the living condition as presented in naked sonic agitations, you’d be an idiot to miss him.
The Blind Shake – I never thought that I’d say this, but this band is WAY better without Swami. I mean, shit…these Minnesota mofos are NASTY!
Bully – Girls to the front, motherfucker.
CHRISTEENE – (Ed. Note: Charles isn’t allowed to talk about CHRISTEENE anymore so here’s a video that’s a punch of puppy pics set to Roy Orbison)
Courtney Barnett – No fucking around. This Aussie rent freak is burning out the best jams in Jamestown.
Destruction Unit – Best (and loudest) goddamn live band on the planet. Total psychic warfare. All the guitars. AZ death trips. Hallelujahs.
DTCV – I’m still working out just what I think of this band. They are a boy/girl (man/woman, actually) duo that flirts with all the recesses of rock and roll from shoegaze to spy pop to white blues to sand-banged ballads to, well pretty much anything you could pick out from the late, illustrious International Pop Underground Convention (except, maybe, Seaweed) so, of course, I’m totally crushing.
Ed Schrader’s Music Beat – Afterparty domination laissez beatnik half-freaks play the solid gold mellow until the rats come home and then it’s Crispin Glover all up in this motherfucker.
July Talk – Let’s play it dirty and rude and cool as a cucumber misplaced at Spring Break to a green-haired maven in training except a little blues and a whole lot up with lost lovers and then maybe, just maybe I can find my escape chapter empty save the long scent of Aphrodite crushing Mars into melee and glass-chewed proof.
Kali Uchis – Colombian polymath from VA, I believe swinging the new bombshell honeypot bad girl por vida. I guess it’s pop, yeah? Slow dance jams and harmonies all up with soul empowerment and, honestly, this isn’t so much for me as it is soon to be for everybody.
Monk Parker – Local devastation played out as big band or the simple strums of a six-gun lifted off the forgotten breeze. This isn’t feel bad music so much as feel now music and if it doesn’t grace your heart then you haven’t done your duty as a living, breathing being.
The Mystery Lights – Dirt-dragged dogged rock and motherfucking roll. NYC is rotten again.
On An On – Nothing this band does will ever be as good as “The Hunter” (particularly when you take the video into consideration) but…I mean…duh, right? That song is fucking AMAZING! Still and all, this band does have some serious chops to toss around and they do just as well with a new sense of grandiose mourning as they did with the human torch.
Rat Fist – Pissed Jeans + No Age = Total fucklessness. Get hip to the dinge, kids or don’t…we’re all dead eventually.
Terry Malts – Sometimes, it doesn’t need to be good. It just needs to get done. Other times, all it needs it some cough syrup and ephedrine to make it the punk, chunk and spitball we all deserve in our Rick Rolling fun, fun, fun until the gay martians land us home.
The Ukiah Drag – This band released one of my favorite records from last year, In the Reaper’s Quarters, which was just such a delightfully drab spasm of skin-crawling freakouts and glue-faced punk palpitations that I was SHOCKED to learn it was not recorded on the largesse of biker meth profits in the desert by a church fire fanned by eyeless orphans.