I love movies. I used to watch them often. I vividly remember a time when I knew no joy greater than visiting a video store and scanning it's shelves for something new and interesting. I really started getting into film as an art form around the time I graduated high school and entered college. I wasn't anywhere near as social as I am today back then, so I spent a lot of time at home either digesting hours of new music, or watching hours of movies at a time. I remember going down film era wormholes in my early 20s; French New Wave, Italian Neo-Realism, Surrealism, Giallo, classic anime films—all part of my self-education in the world of film. I made a particular effort to focus on the music used in these films, with sonic palettes so impossibly diverse they could articulate even the most subtle nuances of a film's story or an actor's performance. In fact, these scores and soundtracks are largely responsible for cementing most of these films in my memories.
Today's show features music from a wide variety of genres, opening with the "Fantasia" theme from The Neverending Story, a true classic of the fantasy genre, and a key film from my childhood. Following "Fantasia", we air a section of the suite composed by Gerald Fried & Alexander Courage for "The Naked Time", a cherished episode from the first season of the original Star Trek series, in which an epidemic spreads throughout the Enterprise causing crew members to behave in wildly strange ways after coming into contact with a mysterious substance that was brought aboard the ship after a mission. I picked this episode in particular because, as I mention in the broadcast, I delayed the airing of last night's episode in order to go see George Takei speak at UTRGV in Brownsville, and his character on Star Trek, Hikaru Sulu, is responsible for one of the most memorable scenes in this episode—arguably the entire franchise—where he stomps around the ship holding a rapier, and challenging crew members to duels, under the impression that he is some sort of nefarious pirate. Takei even referenced this scene in his talk, though he assured the audience he had no plans to recreate it any time soon, especially on stage.
One of the selections on this broadcast that I'm most endeared to at the moment is the 5th track I played, "Tokyo-Ga" by the group Dick Tracy, which is comprised of Laurent Petitgand,Chico Rojo Ortega, and
Mèche Mamecier, for Wim Wenders documentary film of the same name. Wenders' film, which he considers a "visual diary", follows the filmmaker as he explores Tokyo, Japan in 1985 in search of the intimacy with which he was introduced to Japan through the works of one of the country's most celebrated filmmaker's, Yasujiro Ozu. I found this documentary on the Criterion release of Ozu's Late Spring, which I recently checked out from the McAllen Public Library. (I've been doing that more and more lately, so much so that I've even cancelled my Mubi subscription.) Anyway, the piece I play on the show is only a snippet of a longer 19-minute composition that squeaks and rumbles it's way throughout most of the film, an odd juxtaposition to the calm, sometimes cold and industrial, but ultimately harmonious imagery Wenders puts on film. It was this contrast in particular that made the music stand out to me, and inspired it's inclusion on tonight's show.
I've been spending a lot of time watching movies lately. I like it. I missed doing this. Watching movies gets me out of my head, which I think I need a little bit more of these days. The public library's recent aquisition of a Kanopy service will undoubtedly make this much easier to do, I think, which is good. Did I need to get out of my head back then too? I don't remember. Perhaps it's better that way.
BLASST 76 TRACKLIST 1. Gregorio y Maria - "El Corrido de Martin Luther King" 2. The Velvet Underground - "Jesus" 3. Death - "Where Do We Go From Here?" 4. Pleasure Venom - "Gunt" 5. Special Interest - "Service" 6. Divide & Dissolve - "Black Supremacy" 7. Moor Mother - "Parallel Nightmares" 8. Vagabon - "100 Years" 9. ONO - "I Dream of Sodomy" 10. Irreversible Entanglements - "Chicago To Texas" Apologies for this going up so late, that is very unprofessional of me. Essentially, I wanted to express my frustration with the way Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and his work is used and abused by people seeking to label the fight for racial equality as one that has been won. The White House's tweet framing MLK's murder as some sort of christ-like gift to society is insulting at the very least. This narrative erases the continued racial inequality that exists in this country, deeper than the state, but in people's hearts and minds. It's utter bullshit, and I became so frustrated that I found myself at a loss with a proper way to articulate this, while also breaking down the many different arms of the hydra-like beast of institutional racism. It's an endeavor that would have exhausted me, and at a silly price. I opted to focus on taking care of my brother and my parent's house this week instead, and before I knew it, a week had gone by. I apologize for this negligence, to y'all and to Dr. King, may he rest in peace.
In the spirit of MLK Day, I wanted to fill this show with some of the most interesting Black artists I've had the privilege of following or discovering in the past few years alone, save for the opening two tracks, which 1. features a corrido written about Dr. King and performed by musicians from the Rio Grande Valley, and 2. features a song I had on my mind literally all day while the aforementioned frustration festered. It helped me calm down like it always does. -A E-Mail Instagram Twitter
NOTES This was a very fun interview to do, Samantha is a good friend, and we have many things in common: our sense of humor, our taste in music, and our inexplicable interest in design. All of this and more makes it's way into this conversation, among many other accordioned talking points. We touch on her upbringing in North Vernon, Indiana, a considerably more remote town relative to it's surroundings compared to McAllen, where I live, and the many different waves Samantha took to get to where she is today, ripping through the soundwaves with her band Crooked Bangs, changing the face of poster design as the in-house designer for famed Austin venue for punk rock and all of the above, Beerland, and all on her terms. I admire her work, her work ethic, and her musicianship all a great deal. It was an immense privilege to have her as a guest on the program. The artwork for the show (seen above, as discussed during the interview) is now hung up on my wall (as promised) and will remain there for the foreseeable future. Horse Pony Forever. Thanks for listening, rate and review us on Apple Podcasts (and subscribe, of course) or wherever else you listen to podcasts. Follow us on instagram, twitter, etc. We don't really update our Facebook page, so don't worry too much about that. Links below:
I never had the chance to attend Chaos In Tejas, but I've heard many of the stories from friends. Epic performances from long-since-worshipped bands alongside boiling upstarts and left-of-punk-center greatness. If you too are worth your weight in this nostalgia, I highly recommend you focus your cerebral abilities on Austin’s premiere gathering of punks from across the continent and world, the festival This Is Austin, Not That Great.
Now in its third year, if it were a human this would normally be the point in time that the festival begins to lose its formative memories to make way for new ones. Thankfully, it is just a normal non-sentient music festival made up instead of hundreds of different minds whose memory banks will (hopefully) retain every last fired neuron that this festival had to offer. I add "hopefully" because I am positive that a sizeable portion of those in attendance are now worth their weight in alcohol and other substances as well, if not nursing the unrelenting beast of a hangover these past two days.
The festival's lineup was divided between four days: Thursday January 3rd, Friday January 4th, Saturday January 5th, and Sunday January 6th, with Day shows dispersed Friday to Sunday in the late afternoon at Beerland, followed by main/night shows at Barracuda and after parties/shows Friday and Saturday at the relatively new warehouse space on the block (way the fuck out in east Austin) 523 Thompson. The opening of the festival took place on Thursday at Barracuda, and featured headlining trap and hip-hop from La Goony Chonga of Miami as well as both The Teeta and Ladi Earth of Austin following local openers Mujeres Podridas, local punk shredmaster-cum-MC Vamps, and DJ sets by La Driouxsie & Yung Mijita.
Crooked Bangs @ Barracuda
I left McAllen pretty late, so I wasn't able to catch most of the opening show, but I did get to see Crooked Bangs give poor unsuspecting Free Week-ers the punk rock pummel of their lifetime. The periodic jumbling of my insides stirred up many wonderful memories of being a young musician seeing them for the first time back in 2012. After their set, I walked on over to fellow Red River mainstay Beerland to catch Super Thief and Leche, two Austin groups with as much potential as they have energy. Upon arrival I'm informed by my buddy Cody of ST that there is another band on the bill worth checking out: a Houston quartet by the name of Ruiners, who were embarking upon a brief tour of the state and beyond. Needless to say, I was floored; the band polishes elements of punk's darker, more angular edge with brilliant melodic language—the kind of grim and grumbly ambience that lends itself well to thumpy, well-coordinated drumbeats, which Joey Mains delivers in spades.
After their set, I made a stop to the Beerland bathroom where I found quite possibly the most Austin thing I've ever seen plastered among the graffiti covered wall. Note: it's NSFW:
This is what I think of when I think of Austin now.
Leche @ Beerland
Moving right along, after Ruiners I caught sets from the Butthole Surfers' long-lost illegitimate children Leche (who I've been trying to see ever since I first heard them on the Dillomilk 2 compilation, released back in 2016) and Super Thief, a band that reaches new heights of noise and performance discipline every single time I've seen them. Neither's performance disappointed in the slightest, and if you have the coin, I recommend you pick up their latest releases, Trickle Down My Ass and Eating Alone In My Car respectively, as soon as possible.
Super Thief @ Beerland
And so ended my Thursday, as I retired to a comfortable couch in my lovely friends' home where I slept next to this,
Taxidermied? Squirrel-In-A-Jar Lamp
and possibly with this.
Black House Spider
So with my triggered aracnophobia in tow, I make my way to Beerland for Friday's day show. I'm thankful of the ease of parking at such an early hour, and reach their infamous gated patio in no time at all. As expected, the patio was overflowing with punks rocking the typical leather jackets, chains, and studs, all while surrounded by an invisible plume of cigarette smoke and taking in the pleasant high 60s of what is otherwise a very sunny day. I don't know any of the assumed fest-attendees, but they seem to know each other well, so I keep to myself for the most part. Eventually, I see some familiar faces and engage in my own cycles of spirited conversation. With a screech of guitar feedback and a half-assed drum fill piercing the air, I make my way inside to watch my first band of the festival, the fast and chaotic punk trio, Boofin Tylenol. Another in a long list of bands featuring members of what has quickly become one of my new favorite bands, Chronophage, BT pack a messy punch—a punkle sandwich, if you will—which I am thankful to receive. Following Boofin Tylenol, I caught sets by Hologram and Pink Thing, both of which were great.
Boofin Tylenol @ Beerland
Between the day show and the main show, I decided to pay a visit to my favorite ramen spot in the downtown area, Daruma Ramen.
I ordered my usual, the Shoyu ramen, with some naruto, an extra ajitama and some croquettes (not pictured).
Friday's main show opened with a set from Stagger, which I don't remember very well. That's probably because the following Ninth Circle performance effectively blew my mind. The blackened hardcore quintet have been on my radar for some time but this was the first time I was able to see them live, and to this moment I'm still haunted by their monstrous sound.
Ninth Circle @ Barracuda
Smut @ Barracuda
Following Ninth Circle, I caught a bit of LA's Smut but couldn't make it back into the central crowd space, it was so packed. Nonetheless, their set smoked, and I got some interesting looking photos through this side-stage foliage. I've found that if you shoot in bursts, your iPhone can really make up for it's lack of quality images in low-light settings such as live shows, so I mostly do that from now on. Every now and then, you also catch the flash from a photographer in the crowd and that helps illuminate the band nicely.
Hidden Ritual @ Barracuda
I cut my view of Smut's performance short to walk back inside Barracuda to catch a set by what is easily one of my favorite bands in Austin, Hidden Ritual. Their subtle, hypnotic psych rock never ceases to amaze. My visit to Free Week land was not over for the night, however, as after HR's set I made my way back to Beerland to catch a set by Chronophage.
Burnt Skull @ Beerland
What I found instead was a mid-set Burnt Skull instead, apparently the bands had switched set times to adhere to scheduling conflicts (Parker from Chrono also plays in Altar Duata, the band that immediately followed Smut at TIANTG, and I unfortunately missed). Burnt Skull is one of those bands whose name alone invokes vivid, devastating imagery. I hadn't heard them before, despite knowing of them for some time through Austin label 12XU's fine PR work supporting their roster, and I gotta say, the sound fits the name. Nightmarish soundscapes awash in detuned Silvertone chords (the kind of metallic guitar sound that reminds one of steel pipes being panged together in an abandoned warehouse, my favorite) and blasts of programmed drums underlining the live beatings in accompaniment. Burnt Skull delivers a fine cocktail of terror, if you ask me!
Chronophage @ Beerland
Like a light out of the darkness, Chronophage's set painted the venue in a wash of color and hope with their jangly punk rock tunes. I hate that pop-punk has already been attached to so many other pieces of garbage music in this world. In reality, I think of Chronophage as a pop punk band. Their music evokes the edge and nuance (and performative vitality) of punk music, while also walking the fine line between dissonant chord changes and straight up rock n' roll yearning now well baked into pop music. This band could be god in any era of rock music of the past 60 years, so I feel quite thankful that they're around in ours.
Nueva Fuerza @ Barracuda
By the time I returned to Barracuda, I had missed several groups I'd wanted to see, Altar Duata, Khiss, and Criaturas. Lamenting this, I begrudgingly stepped up to watch the next band, Nueva Fuerza from Barcelona, Spain. They have all the musical makings of a great hardcore band with clear metal influences, but I had trouble taking their vocalist seriously. Perhaps I kept getting thrown off by his 'movida-esque' prep-school attire or his countless "jerk-off" hand gestures between pointed-nose snarls at imaginary people in the audience. The crowd seemed to like them just fine, and like I said, musically, they're prety solid. Their tape, Hitos y Derotas, is a jammer, but I just couldn't get past those moves.
The first night closed off with a performance by LA's The Dark, whose metal-coated hardcore onslaught absolutely brought the house down. Would later learn that the monster behind the kit would in fact also be drumming for Tozcos the following night. Leaving the venue that night, my friends and I tried to reach the after party where Green Jag, Sex Pill, Army, and Enemy One would be playing, but 523 Thompson proved to be a bit small of a venue, and most of the audience stood outside in the 30 degree weather, huddling for warmth (and bumps) like a winter episode of Punk Rock Parking Lot. Needless to say, we didn't stick around for long.
Lassie @ Beerland
Day 2 (Saturday) began with another visit to Beerland for a day show. More punks and cigarettes and a story about how someone got doxxed by the Stick Men With Ray Guns for bootlegging a shirt of theirs on Instagram or something. Honestly, I didn't know those guys even knew how to use computers. The first band of the day was New Orleans' Lassie, featuring Alli Logout (queer filmmaker extraordinaire, DJ, and Special Interest vocalist) on vocal duties.
Lassie vocalist Alli Logout
A breath of fresh air in the monotonous hardcore cloud (almost as suffocating as all the cigarette smoke on Beerland's patio, honestly), New Orleans' Lassie brought a ferociously fractured noise punk groove to TIANTG's second day show. I had never heard them before, but Alli has been an internet acquaintance for some time, and I have followed almost all of their exploits since leaving Texas with great interest, as they have all been equally inspiring and amazing. Lassie is no different, with dissonant guitars and a water-tight rhythm section anchoring Alli's snarling indictment of the world at large (and at hand). With vocal duties involving yelling "IT WAS A WHITE MAN" repeatedly at a sea of bobbing white heads (no doubt somewhat lowered in shame), Lassie was punishing and revitalizing in more ways than one. I actually featured this particular song, "Fresh Hell" on this week's episode!
Following Lassie was a group I had such a difficult time googling, I'm pretty sure I triggered a red flag somewhere in the security measures set up by my employer to ensure that their Internet is being used for purely work-related purposes. The band is called Penis Boys, and their music is nowhere near as difficult to digest, they're a solid hardcore group with a couple familiar faces: Tay from TAZ and Twisted Thing on guitar and Cody from Hologram and Chronophage on bass. I'd later meet their drummer Dylan at Beerland's bar and exchange a few polite words, completely unaware of the fact that he would break his clavicle later that evening taking a mean stage dive straight into the ground during what I *think* was Rashōmon's set, though I'm willing to bet that he also had no idea this would happen at the time.
Cupid @ Barracuda
After Penis Boys, the next band that caught my ear were Houston's Cupid. They sounded a little more fresh on the scene than other groups, but they showed a lot of promise. After touring the state with fellow Houston punkers Vivenne Styg last year, it appears as if they're rightfully making a name for themselves. Highly recommend.
Program @ Beerland
After Cupid, I stuck around to catch the hometown homies in Program as they delivered their d-beat madness to TIANTG day show-ers. Sometimes this took the form of Enok literally delivering his microphone (in all it's dented glory) straight into some unsuspecting front row-er's head, not that they minded, of course. Program is easily one of the best bands the Rio Grande Valley has to offer, spanning several generations of RGV punk legends, and their upcoming LP is going to crush so hard, people won't know what hit them. I hope you picked up the flexi 7" they had at the fest, if you didn't, you're missing out. (not to mention I took the photos for the insert, so I might be a tad biased from a design perspective).
The author scrolling past the inevitable stream of artists posting thirst-traps (and probably hitting 'like' the second they're out of strangers' view, you know, for validation and all that good stuff). Photo taken by Angela Betancourt aka La Colombiana.
I'd like to take a moment to talk about something that concerned me between Saturday's day show and main show. After the day show ended, my buddy and I remember we're hungry, and decide to take a walk to change into bigger, more effective jackets, and find something to eat as the night grew colder. On that walk, we encountered many members of the growing homeless population that has been occupying not just the 'Red River Cultural District' but most of Austin's downtown area for the past few years. This has always been commonplace to some degree, considering that the ARCH (Austin Resource Center for the Homeless) is on 7th and Neches right on the outskirts of this part of town, and is always full, leaving many people to occupy the streets surrounding it, presumably waiting for their turn, whenever it decides to come. Every show I've been to downtown has involved meeting a few of these folks, and though I can't speak for the experiences of other people, not a single one of these encounters has ever made me feel unsafe, just guilty. Guilty for having the privilege to not have to live on the streets, guilty for having the privilege of a vehicle that can get me from A to B, a family that I can look to for support (even if it's just moral, it makes a difference), guilty for everything that I have that these people do not have. I didn't put them in their respective positions, but I still somehow feel responsible for contributing to the world that keeps them there by attending shows in Austin and after giving a few bucks to the first few people I see, deciding to pinch my pennies and decline the few that follow. It's not that I don't want to help them, I simply can't most of the time just so I can have money to make it back home. And yet, even that feels selfish to some degree. One couple, sitting outside a building on Red River on our way back from the car, opened their conversation with us by asking if we were racist, before extending their hands to shake ours. I'd later discover that most of the homeless folks in the downtown area began their conversations with a handshake, making moments in which I had to deny them help feel especially worse. It betrays my humanitarian sensibilities to deny people a simple handshake simply because I know that it's not a simple handshake but a deeper appeal to my sympathies. Worse more, I saw a majority of the punks attending the festival completely ignore the homeless that approached them entirely. I don't know their stories nor their experiences with homelessness themselves, if any, but something about the overwhelming percentage of punks doing this being white and 99% of the homeless people they were ignoring being black made it feel all the more frustrating. At one moment, while my friend and I were about to pass by a group of New York punks in front of a shawarma truck, we walked past a homeless man who had extended his hand and a friendly smile to us, following several other similar interactions, and I didn't even pull my hands out of my jacket, opting instead to smile politely and nod as we kept moving. As I turned back to the direction we were going, I locked eyes with one of the punks, who had noticed this interaction, and I wondered what they thought of me. Had they judged me like I had judged so many other punks that weekend? Was I a heartless piece of shit in their eyes? They didn't know my situation, nor that my friend and I had already given money to other people that night, so for all I know they could have. I don't think I'll ever forget that look as long as I live.
I wish that there were more effective welfare programs to help these people, house them, employ them, and provide them with the psychiatric and medical support they need, but there aren't. The City of Austin hasn't put money into that, opting instead to fund the next 20-story foot in their economic grave. While the City continues to attract people with money who wish to thrive in their perceived tech boom, many of these people living on their streets are struggling to stay alive. I haven't seen as many reports of it lately, but for a while there appeared to be a devastating wave of K2 overdoses occuring in the RRCD (Red River Cultural District) last year, to little alarm by the media nor the local government. The City of Austin just doesn't care. They'll need to eventually though, as the homeless population continues to grow, and with the eventual housing crash to come, they'll need to have some kind of welfare plan in place, lest they wish to let their treasured cash cow rust over into just another metropolitan wasteland. Anyway, back to the fest coverage.
Choir Cherry @ Barracuda
Saturday's main show was once again awash in leather, hairspray, steel studs, and cigarette smoke. Openers Choir Cherry (feat. members of Hologram, Boofin Tylenol and Chonophage) set the pace for the night with some finely crafted chaotic punk rock. The next band I saw after running into some familiar faces from San Antonio's punk scene near the bar was Washington DC's Asesinato. Not a particularly remarkable band to me, but one that a lot of people really seemed to like. I've been told that they're not very approachable, but I didn't find this to be the case. I don't really know what people look for in a punk band. Is it a similarity to older acts that established punk trends? Is it a fresh sound/performance style/blend of other influences that take their punk to another unexpected direction? A lot of the bands on the bill sounded the same, and even performed the same way, ripping solos at the same time, slamming drum fills on the same queues, pulling from the blues book of chord progressions, with the occasional variant progression to add that off-kilter sound. It was honestly kind of boring, up until this next band took the stage.
Judy and the Jerks @ Barracuda
They're called Judy and the Jerks, and their punk rock storm originates in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Members of Baghead and Big Bleach chopped into shape by their fearless leader, the eponymous Judy, who sings about all sorts of fantastical scenarios in bitingly witty ways and with a performative flair becoming of a group designed to send a pretty straight forward musical message. This band is a rapid and Judy's steering the boat with ease.
DRUJ @ Barracuda
The next band I saw I knew little to nothing about, other than Ross Adams (curator of the now-defunct [or so he says] Everything Is Not OK punk festival in Oklahoma City) plays bass in it. Honestly, this band was so crushingly tight, their hardcore bordering on metal made perfect sense in every way. Led by the terrifying growls of vocalist آزيتا
(which Google translates to "Azita"), the band had a massive presence at the festival, with Azita being the only vocalist of the night to jump off the stage and stand face to face with the pit as they slammed around her wide-eyed scowl. Before I had even fully comprehended their performance, it was over. Definitely will aim to see this group again.
Strutter @ Barracuda
Following DRUJ's turbulent offering was fest organizer Juan Carlos' own band, the long sought-after Texas punk supergroup, Strutter. Featuring members of Impalers, Glue, Vaaska, and many more, Strutter may as well have blown out the PA and torched the place for all the chaos that ensued from their performance. It had been a long time since the band had played a show, and Austin (as well as the many people who came from elsewhere) were beyond happy to see them. Closing out their set with a cover of Agent Orange (the Swedish one)'s "Kill The Police", Juan Carlos brought out a cop car piñata mid-fit which was promptly shredded to bits by the audience as they all chanted "Kill The Police" at the top of their lungs. It was a sight to see, to be honest.
Perverts Again @ Barracuda
The following performance was one that caught many people's attention. Cleveland, Ohio's Perverts Again are a band that many people want to say is inspired by Devo but honestly doesn't have that much in common with them when you consider how long of a tail Devo has left on music. They could easily be inspired by any of the other million mechanical rock bands with stern (but often tongue-in-cheek) vocal delivery that have "Freedom of Choice" or "Through Being Cool" tattooed ever-so-delicately on their necks. Nonetheless, Perverts Again were clearly a band that stood on their own feet and contexts at TIANTG, not once jumping into the resident tupa-tupa beats that are en vogue right now, and thriving instead on something that I don't think any of the other bands on the lineup used consciously: tension. The breaks in their songs and their stuttered timing added a lot of tension to their performance, and their witty lyrics—coupled with that tension—made for a rather humorous outlet for all of the pent up tension and energy their set established. It's a really smart pairing, if we're going to compare the band to a machine, they're well-oiled, and efficient. I liked them a lot. I can also really empathize with "I Don't Want A Phone", in particular. That track made it to this week's episode as well.
We're getting into the biggest sets of Saturday night now. Forget Strutter, their set pales in comparison to the night's two closing acts. First of all, Rashōmon had never played Texas up until this point, and their tapes have quickly become the stuff of legend due to their sparse touring (whether or not punks have tokenized them because vocalist Kohei Urakami is Japanese and has clear influence from classic Japanese hardcore is up for discussion at another time).
Rashomon @ Barracuda
Due to this breadcrumb trail the band has left upon many of it's underserved markets, including Texas, the crowd erupted the second they hit the stage and didn't stop erupting until they had finished. Rashōmon's unique quality lies in how they manage to fill every single corner of the room with their sonic assault, and still make room for Kohei to scream static into the mic while otherwise handling the stage with a cool, collected demeanor that belies the boiling energy within.
Tozcos @ Barracuda
Once again, please forgive my unconventional photography. While the images may not be clear, understand that in many ways, the events they represent were almost as much of a blur. Santa Ana's Tozcos are one of those bands that I've heard about a lot among my friends, they've even played the RGV before, on a night when I was unable to attend (how inconvenient) and yet, I have for whatever reason never placed them on my own personal radar. I have no good reason for this other than I made the assumption (albeit incorrectly) that they sounded like every other hardcore band out there. Being exposed to punk in the RGV, bands singing in Spanish was not new to me, it was quite commonplace. Eskorbuto t-shirts are common, and Los Crudos are household names. It didn't help that a lot of the touring acts that locals played with either all sounded the same, or played into the same cornball machista culture which I detest to this day (Ratas Del Vaticano being a stark exception to this, they are all exceptional human beings).
I recognize that it's my fault entirely for making that poor assumption, and I was happily set straight Saturday night, as Tozcos effectively tore the place apart, my soul included. A tighter, more brutalizing punk outfit the fest would be hard-pressed to find (at least in the two full days I was able to attend). Monse's vocal delivery was full of urgency and contempt, and not to mention cut through the noise like a knife through butter (and that's because I HATED the sound engineering at that venue so much), and drummer Corrina's complete domination of the kit send the band soaring through their songs faster than I could process them. It was truly a mesmerizing performance, complete with bodies flying, twirling, and flipping offstage into the sea of bobbing heads and posi-jumps.
Temple of Angels @ 523 Thompson
Following Saturday's main show, I grabbed a piece of pizza with my friend and made my way to 523 Thompson, alone this time, to try and make my way into the tiny warehouse from which I was barred the night before. This evening, the turnout is less interested in being indoors, and I'm able to make my way in. I enter a dark room, filled with people, the temperature of the room slowly rising from all of the collective body heat and making my extra layers feel slightly uncomfortable. Temple of Angels was setting up, and I knew nobody in the room within speaking distance, so I kept to myself, and tried to forget how tired I was. It was almost 2am, and after spending a day on my feet, the last thing I want to do is stand—I sit corrected, the last thing I wanted to do at that moment was flake on Temple of Angels, a band so captivating I hear their music in my dreams...as well as my nightmares. That's what makes TOA so intense, their music is dreamy and awash with smoke and flower petals, but the flowers are roses and roses have thorns and thorns draw blood and blood stains your clothes forever. That's what a TOA set is like, equal parts pain and pleasure, light and dark, good and evil...and it's addicting, intoxicating even. I was exhausted and badly wanted to get off of my feet, and yet I couldn't bring myself to leave for fear of missing out on the ethereal madness the band would proceed to emanate for the next 30 or so minutes. Of course, the second the set was over, I said my goodbyes and made my way back to the couch I had called home for the past two days...including the spider I would find in the morning.
Daydream @ Beerland
Sunday morning, I had planned to wake up early, stop by a couple of record stores and sell off a bunch of records no one else would buy for whatever money they would be willing to give me to help offset some bills and costs this month. I did all of that, but much later in the day, as I tend to enjoy my beauty rest when I can get it. This resulted in the shops' evaluation of my collections to take a lot longer than I anticipated, leaving me with some time to kill. I figured, "why not go to the last Day show?" So, once again, into the cloud of cigarette smoke and BO I go, within which Beerland was hosting another lineup of punk bands, none of which I was especially familiar with at the time, nor expecting to be impressed by. As we should know by now, I'm wrong quite often. Portland, Oregon's Daydream were just as unexpected as they were magnificent. I caught ear of them while walking inside Beerland to get some water, and didn't move from that spot until they had finished. Everything from their guitar work to the characteristics of their noise and melodic nuance drew me in. It all felt so unpunk, in a way that transcended punk, less concerned with style, putting feeling and musicality over instead. I couldn't buy their tape because I was broke (hence the selling of my records), but I spoke with their drummer Ian about coming to play in McAllen the next time they go on tour. I hope they decide to do so.
TAZ @ Beerland
The last band of my weekend, New York's T.A.Z., left a heavy impression on me. Also not a band for want of tradition, they took what we could consider punk "rules" and broke them to pieces, forging statements rather than songs. This band's performance left me with thought processes, like a riveting science fiction novel, more unanswered questions and bewilderment, mystery! Tay of Penis Boys and Twisted Thing on vocals here, at the center of this sonic vortex, leading the way through the murky depths of their set, equal parts guide and ghost of future's past. Before ending their set with a cover in memory of a friend named Parker whom they lost recently, the band played a song whose lyrics have stuck with me since. The song has no official name, the tape it's out on does not contain a track list, so I refer to it in the episode tracklist above as "Reality Shapes Consciousness" because that's what Tay kept repeating and reversing. "Reality shapes consciousness, consciousness shapes reality, reality shapes consciousness, consciousness shapes reality" and I can't help but ponder our day and age, and how it could possibly relate to this mantra. Our perspective of the world is the world to us, and if given the power to shape it, we can make our perspective a reality.
Take our president for example: at the moment, he's holding the government hostage in the hopes that he can cash a $5 billion ransom note to build a wall between the United States and Mexico, doing everything in his power to make his perspective a reality (even if I don't actually think he gives a shit about people coming through the country, he's trying to solidify his voter base by appealing to their xenophobia). But this grand idiotic gesture of his will bring real pain to the area in which I live. It will destroy our countless ecosystems, harm our wildlife, harm our economy, and destroy the lives of millions of people who live here.
TAZ @ Beerland
Now, I don't mean to say that TAZ's song is talking about this, I believe that their song is speaking to the more hopeful side of this mechanism. That is, the positive way our reality can shape our consciousness and vice-versa, for good instead of evil, by demonstrating how fine a line we have to walk to navigate that decision, how it isn't more of an uphill battle than we are comfortable acknowledging. Their set made such an impression on me. I hope to see them again soon. Shortly after they finished, I took off to pick up whatever money I was offered for my records and made my way home.
I thoroughly enjoyed my time at This Is Austin, Not That Great, and consider myself fortunate to have seen so many great bands there as well as on the few Free Week shows I was able to attend. At the very least, the more time I spend observing how others view punk, the more I am able to sharpen my own point of view, whether by concurrence or contrast. These experiences are valuable for what they teach, either in words, or in experiences. I can't wait for next year's fest, and highly recommend you attend.
