SXSW REPORTS

MAGNET’s Mitch Myers files his eighth round of notes from SXSW.

SXSW Saturday started out slow for me, but I managed to get down to the Austin Convention Center for a panel devoted to the life of late pianist Nicky Hopkins. Moderated by writer Dave Marsh, the panel was inspired by Julian Dawson’s new book, And On Piano…Nicky Hopkins, which documents Hopkins’ amazing career playing on prime recordings with the likes of the Beatles, Rolling Stones,Kinks, Who, Jeff Beck Group, Quicksilver Messenger Service and many, many other top-notch musical artists of the ’60s and ’70s.

It is a fascinating résumé, and the Hopkins panel included two world-class pianists, Ian McLagan and Chuck Leavell. The high point came at the end, when Dawson and Leavell performed a moving version of the song “No Expectations.” Leavell, who played with the Stones after Hopkins, brought great sensitivity to the performance and emulated Hopkins’ playing on the original recording to great effect.

With a retro mindset, I followed my muse into the Austin Music Hall to see forgotten Texas rock group Bubble Puppy. Bubble Puppy, who moved from San Antonio to Austin in 1967, can be considered psychedelic peers of Roky Erickson’s 13th Floor Elevators and Billy (ZZ Top) Gibbons’ Moving Sidewalks. The group, reformed for this one performance, opened with an absolutely crazed version of “Beginning,” then played its infamous “hit” tune, “Hot Smoke And Sassafras.” It was killer Texas psychedelia and even featured an extended drum solo. After that, the reconstituted Meat Puppets took the stage to play with Erickson himself. Their very brief set included “You’re Gonna Miss Me” and “Starry Eyes,” but it was over in a flash.

After that, I had just one more mission and trekked across town to catch guitarist Dennis Coffey backed by the Adrian Younge Sound Orchestra. Coffey is an old-school Detroit session man who played guitar on funky Motown tunes like “Psychedelic Shack” by the Temptations. He had his own classic, million-selling instrumental track in 1971 called “Scorpio,” which has been sampled dozens of times since. Coffey also has a solid new album coming out in April, and his funky SXSW performance was totally off the hook, featuring killer versions of Wilson Pickett’s “Don’t Knock My Love” and Funkadelic’s “I Bet You” as well as the inevitable “Scorpio.” It was basically nonstop scorching guitar for about 45 minutes—and the hottest performance that I experienced all week.

And that’s the kind of thing that I personally like about going to SXSW.

MAGNET’s Mitch Myers files his sixth round of notes from SXSW.

SXSW is reigning down with full force now. The crowds are massive, and the density of party action is almost beyond reason. So, what else is there to do in Texas but celebrate New Orleans-style? Director Danny Clinch ensured a little bit of the French Quarter was delivered to Austin on Thursday with the screening of his new documentary film Live At Preservation Hall: Louisiana Fairytale. Clinch’s movie focuses on New Orleans jazz traditions, specifically the guys in the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, who have been playing music at 726 St. Peter Street in the French Quarter since the early ’60s.

Part of the New Orleans jazz tradition is to collaborate while moving forward; in this case, it meant the Preservation Hall group joined forces with Jim James and his band, My Morning Jacket. This pairing isn’t as unlikely as it first sounds, and Clinch did an expert job capturing the meeting of the two ensembles and their exciting, intimate performance down on St Peter Street. We also learn the history of the Preservation Hall and its members, gain insights into their musical lifestyle and watch the visiting members of My Morning Jacket absorb some of their enchantment.

To set the tone just before the film’s screening, Clinch wisely summoned the spirit of New Orleans down in Austin as the Preservation Hall Jazz Band suddenly appeared and circled the street in front of the Paramount Theater, playing a moving, grooving second-line parade for the waiting moviegoers and passers-by. The parade then continued inside the theater, which led to a dynamic performance of “St James Infirmary,” with a suit-clad James singing and moaning and throwing himself up against the theater seats and along the front of the stage. It’s clear that the musicians from the two groups had a great deal of respect for one another, and this movie is more of a celebration of the summit than anything else. Photographer Clinch is certainly growing as a director—he’s made concert films showcasing bands like Pearl Jam and John Mayer—and this might be his best yet.

After watching Louisiana Fairytale, there wasn’t anything else to do that made sense except go see live music, so I did. North Mississippi Allstars played a semi-private gig at the indoor room at Stubb’s, and it was burning. Guitarist Luther Dickinson, drummer/brother Cody Dickinson and big, bad bassist Chris Chew played an uncompromising set of retro-styled psychedelic blues rock to a dancing crowd of revelers. Luther, fresh from his stint in the now-retired Black Crowes, put on an exhibition—picking leads, blazing on his slide guitar and leaning hard on the distortion pedals. Luther also mentioned something to the effect of, “Screw those SXSW showcases,” and the band played an authentic 70-minute set instead of the standard 40-minute time slot. Luther even invited G. Love to get up and perform “Mean Old World” with the band. The amazing gig was over by 7:15, and the SXSW night was only beginning.

MAGNET’s Mitch Myers files his fourth round of notes from SXSW.

The new Thomas McCarthy film, Win Win, opens in theaters this weekend. Not only that, you can already download the thing directly from the Internet. SXSW often shows mainstream movies as part of its programming, and this film will definitely have that wide appeal. This is due especially to the presence of actor Paul Giamatti, who consciously underplays his role as a hardworking family guy having trouble making ends meet who makes a morally ambiguous choice in effort to pay the bills.

This is a subtle film, where attorney Mike Flaherty (Giamatti), takes over the guardianship of an elderly client for the money and ends up dealing with a lot more than he bargained for. He’s also a wrestling coach for a losing high-school team, and when his client’s wayward grandson Kyle (first-time actor Alex Shaffer) shows up and happens to be a wrestling whiz, it looks like this is going to be The Blind Side all the way. It isn’t a sports story of winning in the traditional sense—rather it’s a tale of trust, honesty and love emerging as the true motivators in life.

Jeffrey Tambor and Bobby Cannavale provide some comic relief as Flaherty’s assistant coaches, and Shaffer is remarkably low key in his role as the neglected teen. Amy Ryan brings much-needed intensity to the film as Mike’s New Jersey wife with a strong sense of right and wrong, but this is a slow-moving film that unfolds gradually until the final resolution. So don’t be fooled by the trailers with Giamatti shouting encouragement to his protégé on the wrestling mat. This is about people learning to live together—and also how to live with yourself.

More to my own liking was Werner Herzog’s new documentary, Cave Of Forgotten Dreams. A mesmerizing 3D film where Herzog and his four-person crew take us into the Chauvet caves in France, where there are cave paintings made by early man approximately 35,000 years ago. A rockslide enclosed this area about 20,000 years ago, and the insides were hermetically sealed, preserving the amazing contents so they look like they were created just last week. The interesting thing is that the more one examines the fascinating cave drawings and their vast implications, the more unbelievable it is.

The ancient artist responsible for these drawings of lions, mammoths, rhinoceros and bison had an amazing aesthetic, providing a sense of movement and depth with a sophistication that is hard to fathom. By interviewing archeologists and other people of science, Herzog helps us imagine what possible circumstance would have led to such an artistic gesture so long ago. We’re even given a sense of the caveman, how tall he was and the type of environmental experience he was trying to evoke. Herzog himself is obviously quite inspired and waxes philosophically as to the nature of ancient man and existence in the world at that time.

Cave Of Forgotten Dreams is educational and inspirational, and it has a meditative film score that accentuates the mystical nature of Herzog’s private tour. The epilogue features some “radioactive albino crocodiles” living in a nearby greenhouse next to a nuclear reactor, making his cinematic sojourn even more surreal. You don’t have to be a history buff to enjoy this, and the pristine cinematography is a trip unto itself. So strap on the 3D glasses and head back in time with Werner Herzog, you won’t be sorry.

MAGNET’s Mitch Myers files his second round of notes from SXSW.

Director James Gunn is over-the-top crazy—as a screenwriter, he worked on the Dawn Of The Dead remake and Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed, and he directed box-office flop Slither—all of which makes him an ideal filmmaker to showcase at SXSW. Gunn’s insane new movie, Super, stars Rainn Wilson, Ellen Page, Liv Tyler and Kevin Bacon. It’s a low-budget comedy about a desperate misfit who remakes himself as a superhero. He’s pathetic, deluded and vengeful, but our hero’s newfound clarion call is simply, “Shut up, crime!”

The idea of some misguided loser with a young female sidekick killing and maiming bad guys is similar to last year’s SXSW buzz-flick Kickass, but Kickass wore green and Wilson’s costume is all red, so there. Like Kickass, the violence in Super is hardcore, but Wilson’s Frank (the Crimson Bolt) and Page’s Libby (his sidekick, Boltie) are truly hilarious as unhinged crime fighters thrown together by fate. The Crimson Bolt’s secret weapon is a big metal wrench, which he uses to viciously club drug dealers and child molesters, but he gets carried away and soon maims a rude couple just for cutting in line at the movie theater.

Page is the real scene-stealer here, and her nervy, over-stimulated character eventually seduces/rapes her repressed partner before they head off to save Frank’s drug-addicted wife (Tyler) from baddie Jacques (Bacon). While not terribly original, Gunn deftly turns the superhero genre upside down. He also mocks hallucinating, schizoid, super-religious bible thumpers and a whole lot more. Not for the squeamish or the square, this flick is probably destined for transgressive, cult-classic status. For the rest of us mere mortals, Super it is just OK.

On a more sentimental side, A Bag Of Hammers, starring Jake Sandvig and Jason Ritter, is a gentle tale about a pair of conniving young scammers living on their own, but whose criminal lives are irreversibly changed by the appearance of a neglected young boy. With benign humor and a subtle moral center, A Bag Of Hammers starts out looking like a slacker farce but ends up tugging at one’s heartstrings, showing the power of love and how people can create their own families in lieu of circumstance, tragedy and necessity. Ritter is especially good here, but the entire cast makes this flick a sweet little joyride with a happy-if-predictable ending.

Finally, the impressionistic documentary about John Mellancamp. It’s About You is a sleepy little film made by a father-and-son team who were allowed to tag along on Mellancamp’s 2009 tour with Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan. Following Mellancamp, his band and producer T Bone Burnett, we watch the middle-aged rocker recording his most recent album at places like Sun Studios in Memphis and the same room at the Gunter Hotel in San Antonio where Robert Johnson made his classic recordings all those decades ago.

The screening was energized at the end of the night with a surprise appearance by Mellencamp, who humbly answered some questions and endorsed the film as an accurate depiction of his life on the road at this point in his long career. The insights provided were slim, but using his Super-8 handheld camera, filmmaker Kurt Markus also comments on the crumbling infrastructure of America, showing the abandoned downtown areas of Memphis and the like. Sadly, there’s no trace of Mellancamp’s new girlfriend, Meg Ryan, but fans of the Heartland’s favorite rocker will find something worthwhile to take from this thoughtful, modest film.

MAGNET’s Mitch Myers files his seventh and final round of notes from the SXSW Festival.

As the music fest peaked out on Saturday night, a number of musicians gathered at Antone’s to pay tribute to the late Alex Chilton and his band, Big Star. The sad and ironic fact is that a Big Star concert was scheduled at SXSW before the passing of Chilton, as was the Big Star panel at the Convention Center earlier that day.

The band’s original and current drummer, Jody Stephens, was there at the panel, as well as original bassist Andy Hummel and current band members Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow. Even old friend/engineer/studio owner John Fry got on Skype to join in the discussion. As interesting as the panel was, the scheduled concert turning into an impromptu tribute event was even more compelling to witness. Don’t forget that the Big Star band with Chilton, Stephens, Auer and Stringfellow had been playing off and on for the last 17 years, far longer than the original band (with the late Chris Bell) had been together.

So, it seemed like everybody who ever cared about Chilton turned up at the gig and helped the surviving members of Big Star pay proper tribute to their friend. Chilton’s widow sent a heartfelt message to the crowd that was read by publicist Heather West. The cavalcade of stars began with Meat Puppets guitarist Curt Kirkwood, who played “Back Of A Car” and “In The Street.” Naturally, Auer, Stringfellow and Stephens all took their turns singing some of the material, and old Chilton friend Chris Stamey performed Chris Bell’s classic “I Am The Cosmos” and rocked out on “When My Baby’s Beside Me.” Even Hummel, who flew in from the Netherlands, came out onstage to play.

Other musicians who performed included M. Ward, R.E.M.’s Mike Mills, John Doe, Sondre Lerche, Chuck Prophet and Evan Dando. The big (star) finale showcased the band with Susan Cowsill, the Watson Twins and Mills for a rousing version of “September Gurls.” Plenty of tears were shed and the closure that this concert provided was much appreciated: big-time closure for people who loved Alex Chilton, closure for people who still love Big Star and closure for those who attended SXSW.

MAGNET’s Mitch Myers files his fifth round of notes from the SXSW Festival.

I have to say that the sad news of Alex Chilton’s death affected some folks down here at SXSW, and I was definitely one of them. Let me go on the record to say that when I was a kid, the very first 45 single I ever bought with my own money was “The Letter” by the Box Tops. I don’t need to explain the rest of the tale; Chilton’s career history is all over the web, and he left behind a number of important sonic documents for us all to examine. So, don’t forget cool discs like Bach’s Bottom, Like Flies On Sherbert, Feudalist Tarts, No Sex, High Priest and Black List, just to name a few of the forgotten gems.

Although I didn’t turn in an Austin report yesterday, I still immersed myself in music the night before. Most notably I attended a killing DJ set by Madlib, who concluded his mix with a tour-de-force old-soul-and-funk montage using only original vinyl 45s. (But not “The Letter.”) I also got my head blown off by Japanese psychedelic space rockers Acid Mothers Temple, which helped wash away my depressive midnight mourning.

Last night, I got depressed again, but not about Chilton. Actually, I was bummed out after seeing The Runaways, the new movie about the infamous ’70s girl-rock band. Starring Dakota Fanning as singer Cherie Currie and Kristen Stewart as guitarist Joan Jett, this movie is more convincing visually than it is in terms of acting, directing or script. I will say that I saw a female rock critic after the showing, and she thought it was all right and perhaps I couldn’t identify with the characters. But I’m telling you, it just sucked. Yes, there is plenty of mildly accurate history here, and the recreation of the nascent glam era in Southern California was serviceable, but this movie is so lame and superficial that it just felt sad to me. The bright spots were a few of the music numbers, which had more drama than the rest of the flick. The only actor who really rose to the occasion in my humble opinion was Michael Shannon as jaded, wicked and manipulative semi-impresario Kim Fowley. Still, Shannon wasn’t nearly as jaded, wicked or manipulative as the real Fowley, but we take what we can get from these situations.

So, once again I had to forge out into the night to escape my troubles, and I found sweet relief at La Zona Rosa, where the king of the Kinks, Ray Davies, put on a fine concert performance, playing an impressive number of truly wonderful songs. The set list included a few songs from his last CD, Working Man’s Café, but focused primarily on Kinks material including “20th Century Man,” “Sunny Afternoon,” “Apeman,” “Dedicated Follower Of Fashion,” “Two Sisters,” “I Need You” and “Tired Of Waiting.” Davies even called out opening band the 88 to help him rock out for the end of his show, which, of course, included “Lola” and “You Really Got Me.” After that, dazed in confused in Austin, I stuck around for Roky Erickson with Overkill River and danced to songs like “Starry Eyes,” “Two Headed Dog” and the obligatory encore, ”You’re Gonna Miss Me.”

I stumbled home at three this morning but awoke spiritually cleansed and ready to begin again. Apparently this festival stuff is hard work, but somebody had to do it.

MAGNET’s Mitch Myers files his fourth round of notes from the SXSW Film Conference And Festival.

It was just another full house at the Paramount Theater in Austin during SXSW, and the man of the hour was none other than Lemmy Kilmister. Without resorting to hyperbole, Kilmister is rock ‘n’ roll. As the leader of Motörhead for the last quarter century, the bassist/singer has been unrelenting in his life, liberty and pursuit of happiness, which apparently still has a great deal to do with sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.

Featured documentary Lemmy is a true and accurate testimonial that features a number of friends and fans paying tribute to the walking one and only. Dave Grohl, Metallica, Joan Jett, Slash, Ozzy, Alice Cooper, Henry Rollins and many others insist that the Motörhead brand is a definitive and overwhelmingly influential hybrid of heavy metal, punk and thrash like no other, and that Kilmister is the living embodiment of all things good and true in the world of rock. All the ecstatic testimonials sound a little contrived at the beginning of the film, but by the end there is no doubt that it’s true. Lemmy is the man.

Not only that, Lemmy is a simple man; give him some booze, cigarettes and a video game and he can sit like Buddha for hours, days or weeks. He’s a British-born expatriate who’s been living in L.A. for decades and fits right in with the Hollywood rockers, actors and porn stars. According to the film, when Kilmister isn’t on tour, you can find him at the Rainbow Bar & Grill, but just don’t bother him until after he’s had a few Jack-and-Cokes. The documentary does a good job giving you his history as a roadie for Jimi Hendrix as well as his years with the Rockin’ Vickers (from the mid-’60s) and his formative time with quintessential space rock band Hawkwind before being fired for preferring speed and booze instead of acid and grass.

There are plenty of live performances showcased here, and we all get to sing along with “Ace Of Spades” a few different times. The Motörhead lineup has been quite steady in recent years, and guitarist Phil Campbell and drummer Mikkey Dee were also in attendance at the Paramount. Basically, styles and fads in music evolve over time, but Kilmister’s blueprint has remained virtually unchanged. He doesn’t pander, and the rest of the world has slowly caught on to the originality and single-minded vision of Mr. Kilmister.

At 63, he is a wise and uncomplicated man surrounded by friends, family, roadies and band mates who are somehow feeding off of the world that he has created for himself. And don’t let the fascination with Nazi regalia fool you—Kilmister has a heart of gold. He’s also an original rock ‘n’ roller who has outlived almost everybody he once knew. And he is still going strong.

MAGNET’s Mitch Myers files his second round of notes from the SXSW Film Conference And Festival.

The film fest is lumbering along at a steady pace. In many ways, it’s running smoother than ever, with plenty of cool venues and an inordinate amount of supportive services. The SXSW Interactive Conference is also in full swing, and its number of attendees has doubled since last year, reaching nearly 6,000—eclipsing the turnout of the film festival as well as the music fest that starts on Wednesday. So, it seems that technology is the new rock ‘n’ roll even, if the city’s overburdened bandwidth has been choking off many a smartphone and wireless connection. But as popular as it all is, some folks have forsaken the festival this year. Quentin Tarantino and Eli Roth were big no-shows for a horror-director panel, leaving the massive crowd of disappointed fans to query Robert Rodriguez and the guy who made Zombieland. Ouch.

As always, the documentaries are a huge part of the film festival’s programming, but so far there hasn’t been that one standout film to galvanize the crowd and create a real buzz. Good thing for the Alamo Drafthouse venues, where you can at least eat food and drink beer while watching movies. The Alamo is probably the most progressive film venue franchise in America, and I only wish that they had one in my hometown of Chicago. Screw popcorn and candy, I want fish tacos and a San Pellegrino when I’m watching a flick.

Thankfully, the bountiful Alamo hosted the premier of Ain’t In It For My Health: A Film About Levon Helm on Saturday, which helped pass the time as the documentary lagged occasionally. Not that Helm’s life story is boring, far from it, but rather than delving deeply into his years as drummer, singer and driving physical force of the Band, this film focuses on his more recent rebirth as host of the midnight “Rambles” on his Woodstock farm nearly every weekend. The film shows Helm post-bankruptcy, struggling with serious health issues and the aftermath of his battle with throat cancer, which left his magnificent voice a vulnerable and sometimes unreliable commodity. The scenes of him receiving medical treatment are tough to watch, but lend great insight into his current situation. While not a biography, we are given great access to Helm’s daily life and professional pressures, but are left to make our own conclusions about his past.

At age 70, Helm is finally being recognized as a respected elder of Americana, and his last two recordings have been critically acclaimed. In the film, you can see him and guitarist Larry Campbell working on song arrangements and leading their band of devoted musicians. You can even watch Helm smoking pot with Billy Bob Thorton, but too many highpoints of his illustrious career are glossed over or completely ignored. Campbell speaks to the long running feud over publishing royalties that has left Helm bitter and estranged from his former Band mate Robbie Robertson, but Helm himself is less than forthcoming on many personal issues.

Ultimately, one has to read Helm biography This Wheel’s On Fire in order to appreciate the enigmatic musician depicted in this film. An unrepentant party animal with a history of drug problems, he knows the price of having a good time, struggles to keep the family business going and has yet to relent. Still, this is what happens when the subject of a documentary has a little too much influence over the final product—lots of access, but the movie presents a lot more questions than it answers.