The last time I had been to South by Southwest was, I think, in 2005. I remember Carrie Brownstein shouting in my ear at the Sub Pop showcase, “If I see one more Gang of Four wannabe, I’m going to scream.” Naomi and I had been on Sub Pop all through the 90s, and played our share of SXSW gigs – always chaotic and with terrible sound, always absurdly underpaid. But the packed rooms and streets could be a thrill, filled as they were with musicians and nervous record label execs. Competition was, for me, the unpleasant drug that fueled much of the energy – bands are generally cool with one another, but the music industry thrives on getting there first with the least, or last with the most, and both can be ugly scenarios. For better and worse it was a febrile atmosphere. Still, much of the music and all of the food was great.
This year was SXSW’s fortieth anniversary, and I went not to play but as part of a crew from United Musi…
