No sooner had we had Merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all that old bollocks, than South By South West crept up on us again. Has it really only been a year since the last one? Good God! I've lost all track of time.
I don't want to get suckered into that even though I obviously don't exist now for yet another year because I didn't cough up for a flight and a hotel and pop in a thirty five minute set in exchange for thirty seven dollars and a wristband. But I'm sure plenty of other people did and it was the best South By South West ever.
Of course, the end result for most career hounds is that everything stays exactly the same  except that occasionally somebody tells them they caught their set at SXSW and then runs out of conversation. But for the city of Austin it's good business. Everybody who's anybody knows that you're nobody unless you were there this year, so off they all go, and Austin gets a big cheap festival. Someone told me once just how much profit there was in it for the city. I can't remember the amount now and I wouldn't like to quote it in case I'm out by the odd million, but believe me, it's a lot. And all in the name of Fame. Remember my name&?
I regret not sending out Happy SXSW cards. Glastonbury's coming up next - one or the other of these tediously media-blitzo go-getter events is going to replace Christmas eventually. Right now the shops are stocking up for Glastonbury and here I am sitting here in this bucket seat on the back porch wondering where I went wrong.

Perhaps I'll try A Merry South By South West And A Happy Glastonbury To All Our Customers!"

Goodwill to all men this Glastontide, and all the best in the South By South West! Etc.

And I haven't even begun to talk about our little West Coast tour  thirty hours of air travel and two thousand miles of driving in less than a week for four consecutive dates. We must be more fucking mad than the artistes clamouring to play at SXSW. Except that we're under no illusions, and I don't think we could be accused of working for the man.
On the subject of SXSW (and when did we ever really leave it?), Amy pointed out that we could make a killing as backing musicians  we just book ourselves into a decent hotel early in the game and then get on to all the solo artists we know that might need a band, let them know that they'll be there and offer our services. Get yourself an all-star backing group - next year Amy and I will be there, me with guitar and bass, Amy with guitar and keyboards, both of us in superb voice, ready to tackle those difficult harmonies, and hot to trot at a mere $100 dollars a pop. Each.
I'm going to be one of those pain in the arse people rushing for show to show with an armful of instruments, ever self-important and always looking beyond you for more interesting possibilities when you try to engage me in conversation. And I think I'll take up a sideline as well, just so that I can watch the poor suckers that engage our services inwardly groan when I announce that I've brought the old mandolin along - thought it might come in handy'&
Understand, I'm not knocking the musos, I sometimes wish I was one. Musicians complain about everything but at least they sometimes get paid. But musicians quite often assume that the star of the show, people like me and Amy, are making loads of money while they're earning a pittance. We've found that by not having any other musicians in our group we can indeed earn a pittance  and sometimes we almost earn enough to live on.
But this lack of musicianly help has meant that our album has taken an extraordinary amount of time because we've been doing everything ourselves. But this has also meant that Amy has learned to play the piano, my bass playing has improved three thousand fold (whatever fold means), we've developed tremendous percussion skills and we can spot a viable sounding loop in the day to day operational noise of any domestic appliance or gadget. Actually that last bit is a slight exaggeration  we've never recorded the salad spin - but I do have an almost cosmic sample culled from a recording of the toilet flushing in my old flat in Brighton.
And I didn't get a musician to flush it  I flushed it myself and operated the sampler with the other hand (which of course I washed afterwards).

posted by where the fuck have I been this time? at 3:27 PM on May 30, 2008

Official weirdest comment evah!

posted by Rex at 4:21 PM on May 30, 2008

You know Wreckless Eric, right? The song Will Farrell plays to the baker chick? Whole Wide World?

I stole his post about SXSW to freak you out...

Steve

posted by Sandman at 4:42 PM on May 30, 2008

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Rex Sorgatz

Escort Girl London

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A fimoculous is a micro-organism that consumes its own waste for sustenance.