Crank that Crunk
Got in last night. Don't even ask about the airplane flight. OK, ask. Horrible, horrible drunk musician-esque type guy sitting behind me, using f-words muchly, trying to impress the unimpressed female next to him. He was under the unfortunate impression that everything he thought, and then said, was funny and compelling, and that being the loud drunk on the airplane was a daring, rebel move.
Ah, SXSW. Only been here a few hours and already I can feel the familiar misanthropy return, like some old friend I'd missed over the past year.
The musical wing of the SXSW festival is very much about industry hype. And it's pretty simple to figure out who's getting talked about. Usually, it's the bands people are talking about.
Example: At dinner last night, an English guy talking loudly (again) at another table about Lily Allen. Not really saying if she's good or bad or just OK. He was just talking about her: "She's very British, really. Her dad's a famous actor."
Then there's the game where you try to guess what band people are talking about by the things they say. Example: In the elevator later this morning, two English dudes (!) going to the whirlpool, apparently — one was wearing a bathrobe (ew) were saying to one another, "Yeah... they signed to Merge." "And there's really quite a lot of them when they're up onstage, isn't there? Seven or eight?" If you guessed Arcade Fire, I'm with you. Then again, if you guessed I Really Don't Give, I'm also with ya.
Haven't made any star-sightings yet, but have seen a tragic quantity of leggings on the women.
Went to a meeting this morning of other music editors from within the chain that owns the LA Weekly, Village Voice Media. An insane gentleman sat down next to me with a laptop, and began to play some loud-ass crunk shit, right there in the middle of the meeting. A number of us took this as a cue to get up and get more coffee. It was kind of awesome, actually.