DAY 03
Marianne Dissard @ SXSW
"Have you ever woken up with bruises all over your body and you don't remember where you got them." Overhead @ SXSW
MUSIC is loud here at the festival because no one really listens to a band play for more than a song. The business takes over after that point but music can't be overpowered by the voices of the trade. That would break the illusion.
I ENVY people who experience the festival as a treasure hunt. They hop from one venue to another, peek in and out of doors and make mental notes of the bands they've seen, give ratings, write about their top faves. I might have settled that for myself when I saw the Howe Gelb show (of hands) on Wednesday night.
I NOTED this morning, as I walked in the massive convention center, hub central, that bands that perform at the festival get the choice between a flat-out cash payout of $250 and receiving badges that let the bandmembers in to all the trade shows, symposiums and shows they desire. Now, the price of a regular festival pass is anywhere upward of $600.00. The girl who interviewed me this morning for her Virginia-based fanzine paid for more than two bands to perform. That is upside down logic unless you consider SXSW as first a trade-show, then a festival of live music. We, live acts, are the show that gets traded.
NOW, THERE IS GREAT MONEY being spent by bands, labels, companies to attend and present their artists, or, rather, themselves. In my case, without a label to back me up, without an agent, a representative, a booking company, anyone to represent me and take care of business, the task is overwhelming but only if you let it. I mean, I really have little illusion that what I'm doing here is going to do me much good. I have close to zero access to media (not counting this Huffington Post last-second fluke!), I have barely the money to pay for gas from Tucson and sadly not the money to pay my musicians for what they're worth. I passed on the badges option and opted for cash. The total budget for this trip is close to a thousand dollars. Between an Arizona show last Sunday and a couple of festival shows, I'm close to breaking even, and that's by relying on friends from Tucson, who also happen to attend, to give us all rides and split gas costs.
MIND YOU, I am not complaining. It's just how it is, and it's how it is for many of us. I am thrilled to be writing this blog, whether anyone reads it or not, simply for the fact that it ties me to the experience of being here in Austin. I can't wait to be singing tomorrow. I am not complaining. Just trying to make sense of this festival, under the rule that it's worth questioning anything, especially when it's big and established and has such good rep.
BUZZED from only a couple of hours of sleep, I made my way downtown in an hour, walking again along Lamar Avenue and across the river, my eyes riveted to the pages of Bill Carter's "Fools Rush In". Walking over the bridge, and into the streets lined with high rises, I walked and read, looking up every few steps to find myself again in the safe city.
INDULGING IN MY OWN WORDS, I made my way through an interview that went on way too long but I needed to talk to deafen the hum of the festival, talk to be heard, even if by one person. I made my way to a German music export bureau lunch and had a plate of greens and sauerkraut on a patio. I made my way to the French Music bureau showcase. I talked to a couple of people, handed out a cd more out of reflex than conviction and walked back all the way to the house, another hour walk or so with the book in my hands and rooting for Bill in his Sarajevo life and thinking that I was done with this place and needed to rest and couldn't wait to sing.
Come to my show Saturday! I will talk your ear off. Promised!