Austin City Limits | 09.14 – 09.16 | Texas
By Team JamBase Sep 24, 2007 • 5:33 pm PDT

Austin City Limits Festival :: 09.14.07 – 09.16.07 :: Zilker Park :: Austin, TX
Once again, Austin played host as the masses descended on the city for another music festival. Remarkably well run, offering a mix of local acts and major draws, and a head-scratchingly eclectic mix of genres, the Austin City Limits Music Festival has something for fans of blues, jazz, electronica, hip-hop and all styles in-between. Located in Zilker Park, just outside the city, the event seems small enough to feel like a village fete rather than a massive operation welcoming a 65,000-plus. The stages are, for the most part, well placed – making for short walks (that seem longer in the heat) and the location is convenient enough for the pizza boys to still deliver.
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The afternoon gifted me with much of the highlights of Day One. The Del McCoury Band played a fantastically tight bluegrass set that was beautiful in its simplicity. No pretentiousness here, just outstanding talents and an obvious love for playing music. Wearing suits and ties and seemingly oblivious to the midday heat, the quintet, arranged in tight formation around the mic, took turns stepping forward into the spotlight, each solo earning big applause from a full crowd. No one present was giving into the sun, even as they covered Hank Williams’ “You Win Again” and all present enjoyed the spectacle of five great musicians dueling with manic hands and happy hearts.
McCoury and co. got to where they are through years of toil. Earlier, Homer Hiccolm & the Rocketboys played one of the bigger stages thanks to winning an online battle of the bands. Good luck to them making the best of a great opportunity, but they might want to develop a sound (currently caught somewhere between John Mayer and Sparta) and a live performance that’s more inspiring than this lackluster showing. Was this a gimmick or innovative marketing in a new media era? I’ll let you decide, but followed by McCoury and Bela Fleck the gulf in class was clearer than that blue sky overhead.
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Reverend Horton Heat powered through an encyclopedia of rock & roll history, entertaining us with “Rock This Joint,” Johnny Cash’s “(I Heard That) Lonesome Whistle” and Roger Miller’s “King of the Road” with barely a second to catch a breath.
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A band I had intended on only checking out briefly, JJ Grey & MOFRO, was another festival highlight. They opened with the melodic “Brighter Days,” which had me hooked and I lingered over Grey’s gritty, yet melodic tunes sung with a voice reminiscent of John Cale.
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Another pair of current chart favorites, Peter Bjorn and John and The Killers, offered contrasting reactions. PB&J overcame my cynicism and showed they were more than one hit wonders. Along with a note perfect rendition of that whistled refrain, they belted out a few cheery hits and a cover of The Undertones’ “Teenage Kicks” perfect for a summer stage. On the other hand, The Killers offered no incentive to stay beyond solid yet unspectacular renditions of “Bones” and “This River Is Wild.” Despite Brandon Flowers‘ showmanship there wasn’t much to prevent me from escaping with the goal of finding a stage where I didn’t feel old amongst the kids.
I found it at Bjork‘s closing of the main stage. She offered a lively visual treat, the highlight of which was her horn section, a ten-strong group of women decked out in more colors than the entire crowd combined. A drummer was the only other musician present, her sound coming from three DJs, whose technical wizardry was beamed live on giant screens.
Late Saturday morning brought the promise of dark clouds and cooling rain. However, that didn’t stop the bikini clad and shirtless folks from parading around like they were in an Abercrombie & Fitch store.
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Another discovery for me was St. Vincent (aka Annie Clark), a graduate from The Polyphonic Spree and Sufjan Stevens‘ touring bands. Like another Sufjan alumnus, My Brightest Diamond, she twinned her soft vocals with a guitar that belonged to something more frenetic. The girl can play and despite being alone she lacked nothing thanks to some solid foot stomping and digital backing beats.
Stephen Marley provided some exotic seasoning to Saturday afternoon. Marley’s breezy reggae was a perfect antidote to the heat while I rested in the shade’s cool embrace. Watching his backing singers jive while Marley strutted up front, one could fool themselves they weren’t at the brink of summer’s end and facing the long winter.
Ziggy Marley was also on the bill, and along with his main set, played the Austin Kiddie Limits stage, which featured a variety of fun bands to entertain the little ones. Parents must have delighted in the distractions and the kids seemed to love activities such as the hip-hop workshops and the instrument ‘Petting Zoo.’
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In contrast to Beau Soleil’s energy, the Arctic Monkeys played with a minimum of fuss. For all their confidence, their lack of movement was disappointing, especially given the energy of their recordings. I’ll skip their workmanlike performances in the future and stick to listening to their albums in the cocoon of my white earphones.
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah was another disappointment. Having seen them live before, I went in with low expectations and they didn’t fail to meet them. I love their albums but they do nothing for me live. Their sound was good, especially during a souped-up “Satan Said Dance,” but Alec Ounsworth‘s muddled warble seemed lazy and he spent far too much time with his back to the crowd. Only Robbie Guertin on keys and guitar showed any energy, the other’s offering a totally unfulfilling “too cool for school” act.
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Arcade Fire was their usual audacious selves, but one of the best examples of participation and dancing must go to the American Sign Language interpreters. Present at the bigger stages for most of the main acts, they signed along to the words being sung. The interpreter for their set even translated as half of the crowd chanted “Arcade” and the other responded with “Fire.” Another great touch in an amazingly accessible festival.
I left reluctantly but was keen to catch some of Muse’s main stage theatrics. Replacing late withdrawal The White Stripes, their light show made me want to put my sunglasses back on, while Matt Bellamy made me want to play Guitar Hero. “Time Is Running Out” and “Knights of Cydonia” were standouts in a space themed set that was far from high and mighty. However, the musicianship was top drawer with Bellamy switching between keys and guitar – a virtuoso on both – while drummer Dom Howard was a solid foundation to the band’s meaty jams. Muse was a spectacular finale to a long day of good music.
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If Shaw hadn’t awakened his audience’s Sunday morning slumber, then we could have stopped by Sound Tribe Sector 9 for the electronica equivalent of a sugar and caffeine rush from a pancakes and espresso breakfast. Although it was a bit early in the morning for hard drugs, their funk sound-scapes conjured visions of Herbie Hancock on ecstasy.
Sandwiched between two electric shows by Grace Potter and The Nocturnals and My Morning Jacket, Patterson Hood brought respite from the heat and an opportunity to ease off the gas for a while. I stretched out and dosed in the shade of the small BMI Stage as he strummed his acoustic guitar, letting the words float around me, focusing on his simple brand of acoustic music. While this setting is fairly removed from Drive-By Truckers, his powerful lyrics and strong sense of humor remained, combining for a highly enjoyable live experience.
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After Potter’s energy, the other Sunday highlight, My Morning Jacket, had a lot to live up to but as expected they were terrific – great music played by great musicians and a whole lot of fun to boot. The thick, meaty drums of Patrick Hallahan formed the core of MMJ’s performance, while their familiar hooks and Jim James‘ melodic vocals were the juicy apple. “Wordless Chorus” was a standout of their set – scrap that, the entire festival – while “Gideon” and “What a Wonderful Man” held similar thrills. They played in front of a Hawaiian themed backdrop, while hula dancers moved randomly around the stage. In contrast to the dancers’ deliberate, stop-motion movements, James and co. were sped up and spontaneous. James wore a blonde, flowing wig while the rest sported random beach attire. The Flaming Lips had better watch out.
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After an enthusiastic welcome, Dylan opened with “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35,” his harsh, throaty growl leaving the crowd a little nonplussed. Voice shot from decades of touring and slightly stooped over his instruments, Dylan seemed a frail imitation of the cocksure creature in his back catalogue. With little acknowledgement of the audience, barely offering a glance in our direction, he seemed distant and aloof. A total ban on press photographers and close up shots for the giant festival video screens further diminished his accessibility. I had always been in the wrong place to catch Dylan live. Tonight it felt like I was in the right place at the wrong time, perhaps five or ten years too late.
At least that’s what I thought until he closed with “Spirit On The Water,” seemingly defiantly asking, “You think I’m over the hill? You think I’m past my prime? Let me see what you got.” It was then it dawned on me that mortality might have diminished his physical stature but the meaning in his music was unaffected. Having flipped the bird to his critics, he loosened up with some tight jams and his delivery, while still gritty, seemed more relaxed. Once the simply curious departed to beat the rush and the mostly hardcore remained, there was increased warmth, personified by loud cheers the first time he switched to harmonica for a mellow “Tangled Up in Blue.”
From there, he and his band dove into a rocking performance, featuring multiple solos and a performance as tight as any I’ve seen. With minimal theatrics and stage decoration we were left to simply enjoy the music powered by the accomplished playing of Dylan’s maestros. While his voice is showing wear and tear, the words it carries hold no less weight and the man singing those words still has considerable swagger. At one point, he sang, “Life without you don’t mean a thing.” Absolutely, Bob, absolutely.
Looking back, the Texan hospitality made for an abundance of good vibes. I returned one day to find my lost camera in the care of friendly locals, and I never saw a hint of trouble, even in the crush up front during the main acts. The food was great – a first for me at a festival – with local restaurants serving up a variety of cuisines. General operations were smooth, the only glitch being the fire, which led to some staff members being taken to hospital. Most public transport companies could learn a lot from the timely set transitions. Bands started and stopped bang on time, so much so, as one stage finished you could hear adjacent ones start up. No doubt about it, Austin’s reputation for fostering live music is well earned. Here’s to good vibes, great music and high SPF sun block.
JamBase | Austin
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