The trick-or-treating for adults continues.
Up until this point, I'd say our South by Southwest experience has been pretty rad. Cool people, decent bands, chill atmosphere. Unfortunately, we made the mistake of simply 'checking out' the 6th Street scene. Ugh.
First things first, it's 87 degrees with not a cloud in the sky. Sticky. We take the 20 minute walk from the 'bago to downtown. We're wandering the crowded, garbage-smelling streets in search of the bar where I'm told there is free Flying Dog beer (Frederick, Maryland represent!).
To make matters worse, Pete's gotta pee. Now. The bar is at 7th and Red River. But which way on 7th? Crap. We go the wrong way. Now he's pissed (pun intended).
Finally, we reach the bar and immediately hit up the bathrooms. Relief.
The inside bartender tells us the free Flying Dog is outside. The (generally nasty) outside bartender immediately gives me the stink eye and insists that I use her iPhone to find the flyer that sites free Flying Dog beer. Problem: I, having yet to exit the 20th century, don't know how to use an iPhone. This is blasphemy in SXSW-land.
Well, I fake it till I make it and she's thankful that I provide some evidence regarding this free Flying Dog predicament. Apparently, "People have been asking for Flying Dog all day and that free deal doesn't start until 8."
Stink-eye bartender points out that the flyer doesn't specifically state that there is free Flying Dog beer.
I'm not exactly sure why Flying Dog would promote an event and not even offer Flying Dog beer, either for sale or for free. No worries, I wrote Flying Dog a nice complaint (regarding the small print on their flyer which I was unable to read and thus determine the availability of free beer due to the size of my netbook; enlarging said flyer would have required me to sign up for Flickr, which I am not interested in).
So now we take our 10 ounce Doggie Style Pale Ales to a shady area by the fence. I'm soaked in beer that some drunk broad spilled all over me. There's an obnoxious band playing next door. Excessively loud for the quality of music (shitty).
Caveman starts their set and we're digging it. If only that band next door would shut the hell up.
We can barely hear these guys and we're running low on our precious Flying Dog. The final straw: a mother f@#king wasp. That's it. This gig ain't worth it. Peace out.
Back to the streets.
Oh, and this guy. Jumped from that orange bucket onto a gnarly pile of broken glass.
Walking down 6th, we spot a white-guy reggae group performing on a bar's upper patio. Count me in! They are Peace Officer from Fort Collins, CO. Pretty cool, but there was like 10 guys on the stage and I'm not exactly sure how half of them contributed to the music.
Back street-side. Pete and I preferred the sidewalk performers. Less crowded. Great energy. Spontaneous.
Below, you'll see an awesome clip of dancing white girls:
Continuing west on 6th Street, we ran into the band Lovett, a jazzy, pop, harmonic circus of awesome. The band's performance was the most genuine we had seen all week.
|Lovett. Love it!|
And a tiny bit of Heartattack, also from their new album. Can you spot a white girl dancing?
Yea, these guys are worth checking out. For me, they've perked up the recent gloomy mornings I've been having alone in a hot-box Winnebago while Pete's at solar school. I wish Marty McFly had a bit more dancing room. That would be totally tits.