Last Call from SXSW: Lady Gaga, Tons of Photos, and A Belle-and-Sebastian-Inspired Movie

Cut Copy @ Milk Music Box

One of my favorite parts of this year's SXSW may have been playing hooky from the music festival on Saturday afternoon.

When I found out that Stuart Murdoch from Belle and Sebastian was going to be in town in support of God Help the Girl, his directing debut, I knew there weren't any day shows that could compete with the film. As much as I enjoyed the movie, the most ridiculously adorable part of the day was when a stage full of middle school kids from the Barton Hills Choir sang songs from the film to Murdoch's apparent surprise and delight:

The movie itself is a new wavey musical that began with Murdoch's desire to write an album "for female voices." An album of the same title, with guest vocalists backed by the band, was released in 2009. Several years later, the film finally came together, thanks to a boost from Kickstarter and assistance from Rushmore/Bridesmaids producer Barry Mendel. As someone who counts Tigermilk as a beloved album, I was primed to feel great affection for this movie. I wasn't disappointed. Although he said that Girl wasn't intentionally based on the early days of Belle and Sebastian, it is set in Glasgow with two main characters who are tackling issues of health and spirituality while assembling a chamber pop band; so a few autobiographical fragments seep into the script. The characters (Olly Alexander as a pop-music-obsessed abandoned rabbit wannabe Glaswegian, Emily Browning's a singer on the run from a mental health facility) dress up in cute clothes, go on adventures with their posh friend and bandmate (Cassie from Skins,) pine for each other, and burst into song in dreamy musical numbers. It's a little melancholy, a whole lot charming, and will be in wide release this fall.

In other SXSW non-musical pursuits, on Friday I dragged myself out of bed to bear witness to Lady Gaga's keynote. By that morning, a million links to her previous night's barbeque-spattered roasting spit and vomit-covered performance had made the internet rounds ("Watch Gaga's Onstage Puking Stunt" remains unopened in my inbox). Dreadlocked and wrapped in a garbage bag gown, Gaga delivered a litany of contradictory catchphrases while discussing a spectacle that was primarily reserved not for conference attendees, but for fans who turned themselves and their social media presence into advertisements for flavored corn chips. A sampler:

“Swine your nose at anyone who scorns the corporate sponsored mega-acts”
"I refuse to allow my talents to be monetized"
"The truth is, without sponsorships, without these companies coming together to help us, we won't have any more artists in Austin. We won't have any more festivals because record labels don't have any more fucking money."
“Nobody’s going to remember what you tweeted when you die.”
"Don't sell out, sell in."

Then again, the executives who shelled out millions of dollars for the show were "audibly disappointed in her set choices", so maybe Gaga got the last laugh? (Artpop!) Conducting the keynote interview, MTV alum John Norris seemed more interested in cheerleading than challenging or clarifying during the often-frustrating hour and a half. The whole thing's online for your home gawking interests.

I haven't been going to SXSW long enough to be nostalgic for the pure early days, but the existence of giant piles of corporate money at the festival isn't exactly breaking news. Amid the near-endless array of riskier homework-requiring options, there were also no shortage of oxygen-consuming megastars playing relatively small shows at which "normal" fans received "VIP" treatment—if they were willing to jump through the right hoops and queue in the right lines for the requisite number of hours. At the end of that rainbow, there were things like Jay Z and Kanye West reuniting for a night or Soundgarden playing a rooftop show that had "Black Hole Sun" echoed above the wall-to-wall bodies downtown in search of musical serendipity (like a showcase of Scottish music that I caught just because it was close to my hotel or the tip I followed to the upstairs of a dingy lounge to hear explosive New Orleans rock from Moon Honey).

I have no idea whether this constant commerce is in any way effective. Looking back on the shows that I saw, maybe I can see the sense in SPIN hosting a great day party with an eclectic lineup from punk to hip-hop that included Warpaint, Schoolboy Q, Cloud Nothings, Future, and Against Me as a demonstration of their editorial scope. Other advertorial pairings feel like a more of a stretch of advertising department exuberance. As much as I liked catching buzz bands like the 1975 and Washed Out at a blog-curated warehouse show sponsored by a fast food taco chain, I doubt that it will really influence my drive-thru feeding preferences. I suppose there might have been a few minutes when I thought about purchasing a large American automobile if it came with a more comfortable spot in the crowded Cedar Street Courtyard during Dum Dum Girls and Julian Casablancas. But, while Cut Copy played one of my favorite shows of the weekend—a sponsored electro-pop dance party that played to my fondness for piles of synths and live percussion—at which I drank a few cans of beer on the tab of a multinational electronics conglomerate, my allegiances to my iPhone haven't swayed. Maybe I'm naive (and maybe I'm buying into some of the Gaga cliches) but I hope that when I look back on the festival, I'll remember the music much more clearly than the hashtags.

SPIN @ Stubb's / Friday March 14