At its core, Austin feels very much like the college town that it is. Sure, there are tall bank buildings and traffic jams and more than a few expensive hotels, but it still feels like a small city rooted in the life and culture of the undergrad. The street food is unbelievable — tacos and pizza and BBQ concoctions that would make any college stoner salivate. More than that, however, there’s just a feeling that people migrate here to play, and maybe work a few days a week to pay the rent.
“They call it ‘grown-up spring break’ for a reason,” Ricardo told me on our first night.
Indeed. I’ve seen plenty of guys with receding hairlines and graying beards hitting on girls that are likely blowing off Psychology exams the next morning. I’ve seen tats and t-shirts and caffeinated alcoholic cans in the hands of people far too old to sip them in a locked dorm room, fearful of the patrolling RA.
But maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe South by is everyone’s excuse to be a kid again, if only for a long weekend.
At the peak of yesterday afternoon, I felt energized and relaxed. Not too hot, not too tired, not too drunk — just riding the wave of what felt like an early taste of summer. Shorts and shoes with no socks, a slice of Hoek’s Death Metal Pizza in the morning that kept me rolling through the day.
By nightfall, Sixth street felt like a county fairground, and not really in a good way. Teens and out-of-towners wandered aimlessly with slow, broad steps. The street vibe was less surrounding live music as most badge and wristband holders were now hunkered down at various showcases. Dozens of dirty white plates and cigarette butts on the ground, a few shouting matches in the thick of large crowds. In some ways, it was more more of a high school than even a college scene.
The best: Jessica Lea Mayfield’s warm, lonesome twang reverberating off the walls of St. David’s Historic Sanctuary — far removed from the noise and mayhem on Sixth. Followed immediately, of course, by amazing noise and mayhem at outdoor shows with the Black Lips and Thee Oh Sees.
The worst: a $5.25 service fee at an ATM. Cash rules everything around me.
.
Follow our news and updates on , our whereabouts on and our relationship status on . Or send us a telegram. Whatever. We’re easy.
John Hendrickson is the Managing Editor of Reverb and a multimedia journalist for The Denver Post.
