Fun Fun Fun Fest Sunday Recap

Annuals by Eric Uhlir

Let it be posited: Annuals sound vastly different onstage than they do on record. Depending on what you search for in their music, this could be either a good or a bad thing. Their two albums, Such Fun and Be He Me, both coast along effortlessly on the quality of their assembly, all deft textures, bonafide ingenuity, and easy-come-easy-go harmonies. Yet, Sunday afternoon, as is the case all too often with "studio" bands, we saw behind the curtain and - ahem - up the dress of a rather imbalanced cadre. The kitchen sink precocity that fueled the best parts of their debut was lost as each member - except you, oh too-quiet bass player - competed for sonic leverage. By the end, no one had come out on top. Between the toe-curling emo (dare we say emo?) screech of lead singer Adam Baker on songs like "Confessors" and "Complete, Or Completing", and the ear-bogglingly wanky Joe Satriani licks that lead guitarist Kenny Florence insisted on laying down like a Berklee dropout on furlough with something to prove, it was difficult to recognize the band we came to love so many…um…year ago. They played "Brother", though. -Josh Huck

Ugly Beats

Stage 3 started up early on Sunday with the Ready, Steady, Go! buzz of the Ugly Beats, a band whose dashing take on both ‘70s power pop and ‘60s garage is also updated with enough enthusiasm and panache to stand on its own. Their up-tempo, bright rock dalliances inspired some fierce head bobbing but no dancing, possibly because the dirt was already picking up fiercely. Of the highlights, Jeanine Attaway’s awesome organ, dance moves and occasional tambourine gave levity to this boy’s club, and drummer Stephen Austin’s muscled minimalism also made us take note. -Adam Schragin

Black Joe Lewis by Patrick Dentler

Decked out in Star Trek regalia, Black Joe Lewis and his Honey Bears added much-needed soul and R&B to the festival, classically classing things up the way Sharon Jones and her Dap Kings have been known to do elsewhere. Lewis was joined by a horn trio, bass, guitars, drums and piano, and the band stomped through songs about prison, ladies posteriors and other pressing subjects with a bit of winsome yearning and a whole lot of hard grooves. A great instrumental entitled “Enterprise” gave guitars, sax and keys a chance to solo and strut their stuff, and Lewis made sure to introduce the band before their final song, a quick-paced number that had the band running in place. -Adam Schragin

Frightened Rabbit

With the midday Texas sun in his face, Frightened Rabbit frontman Scott Hutchison asked the crowd, "So this is winter in Austin? Shit." Red-faced and sweaty, it certainly looked like a hell of a show as Hutchison screamed and crooned in a Scottish-accented vibrato, but there's just something about intense indie rock that doesn't scream "fun fun fun."

Kind of whiny and a bit boring, Frightened Rabbit's live show left something to be desired. The four-piece might as well go back to their days as a duo, when Hutchison handled guitar and vocals and his brother Grant was on drums. With three axes and nary a bass in sight, a beige wall of omnipresent electric guitar strumming caused both ballads and barn-burners to blend, making for a one-dimensional sound that didn't do the band's material any favors. On their records, layers of vocals, organ, bass guitar and splashes of horn spice things up for an enjoyable listen. But live, with none of the guitarists doing anything terribly exciting and sometimes even playing nearly identical parts (as heard on current single "I Feel Better"), Sunday's set ended up sounding regrettably one-dimensional.

The show, which concluded the band's U.S. tour, closed with the falsetto-filled "Keep Yourself Warm." Frightened Rabbit will continue to tour in Europe through the end of the year. -Eric Pulsifer

J*Davey by Patrick Dentler

Looking like they had jumped straight out of an American Apparel ad, California duo J*Davey brought their cocky, multi-genre act to stage 4 Sunday afternoon. Depending on the track, J*Davey may bring to mind Kenna, Rihanna or Erykah Badu. Dabbling in a long list of danceable styles, female vocalist Jack Davey and producer Brook D'Leau performed with a full band to flesh out their live show.

Lyrics that sound bad on paper ("Maybe I'll let you touch it, maybe I'll let you see it for a dollar or more"), somehow end up sounding sexy thanks to Davey's smooth voice and D'Leau's mixing and matching of new wave, hip-hop, funk and soul. The highlight of the set may have been Davey convincing the crowd to sing-along in a simple ditty celebrating tight pants and short shorts.

The act's big-label backing (they were recently signed to Warner Bros.) makes sense: J*Davey's slick show definitely didn't feel amateur. Watching them perform felt like catching the hipster equivalent of a manufactured boy band just a few months before they explode. While they were playing a smaller stage at this year's festival, it's not hard to picture J*Davey as a headlining artist in the near future. -Eric Pulsifer

Franki Chan by Patrick Dentler

Franki Chan appeared to be a genuine, shy, take-home-to-mom-type of guy when he sat down to chat with Austinist during the second day of Funx3 Fest. But when he stepped on stage later than evening, it was like a party animal emerged from his cage. Franki quickly had fans piling on stage to get a bird's eye view of his mad mix-ups. DJ, record owner and artist extraordinaire, Franki is a master of turning chaos into harmony, in both his music and career. His performance captivated the crowd, creating a mystical entrance into the dusk of Sunday evening. Although he performed a cornucopia of fresh beats from the iheartcomix label, the biggest crowd pleaser was a re-mix of Rage's "Killing In The Name Of." (How can you not get fired up about that song?) He managed to make the jam even sicker with demonic glitches and mad bass. Franki's wry smile throughout the set showed his natural affection for DJing and giving people the power to party. -Candace Birkelbach

Altercation Punk Comedy Tour

Created and fronted by punk magazine "Altercation" publisher JT Habersaat, the Altercation Punk Comedy Tour provided a joke-filled break from self-serious songwriters and aged hardcore rockers. Habersaat, who spent a majority of the set lampooning Warped Tour culture, kids and bands, scored big laughs with ease introducing the acts and returning at the end to wrap things up with his pitch for a finishing schools for "emo pussies."

Austinite Ruby Collins opened awkwardly, struggling with the Sunday afternoon crowd before winning them back with some bedroom humor.

Touching on topics ranging from Sept. 11 to necrophilia, Chris Cubas was obviously comfortable on the stage. Cubas kept the crowd in hysterics with a blend of taboo topics and self-depreciation. -Eric Pulsifer

Minus the Bear by Dániel Perlaky, City On Fire

With subdued spiciness, Minus the Bear created a mirage of romantic songs that kept thirsty hearts yearning for more. The experimental indie rock ensemble has a delicate way of telling a compelling story in each and every song (thankfully not in the horrendously discernible manner of most country songs). The story is told in an in a tangled way that flickers the listener's imagination and emotion at the same time. The exquisite presentations of "Absinthe Party at the Warehouse" and "Dr. L'Ling" are case in point examples of this philosophy. Known for other kooky titles like "Thanks for the Killer Game of Crisco Twister" and "Hey, Wanna Throw Up? Get me Naked," MTB paints the scene of memorable moments in all of our lives. Their Fun Fest performance was lingering at times, but all direction was found again in the new tune, "Guns and Ammo." The sexy acoustic uttering of the words "you've got files on me" was enough to make us fully appreciate the underlying greatness of Minus the Bear. Or as the drunk guy next to us put it, "These guys are fan-fucking-tastic."-Candace Birkelbach

Grupo Fantasma

Opener Kool Keith ran 10 minutes late while waxing schizophrenic; however, to see Austin locals Grupo Fantasma swiftly set the stage for all ten members with smiles on their faces, one would be right to guess these are seasoned pros who have seen (and done) it all. With timbales set front and center around vocalist Jose Galeano (Cesar Milan’s long-lost older brother), it was insinuated that rhythm is the group’s priority #1. This was confirmed as Galeano counted the crowd off to claps and said, “Now, it is time for fun. We are going to party.”

As they launched into songs that were unapologetically in Spanish, the band did not stop moving, and neither did the crowd—it was a surreal sight to see so many dancers with faces covered in bandanas to block the dust they were creating. An informal poll of those in attendance revealed a grouping of Austinites who admitted knowledge that Grupo Fantasma were local but sheepishly admitted never having seen them. The eyes smiling over the bandanas were proof the people felt they were finally being christened into yet another local tradition that would be remembered for a long time.

There was not one superfluous member on stage, and they might have been the only night act all weekend that did not need the energy and drama that comes from a light show. During a brief talk to the crowd, Galeano described Grupo Fantasma as “the festival’s alternative music,” and, given the long list of hip hop and punk bands, this rang true … and was welcome. -Joshua Philips

DOA by Phive

Who said age mellows a person? Possibly no performer was as pissed as D.O.A.’s Joey “Shithead” Keithley, who bulldozed through punk anthems like “Fuck You” while offering the finger to the state capitol, President Bush, and the usual laundry list of punk rock woes. A stringent appeal to “legalize it!” preceded the crowd-pleaser “Marijuana Motherfucker” and other highlights of the Vancouver band’s twenty-plus years in the game followed – “World War 3,” “2+2” and “Fucked Up Bush,” originally written for Reagan but changed for our soon-to-be former president. Keithley implied tentative optimism for the changing of the electorate, but that didn’t stop he and his band from stomping through “Liar for Hire” like nothing had changed. -Adam Schragin

Leftover Crack

Containing members of the Crack Rock Steady 7, a group of seven musicians whose work spans the groups Choking Victim, Morning Glory, Star Fucking Hipsters, etc., Leftover Crack are a side-project of a side-project that has tooled with ska and punk since 2000. Live, the band is all about punk rock polemics, including lead singer Scott Sturgeon’s regular between-song banter decrying homophobia, sexism, and racism, including numerous appeals to H.R. of the Bad Brains to call him an talk about lingering concerns that the hardcore juggernauts (or their lead singer, anyway) still harbors anti-gay sentiments. It wasn’t all seriousness, though, as Sturgeon also talked about his distaste of showering and what his pants smelled like at night – “garbage water.” Angry anthems like “One Dead Cop” stirred up the band’s fast-paced switch between straight punk and ska, a tactic that kept the songs dynamic and full of surprises. While not an obvious festival pick, this performance had enough vitriol, humor, and tense energy to make it one of the day’s standouts. -Adam Schragin

Tom Gabel by Grizzly Life

In the middle of the afternoon on Sunday, tucked away from the dust clouds kicked in the main park area, a collaboration happened that should have been put into motion ages ago. It’s called “The Revival Tour”, and it consists of some pretty recognizable figures in the punk scene. Tom Gabel from Against Me!, Tim Barry of Avail, Chuck Ragan of Hot Water Music and Ben Nichols of Lucero all played acoustic sets back-to-back with one another, all while contributing on each other’s songs sporadically throughout. This was one of the final dates on the tour, and it ended up being a shining example of the unity that punk has always preached. They backed each other up completely, and since each of them had varying degrees of gravely, road-worn vocals, the 4-way harmonies fit together perfectly.

Gabel went first with the rattle of the acoustic strings carrying along his gruff vocals as he screams himself nearly hoarse. He sang a moving version of “Anna Is A Fucking Stool Pigeon,” which is inspired by a real story, and the rest of the crew got on stage to contribute harmonica, violin and standup bass. Then, Barry followed that with a toast to a friend in lockup and a rowdy version of “Dog Bumped,” which brought the whole crew up on stage again to show support and sing the chorus together yet again. -William Mills

’Til We’re Blue or Destroy by Eric Uhlir

The phrase "too many cooks spoil the broth" does not apply to Til We're Blue or Destroy. The nine-member act can barely fit on stage, but manage to deliver succinct vocals with a funky electric backdrop. Overflowing with genuine happiness to be performing, Til We're Blue maintained bouncing energy throughout songs like "Crazy Tigers" and "Love in a Coma."

The strange combination of brass, tambourine, piano and voice decoder was executed with full quality and beaming resonance. Despite an early set time and some hella winds, this eclectic entourage belted out charming pieces from the bottom of their hearts. -Candace Birkelbach

Islands by Patrick Dentler

These boys took charge at Fun Fest with a passionate and professional display. Islands delivered a calm, yet complex array of pulsating beats blanketed with soothing undulations. The handsome group from Montreal showcased each member's talent with quick bits of individual instrumentation knotted within a unified sound. Between the tantalizing bow movements from the violinist and the sweet sorrow in Nicholas Thorburn's voice, Islands wooed the crowd right away.

The band mostly chose selections from their latest record, "The Arm," which is straightforward and sensible. After sampling through many band mates, including some from The Unicorns, Wolf Parade and Arcade Fire, this group has found a romance in each other. Their set at Fun Fest included waterfalls of guitar riffs balanced with graceful intensity, giving Islands no need to be so coy (even if it did turn us on a little). -Candace Birkelbach

Tim and Eric by Eric Uhlir

By 9 pm Sunday evening, we were only vaguely aware of our surroundings, foraging for Miller Lite where we could find it or wrestling it away from other marauding hipsters, reverting to primitive means of physiological evacuation, and, really, the whole festival enterprise was starting to take on a vague, existential, No Exit-y vibe. Wandering to Stage 2 - a secret stage way in the back for very special acts - we wiped our eyes as DJ Douggpound tottered aboard. He laid down some phat, gleefully ironic beats, and put together the tightest NPR intro medley remix we've ever heard. Suddenly, the official Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! song played, and we were sucked into the Dada vortex. Tim and Eric bounded onto the tiny stage wearing costumes that consisted of fake skin, giant foam testicles, and nipple holes singing about diarrhea, and, well, you had us at "hello," guys. The rest of the set consisted of costume/character changes during video sketches, although none as eye-catching as the giant balls we were treated to at the outset. Fans of the show were treated to familiar faces, including the two kids singing about wearing their dad's used socks, the two shiny-faced brothers with the bizarre stage-fright ridden songs (?), and the fake karate guys (?). Highlight of the evening: Eric explaining to the crowd how to help him dupe Tim into thinking he held his breath for thirty minutes so they could get the hell out of "this fucking dustbowl." Also, at some point they threw what appeared to be hundreds of hot dogs into the slavering crowd. Solid gold. -Josh Huck

St Vincent by Eric Uhlir

Should it be surprising to watch Annie Clark shred on the six-string? Of course not, but there still seems to be a sort of startling draw to Clark’s strumming and singing, as if she’s an anomaly on the electric, cut from a cloth entirely different than the singer-songwriter that seems to lurk deep within even her more vicious tunes. But, anomaly or not, Clark and her band can put on quite a show, even if her songs—dynamic in a solo act context—are rendered a little thin and unspectacular as a five-piece. True, the band, costumed identically, is a bit colorless, but, their best efforts aside, Clark herself is a star in the making, if she isn’t one already.

Her oft-subtle guitar and mousey though passionate performance is captivating, and even the flattest moments display her as a powerful new talent. A cadre of Marry Me hits and tunes less familiar pleased a highly partisan audience—it’s quite possible that a majority of viewers were, in fact, in love with Clark. Of particular interest were a ferocious kraut-rock number not on the Texas innocent’s debut album, and a fabulously fiery solo rendition of Beatles standard “Dig a Pony.” But perhaps the audience was most pleased by Marry Me tracks “Now Now” and “Paris is Burning,” which were dazzling in their own right—if anything, they sound better now than they did on the record. Ultimately, despite the shortcomings of her drab-clad backing band, Clark put on quite a show—especially when taking her turn at the keyboard—and it’ll be nice to see what sort of spectacle she’ll be able to offer when she has a couple more years’ experience under her belt. -Nick Courtright

Bad Brains by Phive

For many of us, the choice of which band to watch close out Fun Fun Fun Fest was an easy one, because who could really compete with D.C.’s most intense and visceral punk godfathers (hint: not a blog band, anyway)? Bad Brains ripped right into it, loudly running through classics like “Attitude” and “Sailin’ On” by way of introduction. The band looked absolutely relaxed in comparison with their wiry, 1977 selves, still rocking but with less urgency. Lead singer H.R. was the most sedate of the bunch, either on good vibes or psychotropic substances. Like Kool Keith, he also rocked sunglasses and a headscarf (best fashion accessory of the festival) and moved little other than prancing here or there or to flashing signs at the audience.

Given their chilled states, some of the songs that hit hardest were their reggae tunes, including “Jah Love” with its trippy drum delay and cool skankin’ rhythm. Also, the punk tracks occasionally came out a little muddy, and that was nearly impossible with the slower grooves. H.R. seemed to be in a rapidly finer mood as the night progressed, “baptizing” the crowd with the water he had onstage and metamorphosing into a preacher-man before closing out the evening with the righteous “Pay to Cum.” For fans hoping to see a semblance of the backflips and wild stage energy of the Bad Brains from thirty years ago, Sunday’s show may have been underwhelming, but it’s not from a lack of passion or energy on the part of the band. -Adam Schragin

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah by Eric Uhlir

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

By the time the last act of a festival takes stage, it's easy to be unimpressed while contemplating all the other amazing acts of the day, dust-filled lungs, how annoying it is to say fun three times in a row or the inescapable return to reality soon to come. For Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's Sunday night performance, this was not the case. They portrayed the essence of what a festival headliner should be: unique sound, no frills talent and an excuse for the audience to clap and dance the entire set. The show started with a sonic boom of orchestration and Alec Ounsworth's notably nasal voice. When "Satan Said Dance" crept through speakers, an onslaught of dance circles emerged as the crowd chanted and looked genuinely pleased with the situation before them. CYHSY had a feverish radiance, with a jubilee of pouncing keyboard licks and stair-stepping rhythms. A few slow ballads and new songs were brought the to table, but didn't hold a candle to the enticing "The Skin of my Yellow Country Teeth." Clap your hands gave it their all without showing any signs of difficulty, sparking cartwheels and toe-tapping right up to the festival's bittersweet end. -Candace Birkelbach

Clipse by Patrick Dentler

There was a rabid crowd gathered at Stage 4 Sunday night, prepared for a solid dose of gangsta swagger, narco-traffic narratives, and indecipherable slang, and Virginia's finest rap crew did not disappoint. Brothers Gene and Terrence Thornton, a.k.a. Malice and Pusha T, formed Clipse in the early '90s in an area of Virginia that became the Fertile Crescent of new-millennium hip-hop--the brother went to high school with The Neptunes, and Timothy "Timbaland" Mosley was right around the corner in Norfolk, Va. Despite less-than-stellar sales figures, mostly due to label restructuring and mismanaged album releases, Clipse have gained a high stature in the industry, and, thanks to constant doting by Pitchfork and other blogs, are perhaps one of the more beloved hip-hop acts in the indie world.

Malice and Pusha were in 100% crowd-pleasing mode, serving up one hit after another, mostly from 2006's classic Hell Hath No Fury album, and pledging their love for Texas acts like Scarface, Tre, and UGK. The set opened with the unmistakable hi-hat intro of "Mama I'm Sorry," and, along with the more recognizable hits like their 2002 smash "Grindin," delved into fan favorites like "Ride Around Shinin" and "Chinese New Year." The crew was all energy: Malice in particular stalked the stage like a panther on fire, leaning into the mic and delivering his lyrics at about three times the intensity level of the records. The tunes were disgustingly catchy--even as longtime fans, we were frankly amazed by our ability to sing along with at least half of every song in the set, which only lasted about 40 minutes but needn't have been a minute longer. -Matthew DeWitt