Pastiche: In the Garage
Editor's note: Pastiche is a (mostly) bi-weekly column exploring the diversity within the Austin music community. The views expressed in Pastiche are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the outlook or beliefs of anyone else in the IST network.
Used to be the word “garage” was the template and the starting point for most if not all of rock and roll. Whether the garage was literal was irrelevant - the term could apply to a basement, empty room or vacant storage space/warehouse, or really anyplace a band could put their roots down, plug in equipment and then plug away at songs without disturbing the peace. Back then, rough demos were cut onto cassette tape (putting a pillow over the built-in microphone helped stifle cymbal noise), and “in the garage” recordings were the first and easiest way to get the word out about a project.
Not anymore. While the function of garages as practice spaces will no doubt live on as long as we still have guitars, basses and drums to contend with, the de facto spot for writing and recording is now the bedroom. Sometime in the late ‘90s or early 2000s the pitch shifted. With more musicians reconciling themselves with technology, and the sudden availability of (often pirated) recording software like Protools, creating music at home became easier than ever before. No longer did you have to assemble and rehearse a band to find out what your sound actually was. A musician could take a few loops, their own parts, and basically transform their ideas into a listenable, sharable format much easier than in the days of passed-around cassettes.
Which brings us to Austin. It’s unlikely that in our lifetimes the shadow of Roky Erickson and his 13th Floor Elevators will cease to loom large as a reminder of all the greatness inherent in southern garage-psych, but with such a varied music scene as we have here, it’s easier for Austinites to escape the rock and roll template of the Elevators, for example, than it would be for a rock band out of Lubbock to disown the influence of Buddy Holly. And sure, we’ve had other notables pave the way for other scenes - Daniel Johnston did wonders for lo-fi folk, and it’s illegal not to mention Stevie Ray Vaughn’s contributions to blues guitar. But it’s this garage rock renaissance that has most captured the attention of the press and fans in Austin the past couple of years, from live performances to studio releases.
No doubt you’re sick of hearing about White Denim, but a couple of years ago they were just another band riding the buzz, playing shows at the Mohawk coupled with avant-garde weirdos and The Laughing, a band whose seemingly clear ascent to widespread appeal was marred by a difficulty reconciling style with substance. Back then, White Denim had emerged from the ashes of several other bands, including the notable but stunted Peach Train, and this new incarnation was impressive on so many levels - from songwriting to musicianship to just plain performance. It took discipline not to be excited by this trio. But who knew the explosion to come? As the smoke finally cleared, it revealed a coterie of Austin garage rockers that had either spawned sometime during all the hubbub, or had existed long before. What was once a niche is now one of Austin’s most dominant paradigms - from Beerland to The Parish to The Parlor, the trend is everywhere. Eschewing the niceties of laptop recording and indie-riffic synths and glockenspiels, Austin garage bands took back the tough mantle of our city’s garage-psych forefathers. The biggest difference? Simply put, back in the ‘60s rock heyday this was all new, and now it is not.
Great songwriting is at the core of any great band. Really, regardless of what goes on in the studio or wherever you record, good songs usually shine through, despite recording constraints or, conversely, the unnecessary junk piled on top. To that end, Austin’s emerging scene gets high marks. White Denim’s Exposion was treated to more overdubs and studio tinkering than some of us expected, but the frenetic energy was not lost, and the result was gratifying. The Strange Boys are poised to release their manifesto, The Strange Boys...And Girls Club on March 24th, and though the production is at times distractingly primitive, the album does not lack quality tracks (though it’s totally over-loaded at sixteen songs). Other bands working in a similar framework include the boisterous Harlem, and organ-led combos like The Diagonals. On the catchier edge exist longstanding acts like The Ugly Beats, power-pop-edged Poor People, the Strokes-y Literature, the warped Pillow Queens, and too many more to mention. Plus, if truly near-nude garage combos are your thing, we have a surprising preponderance of just guitar and drums bands from which to choose (Damage Pants, Seizures, etc.).
Of course, now we’re blurring genres a bit, but there’s one festival in town that pretty clearly demarcates where the garage rock past meets the present - yup, the second annual Psych-Fest, held this year at Bourbon Rocks The Radio Room and presented by Live Music Capitol. For three days, bands that - locally or not - pledge allegiance to all things woozy, far out, and loud will take the stage, from Velvet Underground devotees The Black Angels to the literal live emulations of Love cover band Forever Changes. Sky Sunlight Saxon of The Seeds provides the history lesson, while Shapes Have Fangs, Indian Jewelry and more spin the web further into the reaches of the new century.
By and large, these bands are interesting, and a desire to resurrect garage rock is as organic as it is necessary. But one thing nags me, which I first became aware of while watching the unmistakably retro The Tunnels and more at last year’s Psych Fest. Forty years ago, bands like the Elevators and Shiva’s Headband put Austin on the map through their emerging, new sounds, creating the swarm of psychedelia and popularizing garage rock. We’re so indebted to this sound that we haven’t outgrown it, just built upon it. When we look back at the ‘60s and early ‘70s, these sounds dominate our understanding, and venues like The Vulcan Gas Company and bands like the aforementioned become part of our history. How will our little garage renaissance rate? Are we reliving The Paisley Underground, an admirable but heavily-indebted '80s musical movement that emulated the '60s? Or is the scene morphing into something else entirely? Time, as always, will tell.
