This year’s South By Southwest had its fair share of glaring issues, as does everything that happens — ever. Some of the more pressing matters concerned fan safety, the evermore-exclusionary atmosphere and the oversaturation of big ass businesses. But please, save the commentary on Austin’s increasing corporatization for a more pretentious article. There is a more minute, but infinitely frustrating problem that has been making its presence known at every live music event, be it at Red 7 or Austin Music Hall.
I didn’t see anything at first. I had been resting the entire weight of my body on the railing overlooking the bottom floor of The Mohawk, right above the stage. All of us lined up against the metal barrier — delirious and drooping in exhaustion — had become friends over the past couple of hours waiting to see Tyler, the Creator. We had stood there guarding our spots, sharing South by stories (who saw what band, which celebrity took a picture with who, etc.), exchanging phones and numbers, taking turns to go to the restroom, buy drinks and eat hot dogs. I was tired — already on my SXSW Day 6 — and I was hardly paying attention to the band anymore. I looked out onto the street. Mindlessly.
Mother Nature’s wrath didn’t stop thousands of avid head bangers from attending South by So What?!, heavy metal's and punk rock’s response to the monstrous South By Southwest, in Grand Prairie from March 14 through March 16. But, for a girl who loves blasting Katy Perry in her shower, the weather did nothing for my already rattling nerves.
