SXSW: Alex Chilton Tribute
It would take more than the death of a venerated indie legend to slow down a non-stop promotional event like SXSW, that carries on for four straight 14 hour days of beer, barbecue, and balmy weather. The freak winter chill that descended on the Texas hill country and left underdressed out-of-towners shivering at Austin's many outdoor venues on Saturday, though? Now that did succeed in putting a damper on things.
Joining them were guests M. Ward, John Doe, Evan Dando, Chuck Prophet, the Watson Twins, Susan Cowsill (pictured up top with the Watsons, Auer and Stephens), Sondre Lerche (that's him), original Big Star bassist Andy Hummel, Curt Kirkwood of the Meat Puppets, and Mike Mills of R.E.M., among others. And happily, it was held indoors at Antone's, so the mourners and celebrants at the church of Chilton, at least, were not left out in the cold with their grief.
The night began with a message being read from Chilton's widow Laura, who married the 59 year old songwriter, guitarist and former teenage leader of the Box Tops just last year. She wrote about Chilton's analytical nature and how he "lived life as he pleased," how proud he was to have produced albums by shockabilly band The Cramps, and how much he liked the Beach Boys and Bach, Carole King and Teenage Fanclub. And how had the same blasé attitude about death that he had about sleep. "He said to me the other day," she wrote, "that he wished he could be up 24/7. Life was just too interesting to make time for sleep. It was funny, but at the same time I knew he was serious."
The surprise standout was Lerche, the 27 year Norwegian singer who was the youngest Big Star acolyte on stage. He absolutely killed "The Ballad Of El Goodo," his sweetly upward gliding voice evoking the innocence of the young Chilton as well as the song's steely, heart-swelling resolve to stay true to one's convictions in the face of "unbelievable odds."
Other highlights: Matt Ward transformed "Big Black Car" into a spare, haunting mood piece. The Him to Zooey Deschanel's She lingered over lines like "Nothing can hurt me, nothing can touch me/Why should I care?/Driving is a gas/It ain't gonna last."
John Doe of X - that's him, with Stringfellow - did a wonderful job in capturing the tender sense of discovery in "I'm In Love With A Girl," and served as a reminder of how brilliant early Big Star - a band named after a supermarket - was at crafting pop songs that conveyed the fraught awkwardness of adolescence. Chuck Prophet's "Thank You Friends," caught the mixture of forthrightness and sarcasm that was an essential part of Chilton's makeup.
Evan Dando, after neatly expressing the roomful of Chilton fans' collective sorrow with an expletive, gave an appropriately shell-shocked reading of the desolate "Night Time." (That's Westerberg's favorite Chilton song, the profoundly uncomfortable yet gorgeous tunes that goes "I hate it here, get me out of here/Get me out of here, I hate it here.") And on "Jesus Christ," Mills (that's him below) showed off the vocal chops that usually support Michael Stipe in a band that was deeply influenced by Big Star.
The show nicely recovered, though, with the most-hands-on-deck "September Gurls," sung by Chilton's fellow New Orleanian Susan Cowsill, the Watson Twins, Dando, Mills, Stephens, Stringfellow and Auer, who acted as MC all night long and distinguished himself with dignity and grace whenever he spoke or sang.
At the end, Stephens came to stage center alone to talk about his friend who will go down as one of the greatest of Memphis musicians, alongside the likes of Elvis Presley, Isaac Hayes, Furry Lewis and Al Green. "It's been 40 years that Alex and I shared a creative heart and spirit," he said. "Thank you so much. You wrapped your arms around us. We appreciate it."