FRIDAY
Cody Chesnutt
“It ain’t rock, it ain’t hip-hop, it ain’t soul.” It was simply a man with his guitar, backed by the “foundation” of drums and bass. Muddy Waters did it; so did Jimi Hendrix and Prince. Now it’s Cody Chesnutt’s turn. “When a rhythm is yours, you can take it wherever you want to,” said the Atlanta native. Vibing off of a beautiful fall early afternoon, Chesnutt helped kick off ACL‘s first day with a shamanistic set of moody musings. More devout in nature than the raunchy contents of his acclaimed The Headphone Masterpiece, his performance dutifully expressed the idea that there’s “no need for politics when you have divine power.” The versatile singer walked his audience through a creative process that recognized tension, release, and the fruit that is the aftermath of both. Pushing poetic purity on songs like “The Seed” and “Find Us a River,” Chestnutt was teacher, entertainer, and healer. As his show progressed and his crowd gradually grew, so too did the number of his converts. — Robert Gabriel
Craig Ross
Not one to be cowed by snafus that had him sliding through the cracks at MCA with only one album under his belt (1996’s Dead Spy Report), local rocker Ross delivered a sexy set in the early hours of this year’s ACL Festival. Alternating between witty banter (“I put out an album a couple of years ago. Know what’s not on it? This song.”) and songs that stretched like the Arizona highway at 3am, Ross and his rhythm section cooked up a rowdy, electro-fuzzy bill of fare heavy on fuck-you riffs and spooky, spare vox. Ross kicked out the jams Neil Young-style when he wasn’t coaxing spaghetti-style riffs on his cherry-colored Gibson, and seemed to enjoy every minute of it. “We don’t normally play,” he admitted between songs. “Thanks for reminding us how fun it is.” The feeling’s mutual. — Melanie HauptGary Clark Jr.
Dredging primal emotions from his voice and guitar, Austin’s Gary Clark Jr. unearthed a multi-hued whirlwind of blues in the American Original tent. His Robert Johnson, Elmore James, and Jimmy Reed revivals ripped through the time-honored material as if he owned it. How the hell a lanky teenager assumes the persona of an ancient firebrand became quite the ghostly conundrum. With seasoned fogies and angelic children alike mesmerized by Clark’s every howl, the early-afternoon hoot was just that. What would SRV think of Clark’s rendition of “The Sky Is Crying”? Those in attendance knew the answer. Speaking in a raw language, with a harp propped to decrypt the unfathomable, Clark consecrated the moment with each passing song. From uninitiated to journeyman in a matter of years, the local bluesman not only resurrected the spirit of his craft, he thoroughly invigorated it. — Robert GabrielJulieta Venegas/Cafe Tacuba
Charles Attal’s unflagging hunger for imported virgin talent once again produced prize performances for Austin’s roadshow trophy case. The man who programs Stubb’s music menu when he’s not mowing down 15 acres of Zilker Park pulled two Mexico City–based acts out of the Rock en Español buzz bin, and they produced like a pair of bunnies. Julieta Venegas, besides a typically taut Latin band, possesses something all the Liz Crows in the continental U.S. don’t: sincerity. Talk about sexy. That the dark-eyed, dark haired, and ponytailed twentysomething led her backing quartet on accordion was all the more unique. From her spunky stage presence and bilingual girlishness to the steely torch pop of “Casa Abandonada,” via 2000’s border-crossing Bueninvento, and her star-crossed contribution to the all-star Amores Perros soundtrack, Venegas was both endearing and adored. When she sang a song by Mexico’s grand seducer Juan Gabriel, one biker-looking Latin male mouthed all the words to his Gothic Anglo girlfriend. Cesar Romero’s pulsing guitar, meanwhile, swung the band from bossa to ragga. “We’ll be back,” beamed Venegas, finishing her 45-minute set. “‘Cause Austin is cool.” Ruben Albarrán, lead marionette for the outrageously unclassifiable Mexican indie rock institution that is Cafe Tacuba, promised the same thing the following night, Saturday. Their nitrous carnival began normally enough with the leadoff track from the band’s new Cuatro Caminos, “Cero y Uno,” Albarrán acknowledging in his avalanche Spanish that the four roads referenced in the album title had brought them to Austin. Emmanuel del Real, the group’s musical hard drive, followed by having his ballad “Eres” matched word for word by a frenzied cluster of fans swaying in the dark down front of the midsized Heineken stage. Dashboard Confessional fanatics have nada on most mainstream Latin music lovers. Not that Cafe Tacuba’s unhinged hip-hop roc could rightly be considered mainstream to North American tastes, despite the Beastie Boys-type popularity the quintet enjoys on their home turf. The minute they transformed into Mr. Bungle, however, exploding in a confetti canon of cartoonish choreography and Eighties-lit eccentricities, CafeTacuba had no antecedents or equals. Proudly pointing out members of Los Lobos watching from the wings, Albarrán lamented the short set allotment, thanked the audience, and promised to bring his circus back to town. Muchisimas gracias, Carlos Attal, get Manu Chao for 2004. — Raoul HernandezAlexi Murdoch
Oceans of buzz could’ve drowned Alexi Murdoch before his early evening set Friday at the BMI stage, though oceans of noise from a nearby Robert Earl Keen set nearly did that for him instead. The Scottish singer-songwriter had an onslaught of fans cheering on his quiet performance, even though Keen clearly had a larger base of beer-drinking cowboys singing along with him. Undeterred, Murdoch dove into one passionate song after another, egging his audience on to see if they could somehow topple the disturbingly close ruckus. Murdoch may not be on a major label, but no one would have guessed that by the way he and the crowd connected for an all-too-brief 45 minutes. His is a style that owes a great deal to Joseph Arthur and Nick Drake, but Murdoch imbues it with a spine-tingling sincerity that’s all his own. In between thanking the crowd for going the extra mile in spite of the adjoining REK, he exhibited the kind of charisma and talent that made his musical neighbor so popular in the first place. — Matt DentlerDwight Yoakam
One thing you can’t say about Dwight Yoakam is that he’s afraid to take chances. The country firebrand recently fired his band and replaced it with Austin axeman Keith Gattis, Mitch Marine on drums, and producer/bassist Dave Rowe, the boss himself dressed for an afternoon at the feed store in his bib overalls. Things got going on the evening-ending set with Yoakam and Gattis getting bluegrassy on Cheap Trick’s “I Want You to Want Me” before they tore through a romping rockabilly version of “Please , Please Baby,” which deftly segued into “Man of Constant Sorrow” and “Ring of Fire.” The new, lean lineup also threw a few curves: Gram Parsons’ “Wheels,” Waylon’s “Stop the World,” and a shift-on-the-fly rocker to stroller “Little Sister.” Yoakam sounded a bit frazzled between songs, but the minimalist sound brought an intimacy to the songs that worked as well in front of several thousand people as it would in a small club. It’s more Kentucky than Bakersfield, but it certainly fits. — Jerry RenshawSteve Winwood
It should come as no surprise that Steve Winwood and his band can jam. Especially since he was last seen leading Traffic and touring with the Grateful Dead. The still boyish Winwood and his fourpiece band laid down a set that was tight, funky, and filled with songs everyone knew. He threw in a couple selections from his new disc, About Time, which were rather indistinct with only their slinky grooves keeping folks’ interest. It was the hits the large crowd of gray-hairs was there to hear, and in that respect Winwood didn’t disappoint. At the start was a raging take on “I’m a Man” that proved that his band could indeed kick out the jam. They slowed down with a lilting “Pearly Queen,” then struck a Caribbean groove on “Back in the High Life,” Winwood switching from organ to mandolin. “Dear Mr. Fantasy” followed, a bit shorter than the crowd would’ve liked. “Why Can’t We Live Together,” the Timmy Thomas soul chestnut, was a perfect vehicle for Winwood’s blue-eyed soul. Finishing with a spot-on “Gimme Some Lovin'” got everyone to shaking butt and left the oldsters crowing for more. — Jim Caligiuri
Al Green/Mavis Staples
“Good evening, y’all!” cried Mavis Staples. “I bring you greetings from the Windy City, Chicago, Illinois!” Under the peaked roof of the American Originals stage with a Day-Glo sunset eclipsing the lighting, Staples, her sister Yvonne, and a fourpiece combo took the stage and shook the rafters with a set that was as much groove as gospel. Opening with an extended “Come Go With Me,” Staples led the faithful to their feet. Sister Yvonne, dressed in black like the band, stood back as the counter-vocal while Mavis, bathed in white with a head of red corkscrew curls bobbing as she sang, took the spotlight with “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” “the first song Pops taught us.”If the Staple Singers distinguished themselves with music that had a message, they also had a knack for arranging popular songs of the day in message-song fashion. Mavis’ powerful range took on “The Weight” with pulpit-thumpin’ glory before moving into “Respect Yourself,” which began ragged, segued into a bluesy groove, then circled back for the sisters’ voices blending in sibling harmony. Finale “I’ll Take You There” was the Moment as she prowled the stage before rapt faces raised into hers. “We’ve been taking you there for 53 years,” she declared. May she take us there forever.
Al Green followed Steve Winwood, who proved in satisfying style that the stage, not the studio, is his real home. Green began his set late amid a full gospel band setup and smoke machine that made the mist rise above the glittering lights into the inky night sky when the wind picked up. Gold and white seemed to bathe the stage, or maybe it was just the reverend himself, as comfortable in front of a crowd buzzed by beer and their own sweet smoke as if he were in church.
“Somebody say Texas!” he urged the crowd over and over, name-checking the Lone Star State throughout his hourlong first-day finale. The quiet groove began with “Let’s Get Married,” an unlikely opener — more like a sentimental chestnut to be dropped in later — but the effect was hypnotic. With a high-hat beat so skintight it sounded like the air was being sucked out of the cymbals and a Hammond growl that set the tone, Green burst forth with the legendary voice.
And if connecting with the music live is the ultimate experience, Green plugged in his bone-chilling falsetto, crooning, “I wanna soothe you baby, and wipe all your tears away.” On the video screen next to the stage, Green’s face gleamed black and contorted with the spirit. He grabbed a handful of red roses for the crowd from the organ as he wailed, “Take you in my arms and hold you, take you in my arms and love you every night, make everything all right all right.” It was a potent reminder that Al Green’s music comes from the heart but settles somewhere below the hips.
Marring the otherwise heavenly performance was the lateness of the set and a languorous pace that suggested he wouldn’t hurry the songs but might drop a few from the set. What do you want to bet “Take Me to the River” was slated for a finale? Though that song never materialized, “Let’s Stay Together,” “Here I Am (Come and Take Me),” and the Bee Gees’ “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart” did, with a touch of “Amazing Grace” thrown in for good measure.
“Al Green and Texas got a thing going on,” declared the reverend before sliding into his finale, “Love and Happiness.” That’s when the bass drum counted five, and the venerable hit took shape, its wicked groove snaking through the dark night and closing the evening in truly divine fashion. — Margaret Moser
SATURDAY
Endochine
How does Endochine differentiate itself from the sea of similarly self-proclaimed “alternative” acts? Harmonies and song writing. With their minor key, falsetto-driven, crescendo compositions, this Austin fivepiece comes across like local dream-weavers Seven Percent Solution fronted by Jeff Buckley, a sound that earned the band a recent opening slot with the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Augmenting their lineup with Johnny Goudie, Endochine’s driving numbers — like “Enough About You” from their debut, Day Two — translated better with the crowd, because the resultant power took their minds off of the intermittent rain, while also countering the gusts of volume coming from Asleep at the Wheel’s set nearby. For their penultimate number, the band called up famed Steely Dan and Doobie Brothers guitarist Skunk Baxter, who added shimmering chords to “Key to My Heart” and a galvanizing solo for the unnamed closer. Since there’s not a huge gulf between their music and other similarly styled marquee names, don’t be surprised to hear Endochine on one of the bigger ACL stages next go around. — David LynchJeff Klein
He was on the singer-songwriter stage, but this was no sensitive guy with an acoustic guitar act. Austin’s Jeff Klein is something else, and this all-too-brief appearance demonstrated why. From his brash stage patter to the immense roar he raised with his band, Klein is one of a kind. His vocals rasp like Tom Waits, yet his songs rock as hard as any band with a Westerberg in it ever did. He’s got attitude to spare, and it’s in sharp contrast to the pain and darkness in his music. On disc this comes at sharp angles, but live it’s taken straight and loud with an impact that’s hard not to feel. Concentrating on tunes from his latest and greatest, Everybody Loves A Winner, Klein & Co. added just enough color to retain the music’s moodiness. The result: “California” raged with a fury that recalled Dinosaur Jr. at their loudest, while the hooky melody of “Five Good Reasons” was mesmerizing in a sleepy, Nick Drake kind of way. It figures that Klein fits in so well here. He draws from punk, folk, and country, and Austin wouldn’t have it any other way. — Jim CaligiuriJosh Ritter
Dressed in a caramel-colored suit complete with skinny tie and rumpled hair, Boston’s Josh Ritter was all sweet-faced, boyish charm as he took the stage at the singer-songwriters’ corner Saturday. The drooping branches of a sheltering oak were a perfectly poetic backdrop for Ritter’s impassioned storytelling, most of which came from his recent release, Hello Starling. Despite the fact that the set was plagued with sound problems (bass too high, vocals too low, a nasty hum coming from the monitors, not to mention incessant ambient interference from the street and other stages), Ritter kept on smiling as he sang and strummed. The native Idahoan displayed a tertiary sense of American folk in the spirit of Dylan and Townes Van Zandt, and nearly all his songs come from a lovey-dovey place. It’s troubled lovey-doviness, allowing Ritter to express his impeccable poetic sensibilities ( “everything that they do is a ghost of a trace of a pale imitation of you”), while also showcasing his sly wit. And despite his smiley tendencies, Ritter is perfectly capable of exploring dark feelings, which proves that he’s more than just a youngster who can write pretty songs bereft of depth. — Melanie HauptJoe McDermott
Making an event like the ACL Music Festival kid-friendly goes a long way toward cultivating a good vibe for everyone. After all, there’s nothing like the shame of being a 4-year-old’s unforgettable introduction to the world of drunken buffoonery. Festival organizers made sure kids in tow stayed busy, too. The Austin Kiddie Limits tent featured face painting, an arts-and-crafts table, and visits from Clifford the Big Red Dog. Musicwise, longtime Austin favorite Joe McDermott held court over a sizable group of youngsters who sang and pranced in front of the stage. As a performer, McDermott has the same tweaked affability that makes Jonathan Richman endearing. McDermott and his Smart Little Creatures opened the show with “Great Big World,” a pop gem that encapsulates the deepest parental yearnings with its simple lyric, “Someday I’m gonna hold your little hand, walk around this great big world.” He can also get plenty silly, but McDermott doesn’t pander. As a result, his clever songs work for both kids and adults. Kids identified with the crowd-pleasing “I Am Baby,” while adults heard a blues lament for the harried parent whose keys somehow wound up at the bottom of the diaper pail. By set’s end, the tent was awash in ear-to-ear smiles. — Greg BeetsBright Eyes
A recurring guest spot from British alt-folkie Beth Orton mixed with a thunderous guest guitarist, Spoon’s Britt Daniel, filled out Bright Eyes’ bag of tricks Saturday afternoon. Only ominously gray skies could’ve forewarned the performers about a change in weather that made their angst-ridden emo poetry fall perfectly into place. Conor Oberst may or may not be the Great White Boy Hope of indie rock, but he does compose brilliant songs built around lush chamber pop. The band’s third Austin appearance in 12 months was a stripped-down affair without the somewhat common presence of an orchestra or choir. It didn’t matter, as rain and a chill in the air provided the appropriate accompaniment to Oberst’s frostbitten surveys on getting over getting older. The set was heavy on obscure selections, ignoring a significant amount of his recent breakthrough release, Lifted or the Story Is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground. The eventual downpour that erupted halfway through the set may have lost some of the audience, but those who stayed found the dizzying precipitation a nice touch. It was almost as if Oberst planned it that way. In other words, it was pure genius. — Matt DentlerDandy Warhols
Witnessing the Dandy Warhols out of their native element — dark, smoky nightclubs with a full bar — transposed onto an outdoor stage at 2pm on a Saturday afternoon was a little like watching Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds during their ’94 Lollopalooza stint. Neither act was made for sunshine and puppy dogs, but to their credit, the Dandys rallied to their clearly hungover cause, thanks in part to the light drizzle which rendered what might have been an otherwise intolerably shiny, happy day into a soft, gentle fuzz-vibe. Courtney Taylor-Taylor is still the most languid indie frontman going; on rallying cry “Godless” his Portland, Ore., smirk wrapped around the song’s churning basslines and snaked its way up more than a few pairs of trousers ‘n’ skirts. Keyboardist Zia McCabe, recently married and sporting the sort of laissez faire ‘tude usually reserved for girls half her age, flung a few knowing glances Taylor-Taylor’s way during the band’s 45 minute set, grinning at the sheer oddness of it all. Likewise, the Dandy’s one-man horn section, whose glaring yellow shirt sported the number 10, was a testament, to judge from his loose-limbed stance, to the number of bong hits consumed before taking the stage. But they rocked, on hits/car commercials like “Bohemian Like You” and the new “We Used to Be Friends,” which is more than I could say for that decade’s old Nick Cave gig. — Marc SavlovDrive-by Truckers/North Mississippi Allstars
Amid light drizzle, the Drive-by Truckers and North Mississippi Allstars personified the growing chant of the music world: The South will rise again. “How the hell are ya?” hollered Patterson Hood before the Truckers jackknifed through an hourlong set. Opening with songs from their killer new CD, Decoration Day, they name-checked Sam Phillips, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, and Elvis Presley in the raucous “Carl Perkins, Cadillac,” as Hood noted 2003’s musical mortality rate with, “Goddamn, this year’s been a bitch!” With “Sinkhole,” “Ronnie and Neil,” and “Marry Me” rounding out the set, “18 Wheels of Love” drove home the Truckers’ reputation as masters of the genre. Less served by the Southern hoohah is a band at the head of the pack, the North Mississippi Allstars. Pulling many of the songs from their new CD, Polaris, NMAS used their hour to squander their immense talent with gooey, jam-band tactics. That’s what made songs such as “Eyes” and “Never in All My Days” blend into a mishmash of less-than-memorable moments. Yet NMAS have soul, and a tremendous amount of it. Even if it was tempting to wish the wah-wah pedal would break, “Conan” found its home with a wet but happy crowd as did “Be So Glad” and Polaris‘ outstanding “Bad Bad Pain.” Rawk on, boys, but ix-nay the am-jay. — Margaret MoserReBirth Brass Band
Celebrating 20 years as a musical institution, ReBirth Brass Band took time to mourn the loss of their saxophone player James “Phat Nasty” Durant, who died the night before ACL began after the group’s weekly Maple Leaf gig in New Orleans. Somber sentiments aside, ReBirth thrilled an overflowing crowd at the American Original tent with a spirited 60 minutes of unrestrained party jams. “Born on the second line,” the band, led by brothers Philip and Keith Frazier, delivered throbbing backbeats by way of the traditional street-parade combination of tuba and bass drum. Accented by a snare drum, cymbals, and a horn section with three trumpets and two trombones, ReBirth traversed decades of black American music with tributes to Bobby Womack, the Blackbyrds, Stevie Wonder, Confunkshun, and 50 Cent. Just as their improvisational character owes a debt to Dixieland jazz, their call-and-response routines are as authentically hip-hop as those idioms produced by any given DJ/MC tandem. With booty-shaking as catharsis, ReBirth inspired sweaty, screaming revelry. Their zealous set was, if nothing else, a testament to the malleability and fortitude of a band attending funeral services for a friend and colleague the following Monday. — Robert GabrielPat Green
Doesn’t matter if you like Pat Green or not, you have to admit he seems like a decent guy. With lyrics like, “Is this the life I dreamed, or is it just the way I turned out?” he’s obviously got a fair amount of humility. The other thing you can’t argue with is Green’s popularity with Texans. For a throng of thousands, Green plowed through faves like “Take Me Out to the Dancehall,” “Who’s to Say,” “3 Days” (dedicated to his pregnant wife), and “All the Good Things Fade Away.” But here’s a question: Does the presence of a steel guitar, fiddle, and occasional mandolin make a country band? If the answer’s yes, then Green is country. And yet, his brand of Americana is barely twangy enough to be called country (the steel player might not have even been playing, for all anyone could tell) and doesn’t rock hard enough to be called rock. It’s not bad, it’s not great, it’s somewhere in between, and it’s that exact middle-of-the-road quality that’s made him such a phenomenal success. Nice guy and all, this stuff has all the passion of a truck (or beer) commercial. Once again, doesn’t matter; you can convince all those Pat Green fans of that. — Jerry Renshaw
SUNDAY
Kings of Leon
It may have been the first show of the last day of the ACL Festival, but that didn’t stop an impressive noontime crowd from gathering for the Kings of Leon’s first appearance in Austin. Thanks to a tremendous buzz; a raw, full-length debut (Youth & Young Manhood); and smokin’ EP (Holy Roller Novocaine), the curious were out in force, and happily we can report that no one left disappointed. The rough edges captured in the studio were also evident in all their glory as the Followill clan boogied like it was past midnight. From singer Caleb Followill’s Prince Valiant haircut and the hints of a beard on Matthew Followill, the impossibly young-looking guitarist, to the Rolling Stones T-shirt worn by headbanging bassist Jared Followill, the Kings of Leon were a band seemingly plucked from the Seventies. But they demonstrated that they weren’t just about the boogie, with a jangly take on the anthemic “California Waiting,” while the EP’s sole nonduplicate track, “Wicker Chair,” showed a sensitive side. Ending with the romping “Trani” allowed the band to really break a sweat and left the assembled multitude with a shit-eating grin. — Jim CaligiuriThe Durdens
Between getting lost on their way to the show and having to play opposite the quasi-spiritual choral rock of the Polyphonic Spree, this Austin family gospel group was dealt a somewhat rough card Sunday afternoon. Despite seeming a bit out of sorts, the Durdens brought the light crowd to attention with “Gonna Take My Burden to the Lord.” Lead vocalists/siblings Larry and Judy Durden sung themselves into a soulful reverie on the up-tempo numbers, while the band spun funky cycles of fluid interplay between superlative bassist Anthony Durden and guitarists Albert Durden III and Brad Klein. Unlike their compatriots in the Bells of Joy and the Mighty Sincere Voices of Navasota, the Durdens supplemented their take on old-time gospel with overtures toward contemporary pop. Their sacred reinterpretation of the Police’s “Every Breath You Take” filtered through Puff Daddy and Faith Evans’ “I’ll Be Missing You,” was a creative misfire, yet it was interesting to hear Sting’s homage to male romantic paranoia remade in this context. After hearing R.E.M. play “Everybody Hurts” later that evening, I couldn’t help but wonder how it would sound by the Durdens. While not everything they tried worked out at this show, their willingness to explore ultimately goes a long way toward keeping gospel fresh. — Greg BeetsThe Mighty Sincere Voices of Navasota
“Jesus Got Me High (And I Sure Do Like My Drug).” You gotta love a gospel song with a title like that. The family-based Mighty Sincere Voices of Navasota (backed by drums, guitar, and bass) hit a mighty groove for Jesus on every song. The rhythm and repetition of songs like “Jesus Went Out of His Way” becomes hypnotic after a while; even nonbelievers can’t help but be caught up in the energy and conviction of the Sincere Voices. True to form, the Voices do a lot of testifying punctuated by quick hit-it/quit-it honks from the band, and even pulled off a false ending on one song (only to launch right back into it again). Half the footsore soldiers of Jesus were on their feet by the end of the Voices’ set, the rhythm section digging a 10-foot-deep groove that the background singers held up. What’s refreshing about an act like the Voices, even for secularists, is the fact that they play with more power, passion, and fervor than 95% of the rock bands out there. You may not be a believer, but if you’re not moved by the Sincere Voices then your soul is definitely in need of sustenance. — Jerry RenshawThe Shins
If there’s an award at the Austin City Limits Music Festival for “Most Unexpected Headliner,” the Shins would likely tie at first place with Yo La Tengo. For a band better suited to dark clubs like Emo’s, a 12:30 pm Sunday set in the middle of Zilker Park’s premier stage seemed rather dubious. Not so, proved the New Mexico-born quartet with a breezy hour of moody pop from their acclaimed Sub Pop debut, Oh, Inverted World, and its forthcoming follow-up, Chutes Too Narrow. Singer-guitarist James Mercer did his best to summon the spirit of Jeff Buckley and even Rivers Cuomo, with whiny, suburbanite pleas such as the fan favorite “Caring Is Creepy.” The festival’s venue actually ripped some sunshine into the group’s onstage antics, as keyboardist Marty Crandall even got into the spirit by flailing his arms as if Pete Townshend had just joined the band. Previewing new material, the Shins managed to make it all playful and tongue-in-cheek. Mercer even referred to their new album as hitting stores “the same day as the Strokes record. But we have a cooler title.” With such an exuberant show in the eye of an impending Sunday storm, the Shins already have a cooler title: “Most Pleasant Surprise.” — Matt DentlerTim Easton
Perhaps the most unfortunate casualty of the poor feng shui of this year’s BMI singer-songwriter stage was Tim Easton. The virtuoso guitarist-singer battled a fairly formidable foe during the first half of his set, having the misfortune to be scheduled to perform directly across the park from the Polyphonic Spree and their gigantic, Earth-swallowing sound. “I always wanted to be in the Polyphonic Spree,” joked Easton grimly, but it’s doubtful this is the way he imagined it. And yet, he soldiered on nonetheless, rearranging his set list so that the quieter songs came after the onslaught of la-la-las had died down. The Athens, Ga.-based artist relied heavily on material from his excellent third release, Break Your Mother’s Heart (New West), including the excellent “Poor, Poor LA” and “Lexington Jail,” which its composer characterized as a “Johnny Cash rip-off.” Easton’s finger-picking prowess was rivaled only by his poignant and breathtaking wordsmithing, such as when he sang of a woman’s “whiplash tongue and hurricane eyes” (“Special 20”) or declared that “I can hear even better under your ceiling fan.” The strength of his artistry and grace of his good sportsmanship triumphed together in the face of frustrating interference, which is ultimately the mark of a true artist. — Melanie HauptMonte Warden/Caitlin Cary
On a low stage near a small grove of trees, Monte Warden entertained a faithful few hundred. The fans didn’t seem to mind that Bob Schneider’s loud and punchy set was bleeding through the acoustic performance, and neither did Warden. With both a new CD and his third son due in a few short months, songs such as his signature “Just to Hear Your Voice” resonated sweetly and sincerely, a hallmark of Warden’s since he burst onto Austin’s music scene at age 15. He led the crowd through a kind of minireview of his oeuvre, recalling his rocking rockabilly days with “Car Seat” and the Wagoneers with “Stout and High.” The audience reluctantly let Warden offstage after the gospel final offering “Two Boards, Three Nails.” Across the field was former Whiskeytown fiddler Caitlin Cary, her second year at the festival. With her latest CD I’m Staying Out a solid follow-up to last year’s While You Weren’t Looking, Cary had no shortage of material to choose from. Her smoky, evocative voice carried “Shallow Heart, Shallow Water” to the 1,000 or so gathered below the little rock nook that formed the Austin Ventures stage’s back wall. Dressed in black and wielding her violin, her set also suffered from sound bleed, though she just shrugged after “Please Break My Heart.” “Rock is getting in the way of country, so we have to turn it up a notch,” she announced before her closing song. Cary’s unadorned style, much like Warden, requires little of the listener other than surrendering to the beauty of the music. Amid the gray skies and drizzle, the audience willingly did just that. — Margaret Moser
Kaki King
Waterloo Records founder John Kunz introed Atlanta’s Kaki King by warning all guitar players present: After hearing the 23-year-old guitarist, they might want to put down their instrument of choice. Like Michael Hedges, Eddie Van Halen, and Stanley Jordan, King explodes the guitar’s possibilities via two-hand tapping, fretting notes with both hands. The result is more like a multipart piano composition than your everyday six-string strum. That is, when you could hear her flat-black Ovation acoustic, since King’s set began with some brief technical difficulties. More troubling was the noise swirling about from surrounding stages: all but the loudest components of King’s set were squashed between a Lucinda Williams-and-G. Love sandwich. Not that this really phased King, who’s already shared stages with Richard Thompson, Soulive, David Lindley, Robert Randolph, and Tony Levin. When not touring, she performs with the Blue Man Group in her current home of New York. Picking up the guitar at age 5, King is obviously very intimate with the instrument. She gazed intently at the crowd while effortlessly offering up savant fretwork from her Velour debut, Everyone Loves You. In doing so, King easily justified the buzz surrounding her name. — David LynchLucinda Williams
Back on her bus, Lucinda Williams’ hands covered her face as she bowed her head, tipping low the straw cowboy hat wreathed in miniature peach-colored roses. “I fucked up! I can’t believe I fucked up!” She bemoaned the glitch that led to her forgetting the lyrics to “Real Live Bleeding Fingers and Broken Strings” after the song’s guitar solo. “And it was such a good set until then!” She slumped down in the bus seat, bereft in a pink New York Dolls shirt and low riding jeans. Audiences love to see the cracks in the façade, much as when Mavis Staples fluffed a verse on “Respect Yourself” two nights earlier; it often endears the performer to them even more. Williams is a notorious perfectionist, and the moment seared her like a red-hot poker: “I threw the water bottle and had a fit,” she moped. Yet the tens of thousands who thronged in front of the huge stage were happy. They roared and cheered to “Drunken Angel,” “Ventura,” “Those Three Days,” and the exquisitely sensual “Fruits of My Labor.” Her country-girl pigtails peeked out from under her cowboy hat as she commanded “Righteously” and crooned “Still I Long for Your Kiss.” The lyrical fumble of “Bleeding” hadn’t eclipsed the passionate “Joy” or the allure of “Essence.” When the snake rattle of “Get Right With God” began to shake for her finale, all was forgotten in the beat of the moment. Lucinda Williams stood center stage, totally connected with an audience that loved her even more. — Margaret MoserBeth Orton
Pleasant isn’t a word anyone wants associated with their rock & roll gig, but UK folkster/sometime Chemical Sister Beth Orton, playing a semisolo acoustic set, managed to soothe the post-Ween, pre-R.E.M. filler slot with enough shy spunk to make the endless search for a non-Trainspotting toilet worth every aching step. It’s not just that Orton’s voice has matured over the past three albums — it has — but that the once retiring songstress now appears much more comfortable in front of a massive crowd. Breaking out her honeyed, Brit-flected voice on both old songs like “The Sweetest Decline,” “Feel to Believe,” and newer, tracks such as the beautiful “Weather Report,” she was the very picture of loveliness. If anyone can save folk music from the Indigo Girls, Orton can, and the picture-perfect sunset framing her sweetly melancholic set, with the faraway piping of a long-gone train whistle playing backup, was as good a gift from the gods of folk as anyone could ever hope for, and damn the ubiquitous cell-phone chatter. — Marc SavlovR.E.M.
The park was quiet as a library as the endless wave of humanity stood at attention near the end of R.E.M.’s ACL-closing set. “Nightswimming,” you see, deserves quiet. It was at this late juncture in the evening that Michael Stipe and R.E.M. moved past the point of simply meeting high expectations and into transcendence. The double shot of “Everybody Hurts” and “Nightswimming” forced cigarette lighters into the air as tens of thousands of fans soaked up the atmosphere like a trickle of rum on a slab of bread pudding. Both songs were delivered as an encore to “Man on the Moon,” all culled from Automatic for the People, the album cementing the Athens, Ga., stars’ place in the musical firmament.The beginning was appropriate enough, Will Wynn and Lloyd Doggett introducing Lance Armstrong, who in turn gave way to Peter Buck’s buzzsaw guitar, which marked the beginning of “Finest Worksong.” Soon after was “Imitation of Life,” one of R.E.M.’s sweetest moments of the past decade, though the dark, jangly “Drive” was the one that got the gears running properly.
There were doubtless dozens of Johnny Cash dedications throughout the weekend, but it’s hard to imagine one more wonderful than Mike Mills’ “(Don’t Go Back to) Rockville,” delivered straight into the open heavens of Rockville, USA. It began a juggernaut three-song run that continued with “Fall on Me” and “Losing My Religion,” featuring the Greatest Mandolin Moment in Rock History courtesy of Mr. Buck.
The ever-eccentric Stipe was as chatty as could be expected for one who’s been in the spotlight so long. Wearing a greenish outline of eye make-up that gave him a decidedly Riddler-like appearance, he introduced surprise Internet request “World Leader Pretend,” a politically charged piece he said the band hadn’t performed since 1991, ironically the year of the first American foray into Iraq.
Another surprise was the unveiling of three new songs, all of them solid. One, called “Bad Day,” was an inspired recasting of “It’s the End of the World as We Know It,” sloganeering and free-word association included.
But it’s hard to deny the live impact of such fiery classics such as “The One I Love,” in which Stipe stepped into the crowd to get his chrome dome rubbed, and the evening-closing “It’s the End of the World as We Know It,” which fired the oh-so-fitting closing refrain “time I had some time alone.” Time to reflect on the highs and lows of the past three days, and the greatness that had just passed into the quiet Austin night. — Michael Chamy
Best ACL Set
Greg Beets: Robert Randolph Jim Caligiuri: Michael Franti & Spearhead
Michael Chamy: R.E.M.
Matt Dentler: Alexi Murdoch
Robert Gabriel: Gary Clark Jr.
Christopher Gray: Cafe Tacuba
Melanie Haupt: Josh Ritter
Raoul Hernandez: Doyle Bramhall
Andy Langer: Al Green
David Lynch: Mavis Staples
Margaret Moser: Al Green
Jerry Renshaw: Cafe Tacuba
Marc Savlov: Beth Orton
Jay Trachtenberg: Steve Earle
This article appears in September 26 • 2003.