Mojo - The Music Magazine

The Mean Eyed Cat is a fantastic shack of a bar that sits on Austin's West 5th Street. When three years ago MOJO first visited the fabled venue - itself a shrine to the late Johnny Cash - it backed on to a railway track and sat in the middle of an unremarkable district, offering its loyal clientele a place to drink and listen to country music. Today, it sits sandwiched in-between newly built condominiums that overlook its battered, wooden exterior, a typical sign of the gentrification that has begun to spread through Austin despite the protests of the more free-spirited members of the city's community. The fact that the Mean Eyed Cat exists at all is a minor miracle, the bar being allowed to remain where it is purely because of the presence of a 100 year old-plus tree that cannot be chopped down for the sake of preservation. Today, MOJO is proud to be back at the Mean for another Bootleg BBQ.

The BBQ itself - hosted with our good friends at new talent support group British Underground and promoters The Local - is an opportunity for SXSW attendees to wind down with a cold beer and some ribs during the course of an afternoon packed with new music from some of the festival's hottest talents. This year, the BBQ credo has altered slightly with a few more established acts creeping on to the bill. The hours have also been extended in order to encompass a BBQ after-party that sees even more acts lining-up to perform (13 in total).

Occupying the midday slot is David Thomas Broughton, a folk troubadour whose tortured expression and shy demeanour is redolent of Nick Drake. In fact, while Broughton wrings his hands, and gazes absent-mindedly around the room, he remains in complete control of the proceedings, bringing his baroque folk vignettes to life using an endless series of loops. He even uses his own cough as percussion. Songs like So Much Sin To Forgive are perfectly executed with Broughton using his enigmatic presence to create an ever increasing tension during his set. An ultimately absorbing and utterly engaging performance.

For all of the outsider-cum-neurotic persona that Broughton appears to possess, he writes songs that perfectly straddle the world of pop, rock and folk. Once offstage, he falls deep into conversation with The Proclaimers' Craig and Charlie. While Broughton's personal mystique and complex electro-folk stylings are at odds with Craig and Charlie's own output, the Scottish duo are remarkably supportive of the Otley-born twenty-something, expressing their admiration for him in no uncertain terms.

The Proclaimers take to the boards in their customary gung-ho style and play a 30-minute set that includes the hits (a stirring Letter From America, a heartfelt Sunshine On Leith), the unexpected tracks (a re-purposed version of Kings Of Leon's Seventeen) and even a new cut, Sing All Our Tears Away (written by Irish songwriter Damian Dempsey). Never a band dictated to by fashion, their style is a tribute to the age-old glories of good melodies and good songs. Both are evident today, earning the brothers a rapturous welcome and winning them new friends.

A large majority of the 300-strong crowd are clearly here to see Dan Auerbach, one half of The Black Keys now gone temporarily solo. Augmented by members of Hacienda and My Morning Jacket-drummer Patrick Hallahan, Auerbach delivers a remarkable set especially considering both he and the band played a party last night which raged on well past past 2.00am. Despite claiming to still be asleep, Auerbach and his crew deliver a set which is phenomenal in depth, groove, soul and grit. An inspired cover of Rockin' Horse's Oh Carol I'm So Sad sits alongside When The Night Comes, Money And Trouble and a rousing finale of Streetwalkin' (resplendent with a delicious wah-wah solo) - the latter even has Cliff Burstein, the Moses of US rock management (clients: Metallica, Shania Twain, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and The Black Keys) playing a quick burst of air guitar.

If Auerbach is unstoppable, then Blur guitarist Graham Coxon, armed with only an acoustic guitar, is the embodiment of hesitancy. The set is mainly drawn from his new conceptual neo-folk album, The Tipping Point. If his picking style draws openly on the likes of Martin Carthy, then vocally his debt on tracks like Sorrow's Army is owed to Messrs Bolan and Barrett. He ends with his take on Elizabeth Cotton's Oh Babe It Ain't No Lie - a song that fits the surroundings of the Mean Eyed Cat perfectly.

Coxon's stripped down six song set is in stark contrast to the epic, sweeping fayre offered by Austinite multi-instrumentalists Shearwater. Their complex brand of celestial pop is topped by frontman Jonathan Meiburg's sweeping, emotive vocals. The overall effect is both progressive and instantly engaging. A track like On The Death Of The Waters, for instance, shares similarities with mid-period Pink Floyd. Indeed, such is the quality of Meiburg's vocal and songwriting that, in a climate where both Elbow and Fleet Foxes are enjoying phenomenal success in the UK, Shearwater could well follow in their footsteps when they release the follow-up to 2008's highly acclaimed Rooks.

Recently signed to Bella Union records, black-clad Leeds singer-songwriter Paul Marshall is a man who specialises in songs of blood, murder and pain. His impassioned delivery is often likened to Nick Drake and today's performance marks him out as an artist who is evolving at a rapid rate. His first album for Bella isn't due out until February next year and Marshall tells MOJO that he's hoping to embellish his acoustic songs further, citing the likes of Yeasayer as a prime source of inspiration.

Nevada City songstress Alela Diane - one of the artists that first appeared in MOJO's 9 For '09 rundown at the start of the year - also delivers a set which is spared any additional instrumentation. Her opening track, The Rifle, conjures up tales of America's bloodstained past in the most seductive of manners. It is this sense of Olde World pastoral romanticism that has transformed her into a star in Europe, most notably in France, and which has made her name to watch in 2009. During her brief mid-afternoon BBQ slot, it's easy to see why.

"It is time for a meat injection!" ex-Darkness frontman Justin Hawkins tells MOJO, noticing the drop in the audience's energy levels due to the lethal combination of sun, beer and Diane's post-Joni lullabies. His band Hot Leg are here to add just that. No stranger to ridicule and undeterred by the soaring temperature, Hawkins squeezes into an all-in-one leather cat-suit a matter of minutes before showtime then takes to the stage for a set that sees Hot Leg run through the bulk of their cock-rocking debut album. While it may be akin to taking coals to Newcastle, the band's '80s-metal approach is met with a fervent sense of appreciation by members of the audience who clearly revelled in this kind of music back in the day. Hot Leg of course have their detractors, but today they are supremely entertaining, offering up stadium rock shapes on a stage that is no bigger than eight feet wide. As a result they receive a heroes ovation. "I love these guys!" enthuses watching Big Star drummer Jody Stephens.

If Hot Leg draw on hard rock's spandexed past, then Sheffield's Rolo Tomassi represent rock's challenging future. Having already played last night at MOJO/Full Time Hobby/Ghostly International's 6th Street showcase, today the youthful five-piece are once again in fine form, their blend of post-hardcore thrash bewildering certain members of the audience. "Wow!" bellows a man in his '50s standing in front of the stage in between every song. Sadly, the band's set is cut short when singer Eva Spence develops what appears to be an onstage migraine. Despite this, Rolo's first trip Stateside has been hugely memorable.

With the audience still reeling from Rolo's relentless assault, the post BBQ aftershow begins with the arrival of The Handsome Family whose gothic country tales are enhanced by Rennie Sparks' stories of her husband Brett's childhood in Texas (it seems the latter's aunt was decapitated in a car accident) leaving the crowd slack-jawed and wondering whether they'd heard her correctly. Equally soothing are Brighton post-folkers The Miserable Rich whose winsome lyrical vignettes are augmented by sumptuous cello and violin.

The Rich men are followed by an impromptu performance by Liz Green who steps into the breach when a mooted set by Eli 'Paperboy' Reed fails to materialise due to the latter falling ill after a mammoth 11 sets in four days. Having already appeared at last year's BBQ, Green has grown in confidence throughout the last 12 months, her clear blues vocal style having attained a heart-piercing directness. It says much about the quality of her material that her debut single - and tonight's set opener - Bad Medicine now sounds like a bona fide classic. Green returns to her formative influences by throwing in a startling cover of Blind Willie McTell's Dying Crapshooter's Blues. Now, she really must get on and finish that much mooted debut album.

As dusk draws in, the graveyard shift is filled by Nashville's The Young Republic. The band open with Black Dog Blues - a track that showcases their earthy, slide-led approach. But it's the final epic bow of The Alchemist that points the way to a fine future. In fact, if the Pixies made country music, they'd sound a lot like Young Republic.

Their closing set is a sign that, for MOJO, SXSW is over for yet another year. In the last four days we have gripped and grinned but, above all, we have basked in a vast reservoir of great music. Now, the plane home to Blighty beckons. Perhaps there will even be an opportunity to sleep...

Phil Alexander

Photos courtesy of Piper Ferguson