I’ve dragged myself back up from Texas, dodging deer, blizzards, ice roads and backwoods maniacs with little to account for this “Budweiser business” than that it seems to be much ado about fuck all.
After sweating it out here in Winnipeg, going through massive Lone Star withdrawals and attempting to reconstitute my bowels after a week of eating deep fried “goods” from the sides of roads, I’m more certain than when I set off that the class action lawsuit being waged against Anheuser-Busch south of the border is a bunch of baloney. Almost nobody knew about the situation, and nobody seemed to give a fuck one way or another. So good riddance to bad rubbish.
There were a few things, though, that I learned in Texas that I thought I might share with Albatross readers; some hard truths straight outta the Lone Star state that remain fresh after the thousands of miles, the delirium tremens, and the gut rot wore off. So here we go…
# 5 - “Freedom Ain’t Free”
South By Southwest is anything but a free festival. In fact, it’s divided quite clearly along caste lines, with “badge holders” taking precedence to events over “wristband holders,” who then also take precedence over “the public.” Badges run somewhere around $800, wristbands over $200, and general admission shows ranging from $5 to $50. That’s not even taking into account the prohibitive cost of accommodation in Austin during the two weeks SXSW takes place. Which is just fucking insane.
However, much is made about “give aways” and “free day parties” and such. And truth be told, there is much free stuff to be had. But the bulk of it comes at some price. Generally, this involves email access, Facebook or Twitter logins, or simply to be bombarded by corporate messaging at every turn. If you’re willing to put up with this, then it can very well turn into a free-for-all.
For example, at a Pitchfork party, my associate Maz & I managed to circumvent the block-long line-up to get into this “free” event — which nonetheless required email “RSVP,” which at that point I had no way of confirming if I had done or not — by chatting up a volunteer stooge at the side door and waltzing right in. Upon entry, we discovered that beer at this “free” party started at five bucks a pop. Unless, of course, you waited in another line for a Newcastle sponsored “photo booth.” Once at the front of this line, you took your picture, which was then superimposed with some dumb text and #nobollocks and posted to your social media in return for one free Newcastle.
Fair enough, I figured. Freedom, after all, ain’t free.
#4 - Live Free, Party Hard, Hustle
The amount of people hustling their assess off in Austin was astounding. People were working any angle could think of to get a buck or two. Slinging drinks at multiple venues, frying up grub in food trucks 14 hours a day, peddling tourists and festival goers around the downtown in rickshaws for tips, or trying to slang you their latest CDR mixtape on a corner — people are hustling.
And they’re, for the most part, doing so in order to live the American Dream. The musicians and industry folks I know and met down there were doing triple duty, playing up to four or five showcases a day, schmoozing, partying, and handing out download cards and swag like it was going out of style. It was both exhausting and inspiring to witness. If you want to live free and party hard, you’ve got to be prepared to hustle. Bottom line.
# 3 - COPS is For Real
After witnessing astonishing — and warranted — police presence around the festivities in Austin, I was shocked that I didn’t see any insane police behaviour, or any crazy COPS-worthy locals getting buckwild.
Until the wee hours of our final night in Austin, that is. We were all relaxing, enjoying some late night libations before hitting the hay when we heard the unmistakable sound of one motor vehicle crashing full force into another. Rushing to the window, we discovered a small SUV had t-boned a pimped out SLAB… which was parked in a parking lot off a main drag.
“Holy fuck!” we exclaimed, thinking someone had just goofed up big time. Then the SUV backed up, stomped on the gas, and crashed into the SLAB once again.
At this point, people were up and yelling at one another, and a woman jumped out of the car. To make a long story short, this was some sort of love triangle gone wrong, and the wife in the picture was having none of it. After much cussing, some fisticuffs, a chase, some domestic disturbance and light violence, a macing or two and an (alleged) stabbing, the police arrived on the scene in full force, guns drawn. Those most heavily involved (all others had vanished as soon as the sirens were heard) were handcuffed on the ground and questioned.
Austin is a large place, Texas even larger. The number of similar incidents, not to mention much more serious ones (we were about six blocks from an intersection known locally as “crack corner” where crack cocaine could easily, though sketchily, be procured from any number of sources at any hour of the day) happening concurrently is truly unfathomable.
COPS is real, motherfuckers. Don’t mess with Texas.
# 2 - “Fuck the police, we run from the law down here.”
Based on the heavy police presence in Texas, and my understanding of state laws, I wasn’t surprised to see that drug use is far less flagrant than you would expect at a Canadian music festival. However, there was plenty of marijuana smoke billowing from the nooks and crannies of side-doors and alleyways off 6th Street last week. And undoubtedly plenty more illicit activity going down behind closed bathroom stalls.
Indeed, the main difference I detected (besides a decidedly lower quality of Electric Lettuce down south) was American’s preference for pills to pot. One fella I encountered told me that “the two things I love the most in the world are red headed women and methamphetamine.” The look in his eye and the set to his jaw told me he wasn’t bullshitting.
“Fuck the police,” a new buddy of mine told me in the White Horse Tavern one night when I asked him about drug laws and use in Texas. He grinned and shot a stream of brown tobacco juice onto the floor. “We run from the law down here!”
#1 - “If you don’t love Jesus, you can go to Hell.”
If there’s one thing to know about Texas, it’s that they have a strong love of The Lord. My booze-swilling, tobacco-chewing, law-running buddy also told me straight up that the Lord was his shepherd, and if I didn’t like it I could kiss his ass. I promptly showed him my tattoo of Jesus Christ himself, and our friendship was solidified. He bought me a cold Lone Star and shared with me some sordid sexual details regarding a number of ladies who kept lingering around him.
But it was Billy Joe Shaver, undeniably one of the baddest asses in all of Texas, if not the entire United States of America, who told me to my face when I met him that “If you don’t love Jesus, you can go to Hell. Plain and simple.” I assured the Man we were on the same team, and he shook my hand like a true good ol’ boy, missing fingers and all.
So there you have it. Texans don’t give a fuck about Budweiser beer; they got Lone Star. They love freedom, partying, and the Lord Jesus Christ, the One True God. And while they avoid the law like the plague, they ain’t gonna let it stop them from being whoever the fuck it is they want to be. God bless Texas.
Next month, I’ll be taking to the Snowbird Capital of California, Palm Springs, to investigate what it is retired Canadians do with their time and money. Golf? Lawn bowling? Weird, U.S. priced booze orgies in the club house? Along the way I’ll be checking out game show culture, Los Angeles freeways, and the sensation that is Coachella.
Geoff Livingston/Flickr