"One Day" by Kings Go Forth

Depending on the person participating, SXSW is a business conference, a raging party, or a music marathon. For me personally, it was a milestone, a mission to soak it up for all that it is worth. In these fives days exhaustively walking mile after mile up, down and across downtown Austin, writing until dawn, and waiting in long lines for the sake of live music- I learned to grab at the opportunities and surprises that appear.

The nerves fluttered in my stomach when the plane touched down in Austin as my excitement was lined with  racing thoughts of self-doubt, “What the hell am I doing here alone? How do I portray SXSW right? Can I do this?” So as I made the first of many steps alone through the airport and downtown to see the nearly 20,000 other people attending SXSW moving in all directions around me, I knew I had to let go of any hesitation. It would only be a waste energy, and SXSW is a nonstop pace with no time for apprehension.

SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY

Being born and bred in the on-the-go and self-involved metro New Jersey area, I only heard about the reputable southern hospitality in movies. Yet, with each genial exchange with hundreds of nameless people, that southern hospitality was proving true and any self-doubt melted away in the Austin sun.

At SXSW, sleep is the last priority. Though I saw many droopy faces, grins were wide, as I was greeted with “Good Morning, who did you see last night?” by gruff voices strained by endless applause that echoed throughout Austin.

Those mornings turned into electric afternoons, where professional bands became street performers, vying for attention. The smells of heavy mesquite flavored Southern BBQ vendors wafted through the crowds who were wired from Monster energy drinks handed out on several street corners.

Then as the sun dropped and the alcohol continued to flow out of every bars’ taps, this restless energy soon became joyous romps as people stumbled into the next club to scream louder for the myriad of bands about to perform. The daily cycle repeated four times, meeting like-minded people from all points on the map, sharing our journey to SXSW, and exchanging business cards to expand our network.

However, "network" seems like too cold a word to describe the genuine connections made at SXSW. Business professionals, writers, critics, festival fanatics and artists collectively threaded a colorful quilt, not just steel-framed business network.

There were a few standout people who truly made me feel like I was attending with long time friends. I met Dale and Vince, two men with established careers in Internet start-ups, on my first night of the adventure while awaiting Sharon Jones and The Dap Kings. We shared insights in between performances about social media and musical opinions but it wasn’t until much later in the conversation when Vince asked the unavoidable question, “So Lindsay, just how old are you?”

I didn’t want to admit it but it was time I had to, “I’m 21… I know, I’m a baby.” I answered as if I needed to apologize for not revealing myself sooner.

“Whoaaaa” they said loudly throwing back their heads as their assumptions were proven. Still, they never patronized, rather they were impressed that a young girl traveled to Austin alone with a clear music journalism goal in mind.  After five days of marathon blogging it was the first time I actually believed I could really achieve this dream because of one fateful afternoon on the third day of SXSW.

THE WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY 

My bright outlook was clouded by viral pessimism caught from a panel on the post-print era of music journalism, where the experts' only insight was “the music and journalism industry are both going downhill, but it can’t get much worse.”

Chris Weingarten, a Rolling Stone contributor, remarked with such dismissive snark, "everyone is going to take the picture of Surfer Blood that it ultimately doesn’t matter." I looked down at my itinerary to see Surfer Blood highlighted, and I felt like a fool.  With my spirit nearly broken, it was a text from Dale that told me to cheer up after I briefly explained my dismay.

I gathered myself, shook off the doubt I thought I left at the airport and went to listen and report on Surfer Blood.  That was my mission and I stuck to it, no matter what Chris Weingarten of Rolling Stone thought.

Then walking back out into the open air, away from Surfer Blood’s throngs of fans, Bob Boilen appeared.  With his trademark black military cap and thick-rimmed glasses, I immediately recognized this man as the National Public Radio music journalist I model myself after. This chance meeting was all unfolding weeks after sending my summer intern application for his highly respected radio show, All Songs Considered.

I extended my hand and said quickly, without thinking, “Bob Boilen! I’m a big fan!” He shook my hand immediately, but instead of just passing by like I thought he would, he stopped to talk even though he was busy working on NPR’s extensive SXSW coverage.

“Thank You,” he replied, “What’s your name?”

Thinking about it now, I would have expected myself to stumble over an encounter like this. I just ran into a personal hero; this would typically make my speech stutter and my hands shake- but not this time. I felt like I was talking to Dale and Vince again, where the generational gap didn’t affect a genial report in the least. After discussing our thoughts on acts we caught that afternoon, I said matter-of-factly, “You know, I applied for your summer internship and still hadn’t received word.”

“Oh, we hadn’t even looked through them yet.” I suddenly realized a window of opportunity was blown right open.

“Here, check out what I have been working on, I’m here reporting on SXSW as part of my blog and senior project in music journalism,” as I said reaching in my pocket for my business cards. I felt poised at the exact right moment.

“I sure will, thanks,” said the Bob Boilen. Giddy with excitement about this unexpected occurrence, the pessimistic panel no longer affected my mood. Surely that was a once in a lifetime moment, which, as luck would have it, occurred twice.

When arrived early to see a young female rapper named Rye Rye perform, Bob Boilen emerged right next to me. I looked over, smiled, and nodded my head to greet him politely as to not be too pushy. However, this time he reached out to shake my hand and apologize, “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Lindsay,” I answered, not surprised nor offended, just overjoyed he wanted to know.

“Oh, Right, I’m Bob”

I replied with a smile, “I know.” I regretted my slightly precocious Jersey tone, but he laughed back and we picked up our conversation from the previous run-in. I don’t know for sure if this meeting will affect the rest of my life, but that glimmer of hope was all I could ever ask of my SXSW adventure. Yet, there was still plenty more in store.

RIDING THE MAGIC BUS

 "I'm a Flirt" (R. Kelly, T-Pain, T.I. vs. Broken Social Scene) by The Hood Internet

Reenergized by meeting with Bob Boilen yet again, I was ready to party. Somehow I knew I would get through the exhaustion and suddenly chilly Austin weather because I had to make it to the final dance party of SXSW.  So I downed one last free energy drink, and ran across town to get out of the cold and onto the dance floor.  My favorite DJ's, Steve Reidell and Aaron Birk, aka The Hood Internet, were mashing the best of pop, hip-hop and indie rock at the Karma Lounge. 

I took pictures through their high-energy remixes. I even perched myself on the corner of the stage for the best vantage point. But when the beats took over, I let go and basically became one of the many fly girls and guys. I popped, I locked, I dipped low, because I know that I can.

By the last night of the festival I no longer thought, I knew. I knew I could dance, I knew I could shoot photos, I knew I can write and publish a website and now It was time to celebrate my capabilities. So when Steve and Aaron presented the opportunity to keep the party going at an after hours event only vaguely detailed, no matter how sketchy the circumstances seemed, I couldn’t say no.

The bus they mentioned arrived to take us to a ranch a few miles outside of downtown. Perhaps it was the gin and tonic that allowed me to hop right on without hesitation and ride down a strange highway somewhere I could never anticipate.

In the middle of the night, I found myself at a frigid barn on an isolated sprawling piece of land. Myself along with Steve, Aaron, a few other bus riders who became quick friends, huddled by the raging bonfire and kicked back the free beers. My new friends even chanted, “Jersey! Jersey! Jersey!” as I tore up the floor for when The Hood Internet took to their MacBooks for the third and final Dj set, the climatic grand finale of my SXSW.

At 6 am on a chilly Sunday morning beneath a starry Texas sky, It never felt so wonderful to be completely exhausted. I sank into the seat of a haggard school/tour bus heading back downtown with the DJ’s and nearly 30 other weary but pleasantly drunk SXSW conquerors. Though the only thing truly psychedelic about this mysterious bus was the exterior paint, this was indeed a trip that changed my perspective and possibly altered my life.

I leave with nearly one thousand pictures, silent frozen snapshots, that will never do the sounds, the smells, the body aches justice. This was the first party of the rest of my life, where I shared laughs, drinks, uninhibited cheers with people who came together from all points of the world to attend SXSW. I built a network, or rather weaved a quilt that expanded my once tiny NJ music beat far beyond what I expected. Maybe at the start of my adventure I felt at times like a timid little fish in a huge pond, but now I’m feeling agile, ready to explore the waters and swim with a new and larger school. It’s just a matter of keeping up with the current ahead.