Kevin Bronson on March 16th, 2014

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[SXSW had devolved into Sloppy by Rudewest by Saturday night, when 6th Street was no place to roam if a) you wanted get anywhere in a timely fashion, or b) if you wanted to avoid random confrontational behavior. Speed-walking through the “fragrant” alleys proved a prudent course, and if you kept your eyes on the prize – of seeking out good music – you were rewarded:]

(@krbronson) on Saturday at SXSW:

Jack Antonoff is still fun. OK, so that was a cheesy way to begin an item about Bleachers, the new project from the lead guitarist of pop darlings fun., but it’s appropriate. Bleachers is a rock band for the 23-year-old big brothers of his previous band’s 17-year-old female devotees. And make no mistake, Antonoff, a tick short of his 30th birthday, can rock. He did so in his first band Steel Train, and in his new quintet, Antonoff takes his smart songwriting and catchy hooks and elevates them to vein-popping levels of intensity. It’s all good theater, of course, and late Saturday at a corporate shindig at the Gatsby, if you weren’t already drunk on overpriced drinks you got drunk on Bleachers’ choruses. File under: Fist-pumping affirmation of the power of classic rock – with a cover of Tom Petty’s “Don’t Come Around Here No More” thrown in for good measure.

Twang with a bang

T. Hardy Morris detoured from the Americana-grunge of Dead Confederate last year to release a solo album, “Audition Tapes,” but his gig Saturday afternoon at the Still Standing party didn’t showcase much of that. No, there were new songs and with them a new electricity that made this accidental SXSW encounter (the party’s indoor stage was running late) wonderfully synchronicitous. Fronting a four-piece he calls T. Hardy Morris & the Hard Knocks, the singer-guitarist delivered a blistering 35 minutes of punk-Americana that found me wondering if I’d ever seen anybody actually mosh to a band with lap steel. The songs were the sonic equivalent of draining your whiskey and then smashing your glass against the wall – raging and verging on unhinged. The only downside was that one of the young moshers accidentally stomped his sunglasses to bits. They died nobly.

Also notable …

Oh, by the way, my reason for hitting that Still Standing party was to see Broncho, whose concise, tempestuous garage-rock inspired a wicked mosh pit inside the dive called the Side Bar. Bodies, purses, drinks and accessories flew. It was sweaty. It was sweet. You should really see these young Oklahomans when they hit L.A. next weekend (Burgerama at the Observatory and then the Satellite on Sunday). Their biography should be titled “Building a Better Four-Piece.”

Apparently, I have the Bowling Green, Ky., beat covered. I took in Sleeper Agent on Thursday, then happened upon Buffalo Rodeo on Saturday afternoon. The quintet does jammy classic rock with boy/girl vocals, and pretty well at that, owing mostly to the tasty licks of southpaw guitarist Nathaniel Davis. They were not the only band we heard cover a Fleetwood Mac song at SXSW, but probably the best-suited.

We missed Julian Casablancas’ SXSW appearance (which was said to be unimpressive), but his Strokes bandmate Albert Hammond Jr. had one too, preceding Bleachers at the Gatsby. Hammond played a lot of material off his new album “AHJ,” and live his band delivered them with a good ol’ punk-rock urgency worthy of the frontman’s leather jacket (which he dispensed with after the first song to reveal some stylish suspenders). After a slow start, Hammond connected strongly with the crowd, who gave singles “St. Justice” and “Strange Tidings” a roaring welcome and were treated to some sharp guitar work all around. Better than the Strokes’ last album? Quite possibly.

And we could get no closer than the open windows at Latitude 30 for the last SXSW appearance by Bo Ningen, the Japanese four-piece (now based in London) whose name was being passed around the festival like celebrity gossip. But it was close enough to hear that they are worth the hype, their body-shaking psych-punk hitting like heavy metal while animated singer-bassist Taigen Kawabe made like it was a 7-year-old’s backyard birthday party. Catch them at Coachella.

And not so much …

Maybe it was just my stomach growling, but the danceable, falsetto-laden psych-pop of Brooklyn trio Monogold seemed far too appropriate for a party at which the only food truck was selling wraps with faux ingredients.

And maybe it’s just that his name is a riff on a legendary musician who could actually play instruments, Australian knob-twiddler Chet Faker (and his fans – he has them – who nearly caused a stampede in the tiny Madison) left me with a bad case of dry-mouth. The music is more watery faux R&B; and live, it’s karaoke with a sampler. How refreshing it was to escape the surly jostlers at the Madison and get next door to catch half of Scottish rockers Holy Esque’s set, which reminded me of a more shoegazing Frightened Rabbit.

Local beat

Saw a lot of L.A. folks out and around on Saturday, but O.C. rock sophisticates Kiev were the one band I witnessed. Even though Saturday night is SXSW’s last gasp, they were playing their first festival show, and it was lights-out good. First, they should be commended for getting their truckload of gear up the narrow stairs to the second floor of the Soho Lounge. No easy feat. Then they should be saluted for reinforcing the notion that rock can wield some higher intellectual power, along with shape-shifting melodies and rhythms than can take your breath away. See them.

Postscript

So sad it’s over.