Photos by Trent Maxwell
The best thing about Fader Fort—hey, wait, come back—anyway, the best thing about Fader Fort is the opportunity to see a ton of stylistically incongruous bands in one day, given that you're the type of person who would want to stay at one venue for an entire day. The SXSW behemoth's sound-clash potential reached an all-time high yesterday when, during teen pop phenom-turned-adult pop fascination JoJo's forceful, very enjoyable set, a slow blast of feedback crept into the foreground that caused JoJo to say mid-song, "What is that?" The low drone could've easily belonged to dream-metal outfit Nothing, who followed up JoJo's slick performance with a series of controlled noise bursts that concluded with their guitarist hurling his instrument--a la Perfect Pussy's bassist at the "bridge show" the night before--into the crowd.
I missed two acts in total that performed at Fader Fort—Arizona psych-punk wreckers Destruction Unit and a second helping of Migos, who were the day's only no-shows--and the rest of the day's sets charted a topographical map of peaks and valleys for the brand-slathered palace. Wet and Young & Sick, two young R&B-abstracting outfits that followed each other on the bill, shared enough similarities that even I had trouble telling them apart (save for the separation of gender in their lead singers). Faring better was New Jersey auteur SZA, whose set found the TDE associate steering away from the chillwave-y productions of her earlier work towards something more approaching murky, amorphous neo-soul. A surprise appearance from fellow TDE member Schoolboy Q provided a nice boost of energy, but it was the way SZA said "Thank you," just like Jenny Slate's Liz B. character in the recurring "Kroll Show" sketch "pubLIZity", that made the night.
G.O.O.D. Music associate Travi$ Scott followed, with his hype man providing the best hype man quote I may have ever heard: "Is anyone here with their best motherfucking friend right now?" Scott's show is, at best, an engaging hall-of-mirrors act that involves a lot of screaming, water bottle-whipping and crowdsurfing. One element the set was light on was actual rapping, and while it was a nice change of pace to see a performer unafraid to get in people's faces, realistically it was a three-song set stretched across a half-hour, proving that being entertained and having the wool pulled over your eyes are not mutually exclusive.
In terms of sheer "What did I just see," though, nothing on earth could top who-even-knows-anymore Strokes frontman Julian Casablancas' bizarre, horrible set with backing band the Voidz.
I never thought I'd get to see a spot-on impersonation of those "Shreds" YouTube videos from a live act, but then again, Casablancas is truly a unique performer at this point: The set was filled with proggy guitar lines and stop-start tempo—fitting, since one of his guitarists closely resembles Frank Zappa—with Julian's squawk-box vocals barely audible, all on a barely-lit stage. The biggest crowd reaction came when the band covered Casablancas' Daft Punk collaboration "Instant Crush", but it took them a few minutes to pick up on what the song actually was, as the band's bassist flubbed the opening bassline so badly that it sounded like free jazz. The only legible stage banter from Casablancas came in the beginning, mumbling something to the tune of "Travi$ Scott—he blew my mind", but what's truly mind-blowing is Casablancas' meteoric creative plummet over the past decade, a cratering so sizable that it could be seen from space.
From there, the night took a pleasant, overtly polite turn: Erykah Badu and Bun B both turned in the type of capable sets they could rattle off in their sleep at this point, and headliner Rick Ross waddled through a greatest-hits set, barely-keeping-it-together live band and cheap cardboard cutouts in tow, with all the energy of someone ordering a meal at a restaurant. Two years ago, Ross was the surprise guest at the Fort, a performance that I found thrilling and, for such a known charlatan, surprisingly human. This time around, his presence was overbearing, gauche, and boring, doubling as a fitting summation of this weird, largely off-putting week.