As it was, the queue snaked outside onto the street and curved around the block. There was a girl at the front of the line who was leaning against the wall because one of her legs was in a brace. She'd been standing there for three hours and she said her tweaked knee had gone numb after two. She was in for a long night. The staff told me the venue's sponsor - the ticketing website StubHub - had reserved the bar for a group of competition winners. The people in the line outside were unlikely even to get in, regardless of press credentials or any other perks. The one-leg lady had a platinum pass - a $2000 all access master key that's supposed to grant you quick entry everywhere.
God I hope her company paid for it. And yeah, don't ask me how Future Islands were.
Earlier, I'd taken advantage of the glamorous press room, where the Monster energy flowed and all the joys in life expired in the face of tech bros getting rigorous massages.
Although I'd later learn about the politics of queues and corporate sponsors, the festival is so vast that you have ample opportunity to watch a band with literally no one else around. Seeing musicians give it their all to an empty lot is pretty inspiring, and I hope whoever entertained us in the space will one day have people waiting for three hours to see them:
Now here's a SXSW mini-picdump, because I'm not above that.
I <3 Cock Sparrer shirt bouncer.