On Wednesday, with all lodging options exhausted, I opted to head south of South by Southwest to Mexico way. I was headed to MtyMx, a festival produced by Brooklyn's Todd P, and Monterrey's Yo Garage. My passage to Monterrey was pretty smooth considering the shootout between narcotraficantes and federales that blocked the highway. I took a cab to the festival on Saturday afternoon. He had no idea where Autocinema Las Torres was. It was just passed the new WalMart, and across the street from the favelas. I walked up to general admission to pickup my ticket. She asked me for the confirmation number, as she tied a pink wristband around my arm. I struggled to find the information, she just said “whatever” and told me to enter. I walked into the semi-retired drive-in, to see a sparsely populated expanse of pebbles and beer caps. I couldn't find the “secured camping area.” I saw two gringos sitting on top of their camping gear, and figured that was the closest I was going to get to security. They were friends who'd flown in from Brooklyn and Dallas respectively. They shared their sunscreen with me. We shared our discontent. A Mexican photographer snapped our pictures. I perfected my goofiest of poses. The photographers came from Mazatlan to cover the festival. We spoke in Spanish for a while, until we discovered they spoke my language better than I spoke theirs. It seemed like everyone at the festival on Saturday afternoon, was either in a band or a member of the press. The event was clearly a front for people to write blog posts about. I helped some dudes move fences into a pile next to the campsite. Was this the “secure campsite” or an art installation? Bands hadn't started yet. So I decided to maximize my pesos by buying booze at Wal-Mart. I walked down to the highway. A friendly couple of with matching asymmetrical haircuts directed me towards the mall. Inside the air-conditioned supercenter. I found 14 peso mezcal. That's distilled alcohol for the same price as a bottle of water. I knew they were checking bags for booze, so I developed a sophisticated plan for smuggling alcohol into the festival. I would hide each bottle somewhere in my backpack, hidden between clothes. I rehearsed what I would say to security if they wanted to check my bags. If I was going to get caught, I'd hide the bag behind a rock, and come back for it in the evening. When I got to the security gate, the guards didn't even ask if I had a ticket, I just walked through, with disgusting cheap alcohol. I found friends and we drank it. Once we were sufficiently sloshed, we headed to the main stage to watch Das Racist perform. They asked the sound booth to “turn the mushrooms up in the speaker.” The crowd was excited to see “those dudes who sing combination pizza hut and taco bell” not sing “combination pizza hut and taco bell.” Their catalog of high-brow-non-jokey-joke-rap went over well. Quiero Club got a hometown welcome from the audience. I was excited to see these Monterrey natives perform tracks that I've been following for years. I recommend their experimental indie pop record Nueva America. After their set, cheap mezcal + sunstroke + dehydration caught up with me. I needed to go to sleep, but my tent hadn't arrived yet. The military surplus tents were held up at the border. I heard it was because Mexican officials believed that narcoterrorists were setting up training camps disguised as the military. Later the promoter told me they were delayed because Mexican bureaucracy demands bribes. Tents started popping up. I was telling journalists how much I wanted to fall asleep. They convinced me to jump into the sample tent. I fell asleep in the “model home” before anyone could tell me not to. —- The next morning I walked around Monterrey's beautiful city center, a nice break from that grassless field. I came back Sunday afternoon to watch experimental dream popster Banjo or Freakout. As the sunset, a message told the crowd that “BEER WILL NOT BE SOLD AFTER SIX.” I rushed to the booth, and drank my first cerveza preparada of the year. A beer combined with salsa, powdered spice, and tamarindo candy. They called it a “chamochela.” I called it “kind of nasty.” I still drank the whole thing. I finished my drink during White Ninja's set. This Monterrey band, put on the strangest set I saw during the festival. It was awesome. I haven't spend enough time in music journalism school to more articulately describe this band, so take a look for yourself. I watched as Los Fancy Free, finished their set by handing guitars to audience members. It was an impressive feat, but somehow the music sounded exactly the same when played by amateurs. I wasn't sure if this diminished from the band, or made them cooler. I saw a cute Mexican girl chase down Dan Deacon. If Dan Deacon is a sex symbol, there is hope for all of us. He is able to turn broken-experimental-preset-synths into an incredible party. The crowd went nuts, and I understood why that girl was so excited to see him. Andrew WK, performed the last set of the night. I don't know which is my favorite Andrew WK song “Party, Party, Party, Party” or “Party, Party, Party, Party.” Either way I had partied too much, over the past ten days and I was very excited to head home. Though the festival was pretty disorganized, the campsite's were not secure, and the bands didn't all show up, I have to say that the concert was totally worth it. I'll see you next year in Monterrey. http://toddpnyc.com/mtymx/ added by: joshuaheller
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