Rocking the Rabbit

The late-night Playboy Rock the Rabbit Party at this year’s SxSW was housed in an empty warehouse, buried deep in a residential neighborhood in Austin, and the locals were none too happy about it. After we parked our car, we were greeted by barking dogs on the way in, and shot at with a bebe gun on the way back. I can’t say I blame the locals for being a bit sour by the whole thing. In Synthesis’ hometown of Chico, CA, the townsfolk get all worked up about a few thousand students coming into town and taking up “parking spaces” or making lines “long” at bars or causing “traffic”; Austinites have about 60k students to deal with and once a year suffer a week-long occupation from obnoxious hipsters from LA, New York and other more metropolitan locales. Sorry about that, but to whoever did take a shot at us, your aim’s gotta suck because I’m not that easy to miss.

Luckily, the party was worth such minor tribulations. The entrance opened up into a courtyard that housed the kind of things that you’d be more likely to see at a spoiled child’s sixth birthday than at a party branded with the Playboy bunny logo. MySpace was in full effect handing out hot dogs and the Ice Cream Man was on hand handing out free frozen treats. Under a tent, there was stuff for the grownups: a barbecue provided by Stubb’s and (thankfully) hot chicks slanging free booze. Monsters Are Waiting were tearing shit up indoors (at least that’s how it sounded on the PA system) but the siren song of kielbasa proved to be too strong. We housed a couple pounds of that and made our way inside.

The warehouse was separated into two rooms: one was kind of a lounge area where white drug-addled hipsters got to mingle, chill and score more free drinks from a second bar; the other was where the bands played under the most eye-searing, fit-inducing strobe lights imaginable. Illinois took the stage afterward, and despite a few good songs, managed little more than passing curiosity from the growing crowd. We headed outside for cigarettes, more drinks and nifty Playboy swag like fluffy, black wristbands with rhinestones and spinning Playboy bunny logos.

[Ghostland Observatory]

In-between bands, the after party kicked into high gear. People–already inebriated from the night’s many other events–began pouring in, and the concert room’s population swelled in anticipation of Austin locals, electronic dance-rock duo Ghostland Observatory. Strobes throbbed at a nauseating rate, which in conjunction with the synth-wizardry of Thomas Turner, unleashed an unholy mindfuck on the crowd. Freshly dressed hipsters abandoned their vapid conversations to form a sweaty mass of dancing bodies with Ghostland frontman Aaron Behrens as its ringleader. Not to be outdone by the Bunny who hopped on stage, Behrens’s serpentine movements and throaty, ’70s hard rock howl whipped the audience into a frenzy that lasted into the wee hours of the morning.

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