South by southwest

A few nights ago, I read some of Henry Rollins' entertaining - but is that the right word? - Get in the Van, his account of touring in the 1980s with Black Flag. Those were heady days for the punk band, but the journal tells a different story, too: a relentless series of fights during concerts, raw hunger, and cold, dank clubs and studios. Yes, they play clubs in sites as diverse as Vancouver and Berlin, but at most stops Rollins is openly nervous about another skin head attack or conniving event manager.

Here at halfstep, we never claimed to be punk. And how could we, when our own tour - Austin to San  Antonio - has been so much simple fun? Mini golf, taco trucks, and (above) Cildo Meireles; the River Walk, two swimming pools and a trampoline.  No, we've got no street credibility at all, and our own journal hardly reeks of risk and hard work - but we do have smiles on our faces, both in admiration of Black Flag and out of a silly suspicion that Rollins might have enjoyed, as we did, canoeing on the Colorado River.