Brought to you by the Austin History Center Association

by Adam Flagg

My wife and I moved to Austin in the summer of 2007.

A few months later, we were sitting in Zilker Park at our first Austin City Limits Music Festival.

We had just arrived. We were still figuring out the roads, the heat, the neighborhoods, the shortcuts, the personality of the place. Then suddenly we were in the middle of this giant, dusty, loud, joyful gathering in the park with downtown behind the stage and tens of thousands of people all moving toward the same thing.

I remember The Killers. I remember Arcade Fire. I remember Wilco. I remember Bloc Party bringing this biting energy to the stage while flags waved across the crowd so people could find each other. I remember Ghostland Observatory feeling like Austin had built a laser-lit fever dream in the middle of a field.

At some point during that first ACL, I remember looking around and thinking: this city is different.

Not because ACL is easy.

It is expensive. It is dusty. You walk miles. Getting in and out of Zilker can feel like its own endurance sport. For weeks, the park turns into fences, stages, trucks, barricades, sound checks, porta-potties, and people arguing about whether this is all worth it. If rain shows up, every longtime Austinite quietly prays we do not get another Dillo Dirt (!!! look it up) situation.

And if you are the kind of person who does not like crowds, heat, lines, logistics, or teenagers in festival outfits, ACL may not be your love language. I get it. The ACL haters are not always wrong.

But I also think they miss the feeling.

ACL is not just a music festival. It is one of the rare moments each year when Austin gathers around music, memory, skyline, discovery, and shared experience all at the same time.

It is one of the few places where the city still gives you permission to be alive in public.

Most of life is fragmented. We stream the same songs alone. We watch the same clips alone. We follow the same artists alone. Then ACL comes around, and suddenly the music is not in your earbuds anymore. It is right there.

The artists who live in your car speakers, your Spotify playlists, your daughter’s phone, and your old memories are standing in front of you. The skyline is behind you. Someone is trying to find their friends by waving a SpongeBob SquarePants flag on a pole. Someone is overcome by a line in a song they didn’t realize they needed to hear.

There is something almost tribal about it. Not angry. Not divided. Not us against them. Just people gathering around a sound, a rhythm, a voice, a stage, a song, a shared beat.

And for a few minutes, everybody is in it together. That is the part that keeps bringing me back.

I have probably been to 14 ACLs since we moved here. I missed some when the kids were very young, but most years I found a way to get out there for at least a day. These days, I’ve been going for all three days, which causes some of my friends my age to look at me like I have lost perspective on hydration, sleep, and lower-back maintenance.

They may have a point. But I still go.

Partly because I love music. I always have. Before Austin, I was a radio DJ, worked in journalism and media, booked shows, bought talent, and spent a few years going to 40 or 50 concerts a year. Some of that was work. A lot of it was obsession.

So when Austin became the place we were going to build our life, the music was not just a bonus. It was part of the argument. Austin was a city where music mattered in the daily-life sense: bars, restaurants, coffee shops, backyard parties, festivals, and weird little venues you had never noticed before. Then, twice a year, South by Southwest and ACL would arrive like cultural bookends.

Over the years, ACL became part of my family’s rhythm too.

I started taking my daughter when she was six. The first show I remember seeing with her was BROODS, the New Zealand band. We saw Vance Joy that year too. She was tiny, and people probably looked at us like we were a little crazy. Maybe we were.

But she loved music, maybe almost as much as I do, and giving her that experience at that age felt incredible.

Now she is 15, and ACL looks different. She has friends, plans, artists she wants to see, and her own version of the festival.

So I have one rule: we get there early enough to see at least one show together before she disappears into her own ACL.

That feels fair and right to the father of a teenage girl.

At some point, you stop taking your kid to ACL and start realizing they have their own ACL now. That is a little sad, but mostly it is beautiful. The tradition changes, but it does not disappear. It stretches, loosens, changes shape, and somehow keeps connecting us anyway.

That is part of what ACL does. It creates memories before you know they are memories.

I remember Paul McCartney, The Swell Season singing “Falling Slowly,” Lizzo drawing a crowd so massive it felt like the whole festival had tilted in her direction, Cage the Elephant bringing headliner energy before sunset, and Ghostland Observatory turning the field into something both ridiculous and completely Austin.

Sometimes ACL is where you see legends. Sometimes it is where you see someone become inevitable. The lineup gets booked, people complain about it, and then by October, an artist who was ninth or tenth on your personal list has become the name everyone is trying to see.

That is not a flaw. That is the point. The festival is not just reflecting culture. It is catching culture in motion.

That is why it felt right to have Mars Salazar on Austin Eras this month for our ACL preview. We talked about what to bring, what not to bring, the lineup, the weekend, and how to stay open to music in a city that gives you so many chances to hear it.

Do your homework, then leave room to wander. That is good advice for ACL. It is probably good advice for life too.

Because ACL is an exaggerated version of the choice Austin keeps offering us. 

Stay comfortable, or go find out.

You can feel Austin’s internal clock shift when ACL gets close. The wristbands arrive. The group texts start. The weather pretends it might cooperate. Then suddenly, there we are again, walking into Zilker, looking at the skyline, trying to drink enough water, deciding whether to stay for the safe choice or walk across the park for the artist we barely know.

That choice is ACL in miniature.

Stay comfortable, or go find out.

And maybe that is why I still go.

The older I get, the easier it would be to stop doing things that require effort. Park farther away. Stay home. Watch clips later. Let the younger people have it.

But that is exactly how life gets smaller.

ACL reminds me not to do that. It reminds me to show up, stand in the crowd, let a song be bigger than my own headphones, and stay open to the possibility that the thing I almost skipped might be the thing I remember.

Some people really do hate crowds, the cost, or the whole Zilker takeover. Fair enough. But I do think Austin is better because of ACL. Not because it is perfect. It is not. Because there are only so many chances in life to feel part of a living, breathing, singing city.

So yes, I’ll be back in Zilker this year. Probably walking too many miles. Probably drinking not quite enough water. Pretending three days is still a completely reasonable idea.

Hopefully, I’ll catch one show with my daughter before she disappears into her own festival.

ACL connected me to Austin when I first arrived. It connected me to the music I had always loved. It connected me to my daughter before she had her own version of the city. And every year, it reminds me that adventure does not disappear all at once. We give it away one “not this year” at a time.

So meet me in Zilker.

Look for the guy trying to act casual about how much his feet hurt, pretending three days is still a completely reasonable idea, and still believing the best show of the weekend might be the one he almost skipped.

A few Austin things that crossed our desk this month:

This month’s guest picker is one of our latest podcast guests, Chloe Chiang.
Check out Chloe’s picks below along with our team’s: Adam - Host and Executive Producer, Mel - Showrunner and Producer, and Iliana - Marketing and Media Intern.

Adam’s Pick :: “Tieduprightnow” - Parcels

Mel’s Pick :: “As You Please” - The 4411

Iliana’s Pick :: “Marooned” - Pink Floyd

Chloe’s Pick :: “I Follow Rivers” - Lykke Li

Adam’s Pick :: “Helicopter” - Bloc Party

Mel’s Pick :: “Heart of Glass” - Blondie

Iliana’s Pick :: “Into the Mystic” - Van Morrison

Chloe’s Pick :: “Monster” - Kanye West

Adam’s Pick :: “Royals” - Lorde

For about three years, my car’s Bluetooth had a mind of its own and played “Royals” every single time I started it. I got completely sick of the song, then somehow came back around to it. That probably means it still hits.

Mel’s Pick :: “You Need To Calm Down” - Taylor Swift

Iliana’s Pick :: “Here You Come Again” - Dolly Parton (RIP)

Chloe’s Pick :: “Dancing on My Own” - Robyn

These lists will GROW. We’ll continue to add tracks so be sure to save to your library to keep coming back!

The best moments are the ones you almost skipped.
Go find out.

The music is louder in person.
So is the city.

See you out there.