Austin City Limits: The Mismatch of the Century

Oh, the irony—in the live music capital of the world, we witnessed the ultimate mismatch at Austin City Limits. In one corner, we had the indomitable lioness, Chappell Roan, soaking up attention like a sustainable, compostable Bounty paper towel. And in the other, some guy named mike.—yes, with a lowercase 'm.'

"If you don’t know the words just mumble along to make me feel better about this," the Rhode Island R&B singer pleaded to the emptiest Honda stage I’ve seen in all my 17 years of ACLs. Yes, even emptier than that time it rained and everyone vanished like magic.

Apparently, mike. was a last-minute addition to ACL because, well, who wants to compete with Roan? He even dubbed her "Lady Gaga 2.0." I mean, at least he knows his competition, right?

There were lulls—moments where Roan’s "Hot To Go" wafted across Zilker Park, making me deeply question my life choices and resent my editor. Same goes as I type this in the press lounge, with "Pink Pony Club" blaring in the distance.

Now, mike.’s music? Think Post Malone, but if he was a beefy former baseball player who got injured. White guy R&B/hip-hop with charm—or something like that.

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He joked that he was "hard to Google." I mean, with a name like that, who needs SEO? He even wore an Arch Manning jersey. Points for local pandering, I guess.

"Can we get some beers down here?” mike. begged the security and camera guys. He spent his set high-fiving them, trying to win allies. Then he strutted down the catwalk, and the joke was on him because, well, no one was there to clamor for selfies. He handed the mic to some guys named "Sean" and "Bruce" and chugged beers.

And get this—Bruce was also from Rhode Island. What are the odds, right? Call it divine timing or a statistical fluke, given that maybe 100 people actually paid attention to mike..

Oh, and he had technical difficulties onstage, struggling to sing with apparent noise in his ears. Because, of course.

Yet, mike. was awkward but charming. Self-aware and funny, his crowd was full of guys who probably bought funny T-shirts on Instagram. A grey-bearded gentleman waiting for Sturgill Simpson took a photo with a guy wearing a Kim Jong-un T-shirt. In it, Jong-un was throwing up gang signs. Solidarity, bro.

"I feel like we coulda did this right in my backyard," mike. confessed.

"It looks like we got some Steves here—we got some Steves here?" he asked, referring to his very online fans. His inside joke? "If you’re having a good time give me a ‘Hey, how are ya?’" It was a play on rap’s call-and-response language, interjected with some Midwestern manners.

mike. covered songs that played on hits by Chumbawumba, Lou Bega, and the 1975. He told us he briefly lived in Lake Travis, which is a cultural red flag because those Lake Travis dudes are weirdos who make TikToks.

"I appreciate you coming even if it’s to avoid a big crowd," he said, sincerely.

"I don’t care if there’s four people here. I don’t take the opportunity to do this for granted at all," mike. added.

His penultimate song "These Days," which he claimed went platinum, was a big, fun hip-hop banger. He’s been working the internet’s algorithms for fame since 2010 and even nabbed some reality TV spots.

So what do you do after scoring a viral post? Exactly what he did at ACL: Keep hustling, I guess. ¯_(ツ)_/¯