Today's ingredients: Elgin sausage (from the city of Elgin, don'tcha know), potato, cheese, and an overdue summary of a zillion bands.

My reason for the delay is a mix of recovery from a Monday flight/bus hellstorm and a sense of futility about SXSW writeups. You pretty much need an 80-strong staff of writers/videographers to get anywhere near covering this thing to an adequate degree, and even then, it's hard for such writeups to not come off as blurry and overenthusiastic--with so much going on, there's no time to rest, soak up the music, and make a coherent statement. I still think the greatest SXSW writeup of all time came from a satire piece my former boss whipped up for The Morning News last year. (Classic line: "I just punch the ever-loving shit out of them.")

But unlike some Line Out posters, I've always done SXSW (relatively) sober; otherwise, I simply can't keep up with the four-days-straight onslaught. And I still thought this year was pretty damn good. Sadly, the era of sleeper acts has been killed thanks to SXSW preview bloggers hyping even the tiniest concerns to unbelievable heights, but I still stumbled upon gems that seem to have been glossed over by the blogging majority.

Akron/Family -- I saw them a few years back at a crummy bar's basement stage, which the group proceeded to manhandle with a nearly two hour set of chant-filled pandemonium. I figured I'd catch a few minutes just for shits before heading to see the haunting Castanets play at the big church in downtown Austin, but this show went too far down the rabbit hole for me to leave. Halfway through their 1.5-hour set, my absolute biggest shock/surprise find of the fest, Slaraffenland, appeared in the back of Emo's clutching horns, flutes and the like. They soon hopped the stage, and the new 10-man band proceeded to play for 45 minutes straight, songs swirling one into the next while the crowd danced, clapped and chanted along to every single one. This ended with a cry of "WE'RE TAKING IT OUTSIDE!" and the stage cleared, band members clutching instruments and drums while walking onto famed 6th Street, and the crowd followed like giddy, willing, hippie minstrels. The street jam lasted for a good five minutes, as curious passers-by snapped cameraphone photos of the shirtless freaks leaping around and chanting "Circle, Triangle, Square! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!" Kind of a "had to be there" thing. I do not look forward to being seen on YouTube as one of the idiots leaping around and buying into this show's pandemonium.

Slaraffenland -- I already wrote them up Wednesday night, didn't I? They're even better than I remember on their record. The members told me before their Akron/Family set that they'll be coming towards Seattle this May. Cannot wait.

Darker My Love -- Rousing psychedelia with a healthy dose of harder rock influences, though the "harder" part was more apparent in concert than in anything on their MySpace page. I caught quite a bit of psychedelic revivalism at this year's fest, but only this band made me feel the same way I felt when I first saw the Dandies or the Black Angels. I liked the variety that came forth from this band's dual songwriters and look forward to seeing them in concert again (SF ain't that far away, guys, and maybe you can bring another SXSW surprise, Citay, along with ya.)

A Weather -- Totally blown away by this Portland four-piece, if an incredibly quiet/soft act can "blow away" anything. Think if the husband/wife duo of Mates of State divorced, but were forced by a record label to stay together, and as a result, the tunes became slow, deliberate, and bittersweet. The killer boy/girl vocals make the first impression, but what really impresses is how the four-piece strings its arrangements together in a minimalist way yet still sounds full and lush.

Evangelista -- Another set of pandemonium, this one courtesy of ex-Geraldine Fibber Carla Bozulich. This destructive poetry performance was all clamor and hollering, the band layering feedback, broken cymbal clangs and free-form rhythm noise over Carla's hell-bent shrieks. It was heartening to see the woman so revitalized by her latest group, fearlessly skipping and prowling around the stage while preaching the bad word.

Experimental Aircraft -- I'd forgotten about this ancient Austin-based space-rock quartet until shopping at Sonic Boom in Ballard the other day, where store buyer Rick Brooks was blasting the band's long-delayed LP. They'd finally finished the damn thing, he told me, and it was a kitchen-sink record of hazy, over-pedaled rock that became the soundtrack to my flights to and from Austin last week. The showcase was fine, but really, I just brought it up to plug the awesome album.

Since I'm a homer, I'm happy to asterisk the rest of my Texas picks with the fact that I may very well be biased... except in the case of Centro-matic. The decade-plus straight-out rock concern from Denton, TX, managed to sell out its Wednesday night venue, drawing a healthy mix of local pals and European fanatics, and the crowd was well-deserved for the band's shout-along pop-rock that takes the GBV formula in an Americana direction. Other homer highlights included Wilco-leaning Pleasant Grove, post-Sonic Youthers Record Hop, the mariachi/folk songwriting mastery of The Theater Fire, and the absolutely bonkers, Funkadelic-meets-80s-new-wave hip-hop of PPT. Oh, and the chilaquiles at Curra's; those things are spicy and delicious.

Whenever YouTube is friendlier to me, I'll get videos up of great SXSW '08 acts like Phosporescent, Slaraffenland, Bear in Heaven, Ola Podrida, Luke Temple, and more. In the meantime, check out my Flickr pool of SXSW photos with a few other personal faves as well, like J Mascis, Elliott Brood, Dr. Dog, and The Sadies.

“This band sucks.”

So maybe it makes sense that in my newfound and temporary booze-free lifestyle, I was sorta underwhelmed by SXSW this year. Damn you, Lent. I managed to catch quite a few bands over the course of three days, and I figured I’d share the highlights for anyone that isn’t completely tired of the hearing about all the shenanigans in Austin this last weekend. To make this a little easier on all of us, I’ll eschew the details of my own sober adventures and just give you the straight-up dirt on some of the more noteable bands I witnessed.

1349 – I was totally psyched to see some legitimate Norwegian black metal at SXSW. I cannot admit to being a die-hard fan of the genre, but I have enough of an interest to know that anytime Frost from Satyricon is playing drums, you’d better take note. Unfortunately, Frost was noticeably absent. In his place was some dumpy dude who didn’t hit hard enough to break a sweat. Black metal often suffers from weak drummers and awful guitar tones. 1349 stands out on record for actually having solid performances and production. Unfortunately, the drumming and bass playing in Austin were pretty mediocre. However, their singer was definitely terrifying. Decked out in full corpse paint, including a hefty amount of white make-up applied to his beard giving him a weirdly disproportionate set of jowls, his prowling stage demeanor was truly unnerving. In addition, it appeared that his eyes were bleeding. Despite the theatrics, I wound up leaving mid-set when I found myself paying less attention to the music and becoming more concerned with wondering how they got those huge spiked gauntlets through U.S. customs.

Chiodos – Okay, to be fair – I didn’t actually hear Chiodos play. I watched them on a monitor at the bar at Emo’s IV while they played the outside stage. And thank god for that, because I think I would’ve started drinking if I had to endure that shit. Watching the band on that monitor reconfirmed what I’ve already come to terms with: Screamo is the new hair metal. Girl jeans, teased hair, annoying choreographed stage moves, teenage girl demographics, compromised aura of safe rebellion… it’s all there. I hate being a musician.

The Night Marchers – John Reis from RFTC/Hot Snakes/Jehu/Pitchfork is back with a new band. It definitely sounds like Reis-fare, only with a bit more of a garage sound and a penchant for rock shuffles. I saw them play outside mid-afternoon. It was good, though it would’ve been way better in a tiny bar at midnight.

Black Mountain – I can’t get enough of In The Future, but as with the Night Marchers, this is the kind of music you need to see in a good, dark venue. Seeing them from a distance on an outdoor stage with the sun still out just wasn’t working for me.

No Age – I've got Grandy's back on this one.

This Will Destroy You – Austin’s latest post-rock buzz band is pretty much what I expected. While they sounded great, that was due at least in part to the fact that they sounded a lot like Explosions In The Sky. In fact, almost every band I saw on Sunday sounded either like EITS or Isis. I have never been so sick of digital delay in my entire life.

It wasn’t all disappointing though:

Pissed Jeans –They remind me of Born Against’s sludgier material, minus the political tirades. Singer Matt Korvette steals the show by somehow managing to engage the crowd without pandering to them. He is simultaneously disaffected and likeable. Goofy without being silly. Angry without seeming forced. Teamed up with Bradley Fry’s Greg Ginn-influenced guitar playing, it’s a pretty stellar show.

Coliseum – Missing Friday’s Tragedy show in Seattle was made somewhat easier by catching fellow d-beaters Coliseum on Sunday night. The riffs are fucking mean. The drumming is totally over-the-top. Brutal shit

Tera Melos – Now that Dillinger Escape Plan is playing on Conan and writing songs with hooks, people with an appetite for unhinged fretboard awareness and spastic drumming should look to Sacramento’s Hella disciples, Tera Melos. While certainly not as metal as DEP, this trio certainly out-plays the Jersey tech-metal quintet, and demonstrates a greater array of effects pedal trickery. This is definitely a band for guitar nerds. I caught them twice at SXSW, and was thoroughly impressed on both occasions.

Constantines – I had to make a decision. See Constantines for the roughly twentieth time, or catch Torche’s set. It was a tough call, but I also figured I could catch Torche the next night at the Chunklet party (little did I know that the party was in an art space with a capacity of 50, so I totally missed the Torche boat this year). Constantines were great though. I only caught five songs, none of which were Draw Us Lines or Young Lions, but they did end with Shine a Light. While I know that the Bruce Springsteen-meets-Fugazi description has become quite popular for these Canadians, I was struck by how much their singer reminded me of a pre-electric Bob Dylan, both in look and manner. I eagerly await their new album due out next month.

Harvey Milk – No band with Joe Preston can fail. Thrones, The Whip, Melvins, High on Fire. Need I say more? Slow, immense, misanthropic, and Southern. While I have mixed feelings about their recorded output, I enjoyed their set, and was particularly pleased to see so many people excited about a band that existed in almost complete obscurity throughout the ‘90s.

Helms Alee – Seattle’s own were top-notch at the HydraHead showcase. Well done, folks.

But the festival’s biggest surprise was the Blue Scholars, a Seattle group making its first SXSW appearance. They’ve been the toast of Seattle’s burgeoning hip-hop scene for the last few years, and for good reason. Their politically conscious lyricism, delivered smoothly and eloquently by Geologic, features political protesters and soldiers returning home from war. The group recalls the early days of hip-hop with one DJ and one MC. Check them out for yourself here .

The question that confronts local hiphop is this and this alone: Can it save hiphop as a whole? If this is not its mission--to maintain the form's founding political principles, pleasure principles, and aesthetic values without waging a war on the mainstream (the error made by LA's underground scene)--then our scene will crumble and vanish.

Outside the Fader Fort, someone said of Brooklyn trio Telepathe, “I think this band drove out anyone who gives a shit about music, which means they should be letting more people in soon.” Indeed, Telepathe aren’t much of a band—three lanky girls singing echoing mumblecore over listless electro beats and delay, like well-draped mannequins sing chopped and screwed karaoke.

Hype band of the second, BLK JKS, a South African band who had all of one song available online before scoring a Fader cover and a prime slot at their Austin party, didn’t live up to push. If it weren’t for their foreign origins and good style, if, say they were white nerds, nobody would forgive their noodling, aimless jam rock. It’s like a reverse image of Vampire Weekend.

Santogold played a well-executed set, handily correcting Friday’s misstep.

Headlining at the Fader Fort were Spank Rock followed by 2 Live Crew (apparently minus Luke). Given Spank Rock’s recent 2 Live send-up, Bangers & Cash, it seemed likely that the two might share the stage for a few songs, but nothing of the sort ever went down. Although both groups make raunchy party rap, Spank Rock’s modern version benefits from a sense of playfulness, possibly irony, that 2 Live Crew’s set lacks. Both groups get girls up on stage, but Spank Rock’s is Amanda Blank, rapping along with the guys, spitting as filthy as any of them, whereas 2 Live Crew’s are mere props, punch lines. Also, Spank Rock’s set is much more of a party, with MC Naeem Juwan backed up by Devling & Darko on the decks, Pase Rock on hype, and a live drummer on bongos and cymbal.

The rest of the night is more or less a blur: Flosstradamus and Kid Sister rapping with A Trak; Digitalism destroying it at the DFA party, flanked by the bottle-service nightclub’s go-go dancers; John from Iron Lung, Judd from Sex Vid, and Richmond, Va crusties Municipal Waste trying to sneak into the Vice afterparty, a party in some historically fancy old hotel room.

DJ Mamma Casserole and front man of SF glam band Apache...

And San Francisco heavy rock outfit Dzjenghis Khan

Both photos by Victoria Renard

And from the Subpop Showcase... local heroes Fleet Foxes

and Grand Archives

Photos by Kelly O

I'll admit, I didn't get to many Seattle acts this week--some because of annoying schedule conflicts, others because I could not get in to see the acts in overcrowded venues. Though I suppose the latter is a good sign, no?

I will regurgitate the rest soon, including a story about an Akron/Familiy concert that went more bonkers than anything I'd ever seen the band do--and for Akron/Family, that's really saying something.

Holy shit! I just got drenched in beer @ Monotonix!

She elaborated:

Totally incredible - I got smashed in the arm with a guitar. It was nuts!

Ah, the magic of SXSW.

Another new love, not previously heard, the Pissed Jeans.

Their choice in band name, um, appropo...

Also, really really great, was No Age...

... who introduced themselves as Vampire Weekend, the biggest hyped band here, it seems. And Austin's own...

White Denim.

Ok - Day Four. I'm off to chase Monotonix, Mika Miko, Clock Cleaner, Spank Rock, and 2 Live Crew. What a weird combination. This place is surreal.

The high wind wasn't the only snag at the iheartcomix party, though. There was free beer, but they stopped serving for three hours at 6pm. They were out of water by then, too, although they did have tiny, branded squirt-guns, and I saw one guy walking around with a squirt-gun stuck in his mouth, killing himself for some water.

Santogold had a rough time, too. Santi White came out in a neon pink and green clashing jumpsuit and big wrapped shades, flanked by two stone-faced dancers in white blouses and sunglasses (whichever critic first compared these girls to Public Enemy's S1-Ws deserves a medal). So, obviously, Santogold is drawing a lot of M.I.A. comparisons—there's the aforementioned outfit, the fact that Santogold's electrp-pop is made with some of the same producers, and having Diplo as your live DJ definitely isn't going to help matters. The most striking difference, besides White's more trained singing voice, is that whereas M.I.A. samples from a grab-bag of global urban music, Santogold mashes mostly Jamaican influences, notably rocksteady and ska, into '08 club music (the bright, 8-bit crunk of "Creator" is an exception).

Diplo, for whatever reason (maybe he was still reeling from that pool party), kind of bombed at backing up Santogold. After the first song, there was a long, drawn out silence, while Diplo worked out some apparent technical issue. White's S1-Ws stayed totally still and expressionless for the duration like total pros, while Santogold asked if anyone knew any jokes. A friend wondered if she was lip-synching, and, after finally doing her next song, White admitted, "I don't know if I should tell you this, but that was the CD version of the track," so she had been singing over her own recorded vocals. Later, her voice was thinner but still impressively elastic. One song started playing backwards part way through, and another one just cut off completely maybe a minute in, causing White to snap, "I don't even need to say anything. I'm looking for a new DJ." Then, amicably, "Just kidding. You all know Diplo's the shit." It's a forgiving, forgetful party, though, and White thanks the audience for being so nice.

Another long line, and it's up to a rooftop pool and patio, where they were serving wine. The sun was setting, all pink and orange behind the DJ booth, girls were dangling their legs in the pool, a trance riff was playing on the soundsystem—it was like walking up the stairs from SXSW and winding up in at WMC in Miami. Definitely the best looking crowd of the weekend so far (music critics aside). Team Robespierre played half a song, blew a fuse, paused in the dark, and then did a short but spirited set for a handful of fans and a lot of disinterested onlookers. Talked to Khaela Maricich from the Blow for a minute, mostly about Why?'s lyrics and whether or not they were offensively bad. I'm obviously a big fan, she's not so much. We both agree that his morbid neuroses suggest that Yoni Wolf could be bad boyfriend material. About an hour later, I get the weird feeling that I had that exact same conversation before.

Back down on the parking garage floor, after dark, Cut Copy absolutely light the party up. Their new songs have a serious New Order vibe—soft, mopey singing over shimmering synth arpeggios, dreamy pop shoegaze guitars, and electronic kick thump. They have neon, kaleidoscopic videos playing behind them. Like New Order, the lyrics are frequently secondary to the songs' pulse. "This is a pretty cool party, here's some more party music," said their singer before introducing another simultaneously joyous and melancholic song. They played "Girl and the Sea" and "Lights and Music," and both sounded fantastic. Later, during an instrumental lull: "It's time for everyone to go nuts, not just the people in front but all through the place." When the beat kicked back in, the crowd obediently went apeshit, jumping up and down, dancing all over, clapping along.

At the Sub Pop showcase, Pissed Jeans were playing out on a patio stage and fucking killing it. The gravel pit the stage was set up in front of wasn't great footing for moshing, but a few dudes gave it a shot. The lead singer of Pissed Jeans is a great front-man, part Iggy Pop, part David Yow, part Will Ferrell (Ferrell hat tip: Brandon Ivers), alternately shuddering, sneering, leering, and cringing, leaning on his mic stand, then hunching down to the stage, howling, then screaming into the nearly eye-level stage lights, his thrusting and writhing at once sexual and self-deprecating. Plus he's funny: "You guys need more pebbles? There's more pebbles back there." The band was heavy—drums pounding hard, rumbling, and rolling; bass vibrating below audible frequencies; guitar droning feedback. They swerved from ranting drones to bursts of thrash to sludgy headbanging snarl, brutally executing each. Of all the bands on the Sub Pop showcase, Pissed Jeans stood out as what you might call a classic Sub Pop band. Grunge. Flannel. Hanging on the flippety flop. All that good shit. Plus, they've got that whole Allentown-depressed-rust-belt-Springsteen lyric-mystique. "I'm Sick" and "Don't Need Smoke to Make Myself Disappear" were particularly brutal.

Grand Archives sounded good in the main room, their newer, more rootsy songs sounding more at home here than in Seattle, although the more subdued songs from their demo EP are still my favorite.

Across the street, Old Time Relijun were an ecstatic, mad freak-out, free jazz skronk mixing with swamp boogie mixing with mutant disco grooves mixing with shamanic throat singing. Stand up bass and dual saxophone (two reeds, one mouth) and Arrington de Dionyso looking a little less impish than usual but still summoning some apocalyptic fire and brimstone. I swear I heard an interpolation of "Contort Yourself" in one song. When his guitar came unplugged, he said, "I feel like a guitar shouldn't come unplugged during such ecstatic, raucous song. Is it embarrassing?" Some guy shouted out, "No big deal," and Dionyso replied, "I agree with this guy, it's no big deal." Saw the drunkest, douchiest dude of the weekend so far, shouting and shoving people incoherently, sporting a shiny baseball cap. Saw a guy fall ass backwards, passing out, head thunking hard on the ground. Good show.

HEALTH sounded much better than their second-most recent show at Chop Suey. Their drummer pounded while the other guys hunched on the floor and humped the stage, screaming into their pedals, jumping up and down, echoing vocals soaring, guitar bursts interlocking and falling apart, feedback braying like a donkey. I wonder, is the impact of noise music lessened when pretty people are making it? Is an ugly band like Wolf Eyes more legit than these guys?

I caught a minute of Blitzen Trapper, including "Wild Mountain Nation," and it occurs to me that the whole rootsy rock resurgence that's happening right now, especially in Seattle and on Sub Pop, leaves me kind of lukewarm. I don't get it. I don't dig rural seventies Southern soft rock. I appreciate the musicianship and the craft and all that, but, like Moz says, it says nothing to me about my life.

Rode to a couple massive, expensive-looking, but ultimately bunk afterparties with a couple of photographers who were taking flash photos in the front seat while driving buzzed. I don't want to die driving to see fucking Squirrel Nut Zippers or whatever play at some energy drink sales pitch, but fuck it, if that's how I go out, so be it. Spring break!

First up, MixHell. At first it sounded like just dance music, but then dude starts pounding on the drums while the girl DJs. Turns out the MixHell is Igor Cavalera from Sepultura, and the girl is wifey. Dance Music marries Thrash Metal. Weird. I like it.

Next this guy comes out. With Fucked Up - VICE'S "favorite hardcore band in the world".

The singer instantly loses his shirt somewhere, and starts brutalizing the venue...

and the audience, in a good, only slightly dangerous way...

He kept trying to trying to do cartwheels and somersaults. Kept failing. He pretty much trashed his own audience. Who in turn, placed him at the bottom of a serious and sizable dog pile at the end of the last song. I saw him after the show, cleaning blood from his forehead, not from the audience, but from his own repeated smacks to the head with his microphone. Is this hardcore? I'm not going to argue.

After Fucked Up, Jay Reatard hit the stage. Reatard killed it, and simultaneously head-banged through the entire set. I saw the leader singer of Spoon in the audience. He tried to head bang a little too, but you could tell he was too self-conscious.

Lastly, was new band Dark Meat. Picture a weirder Polyphonic Spree...

who live together in a cult and eat acid for breakfast...

People in the audience were throwing streamers, rubber balls, and screaming. Someone also had a shit-ton of confetti...

They killed it too. My favorite new band of the day.

I never dreamed never hippies could headbang. I guess there's a first for everything.

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The Fader Fort. The Fader Fort is pretty fucking cool, a big courtyard stage behind a Levi's store, with cool shit happening all weekend, free booze, and a nice, cool indoor lounge with laptops setup for blogging and whatnot, courtesy of mp3 blog/label RCRD LBL. Outside a couple of older guys with placards were protesting Levi's for using Chinese labor, but the long lines of kids waiting outside were more worried about getting in to the party (not an easy task).

Saul Williams played with a three-piece backing band, much more of a rock performance than I had expected. Williams had bright blue streaks under his eyes and wore a green jacket with neon feathers sticking out of the breast pocket, kind of an Aboriginal dandy look. At one point between songs, he said, "Race is a social construct. We are each other, and the music is here to authorize that." Later, he played his cover of "Sunday Bloody Sunday" by U2. Talked to my buddy Josh from Urb who had just been to Kuwait to cover "Operation: Myspace" concert held there for the troops. He had flown from there straight to SXSW. He still seemed a little shaken up. Overheard back in the RCRD LBL lounge: "Someone just tried to sell me coke." "Huh, too bad you're broke."

Fluokids were DJing in a corner outside, attracting a crowd made up mostly of varying degrees of DJs: Pretty Titty, FourColorZack, My!Gay!Husband!, Rezound, myself. Floukids is a great blog for staying up on your French electro and odd American hip hop, and the kids' set was a good mix of all the stuff they usually post, only, you know, without all the girls. Cadence Weapon tried to get in the back door, and the security guys weren't having it, but a minute later, someone let him in.

There was a long tribute to Lou Reed, featuring performances from My Morning Jacket, Mark Kozelek, Thurston Moore, and others, culminating with Moby and Reed performing "Walk on the Wild Side." Weird. Reed: "I love punk rock; I was the first one." Immediately after Reed and Moby, Fluokids dropped the new Justice single, "DVNO," which was altogether a pretty jarring transition. Despite twice having been close enough to Pharrell to touch him (he walked by me while I was in the bathroom line; he had huge diamond-stud earings), skipped NERD to get some much needed tacos.

Over at Barcelona, a DJ who I think was DJ Pubez (nice) was playing a mellow, groovy mix—I caught a re-edit of Chicago's "I'm a Man" into Don Armando's rework of "I'm an Indian Too."

Fucked Up played at a bar called Vice. I was expecting them to be more of a brutal hardcore band, but it was more like one brutal hardcore screamer (and total bear) fronting a kind of straightforward punk rock band. It was a six piece that sound like a three piece. But, then, if they were a three-piece, their giant singer wouldn't be able to charge through the crowd and climb the walls. Throughout the show, the singer kept pounding himself in the forehead with his mic, but at one point, the mic came unplugged, he flashed a goofy smile while fixing it, and it totally cracked the band's tough facade. Still a totally fun band, and well worth watching. Also, good stage banter: "This is a 21+ show, so I know we're all adults here. So how come one of you peed all over the seat in the bathroom?"

Caught a couple Throw Me the Statue songs over at Mohawk's, notably "Take it or Leave It" and the rousing "About to Walk." They sounded great, playing in a small back room while Bodies of Water played the big outdoor patio.

Headed over to Beauty Bar for the iheartcomix showcase. Saw Franki Chan as well as Gabe and Dylan Roadie. Indoors was HEARTSREVOLUTION, a live soundsystem with drums and electronics, blasting crunched, neon electro rock while a girl with pink Zorro/Fisherspooner eye makeup shouting through a red rhinestone megaphone. They blew a fuse at one point, pausing, lights down, until the power came back on. One of their lyrics was about anarchy, but it was hard to make out.

Outside, Totally Michael was like a foul-mouthed, one man Matt & Kim, only with rapping. He had one song about cheerleaders vs the drill team, for which he divided the crowd in half and encouraged some reenactment of that primal rivalry. His last song bounced to a boy/girl chorus of "You make my dick erect / You make my pussy wet." It was every bit as romantic as it sounds. (It makes some sense that he takes his inspiration from Soophie Nun Squad, although his act is so far removed from their Little Rock scene that I couldn't spot the influence until seeing it mentioned in his bio afterwards.)

^{Shout Out Out Out Out by Kelly O}

Next up was Shout Out Out Out Out, a band I've been dying to see ever since they killed Club Pop last year. SOOOO's electro-funk draws not-unfair comparisons to !!! (maybe the repetitive name has something to do with it too), but SOOOO are way more electro than !!!, with two drummers, two keyboardists, and live bass. And their vocoded lyrics are slightly socialist compared to !!!'s "no fucking rules" attitude—one of SOOOO's songs is about the tension between competition and collectivity; another is about consumerism and credit card debt. Like !!!, they also rock the funny song titles, with gems like "Your Shitty Record Won't Mix Itself." Anyways, super stoked for the show.

^{Shout Out Out Out Out w/ Cadence Weapon by Kelly O}

Bummer then that at least one dude from SOOOO, the guy in the red shirt with the fake mustache, was SOOOOOOO fucking wasted that he couldn't stand up, let alone play keys. He spent the most of the set hitting the keys with his hands, mashing several keys at a time, but at one point, he hit too hard, and fell forward onto his keyboard and towards the crowd. It took a few minutes to get things righted, and in the meantime, the drummers kept their beat, and Cadence Weapon jumped onstage to MC. Cadence Weapon saves the day, and the band recovers, although dude keeps mashing his keys, and they only get in one more song, a middling take on the aforementioned "Your Shitty Record Won't Mix Itself," with it's closing refrain of "You need to simplify." It was a drunk disaster, but it's understandable, given their introduction of, "Who's drunk? (cheers) Who's been eating nothing but tacos for three days? (more cheers) Damn, it's like you're in my head...and stomach...and liver." Fuck it, I still love these guys.

MGMT (maybe?) by Kelly O

Next stop: the Playboy Party. To see Justice (and for the articles). Not really my scene, but here are some highlights/observations: It's a big, multi-room warehouse, with a stage in one room, a bar and some acid-paisley projections on the walls in the next. There's lots of uncomfortable shoving in the (admittedly free) drink line, where I hear my first big Texas accents of the weekend from some big dudes in baseball caps (a friend points out that most of the people here probably knew the names of playmates on the invite but not the names of the bands). There's some middling, bluesy rock band onstage with two playmates in blue bunny getups dancing along. Every woman in a bunny suit is followed by an attendant burly dude in a decidedly non-bunny suits, the models' fake smiles backed up by very real scowls. There's Aziz Ansari. I'm handed about a dozen sets of 3-D glasses with which to view a not-terribly eye-popping video projection. There's some barbeque. Some people are playing "Say it Ain't So" on a Guitar Hero rig set up in the back of a car. I hear someone snorting something in the porta-pottie next to me (btw, at some parties, though not at this one, SXSW has gender specific porta-potties—pink for girls, blue for boys). MGMT may or may have played while I was there, it was hard to tell, but we definitely left before Justice came on to go catch a house party across town.

The house party was definitely more my scene. The "house" was actually some kind of complex, with a pool in the center, some kind of treehouse/crows nest, an outdoor DJ booth, housing in two corners, and at least three big yards. Diplo was DJing. A few brave people were jumping in the pool, fully clothed. James Ford of Simian Mobile Disco was there, as was Cadence Weapon, Shout Out Out Out Out, dude from Extreme Animals, and no doubt tons of other people I should've recognized. The one problem was that it was kind of a BYOB affair, and we were empty handed and after hours. A guy from Division Day was nice enough to give me my one last beer of the night, and for that I vow to give their album, Beartrap Island a more thorough listen when I get home.

I walked back across town to the hotel at 4 in the morning. Austin was dark and sleeping quiet, trucks rolling down the highway, crickets buzzing, pre-dawn light just threatening to creep up on the horizon. So, yeah, that's how I got hungover.

So as it turns out, all attempts at getting media off my camera have proved awful, which means you'll have to settle for words instead of video. Let's regurgitate a second day...

J Mascis--It appears that Eric left the French Legation Museum today just in time to miss J. Mascis kick all kinds of ass with a solo set. Not sure whether his acoustic guitar has a killer electric pickup, or whether he simply has the greatest pedal layout in the world, but the guy started each of his few songs with quaint, meandering acoustic picking, only to switch over for some of the most epic rock solos I've heard by a guy sitting in a chair.

Eugene Mirman, Todd Barry--Emo's had the brief "A Bunch of Comedians" showcase today during its day shows. To answer your question from the other day, Eric, Todd Barry did not incorporate his recent airline mishap into his routine. However, he did heckle a sound guy who interrupted his set by taking three minutes to remove a cymbal from the stage. Barry responded by asking what band the guy was working for so that he could reproduce the equivalent asshole moves during their set later in the day. Mirman, meanwhile, made fun of MySpace ads which ask questions that make no sense. ("'Should Hillary Run For President?' She's running, so, you know, that's insulting.") He printed out a few samples of his own that he thought would be better--"Are these giraffes gay?" stood out. As a bonus, the friend whose couch I'm crashing on found himself the butt of a zillion jokes when he yelled out mid-set to make fun of a joke about Aerosmith. Did my friend deserve it? I'll answer that once I've left Austin. By the way, during this set, there was a shout-out to Sonic Boom Records courtesy of the T-shirt that clung to Mirman's belly.

Earthless--Holy ass pants. These guys played at a record store a good 15 minute drive away from downtown Austin, which meant about 12 people witnessed the most intense 44-minute song I've ever heard. Earthless would be done a great disservice to be labeled as stoner rock; I once heard them on a Vancouver radio station while waiting for a ferry and made it a personal mission to finally see this band that played epic blues/speed-metal/kraut/glam/rock of the 20-minute-plus variety. (It was a long wait for the ferry.) This trio did not disappoint, complete with a metal drummer who--whoa--understood the concepts of restraint and reduced cymbals, and a bassist who sounded schooled in jazz the way he dictated the band's rhythm and harmony. After their 8-minute opener made me wonder what kind of insanity I was in for, they tore into a 44-minute ass-peeler, filled with chunks of their latest record but also augmented with new, well-refined sections--early Metallica speed-riffing that collided with the kind of blistering solos that would make Stevie Ray Vaughan puke his white guts out. I'm not necessarily a metal guy, but I can appreciate it, and I'd never heard a metal band with so many points of entry. Thank you, Earthless.

Phosphorescent--Matthew Houck is on an utter roll these days; his semi-solo project is anchored by its best band ever, and it's hard not to have your heart broken by both his original tunes ("My Dove, My Lamb," emboldened by many a suspiciously cheery piano section) and his covers (here, Leonard Cohen's "Memories," done so well that it might finally convince people to lay off the fucking "Hallelujah"). I cannot wait to post videos of his stuff from the past two days.

Bodies of Water--I'm sad that Eric wasn't moved nearly as much by their daytime set as the Mohawk crowd was by what was laid bare this evening. The male-female harmonies and erratic songwriting reminded me of BC's Shapes and Sizes, if they were overtaken by the perky-yet-militant Polyphonic Spree. Eric's right about the frontwoman, but the excitement I felt from their frequent four-part vocal explosions--often broken into male/female parts before coming together at opportune moments--reminded me of the time I saw a little known band called The Arcade Fire open for The Unicorns back in late '04. Song after song proved anthemic with this massive crowd.

Luke Temple--The perfect fit for the Central Presbyterian Church's daunting size and reverb-loving acoustics. This Brooklyn crooner's high pitch and minimalist songs wound up sounding so much huger in the cathedral, its empty spaces filling the air and making the chirping keyboards and spare bass drum thumps that much more powerful beneath his fragile voice. A set that requires video to explain. Can't wait to upload it.

Bon Iver--His voice was blown, though you might not've heard so--four out of five people in attendance were too busy talking loudly to actually pay attention to one of the fest's most hyped acts. Guess you folks spent so much money on your laminated SXSW badges that you forgot to spare a dime or two to pay some respect. Anyway, the band was still able to command a rousing singalong midway through, so I doubt they're hurting.

Citay--I hate to knock an article by Jon Zwickel about a band from San Fran, his old abode, but I think he got this Stranger piece on Citay pretty wrong. Not that he'll agree with my take on them, but I heard a bunch of Grateful Dead lovers--you know, from the earliest days, like Aoxomoxoa--making music that was equally inspired by modern instrumentalists who build with walls of noise, such as Mogwai. There are a lot more inspirations in that mess, certainly--some hair metal, some really pretty sections of folk music mixing with dueling guitar solos and swooping keyboard lines... but the final word was that Citay (and, Jesus, what an awful name) was the first band I've seen all fest that I wanted to keep seeing. Whose steam didn't run out right when its abbreviated showcase set time was up. It's a factor that's easy to forget when your musical attention span is forcibly shrunken by sets that average out to 25 minutes--"Hey! These weirdos from Denmark with matching raindrop T-shirts must be the next big thing!" Sometimes it takes more than half an album's worth of material to prove that you've got the brass. I will try to see Citay once more--purely for such research reasons, I assure you.

Times New Viking--I figured the band would sound less like they'd been recorded off a tape deck when playing live...not the case. My buddy and I agreed that they sounded at least five times shittier in concert. Their eye-bulger of an intensely (and intentionally) sloppy set ended with a few guys in the front screaming "THANK YOU SO MUCH!" I wish I had more insight to offer about this set, but the way the crowd was swirling around and the way the band's noise kinda melted into itself, I lost track.

Bedtime.