Best Show: YACHT—I think the last time I saw the new-age-meets-new wave pop duo was just after they'd officially become a duo and just before they'd released the act's first great album, See Mystery Lights. They were playing some of those songs—"It's Boring/You Can Live Anywhere You Want," for instance—and what they lacked in premeditated dance moves they made up for with enthusiasm at being onstage together. But last night was the first time I got to see them do a set full of the Mystery Lights songs I knew and loved, backed up by a live rhythm section (the Straight Gays?), dressed up in sharp black and white suits, stage routines solidified by time spent on the road—and it was just fantastic. They walked on to Giorgio Moroder's "The Chase," then slowed the track down and launched into "Ring the Bell" then "It's Boring/You Can Live Anywhere You Want," which became a crowd-pleasing, pogo-inducing sing-along. "Summer Song" and "Psychic City (Voodoo City)" were obvious highlights, the latter a little premature for the oddly chilly weather but still breezy and bouncy and fun, the latter that undeniable bass groove and chant alternating with Claire L. Evans' sweet verses. Towards the end of the set, they announced that since this was their last show at SXSW, there would need to be a ceremonial cutting of the wristbands—what would a YACHT show be without a ritual, after all?

Runner Up: Les Savy Fav at the Vice afterparty—I wasn't feeling their show last night, but like I said, still one of my favorite bands, and still one I'd go way out of my way to see again. And glad I did, because this set was fucking rad, perfectly balanced between Tim Harrington's infamous antics and he and the band playing the shit out of their songs. They did "What Would Wolves Do," "The Equestrian," and a screaming good rendition of "Patty Lee." Harrington got into the crowd and down on his hands and knees and then gave an audience member a brief shoulder ride. They played a new song, Harrington almost rapping, something about "show us your teeth/show us your tits" then Harrington declaring "I love you to the max," the song all one long riff without any big finish. They played "Pills," its apocalyptic burning bush freak-outs going down easy and out of control. They played "Yawn Yawn Yawn," and then another new one that had Harrington singing about "I want you," "let's get out of here," and other sweet enough if not exactly stunner lyrics. They played a rousing version of "The Sweat Descends," Harrington wearing an evil-grinning rabbit mask, which, he explained, belonged to the US government and had been given to him by a guy from NASA who was interviewing rock bands about the moon. They played a total blow-out version of "Who Rocks the Party," the crowd a total dancing shouting mess at this point, Neumos booker/drummer Jason Lajeunesse up on stage banging along on the drums, Harrington losing the mic after the first verse, then dragging a table into the crowd and singing from atop it. At the end of the song he started rapping his way into "One Way Window," the crowd hoisting the table up with him on top of it and then pallbearing him up to the stage. Killer.

Worst Show: Memory Tapes—buzzy chillwave band just sounds like a cut-rate Cut Copy copy; I gave up after a few songs and just watched the rest of the set from the bar. Runners up: Major Lazer, who went on after YACHT and just sounded like a hectic mess in comparison, the beats all bussy, the MC shouting, us departing for the Vice party; also the first band at said Vice party, yet another boring blown-out bluesy rock band, possibly Cheeseburger but could be just as adequately named Credence Clearchannel Revival. (The soul 45s DJ at that party, Mr. Jonatahn Toubin, was great, though.)

Biggest Surprise: Tobias Thomas—just a DJ from Cologne, Germany, spinning selections in the style of that city’s Kompakt records—gentle, minimal yet poppy techno and the like-minded remixes of Phoenix and Hercules and Love Affair. He played a little air bass guitar whenever a particularly if mutedly funky bassline dropped into the mix. Nothing mind-blowing, but just a super pleasant set that had a courtyard full of people schaeffling and dancing at 9:30pm—not a bad way to beat back the cold. Runner up: Dominique Leone—the joke with this guy is that he’s “the hot French chick who writes for Pitchfork,” and that when folks see him in person (say, at the EMP Pop Conference), they’re bummed to find out he’s actually just a sort of bearish dude. They might be stoked to find out he’s a ridiculously gifted musician, an agile pianist and oddball arranger of weird jazz fusion and proggy pop. He played keys—nimble melodies, odd jazzy chords—backed by a drummer and bassist the kept and a marimba player; they were the kind of band that just impressed with pure, geeky musicianship, which was actually kind of a rare thing to see at SXSW. For one song, he sang a kind of high, open throated, “fee fi fo fum” scale, recalling the fractured vocal melodies of Dirty Projecters; for another he did a little deadpan cod-rap, sounding a little like the Dismemberment Plan. On one song, he got a little Broadway in his upper register emoting and demonstrative lyrical sentiments (“I’m sad, angry, and mad…”); for another, he sang rising vocals through some fuzzy delay, creating a kind of aggressive, disorienting glissando. A weird, wonderful show.

Shows I Wish I Could’ve Been Two Places at Once to See: I missed Gun Outfit again, and although I saw Memory Tapes, I really wish I’d caught more of the many, many “chillwave”-type acts that played this year, as they were about the only really discernable trend happening. (Although, if SXSW still had the power to create trends rather than just reflect them, all these guys would have played and been “discovered” here last year; instead, they “blew up” on the blogs and just hit Austin for spring break like everyone else. These days, eh?

Local Interest: The Seattle Party—so, a few more thoughts on the big Seattle showcase: it’s great to see everyone from the Town coming together Saturday afternoon and catching up on how everyone’s been doing at the festival, it’s just a real homey scene. It was also the single weed-skunkiest show I went to all weekend, so nice work. The Maldives kind of make a ton more sense down in Austin than they do in Seattle, as does kind of a lot of the rootsy, twangy stuff that was on display here—Dutchess & the Duke, the Cave Singers. I suppose Rocky Votolato’s originally from Texas, so there’s that. Thee Satisfaction owned the rap showcase early, although Dark Time Sunshine’s melancholy mood was engaging as well. Macklemore remains a consummate showman, fond of donning a wig and doing a joke rap (this time a kind of Euro-trash party rap number), doing a St. Patrick’s Day drinking song for all his fellow Irish over a beat that sampled Beirut’s “Scenic World” (or whatever traditional melody that song stole), addressing his own newfound sobriety handily: “I don’t drink anymore/I couldn’t drink like a gentleman/that doesn’t mean I can’t make a drinking song for the rest of them.” I sometimes find his style a little too motivational-speaker preachy, but even at his most heavy-handed, he really has a powerful delivery and lands a lot of great couplets. Mash Hall was a ridiculous, rocked-out spectacle as always, although the vocals got a little lost in the mix, BlesOne sometimes smearing his words more than annunciating them, Larry Mizell Jr. shouting breathlessly. Still, a fine, fun show. Also caught Hey Marseilles playing at a church, where the setting and the acoustics were excellent. I’m still kind of on the fence about a lot of their stuff on record, but when they swing into those big orchestral crescendos of trumpet and strings live it’s easy enough to get swept up in.