• Vampire Weekend @ Stubb's

After four days of braving the hustle of a city under siege by music fans—with their invented economies of meaningless trinkets and oversubscribed RSVP lists, abundant scarcity, and constant crowding—all the while sticking to seeing (mostly) new (to me) bands, I have to admit to (convincing myself of) a sense of relief at not having schemed my way into one of Saturday night's last-minute ultra-mega superstar closing night parties. Instead of seeing three hours of Prince, Justin Timberlake dressing down, the latest iteration of the Smashing Pumpkins, Macklemore, and Fall Out Boy performing at the pleasure of Perez Hilton, keeping an ear to the ground to wherever Kanye West might or might not be parachuting in (allegedly during French Montana's Fader Fort set), I followed my heart to see Vampire Weekend close out SXSW in the big backyard of Stubb's B.B.Q.

Losing the keys to my backyard East Austin rental cottage found me spending the previous night (briefly) replicating Travis Ritter's 2012 adventures in temporary SXSW homelessness—cycling around town to retrace my steps and haunting the wonderful 24 Diner—so I was more than a little excited to hand over my sleep-deprived brain to the comforts of a known commodity with a side of Shiner Bock. I've seen the band maybe a dozen times on stages large and small and have yet to see them put on anything but a great show. Watching them continue this trend, busting out the parade of all the old crowd-pleasing favorites ("Oxford Comma," "Cousins," "California English," "Campus," "Horchata") while trying out three new songs (including "Diane Young," the first single from Modern Vampires of the City, which drops today) on the crowd, it strikes me that just being a really good band of technically exceptional performers who write approximately innovative yet still very pleasant music with short-storylike lyrics that nevertheless often motivate lots of people to dance and sing along is kind of a rare delightful commodity. And bless them for keeping weirdly moody gorgeous "I Think Ur a Contra" right there in the encore along with traditional get-the-eff-out-of-here closer "Walcott."

On the subject of staggering proficiency and sheer stage magnetism: they were well paired with openers HAIM. The Los Angeles sister act unleashed a treasury of great rock and roll faces while (each) singing, drumming, and playing guitar as if performing their own exorcisms. Wild, engaging, and referential without being derivative (as above), they may have been my favorite new band of the week. I knew nothing about them before last night, but can't wait to hear more.

Earlier in the day, I swung by much-beloved now-closed Austin club Emo's, which Brooklyn Vegan had temporarily resurrected for their showcases. Say what you will about the quality of comments on their blog, but the people in attendance, perhaps sated by free nachos and coconut water, were among the best-behaved audiences I encountered: Austra's glorious triple operatic harmonies over double synths and live drums was maybe the first show I saw all week where everyone in my immediate vicinity was too transfixed on the performance to strike up an inane conversation or shove their way through the crowd for a beer, or anything even borderline impolite. (Often during the course of this music marathon I found myself wondering whether there's any other entertainment where blatantly ignoring the show is deemed as apparently socially acceptable.) I stuck around long enough to catch a bit of Unknown Mortal Orchestra and eternally-fun Sub Pop act King Tuff. During all three sets, I'm pretty sure that tiny flakes of the building were crumbling loose.

Back at the Fader's railroad-adjacent Converse-presented (contractual obligation) East Austin fortress, Earl Sweatshirt, the once "lost" Odd Future child-prodigy, deftly dispatched lyrics with contained bravado to an always at-capacity crowd while Flying Lotus acted as DJ. Across the dusty alley, Ray Ban teamed with Boiler Room to turn an old warehouse into a sensory overload chamber—video screens covering half the walls and an in-the-round setup that placed performers on a platform in the middle of the cavernous space. I showed up hoping to see a bit of Mount Kimbie, but found Schlomo instead, due to a scheduling shuffle induced by Chief Keef's just not showing up. I sort of wish that the audiovisuals and vast crowds (in great part, refugees seeking the next fix after Fader's apparently surprise-guest-enhanced French Montana finale) hadn't sent me fleeing to Rio Rita's for relief: the Twitternet suggests that before Bauer came to Harlem Shake everyone one more time, Death Grips played a set that included Zach Hill Skyping-in drums from a remote location.

But, I guess that missing two thousand things to see a handful of others, including a band that you love, and— afterwards while grabbing your bike—getting to serendipitously discover that Delorean is a super-fun Spanish dance rock band that inspires crowdsurfing and patio parties, and not a sleepy Northwest outfit, makes the whole nonsense of occasionally loathsome crowds, huge piles of cash thrown into marketing and brand awareness (this morning, I noticed the absurdity of Spotify re-painting the cafe they took over for the week back from glowing green to a more sedate color and realized that's probably among the tinier expenditures of the festival), and over-exhaustion worth the trip? Plus, I've heard that the backlash was better last year anyway. It's definitely enough to make me think that I'll be tempted to return. After several naps.

(Some more photos, after the jump.)

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• Stevie Nicks takes a bow

Perhaps my favorite thing that happened yesterday at South by Southwest was when Stevie Nicks spent a good five minutes just recounting, in intricate detail, the major plot points of Joe Wright's film adaptation of Anna Karenina. This was in response to a question from Ann Powers, I think, about her songwriting inspiration and process, and was only one of many fascinating digressions in an hourlong afternoon interview that included a glimpse into her entry into Fleetwood Mac, the role of women in rock music (and her general outrage at a sense of modern-day setbacks for women), and negotiating the dynamics of taking breaks from a band to pursue a solo career. Other fun facts: she really loves Beauty and the Beast both the Jean Cocteau and television version) and always wanted/wants to be a witch for Halloween.

My second favorite thing from yesterday was probably her duet with Dave Grohl at Stubb's as part of the his Sound City Players marathon. The delicate stripped-down acoustic version of "Landslide" almost quieted all of the inane side conversations in the audience for the first time in the evening. The follow-up, "Gold Dust Woman", Nicks fully witching out with the all-star band was a highlights condender, too. The whole event felt like an endurance contest for Grohl, who was onstage throughout the variety show rock lottery that included Alain Johannes, John Fogerty, Chris Goss (Masters of Reality), Brad Wilk (Rage Against the Machine, drums), Pat Smear, Taylor Hawkins (Foo Fighters, drums), as well as Fear's Lee Ving (who, earlier in day, Dave credited for his entire music career). By the time I left — nearly three hours into the rockistest event of all time — Rick Springfield had joined the crowd. With three hours left until curfew, they showed no signs of slowing down.

• Snoop LION

• Tegan & Sara

After that, I cycled back to the mess of Sixth Street, dodging bros getting tasered to catch my most favorite Swedish heartthrobs Shout Out Louds who were closing out the Merge showcase at the Parish. Like everyone else here, they seem to be playing a thousand shows, yet I keep finding it difficult to catch more than a few songs in this ongoing citywide treasure hunt.

A few more photos after the jump.

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