Kanye West, Myer Music Bowl, Melbourne.

Wow. Three letters on the lips of almost everyone within shouting distance of the Music Bowl tonight, are w-o-w. That's because for the thousands of fans who earlier walked through a cool summer evening have just bore witness to arguably one of the 21^st century's greatest performers, and possibly the best show this town has seen since the equally outrageous Daft Punk blew Melbourne away on this very stage years ago.

Rising high atop a crane, in the middle of a sea of people, Kanye West opens – albeit half an hour late – with Higher. While his fans veritably lose their shit at this spectacle, he quickly makes his way through the phone-waving throng to the main stage, busting straight into Power and then following it up with the classic Jesus Walks. West is on song tonight, his drive, charisma and energy enough to make even the most ardent of critics enjoy the show.

Broken into a three-Act Greek tragedy, tonight is so much more than a concert; this is a spectacle to behold, one barely possible to replicate without the creative intuition and genius that West has. Can't Tell Me Nothing, Hell Of A Life and Good Life quickly follow, and the only slight on the opening Act is Monster, which lacks the Rick Ross, Jay-Z and Nicki Minaj verses.

The second Act starts out subtly, with West offering Love Lockdown as a haunting soundtrack to some jaw-dropping contemporary dance routines. The crowd is stunned as lithe, costumed girls wriggle, jump, pirouette and twirl across the stage, seemingly weightless. West drops a couple more songs from 808s & Heartbreak, before lifting things up a notch with Homecoming and American Boy, before Gold Digger raises the Music Bowl to new heights.

With the climax seemingly around the corner, West re-appears for Act 3 in black leather jacket and baseball cap, and to a wicked backdrop of red & white strobe lights, throws down Stronger and set highlight All Of The Lights, during which he stops twice mid-song to start again, pleading with his audience to belt out the line “our nigga dead” in ode to Michael Jackson – showmanship at its best despite the initial awkwardness of 10,000 white boys & girls screaming the “n” word.

A white sheet blocks all view of the stage and Chariots of Fire is hammered out for a few minutes, before West re-emerges, red jacket, jeans & shoes atop a raised podium for an epic rendition of Runaway. He has a tendency to improvise/waffle a bit during some of his songs, but the heartfelt nature of his words shows his genuine emotions.

Hey Mama caps off an epic set nearly two and-a-half hours after he started, and even though the omission of Diamonds from Sierra Leone is somewhat blinding, Kanye West leaves nothing on stage.Those three letters again; w-o-w.

Newport Folk Festival, 30-31 July 2011

Contrary to popular Australian belief, Splendour in the Grass is not the only music festival in the world taking place on the last weekend of July. Steeped in history and with a backdrop as impressive as any, the Newport Folk Festival has seen generations of folk music heroes play to dedicated music aficionados for over 40 years.

The two-day festival kicks off on the main stage with Canadian quartet the Wailin' Jennys. The three-pronged female harmonies make for a beautiful soundtrack to a day of 35 degrees. Newport Harbour is resplendent in yachts, canoes, speed boats and other waterborne folk taking advantage of the festival's prestigious location (in an old military fort with views of the seaside town), and the crowd is treated to versions of classic Julie Miller, Emmylou Harris and Dolly Parton tunes.

An early highlight comes in the form of New York's Gogol Bordello. With blood lines stretching as far as Siberia and Ukraine (moustachioed frontman Eugene Hutz every part the immigrant son), in fitting with the folk vibe the set is an acoustic one, but that hardly prevents their fans from spontaneous bursts of circle pits and screaming joy. Throwing in sing-along tracks Wunderlust King, Alcohol and finishing with the crowd-pleaser Purple, Gogol are amazing, and smiles abound throughout the crowd.

Country Music Hall of Famer Earl Scruggs has less gusto than the guy from Weekend at Bernie's, but his banjo-picking fingers seem to remember what they have to do, as his band, fronted by his son Gary, belt through some classic bluegrass, including Scruggs' own Ballad of Jed Clampett.

Songstress Gillian Welch, accompanied as always by guitarist Dave Rawlings, gets the crowd all misty-eyed as she croons to the late afternoon sky. Playing songs like Time (the Revelator) and Miss Ohio, it's a picture-perfect way to watch the sun play upon the clouds.

Headliners The Decemberists make sure that they finish the day off in style. Dropping tracks from their latest album The King Is Dead as well as old favourites, their set is played with gusto. Opening with the apt July, July! and singer Colin Meloy the epitome of enthusiasm, this is one of the sets of the year – bar none. Finishing with the 15-minute epic tale of Mariner's Revenge, complete with stagecraft sessions and huge crowd interaction, it is a highlight only topped by the re-emergence of Welch & Rawlings to complete the encore with the beautiful Springville.

Day 2 isn't as hot, but the heat handed out by surprise packet Trampled By Turtles is palpable. Every music festival has 'that band' that leaves its discoverers in awe of a killer set, and for Newport 2011, Turtles are it. Combining the harmonies and instrumentation of Mumford & Sons with a ramshackle, bluegrass delivery, they have the crowd bawling tears one minute and hoe-downing and guffawing the next. So much so that they come back for a unprecedented mid-afternoon encore of the Pixies' Where Is My Mind – classic.

Justin Townes Earle is also at the top of his game, telling stories and singing songs like Christchurch Woman (dedicated to NZ's troubled town), My Mama's Eyes, and finishing with Harlem River Blues. Supported by slide guitar and double bass, on the side stage it's a poignant hour-long set.

One of the few (if not only) non-North American artists on the bill is Elvis Costello, and boy does the guy kick out a set. Belting his gravelly voice to the crowd on the grass and on the harbour, Costello succeeds in getting nearly everyone on their feet, dancing to (The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes, A Slow Drag With Josephine and a killer version of Johnny Cash's Cry, Cry, Cry. Finishing his encore with Peace Love And Understanding, the man in a very polished grey suit and hat leaves no one disappointed.

Finishing the night on the smaller stage is M Ward, whose tender, acoustic songs aren't the best way to finish the day (even if he does include a version of Bowie's Let's Dance), although with backing band, Dawes, he kicks up some dust and gets some last minute booty-shaking happening with a cover of Chuck Berry's Roll Over Beethoven.

And the sun goes down over Newport Harbour. The folks in their cars spend the next two hours getting back into town, while those on their boats just lie back and soak it in. It's a brilliant festival with a hippy vibe, and it's hard not to think; You can keep your Splendour, Newport, Rhode Island, has its own.

- Dylan Stewart

Waking Up On Top Of The World

It's 8am. Despite only 3 hours sleep, I feel rested. It might have something to do with Washed Out's debut Within And Without playing on my iPod dock, it might have something to do with the cool glass of water and air conditioning, or it might have something to do with the view out of my 21st storey window. Building after building, centred - as they tend to to - around Central Park.

New York City has been my friend many times over the past few years, and as I rest my (dare I say, slightly hungover) eyes upon her glorious Sunday Morning facade, it's not so much a sense of deja vu, but of a long-lost companion simply saying "welcome back"...

I arrived at the Beacon Hotel on Broadway & 77th at just after 10:30pm NY time last night, which is the equivalent of 12:30pm on Sunday afternoon MEL time; a full 32 hours after waking up. Through a mixture of red wine, cold & flu medicine and Paul Newman I managed to rustle up 8-10 hours sleep during the flights which, I believe, may have just saved my life.

After a mix-up at front desk in which I found out not only is there another Dylan staying here (Dylan Glover, fyi - I wonder if he's a relative of Danny...), but another Dylan Stewart, I narrowly avoided sharing my room with three high school seniors and checked into my room. Sure, I'll have to check out and check back in, but when in you're in New York, every minute spent in your hotel room is a minute wasted anyway, so after breakfast with the boss, it's "Exploring The Upper West Side" day today.

Tonight I'll be meeting with work folk, checking in on them and ensuring their time spent in NYC has been worthwhile. Although the economy seems to be shot to shit here, Bruno my cab driver informed me last night that there are plenty of crew on every flight coming over here, trying to leave their mark on the city of Sinatra, Allen and Jeter.

I have no false hope that in my short time here I will leave a legacy even half as great as any of those; I'm just here on business. So I shall descend the elevator, cross the marble lobby floor, and burst out onto Broadway. When this city calls my name, who am I to ignore her?

It's 8am. I'm in New York City.

Pennywise, Millencolin & Mad Caddies @ the Palace

With the Soundwave countdown only hours away, the quality of punk, hardcore & metal gigs sprouting up all over the city is the stuff of a headbanger’s wet dream. Tonight, some of the finest exponents of punk and ska appear to quench the oh-so-dry thirst that the punters crave.

While the Palace fills, Californian ska heavyweights Mad Caddies show off their wares. Although at first the set is very much that of an “opening band”, without too much crowd participation, by the end of the band’s allotted 30 minutes, there is no doubt that had the Caddies been the headlining act, this place would still be as sold out as it already is.

Now it’s time to go back in time, to a land of high school acne, limited spending money and a time where the prospect of not purchasing at least one CD per month for the reasonable price of $29.95 seems like larceny. It’s 2001 and I’m the 16-year old version of myself – the most life-altering record is about to hit my ears.

The album is Pennybridge Pioneers, and the band is Millencolin. Celebrating the 10^th anniversary of the release of their breakthrough album, Millencolin play the record from start to finish. No Cigar, Fox and Material Boy (the latter performed to the fastest-formed circle pit known to man) break open the album and therefore tonight’s playlist, preceding another 11 tracks culminating in front man Nikola Sarcevic’ acoustic singlaong The Ballad. A solid encore of songs old and new (think Mr Clean, Black Eye etc) gets the crowd even more excited, and the fact that this is a “double bill” is evidently not lost.

Half an hour later, Hermosa Beach (that’s California, punk)’s finest exports, Pennywise take to the stage. Their first tour to Australia with their current lineup – singer Zoli Teglas joined the band in 2009 – sees them in fine form. Tight, driven and a bunch of fun, the four-piece pull out all the stops, playing hits like Society, Fuck Authority, and ending with a rousing rendition of Bro Hymn. A member of the Greenpeace boat Sea Shepherd appears briefly, explaining the win they’ve recently had over Japanese whaling, and there is a definitive anti-government sentiment throughout.

If tonight’s been a walk down memory lane then it’s been a damn good one, and one that will not be forgotten quickly.

New Found Glory & Less Than Jake @ Billboard, Melbourne

Two bands, at different stages of their careers. The Soundwave sideshow is sold out, a sound achievement for a Monday night. Despite the throng of people inside by eight p.m. however, there’s a definite early-week smell in the air; a feeling that had this been a Saturday – hell, even a Wednesday night gig, the atmosphere might be a little bit more alive.

Of course, those who suffer most for this lack of crowd enthusiasm is the opening band, and the sacrificial lambs on offer to the disinterested “fans” tonight are Floridian ska legends Less Than Jake. For their part, the five-piece is as tight as a band reaching their veteran status would expect to be, and their hour-long set provides a string of hits: Dopeman, How’s My Driving, All My Friends Are Metalheads and Plastic Cup Politics. Horns a-blazing, on-stage making out sessions and the like are standard highlights, but the crowd just don’t care. With the exception of the punters in the mosh pit, front men Chris Demakes and Roger Manganelli really struggle to connect with the rest of their audience. It’s a damn shame, and their frustration is obvious, especially in Demakes. Singling out a nonplussed girl texting on the side, and inviting security on stage for a drink (“I hate to see good money go to waste”) it’s painful to see from this band, whose live shows were once a thing of legend.

The main act however, are still building their fan base, although given the raucous response they receive tonight it’s scary to think how big they may yet become. New Found Glory, also from Florida, have been together since 1997, although the group seem fresh and genuinely excited about their current tour. That excitement, however, has nothing compared with the frenzy that the swollen pit has become. Playing tracks from their entire career (including the brilliant Hit Or Miss from their 2000 self-titled record), this is a band at the height of their career, and with a new album in the pipeline, who knows where they could end up. Closing their encore with My Friend’s Over You all hell breaks loose on stage, and all of a sudden it’s Tuesday morning.

Jenny and Johnny @ EBC

JENNY & JOHNNY, THE LAURELS – EAST BRUNSWICK CLUB

It’s festival season, so for the poor buggers who can’t afford a ticket to the festival itself (OK, so I’m talking Laneway here, surely you’ve worked that out by this review’s title), we’re in the few days during which one chooses the favourite band from the line-up, and fork out the $$’s to check ‘em out.

First up tonight at the East Brunswick is Sydney’s The Laurels, a four-piece shoegaze crew who seemingly hit the right notes without actually making an impact on the growing crowd. There are some brilliant, LSD-inspired Beatles moments, and the majority of the set is reminiscent of the drone-rock of the Black Angels or Tame Impala, although there seems to be a bit too much wanking over amplifiers to really stand out.

After a quick sojourn to the bar and an all-too-obvious increase in crowd population, Jenny & Johnny take the stage. The girlfriend/ boyfriend duo of Jenny Lewis (of Rilo Kiley fame) and Jonathan Rice (of Jonathan Rice fame) share the stage wonderfully, batting eyelashes at each other from either side throughout the night. Playing pretty much their entire first album I’m Having Fun Now, including highlights Scissor Runner, Big Wave and My Pet Snakes, the set is a ripper. With only the minimum amount of banter recognised by a Melbourne crowd (who, in all honesty, don’t really seem to get into the show until the last 20 minutes), Lewis & Rice and their backing two-piece band run things very smoothly on stage, without even the slightest awkward pause.

Lewis and her seductive gaze ensures there’s not a red-blooded male in the room who doesn’t dream to be her bass guitar strap (classic Dream Weaver “sha-winggggg” moment), and Rice carries enough indie cred to keep the skinniest of jean upright.

After a very weird encore break, where the duo just hover side of stage, visible to most, they come back on for an acoustic version of Rilo Kiley’s Silver Lining. It’s a beautiful song made even more haunting by the acousticity (sure, that’s a word), and even the blatant mental blank suffered by Lewis isn’t enough to detract from it being the highlight of the night. Even the rain outside isn’t enough to wipe the smiles off all these faces.

Gareth Liddiard @ Thornbury Theatre, Nov 6, 2010

On a normal night, it’s a long way to Thornbury. The shiny lights and the buzz of High St, Northcote are distractions that pull dedicated punters away from distant suburban destinations, however tonight there is something special that calls followers of high-brow lyrical entertainment from far and wide. Gareth Liddiard, lead singer for living-legendary local band the Drones, is to play his second consecutive show to launch his debut album Strange Tourist, after his first last night sold out. As the last-minute crowds ascend the marble staircase of the Thornbury Theatre, the room’s atmosphere is pregnant with expectation. Strange Tourist is a sparse, haunting, lyrically brilliant album, and tonight Liddiard’s audience is in for a faithful reproduction, most likely with a few yarns thrown in.

He follows the album’s structure “from go to woe”, starting with the delicious Blondin Makes an Omelette, followed by Highplains Mailman. The 400-strong crowd sits mesmerised, and the genuine applause that follows each song is a fitting tribute to an artistic genius, even if an eager punter takes it a step too far – “Tapping on a glass? What are you, the fucking king of England?” After half an hour, aka three Liddiard epics, one realise that this is the kind of gig that should he play until sunrise, every seat would still be full when breakfast time comes.

Supported by crystal clear sound quality throughout the night, Liddiard is calm and confident, relaxing on his seat as though he is playing in a dimly lit lounge room in front of half a dozen of his closest friends. The honesty and forthrightness of his words, paired with the personal nature of his guitar playing, creates an intimacy with every person in the room. Liddiard’s poetic lyrics have been well-known in these parts for many years now through his work with the Drones (a fun game throughout the evening is Drone-Spotting – identifying Messrs. Noga, Luscombe & Miss Kitchin in the crowd), but stripped back to a man and his acoustc, it is truly a memorable show. After closer The Radicalisation of D Liddiard leaves the stage, only to shortly return armed with a trifecta of Drones tunes Super Cargo, Locust & Jezebel. The night is over after 2+ hours of brilliance, and the royal nature of the Theatre is truly evident. Suddenly Thornbury seems a whole lot closer to everything.

The Hold Steady – Heaven is Wherever (Vagrant Records)

Having been blown away by the rambling looseness of the Hold Steady’s 2005 record Separation Sunday, and watched the slow but steady rise of the Brooklyn band in the time since, the first listen to Heaven is Anywhere sees the band step away from the bar-room brawling sound that they encapsulated, and into a more melodic sound. Gone are keyboardist Franz Nicolay and his space-filling contribution, replaced by a tighter, thicker production courtesy of long-time producer Dean Baltulonis.

To learn that Baltulonis – who also produced Separation Sunday and the band’s debut Almost Killed Me – was behind the desk for Heaven is Wherever is somewhat surprising, given that the sound of this record is so different from previous Hold Steady releases. While vocalist Craig Finn’s verses still sprawl across the speakers like a letter, hand-written in marker in a bathroom stall, the hook-laden choruses of tracks like first single “Hurricane J” contribute more of a packaged sound than previously.

Such an approach will no doubt help the band capitalise on the relative success of their last two albums (both of which charted in the US & UK), especially 2008’s Stay Positive. Unfortunately, for those who loved the unkempt, seemingly-improvised nature of the Hold Steady’s earlier work, there will be moments on Heaven is Wherever – such as the lush yet weak “Barely Breathing” – that start solidly but get bogged down in finding other ways to fill Nicolay’s void (in this case with reverb-heavy backing vocals and horns, despite some seriously sassy clarinet) that fail to inspire.

There are however definitive moments of success. “The Weekender” sees the band use their new direction to their advantage, in making the most of volume, tempo and contrast. The percussive element of the band is also (slightly) more experimental, with tracks like “The Smidge” incorporating tambourines and the like to fill out the song’s vertical space.

The drunken swagger is still there. The drawl is still there (“Girls wanna go to the party/But no one’s in any shape to drive/So we call up a guy and when he comes we’re gonna ask for a ride” – ‘Rock Problems’). The guitar riffs are definitely still there. And although Heaven is Wherever indicates the Hold Steady have graduated from back-bar band to frontline festival favourite, there’s still more than enough here to listen to at 1am. Just not too much later than that.

N'Orleans. 2 days in...

It’s an early start as we make our way out of Austin, TX. The preceding week has seen the chaos and brilliance of South By Southwest run us rampant – gigs, planning, parties, free beer, run-ins with celebrities and a whole host of random activities – and now it’s time to head on the road. There’re just under two weeks of music-inspired tomfoolery to come, and what better time to start it than 5:45am.
First stop is New Orleans, Louisiana. Mode of transport; Greyhound. We watch the rolling landscape fly by in between fits of slumber. Houston, Texas to change buses, alas with not enough time to check out one of America’s largest cities. As we near the border to Louisiana there is a definite change in the scenery. Bland green pastures and Interstate roads give way to the bayous, the swamps that are the very essence of this part of the world. Mangroves creep toward the roadside, held back by the flying trucks on just another daily mission from one side of the country to the other.
We reach N’Orleans after dark, and after checking-in at our hostel, we hear word of a house party not far from where we are. Two Washington (state, not D.C.) are in town, and it’s an eclectic collection of party guests that are here to greet them.
Broken Waters channel the reverb-heavy, wall-of-sound inspired by My Bloody Valentine and with dual male/female vocals, turn a crowded room into a sweaty, heaving mass of people. Lit by candlelight it is a truly inspirational set by three creative individuals.
Unfortunately for Seattle band Lozen, there have already been complaints made to the police – a presence always felt in this town – and the “minimalist metal” 2-piece are only allowed a few songs before the cops show up and kill the vibe. It’s a long walk home through an oppressive neighbourhood, but we thankfully pass through with our lives and wallets, ready to live another day.
Bourbon St, with all its history, is not what I expected. I had anticipated a dank, cobblestoned street lined with dive bars blasting jazz and blues music into the moist night. What we find however is a flashing, glary street full of strip clubs, frozen dacquiri bars and stag/hen nights. Negative comparisons have to be made to Amsterdam’s Red Light district, the district immortalized no longer for its bohemian beginnings and since transformed to a drug-fuelled excuse to pillage the wallets from unsuspecting tourists.
Frenchmen St, on the far side of town, is much more impressive. Despite its small stature, there are the gypsy bands on the corners, there are the dive bars, there are big bands blasting their horns from every direction, and the Big Easy seems a lot more authentic in these parts. We stand in the corner, soaking in the music. Locals bob their heads, tap their feet, and relax in the knowledge that this is their town – home of the jazz. It’s a sassy way to spend the night.

Saturday - get your Barbie on!

It's Australia Day in Austin. Aussie musicians, press, biz-niz folk as well as a swag of curious, excitable and like-minded folk from Texas and beyond will be descending on Maggie Mae's today and tonight to check out the Aussie BBQ, presented by Stage Mothers. We, the 'Strayans, have three stages all to ourselves, and with free beer, pies, snags and even a cheeky brekkie burrito, there are all the ingredients to a great day. Unfortunately, an arctic cold front that hit overnight means the weather is anything but Australian, a very chilly 12 degree maximum expected today. And with a wind that's ripping across the city, it will be interesting to see if it has any impact on the bands or the crowd.

First up on the rooftop are Melbourne pop band Oh Mercy, who pull together their warm sound and unleash it against the weather, and with the stage strategically placed in front of the barbecue, umm, queue, the quartet are in as good a position as possible to capitalise on the day. Looking around, most of the punters enjoying their free food are hanging around to watch, and although there is not much banter between songs, Oh Mercy are quite comfortable letting their songs do the talking.

Downstairs, Perth's Karnivool hit the stage. Having never actually seen them play but being aware of their rise in the Australian rock scene, it is with a very pleasant surprise to see them bring their throbbing riffs and syncopation to a mid-sized crowd. Having almost become a familiar name in Australia, for anyone here (such as myself) needing confirmation, look no farther. There's an American market for them to harness, courtesy of bands like Tool and Deftones, and they show what they've got with a flawless show.

Following the 'Vool, WA singer songwriter Nathan Gaunt has brought his country/blues and his stratocaster to town, pulling out some happy-go-lucky, heartbroken tunes. His trusty harmonica alongside for the ride and there's 60 people in the room - a solid showing for a guy whose name is far from etched into even Australian minds yet.

It seems everywhere we go this week, Paul Dempsey is close by. Today, braving the wind on the rooftop, sees him playing to his largest crowd of the week. P-Diddy is looking very dapper this afternoon, and with his rich songs and articulate musings over the "aspirational metal" blaring from next door - "they must be from Tampa" - I feel a hint of a man-crush coming on. He plays the crowd just right, and clearly enjoys the interaction that has sorely been missing from a number of his earlier shows this week.


The Dempsey Dreamboat.


Adelaide's City Riots turn the day in a different direction. They bring to the stage their skinny jeans, their black leather jackets, and their alt-rock in search of the hooks and riffs that will skyrocket them to stardom. They haven't quite found them yet, but despite the band being slightly one-dimensional, they play to the biggest crowd of the day - they're clearly doing something right.

Fun punk-rockers Goons of Doom have been creating a fair buzz this week, and watching their chaos-laden hilarity unfold on stage it's easy to see why. Lamenting of the weather "every day in Australia is hotter than this", this is good-time rock. They're a strange bunch of guys, looking kinda like the 1990s surf scene never left. Their show is as loose as an east Austin teenage mother, and despite how their songs may or may not sound on record, in a live setting their show is as entertaining as any. Wholesale instrument changes and simulated shark attacks are all part of the madness, and it's good to see the punk attitude is still there.


Apparently, this is how a Shark Attack ends.


Sydney crew Cassette Kids follow, and that wind will just not let up. You have to feel almost sorry for singer Kat Noobergen, who's back-less dress must have her absolutely freezing - it's no wonder she gets around the stage like a mad woman. The band struggle to get the interaction they clearly crave from the audience (tough when there are mainly industry folk there whose hands are either in their coat pockets or clutching beers), but when Cassette Kids veer towards a stronger electronic feel they are at their best.

Back downstairs, Brisbane's guitar-powered pop rock band Grand Atlantic are mid-set, and playing to a sizable crowd once more. Their brand of music has the potential to crack American FM radio, so for the band to play a showcase such as this surely must come with huge pressure.

For the second time in two days we run across Children Collide. Given their very small crowd yesterday, today's show in front of close to 100 people is much stronger. They clearly feed off the larger crowd, and Heath Crawley's bass is sounding a whole lot dirtier - see: better - than yesterday. With a dedicated management staff on hand to pass out free download cards (strange that they're the only noticeable band with such promo activity) Children Collide are in town to get some business done, and with shows like this that's definitely a chance.

Like Goons of Doom, the hype around Brisbane's Violent Soho has been hard to ignore this week. Word on the street is that they've brought grunge back from the dead, and while claims such as this may be a little extreme, there is an undeniable quality to the band's music. It's impossible to avoid the Nirvana inspiration, but with enough quieter moments and lyrical focus, Violent Soho are hair (yes, hair) to remind us what came before...

Beaches. Ah Beaches. How rock you are. All girls, all loud, all the time. With a palpable reverb dripping down the wall like the beads of sweat the band inspire, they're the final band on today so the crowd is arguably the biggest of the day. And these punters are getting a treat, for the eyes and most definitely for the ears. Through the wall of sound it's difficult to hear lead singer Antonia Sellbach's (she of Love of Diagrams) lyrics, but that hardly matters. As the Texans would say, "fuck all y'all mother fuckers".

Then we're out on the street while Maggie's gets the once over, grabbing a bite and a pint ($3.50 pints - they might taste like piss, but hey, the price is right) before heading back in for the evening gig. We're down to one stage, so it's all eyes on Megan Washington and her band. Unfortunately for her, there are still people waiting outside to get in, so even by the end of the set the place isn't quite at capacity yet. It's a very upbeat set, Washington finishing with 'Clementine' and the brilliant 'Cement'.

Following on from Washington are Sydney's Dappled Cities, and five men with bigger smiles I challenge you to find. By the time they're on stage the place is full, a fitting end to their three-show stint in town. The band's music flirts with melody, but more often than not keep a distance from easily-accessible pop music, and they get a serviceable response from the crowd who, it seems, are here primarily for the next band.

Coming straight outta Townsville, seven-piece The Middle East prove the highlight of the night. With their potential to sound like Art of Fighting at their most serene, and the Polyphonic Spree at their most excitable, the folk-heavy style is a beautiful sound that seems to have been missing this week. Unfortunately the metal band downstairs make The Middle East's more emotional moments suffer, but finishing with their hit 'Blood' as their loudest and finest moment, it's a great way to finish a fantastic set from one of Australia's true up-and-comers.

Sherlock's Daughter are the surprise packet of the night. It's surprising to see how much noise they make, and although the band look like a complete hotchpotch of performers, their music is fun, beautiful and thoroughly enjoyable. Diminutive singer Tanya Horo commands the stage with her unfailing positive attitude, and the rest of the band as well as the crowd get right behind her to extract a great set.

The heartbreaker award goes indisputably to Kate Miller-Heidke. With an unstoppable voice and a sense of humour sometimes bordering on the crass, her set is disrupted by not only the metal madness downstairs, but also the incessant ranting from the crowd near the bar and at the back of the room. KM-H seems more than a little upset at the noise, but still delivers a great set, with sparse accompaniment. 'Space They Cannot Touch' is a set highlight, as is a cover of Britney Spears' 'Toxic', and when she departs shortly before midnight, things are finally in place for the Aussies. It's time to look elsewhere.

According to a very random source, Justin Timberlake is playing out in east Austin. For some reason we think it is a good idea to follow this source and find ourselves not only in an abandoned tent in the middle of a field, but in a decidedly unsavoury part of town. Let's get the hell out of here.

It's nearing 1am, and in the need for a fitting way to round out the night. Unfortunately, the Passion Pit DJ's are not it. In fact, a more boring, average and amateur DJ set I have yet to see. Indescribably bland music, terribly blatant mixing and even worse lighting makes this a disaster, and to end SXSW like this would be criminal.

Inside Emo's however, Brisbane's An Horse is onstage, plowing through their fun two-piece pop stylings. Given the Australian theme of the day, they are a fitting way to see out the 1am time slot, so when we leave thinking we're done for the night (hint hint, we're not), we leave happy.

Across the road though, all hell is breaking loose, courtesy of Texas' finest punks, Riverboat Gamblers. Diving from the stage and throwing beer cans will not get you into heaven, but they're surely the right actions to get you having a good time. Singer Mike Wiebe even scales the speaker mountain and jumps 10 feet straight into the heaving crowd, and with mosh pits unseen in SXSW since Motorhead on Tuesday night, it's a reminder that good live music in this town can and should be embraced by throwing your body against the person next to you, and screaming 'til your lungs give way.


Is he going to jump?

You bet.

Not sure how he ended up there...


Well, that's it. Isn't it? Shall we go for one final beer before catching a cab? Sure. How about this abandoned underground carpark? It's 2am but this place is still open, sounds like a band might be playing inside. No cover charge? Done, let's do it. 5 seconds later and a quick glance at the stage, and the mother of all surprises greets us...

HOLE. On stage. Courtney Love and her new band. 300 people. You've got to be kidding me. No Siree, it's her alright, and I gotta say, she's still got it. A decidedly mainstream crowd (turns out this is a Perez Hilton party, and sure enough he's spotted hanging around side of stage) doesn't want to hear the band's new stuff from their first album in years, and for the most part Love is happy to oblige. 'Celebrity Skin', 'Malibu', and a rocking version of Fleetwood Mac's 'Gold Dust Woman' all go off with the drunk and fucked crowd, many of whom are shocked by Love's incessant swearing - "I am the biggest cunt in this room, and let me tell you - we bleeeeeeeeed!" - but ultimately thrilled with what they're witnessing.


All you need is Love.

Courtney getting her emo on.


Their few new songs are solid, and it will be interesting to hear how they sound on disc. But right now it's Love's show, and despite her failing vocal chords, she gives it absolutely everything.

Now the night is done. And what a way to finish.

It's 4am. I've had about 12 hours' sleep since Tuesday. I've been sunburnt, windburnt, drenched with rain, sweat and beer. I've danced. I've pondered. I've been impressed, disappointed, and moved. I've trekked miles in search of shows, cabs, parties, the-next-big-thing, and late night pizza. My feet, clothes and vocal chords will never forgive me. It's been South By Southwest. Austin, Texas. Might come back next year.

D.

Day 3. Friday. The weekend arrives.

After waking to glorious sunshine for the past few days, the overcast conditions that greet us out of bed is almost a welcome change. Almost, but by the time we've made our way to the Iron Gate Lounge in east Austin the sun has definitely burned all the clouds away. The idea early this afternoon is to see Melbourne band Children Collide, but with time delays in effect (seriously folks? It's 1pm) they're not on just yet.

Instead, seats in the sun provide a warm setting for Seattle band Moondoggies. Stretching their sound over the past 40 years of American rock music - including a great rockabilly number or two, the three-piece make a surprisingly solid impression on the ten or so people gathered in the bar's courtyard, with their CCR-inspired songs basking in the reflection of the bar's corrugated iron roof. It's as nice a way to start the day as could be hoped for, and even though an announcement of who the band are would be nice (as opposed to searching down the venue's posters) with the sun doing its thing it's hard to complain.

Children Collide take to the small stage about 40 minutes later than scheduled, but more than make up for it with their high energy rock'n'roll. It's the intensity of their half-hour set that proves the most surprising, the band's songs somehow translating from their recordings with a lot more edge. Despite the early time slot, the crowd doubles during their set, and with the band playing about 500 shows during their time here in Austin - as well as the official Aussie BBQ's in Los Angeles and New York - there is definitely more to Children Collide than meets the eye.


"Hi, we're Children Collide from Australia."
One block back toward downtown Austin is the MWTX (Mess With Texas) party, a completely different scene which is the closest we've been to a traditional outdoor festival. Food & drink vendors sell their (reasonably priced) food and drinks, advertisers flog their wares to unsuspecting punters, and the big stage is the focus of this small but growing crowd. Los Angeles' The Bronx hit the stage at 3:45, and with their hardcore music it's difficult to think about anything else. The tattoo and leather jacket crowd is out in force, and it's funny to watch the expressions on stoned teenage girls as they're confronted with the aural barrage from the speakers. There's not a big enough audience to start any crowd surfing/moshing/other fun behaviour, which is a shame because the Bronx would definitely feed off that energy even more.


The Bronx - Angry young men doing what they do best.
It's time for a touch of respite from the sun (although judging by the colour of my nose, it might be too late), and we find a shady spot to watch Austin's Grupo Fantasmo. A general run-of-the-mill latino "party" band, there isn't much here to differentiate between the plethora of other latino bands, and there's a sense that because they're a local band, their crowd is bigger than it should be.

Perhaps it's also because the boys from the Bronx are heading back on stage, although this time in matching Mexican uniforms under the moniker Mariachi El Bronx. A violinist and trumpeter are added to their original lineup, and a growing audience is on hand to appreciate the fun, mariachi music that the band are playing. Mariachi El Bronx definitely aren't taking the piss, and you can tell they genuinely enjoy playing this kind of music, which is surprising given their earlier rocking set.

Billy Bragg in onstage at 6:20pm. By now the crowd at the MWTX party has grown massively, and most - but definitely not all - of the people here are prepared for the politically-charged messages that Bragg throws down. There is a great deal of political speech between his songs, and it seems to alienate some audience members who leave a little early, and a little confused as to what the big deal is. Almost bordering on tedious, the mid-set banter about Barack Obama, Tony Blair, war, hunger, and the economy stirs some of the crowd up, but it's the music that we're here for. And it kicks ass.

Due to schedule clashes, I'd all but given up seeing the Danish band the Kissaway Trail. but as we wander past the Danish showcase on 6th St, a glance to my left sees the six-piece playing their first notes of what proves to be a lovely little set. In what is becoming a trademark of SXSW, they're on stage half an hour late, and are forced to pare back their set to a little over 20 minutes. With their wall-of-sound anthemic rock a lot faster and more exciting than their earlier recordings showed, it's an inspiring set. One that pulls further inspiration from the fact that less than 20 metres away is the I-35 highway; a road that traverses the entire north-south axis of these United States of America.


Danes the Kissaway Trail show some emotion.
It's time for the highlight of the day. Of the night. Of the week. It takes place at the Central Presbyterian Church on 8th St, a real-life church that's being used this week for some amazing shows. Playing tonight is Charleston, SC's Band of Horses. The beautiful reverb-laden sound of the band's recordings has the potential to inspire in this setting, and as we take our seats in the pews (this whole thing is surreal) there's an expectation that this Badge-Only crowd is in for something very special.

Support band (in every sense of the word, they've been touring with BoH for the last couple of months) the Company obviously enjoy the attention and intimate setting, the four-piece seeming happy, full of confidence, and their set is quite impressive. However their sound is not totally conducive to the massive room's acoustics, and there's a hope that BoH won't have the same problem.

What a stupid thought. They sound superb. Having seen them play a couple of times in completely different surroundings (the most recent being 2006's Meredith Music Festival), it's hard to imagine a better setting than this for their lush, full-bodied sound. The church is at capacity, with every pew occupied, and photographers falling over themselves at the front of the stage trying to get that perfect shot. Band of Horses start their set with three songs from their new album Infinite Arms (including the title track) showcasing a slightly different direction to their work. It seems they've lost some of the thick layering of their earlier work and are heading towards a more stripped-back approach.

Wholesale guitar changes and it's time for some crowd favourites. "Ode to LRC" goes down an absolute treat, but the most special moment comes when they launch into "Funeral", from their debut Cease to Begin. It is sounds so serene there are tears in the eyes of men and women throughout the room, and a standing ovation is thoroughly deserved. From there a mixture of old songs ("The Great Salt Lake", "Marry Song", "No One's Gonna Love You") and another four or five new songs all hit the mark, and they finish with The General Specific - self-edited without the swear words. It is a church after all. Every single person in the place is standing. Clapping. Cheering. Smiling. It has been a truly religious experience.


Inside the Central Presbyterian Church. Amazing.
Cleansed and outside, there are queues to get into all the big shows around town. Walking by Stubb's I hear Muse chugging painfully through "Supermassive Black Hole", try to get a glimpse at Justin Townes Earle at Red Eyed Fly, and eventually settle on NYC's Cymbals Eat Guitars @ Emo's Annex. Besides having one of the best names going around, the four-piece have the balls to back it up with some great rock'n'roll. Singer Joseph Ferocious is hell-bent on success, his dedication to his guitar, the microphone, and the band's songs is unmatched by anyone else thus far. The entire band seem intent on winning over new fans, and the large crowd assembled is tribute to the up-and-coming nature of this very impressive group.

Over at Rusty Spurs on 7th St, Brooklyn's Hurricane Bells show how indie pop should be done. The band are (relatively) chilled out, not taking themselves too seriously, and more focused on everyone having a good time than anything else, which is a nice change of pace. And with beers selling for $3 a bottle, there are more than enough reasons to have the good times prescribed by Hurricane Bells. Their song "Monsters" features on the new Twilight movie soundtrack, so expect big things from them in the future.

There is literally no room to move when Seattle's Minus The Bear take to the stage after 1am. Which is a shame because it sure would be fun to move around a little to their experimental rock songs. While maintaining that west-coast sound so prevalent in cities like Seattle (think Death Cab for Cutie with more balls), Minus The Bear also bring to the table electronics, mixed time signatures, and an alternative attitude that has clearly caught the attention of many in this city. A supergroup of sorts - the band includes members of Kill Sadie, Botch, and Sharks Keep Moving - their show is a great way to end the night.

So as the clouds reform overhead and sleep creeps ever closer, reflections of the day are amazing. From the passion of Children Collide, the Bronx, and Cymbals Eat Guitars, to the beauty of Band of Horses, if this is Friday I can't wait to see what Saturday, and the Aussie BBQ @ Maggie Mae's, will bring...

D.

Day 2 - Thursday A.K.A. Another day for You and Me in Paradise

It's a late start this morning. Through my own fault? Perhaps. Does it really matter? Probably not. The main thing is that we're downtown, fed and watered by 2:30pm. First stop is the Austin Convention Centre to poke around, lift up some door mats and do some cartwheels amongst the music industry's movers and shakers. There are some considerable presentations, speeches, and panels taking place throughout this gargantuan building, but just like everything in Austin this week, to be sidetracked is to suffer. Focus on the music my friends, we're almost half-way...

Today's afternoon priority is to catch Danish heroes Kashmir at Antone's on 5th. Set times are, of course, different to what we had planned for, so there's some time to kill. Fortunately the much-hyped Nneka is playing as we enter, and it takes only seconds to realise what all the buzz is about. From Nigeria via Germany, she's petite, has a great voice, and has the sex appeal of a real-life Marie Desalle. As cruel fate would have it however, her set is coming to an end, but even after only hearing her soul-infused reggae for 10 minutes, there's enough smiles and head-nodding around the room to suggest that this woman is on the cusp of something great.

Enter stage left two random A & R guys who pounce on me (or more importantly my "press" badge) and 5 minutes later I find myself hussled into the street speaking to Kasper and Mads from Kashmir. As it turns out, the band are in town for only a couple of days, playing 4 shows over today and tomorrow. It's their first time playing in the USA since 2001 - they have been over here to record and mix music - and having come off the back of four sold-out shows in Mexico, they seem excited about flogging their wares to the masses.


Yes, I have this effect on Danish rock stars. Pure and utter boredom.
Their set is tight, but at only 20 minutes it seems a little forced and very rushed. With in-set talking limited to "Hello we're Kashmir from Denmark", it's almost a little disappointing to seem in this way. But that is the nature of the beast, day-time showcases whetting the appetites of punters to entice them back for their full shows. The band are clearly very accomplished and work well together (to be expected, they've been together for nearly 20 years) but it just doesn't fulfill my mid-afternoon rock quota.

Back at the Convention Centre, the Sounds Australia booth - charming folks, plug plug, who have organised most Aussie bands' presence at SXSW - are having a mini acoustic session, and we arrive to have a cup of Australian chardonnay and we catch Sydney native Via Tania play a mini set in the stall. Playing her serene, breathy music supported only by her ukelele, it's a bizarrely intimate moment, considering the harsh fluorescent lights that unflatteringly illuminate everyone in the room. She plays to a substantial amount of people (SPA's photographer Kane Hibberd is spotted on the floor with his novelty-sized camera), and when Paul Dempsey follows her at 4:30pm for a cheeky little set of his own, there are close to 30 people hovering around, sampling free wine (the pies had all gone), blocking the German booth across the way, and generally, well, blocking everyone else's way.


Our hirsute Hibberd and the lovely Via Tania, working as a team.
It's 5:30, and time for something a little different. On the other side of town London's NBT's (Next Big Things) the xx are playing at a museum. Or on a hill. Or something like that. Anyway it's free and it's different so we join the queue and wait our turn. Until that takes too long and we jump the fence. We're outside the French Legation Museum (where the French diplomats came when visiting Texas back in the day), enjoying the sunlight, when the band come on. However being a long way from the stage, and sitting on some very uncomfortable steps, things are not looking good. And given the band come on half an hour late to play their minimal tunes it's difficult to get too excited about what's going on. Grateful for the change of scene, but there are places to go and things to do, so it's time to bail.

8pm at BD Riley's on 6th St, and Japanese popsters Caucus are tuning up. The 5-piece, on their first ever tour of the USA, play their own brand of lush pop, and despite their cuteness, there is definitely an underlying You Am I-esque attitude present in the band. It's a little difficult to concentrate with College basketball screening on like eight televisions throughout the pub, but Caucus play a solid, undaunted set. There's a sizable crowd present, although determining who's here for the band, the basketball, or the beer is a little confusing. Not as confusing as what's going on outside though...

The sun has set. It's night time on 6th St, and maybe it's a full moon or some planets have collided or something, because shit has gone pear-shaped. In the middle of the street we find a 12-year old boy preaching Jesus through a megaphone, surrounded by chanting - and, dare I say, angry - liberal youths. Something about being told that we're all going to Hell because we listen to rock music by a child, while reading signs saying God loves Cock, seems a little weird. Clearly I must be on my own though, considering the man next to me WITH A 10-FOOT LONG SNAKE AROUND HIS NECK doesn't seem to mind. So when two dozen Japanese teenagers in matching uniforms run and skip through the whole scene banging drums and supported by aging gangsters with Free Hugs signs, I find myself wondering what exactly is happening. Now I'm not passing judgement on any of these people, it is SXSW after all, but wow. W.O.W.

Melbourne band Love of Diagrams are at the top of their game these days, and even though they're performing Friday with Japandroids at the Levi's Fader Fort Party (1.30pm, FYI) and also at Saturday's Aussie B-B-Q @ Maggie Mae's, we'll jump the gun and shout from the rooftop that they are freaking sa-weet! Having only seen them once before, at Meredith Music Festival circa about 4-5 years ago, I wasn't expecting great things. However this set, performed in front the biggest crowd I've seen an Australian band play to thus far, is very solid. There is a terrible crackling emanating from the speakers, but this crowded rooftop bar is no doubt impressed. Watch this space.

At 10pm, over at Emo's, Oakland CA's Rogue Wave are ready to make (I hate to do it) waves. Perhaps it's something about the proximity of the Pacific Ocean that gives a certain sound, but west-coast pop never tasted so good. With a majority of the indie folk on the other side of town checking out M Ward & Zooey Deschanel's She & Him, the crowd is manageable but solid, so with the melody-driven pop of the five-piece providing the aural backdrop, heads bop and feet shuffle for the full 45 minutes.

Having witnessed the meteoric rise of Melbourne's the Temper Trap from overseas during the last couple of years, it is with great expectations and questions that I approach the Lustre Pearl, a badge-only venue on the south side of town. Can this band really deliver live? Will their snub of the official Australian showcases affect their egos (a la Wolfmother circa mid-noughties)? Will I be able to find the place?

My friends. This is the highlight. They fucking rock. The band's extremely danceable pop is unstoppable, and with one glance across the crowd, it's easy to tell that people are having a damn good time here. The past 12 months - beginning with SXSW '09 - have seen TTT's stock soar, playing sold out shows in Australia, UK, Europe and the States, high profile television slots, and releasing their ARIA-nominated Sweet Dispositions album to huge commercial and critical success. There is a sense of completeness present, with the band having now come full circle back to SXSW '10. They're grateful, we're grateful, and damn. Sooooo good. Playing Friday in the afternoon with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club @ the Filter Magazine Showdown and bouncing their way around the world over the next few months, this star burns brightly in the southern sky.


TTT Kicking it Melbourne-Styleee


Of course, a bump into Ana from Crucial Music is inevitable, and there she is. We drop a couple of fivers to the pedicab driver and hop back into town. Up Red River Rd to Elysium, where the Crystal Method are about to drop a DJ set of epic proportions. A long but fast-moving queue cannot dampen our spirits, and we join my main man Bunny Brown for an hour of bootie-shaking mayhem.

A sign of a good DJ is that he/she/they can make you feel like you're high on drugs, when realistically the the closest you've come to that is being insulted by a 12-year old with a penchant for religion. The Crystal Method (TCM to their mums) have exactly this effect. Their predictable 1 -2 - 1-2-3-4 build-ups are a little cheesy, but they've been doing this thing for 17 years now, and are in no mood to slow it down. And even if the fact that there are two 40-year old men with beer guts on stage pulling the strings is a little unnerving, there is no stopping the juggernaut, and it's all over much-too-quickly.

The final stop on this Thursday evening is Prague on 5th St, where The BellRays are ready to explode. The California natives are a little late getting on stage, but jump straight into their high-energy, balls-to-the-wall rock'n'roll. Singer Lisa Kekaula is on form, her stage presence undeniable, especially in the small underground bar. However a faulty microphone takes its toll, and she is clearly pissed about the situation. The rest of the band is on song, but this is Kekaula's band, and if she's upset, it's hard to hide it. The BellRays still rock out, but there's too much disappointment for this to be a truly great show.

And that's a wrap. Good times, great music. A Melbourne/LA vibe coming through this evening's festivities, and that snake. My God that snake.

In other news, after much will-they-won't-they talk, Muse have officially been announced for Friday night @ Stubb's, but with every man and his dog trying to get in, the question has to be asked: Would it really be worth it?

Tomorrow is Friday, we've reached the halfway point. If we've been mid-week thus far, bring on the weekend. Bring it on BIG.

Wednesday Night (the end of Day 1)

I feel that I owe my feet an apology. 15 hours and 12 bands later, I find myself well and truly at the end of the day, with my feet, ankles, calves, and knees begging for bed. But I shall not desert you, thee faithful reader. For The Good Times do not end here. No sir.

With the sun bright in the sky and heavy in our heads, the first port of call is the local store where a litre of Gatorade is just what the breakfast doctor ordered. But after a jaunty, almost festive bus ride into town, 6th St never looked so good. The green shirt parade are on the town, Guinness flags and four-leafed clovers adorn the pubs on either side, and this being St Patrick's Day, there is good reason to hear celtic music blasting from all corners.

First stop however is Emo's, and after snaking our way through the main bar where we find a random metal band doing possibly the loudest mic check known to ears - "CHECK! CHEE-YECK! TWOOO! CHEE-YECK TWOOO!" (like dude, it's just gone midday - don't mess yourself) - we find ourselves at the backyard stage. It's the NYC-based blogger BrooklynVegan's showcase, and with Magic Hat beer and these random alcoholic ice tea's offered for free - while stocks last - it seems as good a place as any to wipe away last night's cobwebs, get some sun, and enjoy some kick-ass bands.

Opening proceedings are Canadians Rural Alberta Advantage. The three-piece embrace the pop sensibilities of Shout Out Louds, but despite the best efforts of glockenspielist (yes that's right, I went there) Amy Cole to keep things light, there are some definite heavier moments when lead singer Nils Edenhoff lets off a little steam. After a little while standing in the shed is a little too much - it's only 1pm after all - so respite is found on the bleachers to the left. And while the thumping bass from ___________ (insert metal band name here) is a little distracting, it's still easy to zone out a little in the shade, sipping ice tea from plastic cups.

1:30 sees four-piece California outfit The Morning Benders take to the stage. It's very pleasant alt-country, even if a little bass heavy. Drawing on Beach Boys-esque harmonies to push their good-time message across, The Morning Benders more than hold their own. But as the crowd builds in the springtime sun, there's a sense of anticipation that things might be about to get louder...

Japandroids are Vancouver's answer to Akron's Black Keys - a duo of intense garage rock, intent on pulling ears off, wearing them as jewellery and ensuring everyone dances their ass off. Despite this being a cruelly short set, they put on a killer live show. With epic tunes like Young Hearts Start Fire in their arsenal, you get the feeling that Japandroids could drop a 2 hour set and do it with style. It's mid-afternoon and the crowd is undeniably press-heavy, but their high energy and bright red microphone are impossible to ignore. They're playing what seems like dozens of shows over the next few days, and this writer is going to be looking around every corner to catch another glimpse.

Chatting with Anastasia from Aussie label Crucial Music (while she discreetly distributes flyers for Melbourne outfit Children Collide), it is with some surprise to see the homeless-looking guy I saw on the street get on stage with his band. That 'homeless man' is Patrick Stickles, and the band is New Jersey's Titus Andronicus. Although this day has been amazing so far, Titus raise the bar with their varied rock'n'roll stylings. From 12-bar blues to punkabilly tunes, it is pleasing to the ears, so expect big things from this crew. Melodic at times, with keyboards that you can actually hear (rather than blending in to make more background noise) Stickles & co. deliver the goods.

Local hombres The Black Angels take to the stage at 3:45, and in true Wednesday afternoon-style, they kick some serious aural ass. Having discovered the band a few years ago courtesy of their 2006 debut album "Passover" it was easy to be initially impressed but not blown away by their distortion-and-reverb-heavy, stoner rock. Live, however, they deliver in style, riding high on their crazy fans and gifted with a much longer set than earlier bands.

Next up on the billing is Wu-Tang Clan's GZA, but disappointingly the man is not to be seen. Instead Toronto, Canada's Fucked Up take up the attention of the whole place with an aural barrage of unexpected brilliance. Hardcore never sounded so good. Although it's difficult enough to hear singer Father Damian aka Pink Eyes' lyrics, that doesn't matter. The previously subdued crowd get right into the action too, and finally we can see some bodies crashing into each other. A little early for this little birdy (despite the free booze drying up, $3 Heniekens and good conversation by the bar are a little too enticing), but it's good to see nonetheless dudes and dudettes feeding off the band's energy.

We managed to catch up with Pink Eyes post-show while being herded out of the venue, and despite the band having not made it to 'Strayan shores yet, fear not faithful compatriots. Fucked Up will get there, "as soon as we can sort it out".

It's still St Patrick's Day, so a pint of the black stuff is in order. Unfortunately for Austin-ites (Austin-ers, Austin-ians, people who live in Austin), someone misread the recipe, and the Guinness here tastes like absolute shite. Pretentious, maybe, but I feel I've tippled enough liquid meals in this guise to know something about the stuff. This is downright terrible. Fortunately, free green jell-o shots eased the anger that is boiling inside, and before things get too out of control, it's almost 8pm and time for some more music.

Australian readers should be able to acknowledge Something For Kate's lead singer Paul Dempsey without too much hassle. However seeing him tonight at the Valhalla on Red River St, he is unrecognisable due to the fact that he's playing in front of no more than 20 people (there are more people in the toilets doing lines of cocaine than on the floor here). Drunk old Texan women in the main bar next door aren't helping his cause, and it is disappointing to see Dempsey's lyrically rich songs fall on such deaf ears. In what could be construed as an attempt to reach out to the local populous, he drops into his set a flawless acoustic rendition of Bruce Springsteen's Born to Run. But seeing a side-stage tecchie point out that there's time for only 'one more song' was surreal if anything, and just goes to show that no matter what you might've done in a past life, SXSW is a different beast altogether.

It was time to part ways with Bunny Brown, as I joined the throng of people lining up to get into Stubb's, to see Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings. Arguably this stage is pulling the biggest names of the festival (Motorhead last night, Scissor Sisters and the much-rumoured Muse also scheduled to perform over the weekend) and the diminutive Jones fucking owns it. With her 8-piece, horn-laden Dap-Kings providing her the tightest of all trampolines to bounce off, she struts her stuff, shaking that 4 foot-8 body like it's owned by the devil himself. Of course, belting out numbers like When the Saints go Marching In is bound to keep the Dark One at arm's length, but it's hard not to feel a little possessed when her voice is so perfect, the band so choice, and the set is damn sweet.

On the same stage at 11pm are Broken Bells, so I take the time between sets to chat to some randoms. Turns out Bill Murray is in town, and the couple from Houston I meet caught up with him today. Something to do with a pedicab driver, a movie cinema, and a whole bunch of weed...

To be brutally honest, Broken Bells were a little disappointing. One of the most hyped acts for the festival, the collaboration between the Shins' front man James Mercer and producer extraordinaire Danger Mouse a.k.a. Brian Burton (he of Gnarls Barkley, and Jay-Z/the Beatles' Grey Album fame) seems a little one-sided. The duo, backed by a 5-piece band, played a show during the day today, and Bill Murray's friends reckon it was better then. The sound quality has much less excitement than the Dap-Kings produced, with the bass-heavy and vocal-light sound not giving enough emphasis to Mercer's lyrics. The performance, too, lacks much bite, and it's difficult to get caught up in the moment.

The biggest disappointment however, is that as a 'collaboration', it seems as though it is Mercer's side project, rather than Danger Mouse's. Whereas expectations were of a more, well, collaborative sound, it sounds like the Shins without the fun, and some extra electronic drums. Which is not a bad thing necessarily (it was, despite the poor sound quality, a nice set), but I was hoping for a little more balls from behind the kit and in the bass lines. Oh well, can't have it all.

The rendez-vous with Bunny Brown 6 blocks away sees a late-night exploration of Austin alleyways, throngs of people, and clusters of police patrolling with intense authority in their eyes. But it's totally worth it to see Belgian three-piece Experimental Tropic Blues Band. Playing in a makeshift shed, it feels as though we're at a 21st birthday in the country for a kid with very few friends. But the dozen people watching belie the fact that this group is blatantly off the hook. Throwing themselves around the stage (and the concrete floor where we stand) the band belt through their hard, fast, bluesy set with no thought to the consequence. Reminiscent in sound of Japan's Guitar Wolf - although looking decidedly not as cool - it is a bizarre, almost surreal experience. And with the band playing more gigs over the weekend, well, the hype starts here.

Last on the list for Wednesday night activities are Swedish electro-nauts Miike Snow. The popularity of the band is noticeable, with a 45-minute lineup outside ("but dude, I've got a pass!"), however the band is half an hour late on stage so thankfully none of their set is missed. There are a few hundred people crowded under a white tent, the only problem being the forest of tall men who I find myself standing directly behind. For some reason I feel like Max from Where the Wild Things Are. The set is pure nordic bliss, the band expertly driving between serene, The Knife-like lows to all-time highs during their bigger hits Sylvia and closer Animal. It's a great, but ever-so-slightly predictable end to a memorable day.

The hunt for a cab is less painful than it could've been, now here we are. It's time for bed. Sorry feet, but tomorrow's another big day.

D.

Tuesday night

It’s 3am. This isn’t a Matchbox Twenty song, it’s real life. The rain has subsided, but the good times have not. The first hour of the afternoon was spent wandering through the Austin Convention Centre, looking for a) cool things, b) place to register, and c) more cool things. Unfortunately, not much more than b) are available. Random Pepsi, Chevrolet and AOL sponsors litter the floor, but as I squirm my way through the crowds, not a whole lot differs from the craziness than personifies any city.
I pick up my Golden Ticket, meet my Bunny Brown, and jam on the front porch of our hostel. It’s been years since we have strummed guitars together (think Greyhound Hotel, St Kilda, in 2008) and despite the rain, the good times dominate. However, after a couple of hours, it’s time to head D-O-W-N-T-O-W-N.
First stop, Austin Convention Centre, where Mr Brown can purchase a wristband. Luckily for him, his wrists have been present above his hands and below his forearms for some time, and the acquisition of said band is done without serious difficulty.
Second stop is some random food house. Where the basketball and football run non-stop, where everywhere you look a big plasma screen is looking down on you with forbidding eyes, wondering where you got off the train to heaven and settle for an eternity of unending football… Anyway, the Lakers beat the Spurs and everyone was disappointed, so it was time to get out of there and head on over to Stubb’s off 7th Avenue, where “the action” was really happening.
We roll in as local band The Sword are finishing their set – a real shame considering the reputation the four-piece have gathered over the years. Solid heavy rock’n’roll from an Austin group that the locals have really gotten behind.
10:15 – Motorhead come onstage. Even without the umlaut, the band dominate the stage like few others before them. Lemmy, Phil Campbell and Mickey Dee rock the stage like they have done for decades beforehand, and the crowd laps it up like newborn puppies at a mothers’ teat.
Despite the fact that Motorhead don’t seem to get into their set straight away, by halfway through the crowd is not only jumping into each other, but into fences, barricades and, well, each other. The smash session that is occurring around the front of the stage – men, women and children – is ridiculous to say the least.
Throughout the set Motorhead rip the crowd up, not only encouraging a hearty mosh, but also some hardcore crowd-surfing. By the time the band come on for their encore, the 500-odd people – yes, it is certainly an ‘intimate’ crowd – at Stubb’s are rabied and ready for more. More is what they get. Three more songs, including “Ace of Spades”, finish the set off, and despite some angry security guards, we manage to escape with our lives, and drummer Mickey Dee’s towel.
It’s onto the Paste Magazine party @ 504 Trinity St, and it’s got to be said, a massively disappointing Jakob Dylan. Working in his favour are a solid rhythm section, keeping the songs humming along, and not getting too tied down into their arrogance. However, working against him, are not only the very average acoustics (holding the crowd back from hearing Dylan’s lyrical-based songs), but also the fact that even though he has the brilliant Canadian Neko Case onstage, she is stuck singing backup vocals. Clearly over-qualified for such an average position, it is tough to take Dylan seriously with Case playing such a minor part. When (and they are very sparse moments) Case is given room to vocally move, the set highlights come hard and fast, but unfortunately such moments only occur once or twice during the band’s 1 ½ hour set.
And so as we wander onto 6th Avenue, where the bogans meet the Texans, the clock has struck 3. It’s time not to reflect on the “unofficial SXSW Tuesday”, but what lies ahead. Wednesday. It’s only a few hours away…
d.

5pm update.

It's 5pm. The rain still hasn't subsided, but things are looking up. My adventure to the Austin Convention Centre was fruitful, yielding me a badge (think Willy Wonka's Golden Ticket, minus Gene Wilder then exchange chocolate for music and good times), a big ass - we'll call it a "Texas-size" - showbag with magazines, earplugs, condoms, and various other paraphenalia. Could use the earplugs.

With beer and back jams in progress, it's about time to hit the town. My accomplice Bunny Brown has arrived after a 40 hour bus ride from Vegas (more on that later) and there is need for a serious steak injection before Motorhead. Random Spaniards from the Greyhound station have recommended their compatriots Telephunken as a late-nite party fix, so it could prove a little wild.

Next report - post Gene Wild-ness.

Welcome to Austin

Rain. Sweet, sweet rain. As if a 16 hour day of trans-continental transit yesterday wasn't enough, we touched down at midnight to the Big Cheese upstairs letting go like he's been holding in a prostate for the last month. And today, Day Zero of South by Southwest 2010, seems like He's still letting loose. As if to rub salt into the wound, this is the day for exploring Austin - checking out the Convention Centre, sniffing out the venues, and hopefully finding a place to buy a cord to upload some photos (not that there's much to photograph for non-rain buffs).
Motorhead are on at Stubb's tonight - an unofficial SXSW gig but an absolute bitching way to start the week off. Lemmy is doing a presentation as part of the Conference, but seeing as attending that will be a waste of precious Band-Seeing Time, tonight is the one and only night for some facial hair metal.
Right. It's time to locate some sort of rain-cloaking device (most probably in the form of some garbage bags) and get in there. If I'm not swept away I shall return...
d.

Whore

Whore.

I'll be here on the corner at sunset
Just like yesterday and tomorrow and the day after that
Singing my tunes
To the moon
Counting drunkards and loons
Like the sheep of an insomniac

If you saunter past at quarter after midnight
Then you stumble back at fifteen past one
You'll recognize
These few lines
Maybe help me pass the time
'Coz an hour's music's all that is mine


If you see me
Singing in the Street
Whoring my Songs
Like a Peddler at your Feet
Don't take Pity on My
Crude Attempts to get By

Remember the First Time
That History showed
What happens in Vegas
Ain't necessarily So
And from the Midwestern Towns
I rode my Midwestern Brown
Horse all the way Home


Who'll howl at the night sky
If we cut down all the trees and the wolves
have no place to hide
I'd like to think I'll stand in the spotlight
Have your trigger fingers ready
It's a baptism of fire

In those first milky hues of the morning
When the sun reassembles the board
I'll turn my back
On this tract
Of pavement that I've hacked
And I'll leave the rats squealing for more.