SXSW 2013: Day Five [Saturday]

On Saturday night I was in a church pew and a mosh pit, within the span of about two hours.  I suppose that might not be so unusual if you're used to attending Sunday hardcore matinees.  But this was a hip hop mosh pit.  At various other points of the night, I was also at a sweaty, debaucherous Brazilian dance party, a big outdoor rock show, a big shiny auditorium pop show, an orchestral concert, a dingy basement dance club, on a gorgeous landscaped bike path at sunset and in a clothing store, eating pizza.  Such is the quick-change mish-mash and experiential overload of South by Southwest, which wrapped up for me in typically chaotic, multivalent fashion.

Emmylou Harris and Rodney Crowell at the W Hotel, 11am

The day started early, with this live taping for KGSR which we sort of unintentionally snuck into.  They were quite late getting started, despite it being live radio, which is probably why they only played two songs.  Somehow just two was enough, though, and it was also a treat getting to hear them talk a bit in between, telling stories about their long friendship (they've been collaborating in one way or another since the early '70s.)  Not sure if this was age or just a week full of shows, but Emmylou's voice, miraculous as it definitely still is, was getting awfully whispery in the upper registers.

Ivan & Alyosha at Peckerheads, 12:30pm

Biked across town precisely too late to catch an evidently very prompt 20-minute set by West Philly's own Waxahatchee, then doubled back to see a few songs by this very nice, spirited New York folk-pop band, who seem like they ought to do very well.  E thought they seemed like good Christian boys. 

Little Daylight at Cedar Door, 12:30pm

Then a small second helping of Little Daylight, just in time to wile out to "Overdose," which, I'm gonna call it, was my SXSW anthem for this year.  Only, I feel like it really should be performed with a battalion of at least a dozen field drummers.  Great free tacos and strawberry tic-tacs, too!

Generationals at Stage on Sixth, 1pm

Saw a bit of this upbeat New Orleans band; more rootsy folk-pop (maybe closer to folk-rock), which is more or less the default setting for several of my Austin friends.  Enjoyable enough but didn't make a huge impression, so I left them there and went off in search of free coconut water and to try to catch Wild Belle.

Feathers at The Jr., 1:30pm

No dice there (the Mohawk indoor entrace is a major bottleneck) but I did snag some promotional Zico (flavor ranking: passionfruit>natural>chocolate>mango>latte) and another free American Apparel shirt (raspberry!) and catch some of this pretty cool Australian band, another four-lady-plus-guy-drummer outfit who play somewhat dark, punky synth-rock.

Eric Burdon at Stage on Sixth, 2pm

Okay, and then it got serious.  Another day, another still-ragin' '60s legend, although this set by the one-time Animal took a bit more from his days with War, which I tend to forget about.  He and his fairly large band kicked off with "Spill The Wine" and featured a bunch of similarly grooving, bluesy tunes from his new album, including an impressively non-schmaltzy one about "when I was young."  They did rip out "House of the Rising Sun" to close, however.  ("The shortest song I ever recorded.")  His voice is hardly the pristinely preserved marvel of Colin Blunstone's, but it's still a force to reckon with, a fierce, toughened near-bark.  As Kelly Hogan remarked afterward, it was great to see his bulging neck muscles in person.

Kelly Hogan at Stage on Sixth Patio, 2:30pm

Had been really hoping to catch this Atlanta-based singer, who put out one of my favorite and most-listened-to albums last year.  She played most of the highlights from that record, I Like To Keep Myself In Pain (including the title track, written by Robyn Hitchcock, who I missed seeing but whose birthday it apparently was) and threw in a rendition of the Magnetic Fields' classic "Papa Was A Rodeo."  It all sounded pretty damn fabulous, although I couldn't help missing Booker T. Jones' organ contributions.  Hogan is clearly content to record and perform at a leisurely, almost dabbling pace, but it's really a shame she doesn't get out there more.  Nearly as good as her singing, however, was her outfit, which included a red neckscarf and matching ribbons tied just above her ankle socks. 

 

Kitty at the W Hotel Terrace, 3:30

Tried to see Detroit trio Jamaican Queens, but they were just lackadaisically soundchecking and playing improvised acoustic reggae (contrary to the name, they aren't actually a reggae band at all) for about twenty minutes before I figured out that they were merely stalling because their set had been pushed back by an hour.  So, instead, we swung back by the W to catch this red-headed ray of teenybop hip-hop Florida sunshine.  Kitty, who I saw this summer on her Tumblr-hype-fueled first-ever tour (before she unfortunately dropped the Pryde part of her moniker) is still an outrageously adorable stage presence, utterly giddy and unselfconscious, bouncing around through the crowd, peppering her garrulous banter with giggles and wooos and quasi-nervous pleas for attention ("Just joking!  Not really, I really do love attention!") – but she's also come a long way as a performer.  Whereas before she seemed to be approaching her whole so-called "career" with amused, self-mocking disbelief, she's clearly gotten a lot more serious about rapping and performing, despite never giving the impression that she takes herself at all seriously.  She pulled rapper Lakutis up from the crowd for an impromptu collab (Le1f reportedly did the same thing with Kitty at his set immediately afterwards), enlisted her brother/DJ to rap RiFF RaFF's part on "Orion's Belt" and generally endeared herself to an already fawning (and awesomely dressed) audience.

 Delicate Steve at Stage on Sixth Patio, 4:30pm

I'd seen him briefly the night before, but I'm really glad I caught a full set by this New Jersey-based guitarist (a.k.a. Steve Marion), whose music is something like Ratatat but with a full rock band instead of electronic beats backing his shiny metallic guitar leads.  He's great on record too, but it definitely took the energy several notches up to see him on stage, in tank top, jean shorts and beat-up sneakers, shaggy hair spilling out from a ski cap, and seeming to spend about half the time leaning dramatically into a battle-ready rock'n'roll lunge stance.  

  

King Tuff at The Jr, 5:15pm

Speaking of classic rock posturing, this guy's got it all: long lustrous locks, an inimitably croaky croon, scruffy bandmates named Magic Jake and Kenny, whom he ribbed with almost Butthead-ish glee about their lost voice and oversized big toe (?), respectively and – best of all – a black studded vest emblazoned with his magisterial moniker.  He's practically a rock'n'roll cartoon – but he knows damn well what to do with a couple chords and a righteous riff.

Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams

The next touring entity we encountered (right by the line for the impossible-to-even-consider-trying-to-think-about-getting-into Prince show) was not a band but an ice cream cart, staffed by a pair of scoopers who'd travelled down from Columbus, OH to rep Jeni's Splendid – now sold in pints in Austin, evidently – whose James Beard Award-winning, decidedly unorthodox ice cream cookbook I can very highly recommend.  Now I can do the same for their actual ice cream, especially their signature salty caramel and whiskey-pecan.  Mmhmm.

Angel Haze at Austin Music Hall, 6:30

Oh man – if there's one artist I saw this year who seems clearly destined for stardom, it's this upstart up-and-coming rapper (and singer) from New York City.  Apart from her impossibly rapid flow and solid singing voice, she's got a compelling back-story that she is not the least bit shy about drawing on for dramatic effect, and a strong, classically populist inspirational message, both of which simultaneously underscore one another and help balance each other out.  She has all the fierceness (and lurid sensationalism) of Azalea Banks, without the flippant/flaky goofball tendencies –indeed, if she has a shortcoming, it's that she comes off as fairly humorless, though I suppose you could say she comes by her stoniness honestly.  And she commanded the still-sparse early-evening crowd at Perez Hilton's annual one-night pop showcase – all alone on an auditorium stage that's got to be bigger than pretty much anywhere she's played before – like it was midnight at Madison Square Garden.

Bonde Do Role at Stage on Sixth, 8pm

I always look to end my last night of Southby with the best, biggest dance party I can find.  This time it started out that way.  These nutzo Brazilian baile funk schticksters – who returned after a long absence to drop probably the greatest party album of 2012, the aptly named Tropicalbacanal – stormed the Stage on Sixth (only recently vacated by a week's worth of Paste-approved singer-songwriters and tasteful roots-rockers) dressed in big furry animal costumes – a dinosaur, a penguin, a green parrot and a kangaroo (vocalist Laura Taylor, who quickly zipped down the top half of the costume to reveal a bathing suit underneath) – and started chucking blow-up dolls (both male and female, of various skin colors) into the crowd.  From that point on, all four members were in constant, frenzied motion, as were the dolls, as was the audience.  They dispensed with anything so fussy and humdrum as actually playing instruments, instead just trading off on rapped and sung and chanted nonsense vocals – except for the parrot, who mostly just ran around, typically shirtless, adding to the chaos.  They threw out the dolls, we threw them back.  They jumped offstage, ran around in the audience and came back, Taylor at one point establishing a limbo line using her microphone cable, somebody else seemingly initiating a congo line.  They energetically and inventively used the dolls, one another, the oversized head-masks and other components of the gradually disassembled costumes, and anything else at hand as simulated sex objects.  They played a bunch of faves from both albums, and then some even more rudimentary, banging Brazilian-rap tracks that I didn't recognize.  Then at some point they threw on a crazy electro revamp of "Surfin' Bird" and abandoned the stage entirely to come and party in the crowd.  Not a bad way to start off the night.

The Little Ones at Dirty Dog Bar, 9pm

Very sweet, upbeat indie-pop, with a nice rhythmic energy and some good sing-along hooks.  The lead singer has a funny, high, kinda froggy voice, and a funny habit of bending one knee behind the other (toe on the ground) while he sang.  I liked them.

The Lone Bellow at St. David's Historic Sanctuary, 10pm

It's a sort of ironic band name because they actually have three singers, who specialize in lovely harmonies.  Really lovely.  This is the kind of straightforward, generally earnest folk band that I tend not to pay too much attention to, but it was really nice to see them, and they have some strong songwriting in their corner too.  They also covered "Angel From Montgomery," managing to charm me with a song that I often find somewhat annoying.

Mac DeMarco at The Parish, 10:30pm

Was glad to finally get to see a bit of Mac – even though I'd just seen him play a fully satisfying show a few weeks ago – because I'd long since declared him to be the MVP of this year's conference.  I don't know how many shows he actually played, but he seemed to be on nearly every schedule I looked at, criss-crossing demographics to appeal everyone from the skate-punks at the Scoot Inn's Death Match to the preppy-flannel Paste types, from Pitchfork hipsterati to the brand-hawking swag hucksters behind Fader Fort and Hype Hotel.  Even without seeing him, I really enjoyed the mental image of him bouncing around here and there across Austin all week like a kind of muppet, with his wagging tongue and goofy grin and nutty, frequently juvenile banter.  By the time I caught up with him, for three gems off of 2, he'd clearly taken a beating – his speaking voice was craggy and close to shot – but he was still smiling that distinctive smile, big and dopey and just a little bit creepy.

HAIM at Stubb's, 11pm

Word on the street was that there wasn't much of a line for Vampire Weekend's big festival-closing set, which meant a good opportunity to catch their openers, this young trio of long-haired L.A. sisters (plus, again, a guy drummer.)  "Pop-rock" doesn't feel quite right for their sound; let's call it '80s-style hard rock with strong, even stadium-ready pop appeal.  There were definitely some Fleetwood Mac vibes in there; I also got Michael Jackson on a few songs.  It did take me a few songs into the set to really warm up to them, but as they went on (and got to the stronger part of the setlist, perhaps) I grew increasingly impressed, and the set ended on a high note with all three wailing away on drums at the front of the stage.

Lunice at 1100 Warehouse, 11:30pm?

Around this point somebody hung a lit pink glowstick on my bike, so I threw it around my neck and set off – only later realized that it happened to be shaped like a penis.  The huge and generally chaotic Boiler Room party was running behind so I caught a good chunk of Lunice's DJ set, though I didn't figure out that's what was going on until he dropped his TNGHT trap smash "Higher Ground" and somebody announced who it was.  

Death Grips at 1100 Warehouse, 11:45pm

Then the action switched to a different stage in the center of the space, and within minutes I was in the middle of a seething mosh pit, struggling to keep aloft two giant inflatable pills, at least six feet in diameter, which were built more like heavy-duty white-water rafts than stage props.  The unmistakeable figure of MC Ride appeared on the stage: bald, bearded, bare-chested, rail-thin and muscly and sporting some intense ski-goggles.  His crushing, rapid-fire flow was completely incomprehensible, even the transition from one song to the next was hard to completely discern, and I only stayed in the pit for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, so not sure if they played "I've Seen Footage" or any other hits – maybe I should have stuck around, that would have been a pretty incredible release – but it was damn fun anyway.

Jackmaster at Barcelona, 12:30am

Looking for the next party (after just missing Norway's MØ at Hype Hotel) I headed to this Sixth St. basement bar, where I'd heard Jacques Green turn in a transcendent DJ set the year before.  Somewhat similarly, but far less inventively, Scottish producer Jackmaster was playing to the not-very-SXSW crowd, flipping the likes of Ludacris, New Order and Outkast.  It was all fine stuff, and well mixed, but clearly not his normal set...made me wonder what Rustie, up next, was gonna do with this place – anything close to resembling the earth-scorching set he played on Thursday would be liable to cause a riot.

!!! at Hype Hotel, 1am

Somebody earlier in the week suggested that this might be the party to beat, so we investigated... Not sure, but I wasn't really drawn in; for some reason it just seemed kind of disorienting.

Mother Falcon at Esther's Follies, 1am

So we caught a few numbers by these guys, the local indie chamber orchestra, including "Paranoid Android," which we'd missed the day before (another interesting arrangement, with the dreamy comedown section scored for saxophones rather than the more obvious strings.)  Realized that vocals are probably their weakest point – whereas they'd given some of the OK Computer parts to trained classical-style singers, to excellent effect, the main singers for their original tunes have kind of plain, uninteresting voices.  Still, a real joy to watch.  That might have been a fitting enough end to the week's festivities, but we were still itching to dance some more.

George Clinton and Parliament/Funkadelic at Empire Automotive, 1am

We'd hoped to catch the tail end of Big Freedia's set but that had wrapped a bit early, so we wandered across the street, where this funk band was playing.  This was sort of confusing...it really didn't look like George Clinton to me, but I guess it's just that, as it turns out, he actually has aged since the last time I saw him with P-Funk back in the '90s.  They did play "Atomic Dog," so I suppose that was a pretty good confirmation.  I also didn't realize that there had been some beef among the band over the last decade or so, and this was actually something of a reunion.  I guess I was just too spent by this point to appreciate what was going on.

SXSW 2013: Day Four [Friday]

After a non-stop, action-packed Thursday (and a late late night recounting it for y'all), I took things a bit slower on Friday; conference day four.  My baby got into town that morning, and we downshifted to help her settle in and acclimate for her first-ever SXSW experience; plus it was an especially hot day, set times seemed to be delayed everywhere, I was drained from the start anyway, and for some reason the lines for the (generally free) day parties were particularly bad.

inc.

It was a good time for a breather, which in this case meant catching merely three bands during the day: old favorite Diamond Rings [The Main, 1:30], a.k.a. Toronto punk-rocker-turned-electro-pop-cheeseball John Regan, who wears a gnarly spiked leather jacket and a rainbow guitar strap and is a happy happy bouncy man on stage; moody L.A. slow-jam brothers Inc. [Club DeVille, 2:30] (my second PBR&B show?), just the right speed for a hot, sluggish afternoon, whose decidedly strange visual presentation was faithfully replicated from their album cover and PR photos (makes you wonder just how carefully cultivated the holes are in that ripped t-shirt) and jittery NY-via-TX indie-punk goofs Parquet Courts [Red 7, 4:30].  They were definitely more intense (and just tense) in person, playing with a tightly controlled manic insistence reminiscent of the Feelies or early Devo; stretching their songs out a bit but also making impressively executed sudden stops and zero-second transitions, though sadly their endearingly quirky vocals were somewhat buried.

Parquet Courts

The evening was lower-key and desultory as well – I caught bits of quite a few things here and there, but only a couple of full performances.  There were some nice moments though.  Maybe the best came at the start – after dinner at Elizabeth Street, my confirmed favorite Austin restaurant (a beautifully styled French-Vietnamese bistro with the most unimaginably perfect grilled octopus), we caught the tail end of local indie chamber orchestra Mother Falcon (I think I counted nineteen members) performing OK Computer outside Home Slice Pizza (where we had also seen the earnestly bearded and impassioned local folky-chamber-rock group Seryn earlier.)  Mother Falcon's arrangements of Radiohead (the back half of "No Surprises" and a "Lucky"-into-"The Tourist" medley, at least) were utterly gorgeous and inventive, and so were their jazz-inflected original numbers (they played three as an encore), albeit a good deal livelier.  Plus the whole concept is just awesome (and the name may or may not be very sneakily dirty.)

I caught two songs by Ashley Monroe [Vice Bar, 9pm], a legit country-pop star (member of the Pistol Annies with Miranda Lambert) with the stage presence and hyper-twang pipes to go along with it – one was a Gram Parsons cover ("Hickory Wind") which was lovely though it definitely made me want to hear more of her own material.  Went to Lamberts, on a recommendation to see Fetsum, but they were running late so I caught a good portion of a set by Brooklyn disco DJ Duane Harriott [Lamberts, 9pm].  He was spinning Midnight Magic's modern classic "Beam Me Up" when I walked in and later worked his way to Stevie Wonder's "Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing" and Duck Sauce's "aNYtime" (along with plenty of more obscure selections) with a deft but impeccable touch, a good reminder of how great old-school, no-frills vinyl jockeying can be when done really right.  As for Fetsum [Lamberts, 10pm], they were alright – a Berlin-based group with a powerful if understated vocalist, who played gentle, quiet-storm-style R&B but with an interesting added element of Eastern European (maybe specifically Greek) flourishes, although it seemed like they were shifting gears into reggae when we left.

Then: my third PBR&B show?  No, Rhye [Buffalo Billiards, 11pm] definitely have a different kind of vibe, though I did feel like seeing them completed my 2013 indie-soul trifecta alongside Inc. and Autre Ne Veut.  They were clearly much-anticipated by the crowd, and for good reason – they did an excellent job of recreating their debut album's beautifully lush soul, with a couple of string players in tow – although it's a little deflating to see how utterly ordinary Mike Milosh looks after the subtle depth and mystery of his recorded presence.  (It's possible they are one of those acts who feel paradoxically more intimate and personal on record than they are in person – he also said he was sick though, so that was probably part of the issue.)  I've gotta say I find it kind of ironic (and silly) how everybody insists that he sounds like a woman – and, more specifically, Sade.  Didn't they use to insist that she sounded like a man?

Popped in for a bit of O.G. power-poppers Shoes at Magie Mays, and then a bit of Midnight Magic [Old School, 11:25] (managing to dance to "Beam Me Up," for the second time in the night) and tried but failed to find Hannah Georgas (I'd also missed Angel Haze earlier among a throng of Third Eye Blind fans.)  Then, by complete happenstance, I managed to catch two high-priority acts I had previously failed to see: biking on my somewhere else, I heard an unmistakable voice drifting down the street and re-routed my course to catch a late-running set by queer NYC rapper Le1f [Scoot Inn, 11:25?].  True to his videos, he's an incredible dancer and an unforgettable presence: an extremely tall, dark-skinned black man sporting a blonde weave on his otherwise-shaven head that must've been nearly five feet long, and which he whipped around in a vigorous array of whirling shapes.  His rapping is equally kinetic and distinctive, switching up on a dime from half-whispered menace to goofy, lazy-eyed mirth to hyperspeed virtuosity, and his frequently futuristic, electro-heavy beats, which can feel off-puttingly abstract on his mixtapes, seemed to hit much hard in person.  I hoped to see current Billboard #1 hit-maker Baauer, who was up next (although he was just DJing, and I heard he didn't even play his month-defining meme-smash, "Harlem Shake"), but I got sidetracked after catching the tail end of a Delicate Steve set nearby by running across an extremely late-running performance by The Bug [Hotel Vegas, 11:25??], the infrequently-active dubstep/digital reggae project of shadowy London electro-man Kevin Martin.  Their set featured some awesome toasting from two (presumably Jamaican-British?) vocalists whose names I didn't catch, although one of them did frequently, helpfully, call out "The BUG!" and gesture to Martin behind him.  Hope this means there's some new stuff coming from them.

Could've tried for Solange at that point, but instead I called it a (relatively) early night, wandering back to the car to the strains of the third Disclosure set I'd heard in two days.

SXSW 2013: Day Three [Thursday]

 Another glorious blur of a day here in Austin.  I love whizzing through town, hearing the non-stop aural patchwork of every musical style imaginable, pouring out of practically every club in town (which is seemingly at least half of the buildings.)  This is who I heard (and saw) today, in the spaces between those audio-montage bike rides, together forming their own musical crazy-quilt.

Mount Moriah at The Stage on Sixth Patio, 12:30pm

Solid, tuneful country-rock band signed to Merge, which makes more sense when you see what they look like – they’re definitely the indie-hipster sort of country-rockers, though I guess to their credit you wouldn’t know it just to hear them.  (Well, and also because they’re from Durham.)  They’ve definitely got some Allman Brothers flava in the guitar leads too.  They were good! But honestly 12:30 feels like a very long time ago.

Blank Tapes at Rusty’s, 1pm

L.A. band playing retro, garage-y rock.  I liked the minimalist front-of-stage two-drum kit.  Also, one of the four members seemed to only be playing auxiliary percussion (maracas, tambourine), though maybe he does other stuff sometime.  Seeing shows at SXSW makes you (well, okay, me) think about the utility economics of band composition – like, what does it really add to have that additional fourth, or fifth, or sixth member?  In this case, three out of the four sang in harmony – that’s some good value!

Chvrches at The Fader Fort, 1:30pm

These guys get compared to The Knife a lot, I think, but it seemed like pretty straightforward, by-the-book upbeat electro-pop. (Though to be fair who else actually sounds like The Knife anyway?)  Well executed and definitely enjoyable, but nothing too remarkable.  I did appreciate the outfit synergy: one member in Pipettes-esque black-and-white polka dot dress, one in blank and white striped shirt, one in a Michael Jackson “King of Pop” T-shirt, all of which went nicely with the Fort’s grainy B&W Fader/Converse ad wallpaper backdrop.  Also, adorable banter from the sweet petite big-eyed lead singer (and you’ve gotta love the Glaswegian accent), even though she’s generally not a very commanding presence for the frontwoman of a big shiny dance-pop act.  “If you leave here feeling a strong urge to buy some Converse sneakers, give it an hour, just to make sure it’s really a genuine desire.  If you still want ‘em, then go for it!”

Phox at The Stage on Sixth, 2pm

Not the next Phish, but a seven-piece folky-chamber-pop group from Madison WI – they met in high school, they said, and from the looks of things that probably wasn’t too long ago.  Chipper and wide-eyed and wholesome and gracious almost to a fault (the doe-eyed, doll-like lead singer, who reminded me of V.V. Brown, offered copious thank-yous to everyone from the bloggers who helped them get noticed to the bartender who recommended her whiskey.)  (On the other hand, she did also introduce one song as about a lady who replaces the sugar in her baked goods with apple sauce to keep them healthy: “that is fucking not cool!”)  The music was great though – gentle, soulful, upbeat, just enough intricacy to keep it interesting.  The bassist doubled on flute, and they also had a full-time banjo player (though he also picked up a trumpet for a few licks on the last song, Belle & Sebastian-style.) 

Bleeding Rainbow at Club Deville, 2:30pm

Go Philly!  Noisy punky fuzzed-out pop that just makes me grin.  Plus I walked in just in time to catch them playing “Waking Dream,” the most awesomely bliss-inducing jam from their new record.  Sweet.

Paws at The Main, 3pm

At least I think that’s who this was.  More hard noisy poppy punk.  Right on!  But, I got the picture pretty quick.  They’re from Glasgow too, incidentally.  Also, the bassist broke a string (!) on the second song.

Pickwick at The Stage on Sixth, 3pm

Spirited rave-up rock’n’soul from Seattle.  My initial thought was that they’re somewhere between Mayer Hawthorne and the Black Keys.  Revised that to more like Black Keys, except times three.  Well, there’s six of them rather than two.  But I’d also say they had at least three times the energy. (Although I haven’t seen the Keys live.)  Pickwick have an absolutely fiery lead singer who was in non-stop motion throughout, yelping and wailing and testifying and shaking his tambourine all over the damn place, on numbers like “Do the Ostrich.”  I also liked that their sound was (electric) piano-heavy rather than guitar-heavy.  (Also, incidentally, my buddy’s friend is one of the keyboard players.)

Pearl and the Beard at Papa Tino’s, 3:30pm

Much beloved by several folks I know, and also by many in attendance, though something about them feels decidedly un-SXSW.  They certainly strike a memorable, quirky image: stand-up cellist, cat-eye specs, thrift-shop glam chic, not to mention that beard.  They come off as folky and funny, and they are, sort of, but their music is much moodier and artier than you might expect from look at them.  Let’s just say the Amnesiac sticker on the cello case is a strong clue.  Really nice harmonies too.

Charli XCX at Mohawk Outdoor, 4pm

Whoa.  Now, talk about a pop singer who can totally own it on stage.  Charli XCX is an incredible performer.  Kinetic, theatrical, darkly sexy in a larger-than-life kind of way, but also not afraid to flash a smile, and clearly having a total blast herself.  And she rocks a completely distinctive (albeit perhaps questionable, but isn’t that practically corollary?) look: this afternoon, it was a neon-green Nike sports bra, dog collar, and goofy pleated plaid pants.  And long wild black hair which she flails with abandon.  (Bringing back that ‘90s Alanis style, maybe?)  I already liked her couple of released songs okay, but this took it to a whole new level (arriving home after an utterly music-saturated day, the tune that was stuck in my head was her “Nuclear Seasons”), and some of the new songs were just as good or better: lavish, quirky, charismatic synth-pop that fully incorporates the lessons of forward-thinking UK bass music (including one literally incorporates the magical shimmering beat of Gold Panda’s “You.”)  Tied with Kitten for best SXSW performer so far.  Great crowd too!

Disclosure at Mohawk Outdoor, 5pm

More amazing dance party energy, particulary once I connected up with Cathy and her crew, who travel equipped with confetti-filled plastic eggs.  (Serious dancers can be distressingly few and far between at South-by, so we’ve got to stick together.)  Props too to the woman packing a water-pistol – brilliant, and much needed!  Oh yeah, Disclosure: good stuff.  I hadn’t been totally convinced before, but I get it now: their twist on poppy, treble-heavy house (one forthcoming comp has it pegged as neo-garage…okay) is both distinctive and hugely danceable.  I liked the new, punchier songs they played a lot more than the older stuff, with their recent AlunaGeorge collab “White Noise” and Jessie Ware remix somewhere in between.  (Speaking of which, why isn’t Jessie Ware here?)  Adding in a little bit of live instrumentation (cowbell, roto-toms, bass) had a transformative effect on their performance, though somehow it seemed more pure that the vocals weren’t live.

Free Energy at Peckerheads, 5:30pm

Go Philly again!  I broke my rulez here because I have seen this band before, although not since they put out what I’m gonna say is probably still my favorite album of 2013 so far, Love Sign.  Totally mystified about why they aren’t way huger; it seems like two  years ago Pitchfork would’ve given them a prime showcase slot, and now suddenly nobody cares.  Well, folks who complained about the sheenier production and increased synth quotient on the new record (seemingly the consensus complaints) would have had nothing to worry about at this set – no synths in sight, just ragged fist-pumping classic rock and roll.  And believe me, fists were pumped.

Colin Blunstone and Rod Argent (of The Zombies) at Kenny Dorham’s Backyard, 6pm

And speaking of classic rock…  This was a total treat.  The fourth in a row, I guess.  (It was a good afternoon.)  Colin and Rod may look a little haggard these days, but they sound like they’ve barely even aged.  Blunstone’s voice, in particular, is some kind of miracle – if anything, it’s richer and fuller than it is on their sixties records, but every bit as sweet and winsome, and he just sings his heart out.  This duo setup – Argent on electric keys (his keyboard tone sounds just the same too) and harmonies – really brought out the soul in the songs, which included a few new ones (not half bad!) but also everything you would’ve hoped for: “This Will Be Our Year,” “Time of the Season,” “She’s Not There.”  Just delightful.

Chic Gamine at Empire Automotive, 8:15pm

Nice surprise here.  This is a four-woman mod-soul/R&B girl group from Winnipeg and Montreal, almost like a Canadian Destiny’s Child or something.  (Well, they also had a male drummer, but he sort of seemed like their back-up band.)  The four gamines all sing big brassy harmonies and switch off on lead vocals (and keyboard and moog bass) and I’m imagining maybe the songwriting too – sassy, funny, good stuff.

Lianne Le Havas at Empire Automotive, 9:15pm

Kinda-like-a-big-deal Brit-soul singer who I’m thinking has more going on than her generally understated presentation initially suggested.  (Her amazing, preposterous print shirt-dress – I think it was actually just a repurposed man’s shirt – was one pretty clear sign of personality.)  But in the moment, coming after the spunk of Chic Gamine (and a lengthy set change, which SXSW has trained me not to tolerate), it all felt a little tasteful for my taste.  

Mikal Cronin at The Parish, 10pm

So instead I left to go see old-school UK dubstep/digi-reggae wizard The Bug, but it turned out to be a wild goose chase.  I did catch this SF garage-rocker at the Merge showcase, which was fun.  He’s got a surprisingly strong, sweet voice, though unfortunately you can’t hear it over the guitar racket in most of his songs.  I bet the record will be a good one though.

Spooner Oldham

Donna Jean Godchaux, David Hood, etc.

The Legendary Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section/The Swampers with Spooner Oldham, Donna Jean Godchaux, etc. at The Stage on Sixth Patio, 10:15pm

Unclear exactly how many of these geezers were actually in the original Muscle Shoals band – at least David Hood and Jimmy Johnson were there, for sure.  Anyhow, pretty amazing to get to see this, and also weird how this kind of thing goes on surprisingly often at SXSW and people rarely seem to really take notice.  They did “Brown Sugar” (“Jimmy here engineered this song”), “When A Man Loves A Woman” (“I’m going to sing this a fourth down from where Percy sang it”), and called up Spooner to sing “Sweet Inspiration” (“you probably won’t know this one, you’re too young”) and “I’m Your Puppet” (fitting, as he looks a little muppet-ish); just two of the zillions of classics he co-wrote in the sixties.  Unreal.

Air Traffic Controller at Bayou, 10:40pm

Apparently these guys are from Boston, but they gave the distinct impression of being British.  In particular they reminded me of my favorite, not quite Mumford-ish Brit-folk/pop band, Stornoway.  Though maybe that’s mostly because of the main guy’s dapper little hat.  Anyway, good stuff; nicely-crafted, winsome, bouncy pop tunes, though the NPR-approved “You Know Me” definitely takes the cake.

D E N A at The Tap Room at Six, 11pm

German (I guess?) pop/club/rap weirdo who put out the amazing single “Cash, Diamond Rings, Swimming Pools” a month or two ago.  (Watch the video, it’s awesome.)  She’s a little bit slacker M.I.A., a little bit old-school good-times hip-hop (like Young MC or Biz Markie), except it’s definitely closer to dance music than rap, with sparse and funky electronic beats, to which she occasionally added some simple but effective synth chords.  Her other songs were great too, including one about status updates and one whose hook was back-and-forth exchange with her DJ/backup girl: “Are you on the guestlist?/welcome to the club”/“I think not”/“get the fuck out!”  Real talk.

Zebra Katz at 1100 Warehouse, 11:25pm

More awesome left-field hip-hop, this time from Brooklyn and seriously bad ass.  “Imma Read” is the anthem, a simultaneously hilarious and majorly hardcore bitchy/queeny dis track, with a hypnotically spare, menacing beat – performed, like the rest of his set, tag-team style with rapper Reddd Foxxx (not sure why she doesn’t get equal billing.)  I feel like I can’t really do this performance justice, but it was tremendous; you should get familiar.

Bernie Worrell Orchestra at Flamingo Cantina, 12am

Alright, just had to stop in and see what Bernie is up to.  Well you know, he’s doing his thang.  Wearing a crazy gold top hat with a five-foot-long feather.  Getting down on the funky clav.  Reminding us that if we want to feel alright, not to be uptight.  Or something like that.

Action Bronson at North Door, “12:20am”

Outrageous.  Action (or “Bam Bam” as he likes to call himself) tends to come off like a bit of a novelty at first, what with all the bullet points – former chef; raps about food; sounds like Ghostface; built like a blimp.  But he is definitively not a novelty rapper.  Indeed, he’s practically a classicist.  He seems to be rapping about food less, which is really a shame (though probably good for his cred.)  He came on at least twenty minutes late (mostly because the whole showcase was running behind), announced that he had “literally just woken up,” and after maybe twenty minutes, maybe not, abruptly dropped the mic on the floor and walked off stage.   

Rustie at 1100 Warehouse, 1:15am

I didn’t know if this would be a DJ set or not, and I couldn’t tell for nearly the first half – it was, albeit presumably with a bunch of his own stuff, and lots of crazy tweaking plus actual vinyl scratching (!), but with a strong enough, undeniably distinctive cohesive character to it that it partially invalided my quibbles last night about DJ sets at South-by.  Basically it was trap music – in a nutshell, “EDM” with similar extremes of intensity to Americanized dubstep, but atop a hip-hop/dirty South rhythmic chassis instead of a dub/reggae one.  Which, for my money at least, means it’s a lot better for dancing, and also better for mixing with hip-hop (which Rustie did, dropping Danny Brown and Wacka Flocka Flame among others.)  He also flipped TNGHT’s “Goooo,” which is an incredible track in the proper context.  Things got pretty wild, pretty much constantly, with often outrageous amounts of absurd, laser-zapping sci-fi tension building up before a beat would finally, triumphantly drop.  I guess that’s how they roll in Glasgow.