SXSW: Thursday [Amy Phillips]

Shout Out Louds [Team Clermont/Under the Radar party; Flamingo Cantina; 5:00 pm]

The Shout Out Louds are one of the hardest-working bands at SXSW, playing countless day parties and showcases. So I expected this early evening set at a college radio party (taking place at a bar painted with murals of flamingos, no less) would be kinda blah, a tossed-off gig that wouldn't be very enjoyable for band or audience alike.

Instead, I was pleasantly surprised by a top notch professional performance. The dapper Swedes of the Shout Out Louds were full of energy, sweeping through gems like "Tonight I Have to Leave It" and "Impossible" like they were playing a sold out headlining show at the Bowery Ballroom.

I honestly don't understand why the Shout Out Louds aren't more popular. They are impossibly good looking, are signed to a big label (Merge), and write songs with mile-wide hooks that make for delicious earworms. Why haven't major sports teams adopted "The Comeback" for rally time? Why isn't "Tonight I Have to Leave It" in, like, every romantic comedy movie farewell scene?

Tribute to Lou Reed [The Fader Fort; 6:00-8:00 p.m.]

For some reason, the Fader Fort decided to stage an elaborate Lou Reed tribute concert right in the middle of the day, in between sets from Saul Williams and N.E.R.D. Why? Because he was the SXSW keynote speaker? Because Lou Reed is awesome and always worth paying tribute to? Because Lou Reed only wanted to be celebrated in front of people who RSVPed to an invite-only private party, rather than the general public? I have no idea.

Lou Reed (taking a picture of Yo La Tengo)

As is the case with pretty much any tribute concert or compilation album, there was much separating the wheat from the chaff. We sat patiently through mercifully brief two-song sets from Oh No! Oh My!, Joseph Arthur, Dr. Dog, and Ezra Furman and the Harpoons in order to get to the good stuff. And there was quite a lot of good stuff.

Yo La Tengo

Yo La Tengo tackled "She's My Best Friend" (with James McNew handling lead vocals) and "I Heard Her Call My Name (with Ira Kaplan on lead vocals and searing guitar solo), as Lou himself stood off to the side snapping photos.

Mark Kozelek

Poor Mark Kozelek, alone with an acoustic guitar, battled a crowd more interested in drinking nuclear bright blue Southern Comfort concoctions than listening to his lovely takes on "Stephanie Says" and "The Kids".

My Morning Jacket

My Morning Jacket blazed through "Head Held High".

Thurston Moore and the New Wave Bandits

Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore, accompanied by a band that included Samara Lubelski and Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley, absolutely murdered (in the best possible way) the rarity "I'm Not a Young Man Anymore". Moore channeled Iggy Pop, crawling and rolling around the stage, diving into the crowd, seething with punk energy. It was the wildest performance I've ever seen him give. It was the ultimate fuck you to people who think rock'n'roll is strictly a young person's game.

Moby and Laura Dawn

Moby closed the show. First, he played a note-perfect cover of "Femme Fatale", featuring vocals by singer Laura Dawn, who did such an accurate Nico impression, folks around me kept asking each other if the infamous German chanteuse was really dead.

Moby and Lou Reed

Then, Moby had the honor of sharing the stage with the man of the hour himself. And you would never guess what they played! (Kidding.) "Walk on the Wild Side", OMG! Their version was actually quite lovely, a subdued take featuring only lightly strummed guitar and vocals, with drums coming in at the end to add heft. Sure, it was weird watching Lou Reed trade verses and guitar licks with Moby, but you know what? The little guy held his own.

The tribute ended in the most appropriate way possible, with Lou Reed stroking his own giant ego. His arms raised in the air like a victorious prizefighter, Reed barked, "I love punk rock! And I was the first one!"

Bellafea [12 a.m.; Habana Calle 6]

North Carolina punk band Bellafea are most likely best experienced in their natural habitat: the grimy basement of a squat in an abandoned loft, or some such DIY space. They are most definitely not best experienced in the immaculately clean lower level of an expensive Cuban restaurant, on a stage festooned with lights and greenery. The awkwardness of the setting sapped a bit of momentum from the trio's old school emo/math rock interplay, and frontwoman Heather McEntire's bottomless howls were a bit muffled compared to the explosiveness of their excellent debut album, Cavalcade. Nonetheless, for people who just can't stop craving the sound of early Rainer Maria (c'mon, it can't just be me and Matthew Solarski, right?), I can't recommend Bellafea enough.

The Wombats [1 a.m.; Maggie Mae's Rooftop]

The charmingly nerdy boys of Liverpool's the Wombats are big stars in England, but here in America, I usually can't bring them up without getting mocked. First of all, they call themselves the Wombats, and even have a stuffed toy wombat they carry on tour with them. Second, they sound like a less macho, more indie influenced Weezer. (Yes, it is possible for a less macho Weezer to exist.) Third, their singer/guitarist has a receding hairline and bald spot which he tries to hide with floppy, curly hair.

Since I am a complete and total cheeseball, I love this band. Their pop-punk ditties sparkled and popped live, played with sugar high intensity and utmost professionalism. I totally want to go to the mall with these guys.

Justice [3 a.m.; Playboy party]

Photo by Beth Martinez

If you ever get the chance to see Moby and/or Justice DJ at a warehouse party, do it. Seriously. Even if said warehouse party is being thrown by Playboy, and there are Playboy Bunnies there, and the place is crawling with the kind of guys who hang around Playboy Bunnies. It's worth it, I'm telling you.

Think what you will about Moby, but dude knows how to rock a dancefloor. I don't know how he managed to make stuff like Basement Jaxx's "Where's Your Head At" and Guns n' Roses' "Paradise City" sound fresh and exciting, but he did. Maybe I was just delirious with exhaustion?

As for Justice, they stood there smoking cigarettes, looking impossibly hip, spinning the hits. Just being in the same room as those guys made me feel like a sleek, sexy VIP who was totally used to hanging out with Playboy Bunnies, whatever, no big deal. And hey, isn't that what the transformative power of live music is all about? Making you feel really, really cool?

SXSW: Thursday [Matthew Solarski]

Thurston Moore Interviews Steve Reich [Austin Convention Center; 1:15 p.m.]





On paper this pairing makes sense; both NYC innovators, Steve Reich and Thurston Moore have also each earned a reputation as everyman figures of sorts, refreshing contrasts to the negative stereotypes that plague their fields: Reich as a no-nonsense, pragmatic journeyman unafraid to stare down the serialists and Schoenberg acolytes and their dominion over academic composition, and Moore as the perennial man-child, curious spirit, and constant innovator amid an indie scene that's too often insular, stubborn, and self-satisfied.

On a stage in a windowless room on a Thursday afternoon, things were, understandably, perhaps a bit stiff. Moore resorted to book-reportage at times (prattling off various facts about Reich from his little black notebook), and there were moments when he seemingly forgot who he was talking to. One such exchange, during a discussion of language, had Moore offhandedly mentioning "Italian prog-rock in the 70s, you know?" and Reich making an amused befuddled gesture toward the audience.

But as Moore loosened up some (Reich, meanwhile, was plainspoken and good-humored throughout), we learned much. There was talk of Reich's inspirations: the poet William Carlos Williams, the great John Coltrane, the jazz drummer Kenny Clarke. Clarke, enthused Reich, inspired the composer not with technical virtuosity but with the "quality" of his playing. "It was as if the whole band was floating on his cymbal."

Reich also marveled over African music and its emphasis on rhythmic complexity, in contrast to the chiefly harmonic concerns of the West, and opined that improvisational playing may not have the meaningful potential it once did (in the Baroque era, say) due to a lack of common practice nowadays.

Plenty of fun trivia too: Four of the organs Reich used to compose and tour the 1970 piece Four Organs now reside in Sonic Youth's studio; Reich rejiggered his mono headphones into stereo headphones before such things existed by plugging each channel into a separate source (Thurston seemed particularly geeked out about this); Reich likes Sonic Youth and specifically Daydream Nation for towing a line between the feedback's improvisational looseness and the structured elements of conventional songwriting.

The most endearing moment by far, however, occurred an hour into the interview when Moore decided to open the floor for Q&A, then promptly interrupted himself by saying "Oh wait, actually I had a question!"

The Brother Kite [Habana Calle 6; 8 p.m.]



With mainstream acts one will explicitly talk about things like marketability-- how easy it is to "sell" the artist in question to an audience-- and the notion certainly applies to the indies just as well. But it even extends in a sense to the level of day-to-day discourse on music. Simply put, some bands are just easier to talk up than others.

I know I like this band, the Brother Kite; I'm impressed with the spirit they put into their performance and amused by how none of them really look like people who would be in a rock band, much less wielding a double neck guitar, as the lead vocalist did here. But I'm sorta at a loss for talking points. They hail from Providence, but they certainly aren't some noise crazies (marketable!) or art-school agitators (marketable!). They draw from elements of each, but don't strictly adhere to either shoegaze (marketable!) or dream pop (marketable!). Their name is kinda silly and weird, but not silly or weird enough.

If somebody happened into this gig (perhaps en route to Habana Calle 6 Patio, which lies just beyond this space), I doubt they'd have much noticed what was happening onstage. Or they may have been thrown off by the hoarse vocals (an unfortunate result of the singer's present fight with the flu). Yet I imagine those to whom this band has endeared itself-- and there was a small but super-enthused gathering of such people here-- went home with plenty to talk about.

Secret Shine [Habana Calle 6; 9 p.m.]





Hey, it's a Sarah Records band at SXSW! Bristol's Secret Shine shared five releases via the quintessential twee imprint in the early 1990s before calling it a day some 10 years ago. Recently reactivated, the quintet has a new full-length (All of the Stars) on the way that sounds not the least bit unlike the unabashed shoegaze they were serving up a decade prior. Not surprisingly, then, Secret Shine were equally at ease showcasing the promising new material and treating the small but eager crowd to a few classics. With the glut of ramshackle, idiosyncrasy-flaunting indie acts popping up all over the damn place, I must admit I find this sort of polished, expansive headspace music refreshing.

Sissy Wish [Wave; 10 p.m.]



It wouldn't be SXSW without a few disasters, and last night, the South-by Specter of Indiscriminate and Unexplained Equipment Failure decided to visit upon poor Sissy Wish of Norway. She and her bandmate looked positively Sissy pissed after struggling for 30 minutes to get one (apparently crucial) gadget working. Failing that-- and with their set time now drastically truncated-- the pair managed to squeak in four songs. Only the relatively pared-down "Milk", however, sounded right, and unfortunately that had to compete with the exasperated admonishments of Scroobius Pip streaming down from upstairs (Wave, it should be noted, should not attempt to host two simultaneous showcases in the future).

Props to Sissy Wish though for her attempts to rile up the crowd by yelling all of her banter-- at one point inviting us to "get naked and drink beer later"-- and for the little conniption fit/shriek-out that capped off the performance, no doubt a release for a whole flaming heap of understandable frustration.

Retribution Gospel Choir [Central Presbyterian Church; 11 p.m.]







Side project is such a dirty word. Okay, two dirty words: Side, suggesting something peripheral to the middle or main or core, and project, evoking a dalliance or something less serious and established than band or group or whatever it exists in relation to. Implicit in all this is inferiority, which in the case of the Alan Sparhawk-led Retribution Gospel Choir, couldn't be more untrue.

Indeed, the best of RGC's songs (showcased on this year's self-titled debut) are on par with Low's recent best (nevermind that several RGC tunes are also Low tunes), and the trio sounded tight and ferocious playing them in these appropriate church confines. To top it all off, Sparhawk sported some shaggy curls, perfectly suited to the rocking out that ensued.

Mark Kozelek [Central Presbyterian Church; 12 a.m.]

Were we granted the opportunity to witness one of the old master painters at work, I suspect there wouldn't be anything overtly masterful going on to our untrained eyes. So it was with Mark Kozelek, a Rembrandt of folky confessionals, whose simplified (but not simplistic) lyrics and songwriting belie a preternatural talent for evocation and the conveyance of unbridled feeling. I am nothing less than awestruck at the grace with which Kozelek plays; listening closely, I swear I often heard a ghost cello sighing amid the finger-picking. As a borderline obsessive fan of the earliest Red House Painters material, I was a mite disappointed none of that made it into the set, but that's a personal qualm and one which I will by no means hold against Mr. Kozelek.

Additional Photos:

My Brightest Diamond [Volume; 12 p.m.]



J. Tillmann [Habana Calle 6 Patio; 1:15 a.m.]

SXSW: Thursday [Paul Thompson]

No Age [Mohawk Outside Stage; 1:30 p.m.]

"Beer is back there," No Age drummer/vocalist Dean Spunt pointed out at the Rhapsody Rocks Austin day party at Mohawk's outdoor stage, a finger towards the back of the crowd. "Pour it on your genitals when you get a chance." Welcome, friends, to a No Age show: Plenty of the swelling, sweltering noise-punk they do so well, sure, but with a little bit of Deano's deadpan and Randy Randall's off-the-cuff goofiness to break up some of the tension they themselves build in a crowd. "We're happy to be here at Rap City," guitarist Randy Randall quipped in a pun worthy of Pitchfork news. "I didn't know rap was still this popular, but I'm glad it's got a whole city devoted to it, and we are the mayors." Then they dedicated their next tune to Disney Channel/Randy's pedal star Hannah Montana. Funny guys.



On the serious, though, the things that people tell you about No Age being all transcendent and stuff live are far from exaggerated. The pair thrashed about admirably and worked every inch of the tiny stage including, as pictured, the top of a mighty tall speaker cabinet, squeezing (as they always do) every drop from every song. The Weirdo Rippers stuff sounds great, of course-- opener "Every Artist Needs a Tragedy", in particular, ripped weirdly in the early afternoon sun-- and the new ones, the ones from the forthcoming Nouns? Particularly "Eraser"? Maybe even better. "We're gonna play one more song," Spunt told us after being given the warning from the party brass, all the while holding up two fingers and shaking his head. They played two more.

Be Your Own Pet [Cedar Street Courtyard; 4 p.m.]



Everything was going great-- really great-- at Be Your Own Pet's mid-afternoon set at the Cedar Street Courtyard until bassist Nathan Vasquez's finger fell off. Well, not all of it: just, um, most of it. (That's it, that beige thing next to his heel. Yup. Gross. Sorry.)



Four seconds later, blood splattered all over the pickups, everything was going great again. Really great. "Nathan goes through basses like people with gonorrhea go through underwear," frontlady Jemina Pearl Abegg assured us. Then they tore into another one. No Band Aid required.



I'd never put a whole lot of effort into getting down on BYOP's records (no real reason for it, honest, beyond there being just a lotta damn bands around), but I know for certain that'll change after witnessing this perversely spirited session. This band is tight, funny, brash, weird; they go off like a cannon every time the beat drops, and-- to belabor an old point-- they're still just a bunch of kids. They weather things like busted hands and a lack of a setlist and what looked to be a four-person hangover ("I'm tired, I started drinking at 12 o'clock", Jemina mentioned at one point) by the sheer force of their deceptively dopey songs and, perhaps, their youthful exuberance or whatever. Blasting through quite a bit of their self-titled LP and the upcoming Get Awkward, stopping only to crack wise, they play like they're not planning on using those muscles again any time soon.

"Do you guys like Soulja Boy Tellem?", Jemina asked at a certain point to a decidedly lukewarm response from everyone but your reporter. "Well, do you or don't you? 'Cuz this is a cover of 'Crank Dat'." It wasn't, though if anyone could've pulled off such a stunt, I suspect it might've been them. "If this is your first Pet experience," guitarist Jonas Stein told us near the end of the set, "we're playing the Ecstatic Peace showcase tomorrow night." Jemina quickly "but only if it's your first. We don't want any sluts there." See you later, then.

Soiled Mattress & the Springs [Habana Annex Backyard; 9:20 p.m.]



One part Fred Wesley and the JBs, one part Boots Randolph and his Yakety Sax, and a whole lot of "Baker Street", New York ironic lounge-prog-jazz trio Soiled Mattress & the Strings were just about the weirdest thing going at their particular timeslot, which more than likely explains why the assembled crowd numbered around 40 (mostly from the other bands playing that evening). The band's style is largely their own, but as we've all learned, being unique is only part of the equation. Peter Schuette's occasionally showy, proggy synths don't always fit in with the reedy sax and the sound of the funky drummer quite like they should, but even in this silly mish-mash, these guys are certainly doing their own thing with melody, however skewed. Whenever they hit on a swanky little line, they mess it up a few seconds later, like an endless replay of that moment just as Coltrane breaks out of the "My Favorite Things" theme into umpteen minutes of improv. It's an endearing strangeness, for sure, and saxman Matthew Thurber sure does bring it to the stage and, when so moved, the area immediately in front of said stage. And I could swear one of their songs quotes the main riff from Shanice's breezy early 90s R&B-pop hit "I Like Your Smile", which is amazing whether it's intended or not. But apart from the nifty "Tidal Wave" (which you should track down, pronto), there's a sense these guys are making music more for themselves than for their 40 fans. There's something to be said for that, I think.

Mike Rep [Soho Lounge; 10:40 p.m.]



I stepped up the stairs and into the Siltbreeze showcase at the unusually posh Soho Lounge to the strains of a familiar sounding organ blast rumbling under a gloriously bent take on the Archies' "Sugar Sugar", and, hey, there were Times New Viking, several hours before they were to perform for their old label and spiritual brethren. But the dude standing at the front of the room was, to me, an unfamiliar face, and it took tracking down a real live Ohioan to clue me in on just who I was in the presence of. Mike Rep is an Ohio lo-fi legend, if this list of credits and the decades' worth of back catalog he kept alluding to have any bearing on the matter, and I'm told he "always plays around Columbus." Lucky Arch City folks. Rep deals in the same kind of big riffy pomo pop of Guided by Voices and his backing band for the evening, and though I'd not heard of the man before stumbling upon his rocking the hell out, it was clear his collaborators and much of his crowd were intimately familiar. "I've never played with a better bunch," he said of TNV, grinning ear to ear. They seemed positively touched by the comment, and judging by the adoration Rep inspired in the crowd, that's as it should be.



Psychedelic Horseshit [Soho Lounge; 11:20 p.m.]



The Siltbreeze m.o. can be summed up like so: instead of a bass drum, Rich Johnston helped the soundguy mic a cardboard box which he then held in place with a cinder block. See:



Upon taking the stage to set up his keyboard (missing a few keys towards the high end, natch), frontman Matt Whitehurst pulled a balled-up piece of paper out of his pocket and laid it on the rinky-dink Casio. Obviously, it was their setlist. Siltbreeze bands' gear is more junked up than the next dreck-pop label, their sound exponentially nastier sounding, but if you were to give 'em money for upgrades, they'd probably just spend it on weed or something and make do with their junk. As both a sound and a vision, it works.



Psychedelic Horseshit take their cues from those real early Pavement singles (who, I guess I'll be the millionth to mention, owe a debt to Wire and the Fall). PH, however, are somehow far snottier and still somehow more coherent than anything pre-Slanted. They're not so much catchy as they are enjoyably heady, with plenty of moments where a fist-pump or a huge guffaw would be apt. There's a sense that they might stop the show to make fun of you just 'cuz, though they saved that for a few more nefarious targets. "This song used to be about Deerhunter," Whitehurst said in introduction of Magic Flowers Droned's "New Wave Hippies", "but now it's about Yeasayer", and they changed a few of the lyrics to take a bit of the piss out of the hairy Brooklyn set. No longwinded jam-freaks, these guys, despite the first part of their name: Their set was over in 20 minutes, and that's a pretty generous estimate. From where I was standing, they could've gone on all night, but one suspects any longer and they would've grown bored.

High on Fire [Emo's Annex; 1 a.m.]



One has to find ways to stay moving down here in Austin when you're out show-going and BBQ-chewing and Lone Star-swilling for 12-plus hours a day (to say nothing of the poor suckers who have to wake up early and write about all the stuff they saw the day before then go out and do it again). Some opt for energy beverages, others sheer willpower, others get drunk and just go for it. Me, I'm starting to think metal shows are the answer. Have you ever actually thought, "crap, this incredible display of proficiency and ballast going on in front of my brain is putting me right to sleep?" Genghis Tron doesn't count.



High on Fire took the stage at Emo's Annex just a bit before 1:00 a.m. last night and proceeded to kick my ass in ways I, on four hours of sleep, never thought possible. Frontman/guitar god Matt Pike is as much the physical embodiment of rock'n'roll as Keith Moon or Lemmy Kilmeister or Mike Rep. I couldn't tell you what they played (I was inches from the right speakers, rendering anything but pure kaboom indecipherable) or put into words just why High on Fire's set was as good as any I saw on an otherwise very, very good day-- and the metalheads tossing up devil horns at Mr. Pike and crew seemed with me on that point. I missed Motörhead and Napalm Death earlier in the afternoon due to some technical difficulties, but I did stand five feet away while Matt Pike barnstormed the neck of his guitar, and I suspect in 10 years those two things will mean about the same thing.

SXSW: Thursday [Matt LeMay]

[Photos by Christine Tadler]

R.E.M. ["Austin City Limits" taping]

By 3:15 p.m., people were lined up all through UT's communications center to see R.E.M. tape the first episode of Austin City Limits' 34th season. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to get in, let alone get a good spot, but after running up three flights of stairs and foregoing free beer (free beer vs. free R.E.M.: priorities, people), I managed to find a spot about 10 feet from the stage, in the second standing row.

There are very few bands that mean so much to me as to entirely override my critical faculties, but R.E.M. is one of them, if not the band. R.E.M. was my very first favorite band, and seeing them perform in a small room (with enormous TV cameras) was amazing. They played a balanced set of new material (from their forthcoming album Accelerate) and older songs including "Losing My Religion", "So. Central Rain", "Fall on Me", "Man on the Moon", and "Drive". Aside from the excellent song choices, I was struck by how comfortable and at ease the band seemed; thanks to the magic of editing, there was no need for them to plow through their songs or stay "on" during the whole taping.

Some thoughts on seeing R.E.M. up-close: Michael Stipe is still a presence to be reckoned with, and I can't imagine him ever being otherwise. He was gracious, strange, simultaneously self-aggrandizing and self-effacing, and constantly engaging with the audience. His voice only seems to have improved with age, too; the chorus of "Fall on Me" has grown from a subtle and insistent lift to full-on ascendant catharsis. Seeing "Losing My Religion" performed, it occurred to me first how incredible it is that such a song could become a full-on mega-smash, and second how much of the song's excellence really belongs to Mike Mills, whose bass part alternately emphasizes Stipe's vocals, Peter Buck's mandolin, and the shape of the song itself. R.E.M. on "Austin City Limits" will be broadcast by PBS on May 24.

So Many Dynamos [Jovita's; 4:30 p.m.]

The one downside to seeing R.E.M. is that I missed the always-excellent So Many Dynamos, who were playing at Jovita's across town. My friends who were at the show came back with glowing reports, and excited chatter about songs from the band's forthcoming, Chris Walla-produced record. Very few bands manage to put on a spazzy, high-energy live show and still have great songs (think Brainiac and the Dismemberment Plan), and So Many Dynamos are one of them. Here's hoping I don't miss then next time around.

Yo La Tengo [Austin Music Hall; 9:30 p.m.]

I've seen Yo La Tengo a good number of times, and their shows are fairly inconsistent. The band always plays well, but they sometimes play a batch of songs that just seems ill-suited to the event. This time, they just played the fucking hits, including "Cherry Chapstick", "Autumn Sweater", and "Tom Courtenay" (which, I have decided, has the best opening of any Yo La Tengo song, if not of any indie rock album period). Maybe the strict time constraints of a high-profile SXSW show were actually good for Yo La Tengo; aside from an awesome, 15-or-so-minute version of "The Story of Yo La Tengo", the band's set was concise and action-packed.

The English Beat ["Smokin' Music"; 11:45 p.m.]

After Yo La, we headed over to B.D. Riley's to see Canada's sorely underrated Simply Saucer, only to find that they were nowhere on the bill. So, we went and saw the fucking English Beat, at a fake venue sponsored by a cigarette copany. And it was pretty awesome. Only at SXSW...

Additional Photos:

Destroyer [Volume; 2 p.m.]

6th Street, 11 p.m.

SXSW: Thursday [Tyler Grisham]

Motörhead notwithstanding, the place to be on Thursday afternoon in Austin was the Parish club. NPR stations from around the country, including KEXP Seattle and KUT Austin, hosted one of the most well-curated day parties of the entire week. With a line of eager concertgoers stretching around the block more than an hour before the show began, only a lucky few of us made it past the door and up the stairs into what was doubling as a monstrous broadcasting station.

Each of five public radio stations had their DJs stationed by the bar, scrambling to interview acts as they left the stage and pumping the entire show around the world via the magic of internet radio. And then they went and saved all the shows (plus R.E.M., Yo La Tengo, and My Morning Jacket gigs) at NPR's web music hub! So now you can go listen for yourself and let me know if I got any song titles wrong.

Jens Lekman [Parish; 1:15 p.m.]

Swedish heartthrob Jens Lekman stole the show early on, with a lighthearted group of songs mostly from last year's excellent Night Falls Over Kortedala. He began the set by introducing his hometown, the album's namesake, as a labyrinthine suburb it's easy to get lost in-- and a lot harder to get out of. Fortunately, as he told the crowd, he found his way out of the Gothen-burb, and the rest is history. The Parish songs included last year's "Opposite of Hallelujah" and "Shirin", which, he explained to some laughter, was written in honor of his old hairstylist.







Yeasayer [Parish; 2:30 p.m.]

For such a drastic change of pace, Brooklyn prog-pop outfit Yeasayer was nonetheless an instant crowdpleaser, as they managed to translate the shouted, soaring vocals of last year's All Hour Cymbals into a live setting. It worked pretty spectacularly, and they even had the crowd singing along to the apocalyptic single "2080".







Bon Iver [Parish; 3:15 p.m.]

Bon Iver's Justin Vernon, an unassuming, genial guy in a beard and flannels, somehow managed to match the sonic assaults of the previous acts with his relatively restrained, cryptic tunes. Joined only by a young guitarist (which may or may not have been his little brother, who has played the occasional show with Justin) and a drummer, Vernon switched back and forth from a collection of at least five guitars, two of which looked to be half a century old. His soaring falsettos filled the Parish's spacious room and begged the question, "How long can a grown man continue to tour on such throat-singeing performances?" Whatever, he managed it, and had the crowd shouting back "What might have been lost", louder and louder each time, on "The Wolves".





Vampire Weekend [Parish; 4 p.m.]

It's a good bet the most anticipated act of Thursday afternoon-- if not SXSW altogether-- would be Brooklyn's Vampire Weekend. The sweater-clad Columbia grads certainly have their denigrators, but none of them were to be found at the Parish. Instead, the Ivy League foursome were greeted by a crowd who sang along to almost every line of every song, to the apparent surprise of the band. At some points (like the "Hey hey hey hey!" of "A-Punk") the crowd's shouting actually drowned out the music from the stage, which was as tight and airy as Vampire Weekend's brilliant debut album.



Frontman Ezra Koening was jovial with the Austin crowd, giving a shout out to everyone from College Station, Texas, (a few hollers from the back of the room) explaining, "I've got people there," and dedicating "Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa" to the state of Texas, which, according to Ezra today, the song was written about. Right.







Bodies of Water [Mohawk Patio; 9 p.m.]

Clubs in Austin have developed creative ways to get around the city's smoking ban, the most popular solution being multi-level venues with patios, balconies, lounges, and outdoor bars. Aside from Emo's, the place that does it best is the Mohawk. Their patio stage boasts an impressive sound system, perfect for the sonics of Los Angeles collective Bodies of Water.



Meredith Metcalf, decked out in her trademark black leotard, led the group in a selection of tracks from their forthcoming album, A Certain Feeling. The record was just finished and won't hit stores for another couple of months, but the Bodies gave a taste of the new Water to the Mohawk's crowd, and for those who enjoyed last year's Ears Will Pop and Eyes Will Blink, the new sound won't disappoint. Their website claims that while Ears Will Pop was "aggressive," the new one is a bit "more passive-agressive." Not sure what that means sonically, but it sounded as boisterous and infectiously catchy as their terrific debut.









Man Man [Cedar St. Courtyard; 10 p.m.]

There's a game they like to play at SXSW in the Cedar St. Courtyard-- which is basically an atrium tucked between a couple of restaurants on 4th Street-- the basic object of which is to try to cram as many sweaty, cranky music fans into one tight space as possible, and the more photographers attempting to squirm their way to the front, the better. But as soon as Man Man took the stage, all the ill will evaporated and the crowd was focused intently on a set of new tunes from the forthcoming album Rabbit Habits.







High Places [Habana Annex Backyard; 10:40 p.m.]

High Places, the Brooklyn duo of Mary Pearson and Robert Barber, make some astoundingly pop-centered tunes out of a small assortment of samplers and drum machines. Judging by the sound of the record, you'd think there was at least a quartet behind the internationally flavored sound. But Pearson and Barber proved tonight that they don't need anyone else's help to cull clever pop songs from the strangest amalgam of catchy, dancy samples, and beats.









El Guincho [Red Eyed Fly; 1:00 a.m. 2:00 a.m.]

Barcelona's El Guincho is a one-man dance party. Not unlike Panda Bear's Noah Lennox in his stage show, Pablo Dias-Reixa's entire setup consisted of a slab of particleboard on a keyboard stand, a Roland sampler, a floor tom, a tambourine, some sleigh bells, and a mic.



From this modest gear, El Guincho recreated the oceans of sound from his excellent record, Alegranza, and whipped the capacity crowd, who had waited through an hour delay at the outdoor Red Eyed Fly, into a crazed mass of late-night dancers. For the duration of the set, Dias-Reixa kept time by pounding his floor tom and the tambourine set on the tabletop; at times he was hammering so hard that little bits of particleboard fell to the floor. But the effect was palpable; by the end of the show, the fans (including all the members of the Ruby Suns) had more or less coalesced into a mosh pit, shouting back and forth to El Guincho, himself looking as happy to be there as the crowd was.

SXSW: Thursday [Dave Maher]

The Duke Spirit [Cedar Street Courtyard; 3:15 p.m.]

It's amazing how much a magnetic singer can do for a band. When you only want to look at the person out front humping the microphone, the rest of the group is pretty much off the hook to just chill out and play. That was the case with the Duke Spirit's afternoon set. They started almost half an hour late, but singer Liela Moss made up for that with a heap of stage presence. She was constantly striking poses, which cut both ways: the show seemed a little pre-fab, but her charisma made it fun to watch.

Robyn [Cedar Street Courtyard; 5 p.m.]

Robyn rounded out the Cedar Street bill of platinum blondes (as Be Your Own Pet's Jemina Pearl noticed; check out Paul Thompson's diary to read about their set), and from the start, her set was plagued with technical difficulties. The soundcheck took forever, and when Robyn appeared on stage, there were still plenty of kinks to work out. As Paul pointed out, such glitches are especially debilitating for someone like her, whose whole formula is "voice + beats."

However, the obstacles allowed Robyn to showcase just how much of a pro she is. She's an excellent singer, which seems in part a product of the era in which she originally came up (i.e. teen pop, where labels encouraged artists to do things like take voice lessons and learn how to dance). And speaking of Robyn's past, the tech problems resulted in a rearranged setlist that included an unplanned appearance of "Show Me Love" as well as a piano-only version of "With Every Heartbeat", both of which were treats.

Phosphorescent [Mohawk Patio; 8 p.m.]

Secretly Canadian/Jagjaguwar/Dead Oceans really know how to pick these early evening showcase openers. Last year, it was the Besnard Lakes, who seemed to usher in the beginning of summer, and this year it was Phosphorescent. Frontman Matthew Houck started off the night by saying they would drag their feet for the people who weren't yet inside the venue, which established a tone for the entire set. Houck comes off as ready to unhinge at any moment onstage, but behind him is a solid country band playing lilting waltz-time tunes-- hard to get worked up about, but blissful when you can just let the music wash over you.

My Morning Jacket [Austin Music Hall; 11 p.m.]

A solid My Morning Jacket show is a bankable commodity at this point, and the band delivered with its evening set at Austin Music Hall. Most of the night was occupied with material from Z and debuting new songs, and from what I could tell, the new material has a noticeable r&b bent to it. It's a little hard to process when one of your favorite bands decides to focus on playing new stuff, but when Jim James and co. returned to something from It Still Moves or At Dawn, it was just as shiver-inducing as ever. As an unexpected bonus, the lights at this show were awesome, tasteful and complementary at every turn. That Dave Matthews money is well spent.

Dizzee Rascal [Scoot Inn; 1:15 a.m.]

It was strange to watch Dizzee Rascal play such a traditional SXSW rap show. Instead of the eccentric cowering on the cover of Boy in Da Corner, fans were treated to a talented MC with a crew who likes shout-outs and shoes. His set drew as much from excellent early material as it did from Maths + English, and the high-BPM beats kept the show flowing and energetic. Dizzee looked older than he does in pictures, which was cool to see: a prodigy aging well. He made sure to plug the April 29 U.S. release of Maths + English, which comes courtesy of showcase sponsor Def Jux.

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