SXSW: 2 Live Crew, still horny after all these years

It was a tough decision: stay and watch 2 Live Crew, who were tardy for their SXSW performance at the Levi's/Fader Fort, or try to catch a cab and ride across the river to see the far more talented and successful Ice Cube. On quality alone, I shouldn't have been anywhere near the packed "fort," but quality isn't what helped the Florida rap group sell more than 2 million copies of "As Nasty as They Wanna Be" nearly 20 years ago -- it was juvenile, sexual foolishness.

Since I had already seen Ice Cube perform, and since I found myself a near front-row center spot on the floor, I decided to stay and enjoy the rude, crude, hip-hop Miami schlock. I wasn't at all disappointed.

2 Live Crew aren't about fast rhymes, intricate beats or social commentary. They're about basic, raw, stoopid fun. They are the epitome of lowest common denominator, so it's OK, the audience rationalizes, for everyone to let down their walls, raise their hands and sing along to the ridiculousness that's perfect for Spring Break.

Even without Luther Campbell, 2 Live Crew exude a sexual energy and raucous vibe that makes women want to climb onstage and shake their moneymakers. Brother Marquis, along with founding members Chris Wong Won and Mr. Mixx, capably rocked the mic in Mr. Skywalker's absence. Indeed, that contagious who-gives-a-bleep feeling, booming bass and strangely familiar and elementary lyrics foster a party atmosphere that makes you think, "No wonder the Broward County Sheriff's Department hated these guys -- something dirty was happening and it was hot!"

Several ladies from the audience joined the group onstage, most of whom had no problem dancing suggestively to the hits "Oh, Pretty Woman" and "Me So Horny." In fact, one enthusiastic woman grinded on Won and Marquis' knees and later found herself being lightly groped ... willingly.

When it was all over, we all felt a little bit groped. Willingly.

-- Post and photo by Tony Pierce

In the bowels of the Austin Convention center, blocks away from the rock clubs and BBQs, lies a treasure trove of concert posters.

Flatstock showcases concert poster art, usually sold by the artists. Started by legendary artist and Austin native Frank Kozik and the American Poster Institute, the 2008 SXSW Flatstock is the 16th Flatstock convention since 2002. (Flatstock tours various cities, including Chicago, San Francisco and Denver.) Featuring dozens of artists, hundreds of amazing posters and classes in silk screening, Flatstock provides an opportunity for rock and art fans to buy, learn or just absorb killer poster art.

Some self-proclaimed SXSW experts advise that you shouldn't see established acts at the music festival. They argue that with 1,500+ bands you should take in the new talent, the unearthed gems, the kids who wanna rock. The problem with that argument is that if you simply see the new blood, you have no baseline to compare them with.

On Friday night, Thurston Moore's underground label Ecstatic Peace! held a showcase at the Mohawk Patio on Red River, and what a showcase it was. The punk rock battle royale of sorts started with a bang when Be Your Own Pet climbed onstage, asked the crowd if they were ready and proceeded to bring the noise like nothing we had seen all week. After three songs, the power went out. Some say because the generators ran out of gasoline, but others suspect because the Lord Above needed 15 minutes to gather his angels together so that they could witness the rock that was going down below.

The Nashville youth got back to their punk assault after the generators were attended to and the fury somehow was released at an even higher level with singer Jemina Pearl Abegg (bottom photo) writhing around the stage like a young girl who had far too much evil inside her that needed to get out. She humped the monitors, rolled around the stage, screamed and yelled as her band jumped around her.

She and her band exemplified the power and beauty and energy of punk rock and they did it in front of two legends, J Mascis and Thurston Moore (pictured at the top), who were not about to be shown up by anyone half their age.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau tries to write a short story every day. He's playing the Largo on March 20 with David Garza.

I took a drive. I stayed on Lavaca. There were some folks gathered around an ice cream stand. That’s something I haven’t had in a while. I pulled into the lot. I waited in line. I was far from downtown, but still close to the music. I ordered a Neapolitan. I made friends with a couple students from the university. The girl had a red nose from being in the sun and the guy was wearing a Texas Longhorns shirt. They were fans of Saul Williams.

I played a CD somebody made for me. “These are bands I think you’ll love!” The first song was by Ana Egge. I took Martin Luther King Boulevard to Lamar, which brought me past Duncan Park. The grass is starting to turn green, most of the trees are bare, but it sure feels like summertime. I don’t have any set direction.

I ran the AC on low. The sunroof was open. I learned a trick -- if you open the sunroof and roll down one of the back windows, it pulls air into the car. I have not removed my sunglasses since I arrived. I have crossed the train tracks. I feel like I am in another state. The scenery couldn’t be prettier. I am at Town Lake Metropolitan Park.

I bought a postcard. The front is a picture of Will Rogers, Oklahoma’s favorite son, sitting on a bench, smiling, holding a rope. He was a skilled roper, skilled enough to be in the Guinness Book of World Records. Will had Cherokee heritage. He died in a plane crash in Alaska. I have not addressed the postcard.

I have seen so many of the Yaris cars, all of them fuel-efficient Toyotas. At the 2007 SXSW, I had my picture taken with one of the gals from Yaris. She was very photogenic. She had a T-shirt that said "Ask Yaris." She gave me a book, "Perfect From Now On" by John Sellers.

I drove by the house where writer O. Henry (William Sydney Porter) used to live, which is now a museum. It’s pretty plain looking, really, a little Queen Anne with the shutters closed. It looks a little lonesome. There’s a black lamp post in the front yard. One of my favorite O. Henry quotes is “Hospitality in the prairie country is not limited. Even if your enemy passes your way, you must feed him before you shoot him.”

I stopped into Waterloo records. I wanted to know if they had any T-shirts. I bought one. I also bought a white book tote. I found the new Film School record, "Hideout." If I had my choice, I would play like Film School. I don’t, though, and there’s only one Film School.

Mary sent me a text: r u hungry? wan 2 gt sum food? Mony V. gave me a few recommendations. I met Mary at Woodlands.

“Jones, over here,” I waved.
“I made it!” she said. “My feet!”
“Lotta walking, huh?”
“You betcha! I had to buy Band-Aids for the blisters. I’m not complaining, though! It just feels good to sit down.”
“I was looking at the menu. The special is the pan-seared halibut.”

The waitress came over with some water, buns and butter.

“What can I start you off with?” she asked.
“I’ll have a Topo Chico,” I said.
“I’ll have a white wine,” Mary said.

It is dark. I’ve not packed for Los Angeles.

Wale (pronounced wah-lay), Kid Cudi and Blue Scholars, a set of performers all inspired by Kanye West in one way or another, were the highlights of SXSW and a sign that hip-hop is becoming a stronger force at  the festival. More than a little credit for that upswing goes to Matt Sonzala, SXSW's new hip-hop programmer, who told me that this year had more acts than ever.

Too bad that enthusiasm didn't extend to GZA's show. The legendary Wu-Tang Clan member gave a nostalgic performance at Stubb's Bar-B-Que on Saturday night that could be best described as tepid, with the exception of cuts he performed from his classic "Liquid Swords" album. The Wu-Tang faithful were there en masse, with raised "W" handsigns everywhere as GZA performed songs that begged participation from the entire Wu entourage.  Based on past experiences of seeing the nine-man outfit perform together, GZA desperately needed his crew to lift his performance off the ground.
It didn't help that GZA was preceded by the fresher and more nimble Wale, name-checked in Ann Power's review (read here). The D.C.-based rapper known for including the rapid bongo-beats of Washington-area go-go music recently signed to Interscope Records via Mark Ronson's label (another Ronson signee: a little English gal named Amy Winehouse). Wale encouraged his pal Cudi to perform a song. Cudi mouthed to him, "I don't know this song," so Wale, kind soul that he is, let him do a quick solo number (pictured above).

Wale's rhyme style reflects West and Lupe Fiasco. His thought-provoking, fashion-conscious lyrics contain a little bit of glitz but are grounded in his gritty roots. After bolting ontstage and performing his Internet-hyped song "Nike Boots," he greeted the Austin audience: "I just want y'all to know, I didn't vote for George Bush." Um, did anyone really think otherwise?

But the festival's biggest surprise was the Blue Scholars, a Seattle group making its first SXSW appearance. They've been the toast of Seattle's burgeoning hip-hop scene for the last few years, and for good reason.  Their politically conscious lyricism, delivered smoothly and eloquently by Geologic, features political protesters and soldiers returning home from war.  The group recalls the early days of hip-hop with one DJ and one MC. Check them out for yourself here.

-- post and photo by Camilo Smith

[The post-South by Southwest tsunami of bands is headed toward Los Angeles, beginning tonight. Here are quick first impressions of albums from two of them -- and, really, wouldn't we all want to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with a guy named Rocky O'Reilly?]

Neon Neon, "Stainless Style" (Tuesday, Lex Records): Out of the brine of this era's dancefloor vacuousness comes ... an electro concept album? Sleek disco, hip-hop lite, fuzzy guitar pop -- this collaboration between Super Furry Animals main man Gruff Rhys and L.A. electronic guru Boom Bip has a little bit of everything, including a story line: The album traces the life of auto magnate and hard-partyer John DeLorean. "Stainless Style" is more than just a vehicle for a single or two. Nice.

Oppenheimer, "Take the Whole Midrange and Boost It" (June 3, Bar/None Records): The sophomore release from Belfast, Northern Ireland, duo Shaun Robinson and Rocky O'Reilly walks a tightrope -- to one side bone-rattling squalor, to the other primary-colored pop. Subtract the fuzz, and the twee-pop nation would have another happy citizen. With it (and with guest touches like vocals by Matt Caughtran of L.A. punks the Bronx on "The Never Never"), the album has bite to go along with its catchy title.

||| Live: Neon Neon and Oppenheimer (along with Jim Noir and others) play tonight at the Viper Room. Neon Neon also makes a 6 p.m. appearance at Amoeba Music.

More highlights for Monday, March 17

Explosions in the Sky rock the Wiltern tonight. ... Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong join the bill for Voxhaul Broadcast's Spaceland residency. ... Jason Collett, who has another winner with his new album, "Here's to Being Here," headlines the Troubadour. ... At the Roxy, it's the tongue-twisting Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip, but far more interesting are the Fall-channeling supporting band These New Puritans. ... The Chapin Sisters' residency at the Echo features the album-release show for local quintet the Billionaires, whose "Really Real for Forever" (out April 1) offers nifty slices of boy-girl pop.

-- Kevin Bronson

Here's the video for These New Puritans' single, "Elvis" (album out Tuesday on Domino):

Multi-talented guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, left her job in A&R at Epic Records to produce and write Res' 2001 album, "How I Do." Watch the video for Santi's single "L.E.S. Artistes" here.

Today, I had back-to-back interviews for the first four hours of my day. The best of which was with my friend Mariel at a pond with turtles in it, the not worst but most eventful being with a guy from Holland who asked me a question that started out with, "Well, since you're black, most people would probably expect that you grew up poor in the lower class, listening to gangster rap." Hmmmmm ...

The day got fun, though, around 6 p.m., when it was time for my show at the Levi's/FADER Fort. That show was grrrrreeaaat!! All my friends were there, and its always such a treat to look out and see all of them having fun and moving to my songs like they haven't heard them a thousand times already. The audience was made up of true music fans who were there to party. They were dancing and singing along from the moment I walked onstage. It makes it so much easier when the crowd is there to have a good time. It's like a give-and-take -- we feed off each other's energy. I don't think of myself as an entertainer or a performer with great showmanship. I just like to sing my songs to people who want to hear them. And when its fun, its FUN, and the songs physically come to life. When it's not, well, I try to fake it the best I can. But I've always been a really bad liar.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau's 2007 album, "Grand Forks," revolves around the area's 1997 flood. Watch him here perform one of the album's best tracks, "Here Comes the Water."

My friend Chris Lindgren called. He lives in Denver now. I first began playing music at his club, the Westward Ho. The Ho was an entertainment complex, really the only one of its kind. They had comedy, sports and music, even conferences -- Ronald Reagan spoke at the Westward Ho. I saw Richard Buckner, Bo Diddley, Vic Chestnutt and Mitch Hedberg. Mitch and Chris were friends. Chris tour-managed Mitch Hedberg.

"Is this a travel day," he asked.
"No. I'm already here."
"There's a hotel, the Driskill. When Mitch would come in and do Austin we'd stay there. Stop in and have a drink for him."
"Maybe I will."
"It's historical. Mitch had this joke about hanging out on 5th Street- nothing really happens on 5th Street. All the action is on 6th Street."
"I was thinking about one of his jokes. Can you call them jokes?"
"More like one-liners. Which one?"
"'I took a bite of Swiss cheese and missed.'"

Mary and I drove to The Mean Eyed Cat for the Mojo magazine showcase. They had a long table of BBQ, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and, at the very end, iced tea. I never drink tea. There were fresh-cut lemons. I took a few and pinched them. I had a cut on my finger and felt the sting of the juice. I emptied a packet of sugar and stirred it around. We took a seat at a picnic table. I rolled my sleeves to get some sun.

There was a dog roaming around, a Pit Bull mix. He came to my side. I tasseled his ears. I always talk to animals. "Whatcha doin' kid?" I said. "You a good boy?" He was panting. His face was white, he had one black ear, and his body and belly was spotted. He looked up at me. His little eyelids were pink.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, used to front Stiffed, a ska-punk band.

Really, I'm not much of a blogger. I made a weak attempt at writing one last night at 2 a.m. but no haps. I was too tired to make any of the events of my day sound fun or interesting, when the truth was that I had worked my butt off and was beat.

Not that none of it was fun or interesting. It was. But obviously not that great cuz I don't have jack to say about it! But here's a recap anyway.

I did too many things in one day, so many that it seemed like three days wrapped into one. So I wore three different outfits to go with the illusion. I did a photoshoot for Converse, had smoothies for an interview called Drinks With Blender (for the magazine), caught my boyfriend's show, then had a show of my own at the Mad Decent/I Heart Comix showcase. For this show, I wore my favorite outfit of the day: a fluorescent pink one-piece jumpsuit with a boats and palm trees print that said Phuket all over it. The show was on the roof of a garage, I think. It was really sunny and the crowd was AMAZING! I loved them!

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Flatstock, a mini convention of rock art

In the bowels of the Austin Convention center, blocks away from the rock clubs and BBQs, lies a treasure trove of concert posters.

Flatstock showcases concert poster art, usually sold by the artists. Started by legendary artist and Austin native Frank Kozik and the American Poster Institute, the 2008 SXSW Flatstock is the 16th Flatstock convention since 2002. (Flatstock tours various cities, including Chicago, San Francisco and Denver.) Featuring dozens of artists, hundreds of amazing posters and classes in silk screening, Flatstock provides an opportunity for rock and art fans to buy, learn or just absorb killer poster art.

Some self-proclaimed SXSW experts advise that you shouldn't see established acts at the music festival. They argue that with 1,500+ bands you should take in the new talent, the unearthed gems, the kids who wanna rock. The problem with that argument is that if you simply see the new blood, you have no baseline to compare them with.

On Friday night, Thurston Moore's underground label Ecstatic Peace! held a showcase at the Mohawk Patio on Red River, and what a showcase it was. The punk rock battle royale of sorts started with a bang when Be Your Own Pet climbed onstage, asked the crowd if they were ready and proceeded to bring the noise like nothing we had seen all week. After three songs, the power went out. Some say because the generators ran out of gasoline, but others suspect because the Lord Above needed 15 minutes to gather his angels together so that they could witness the rock that was going down below.

The Nashville youth got back to their punk assault after the generators were attended to and the fury somehow was released at an even higher level with singer Jemina Pearl Abegg (bottom photo) writhing around the stage like a young girl who had far too much evil inside her that needed to get out. She humped the monitors, rolled around the stage, screamed and yelled as her band jumped around her.

She and her band exemplified the power and beauty and energy of punk rock and they did it in front of two legends, J Mascis and Thurston Moore (pictured at the top), who were not about to be shown up by anyone half their age.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau tries to write a short story every day. He's playing the Largo on March 20 with David Garza.

I took a drive. I stayed on Lavaca. There were some folks gathered around an ice cream stand. That’s something I haven’t had in a while. I pulled into the lot. I waited in line. I was far from downtown, but still close to the music. I ordered a Neapolitan. I made friends with a couple students from the university. The girl had a red nose from being in the sun and the guy was wearing a Texas Longhorns shirt. They were fans of Saul Williams.

I played a CD somebody made for me. “These are bands I think you’ll love!” The first song was by Ana Egge. I took Martin Luther King Boulevard to Lamar, which brought me past Duncan Park. The grass is starting to turn green, most of the trees are bare, but it sure feels like summertime. I don’t have any set direction.

I ran the AC on low. The sunroof was open. I learned a trick -- if you open the sunroof and roll down one of the back windows, it pulls air into the car. I have not removed my sunglasses since I arrived. I have crossed the train tracks. I feel like I am in another state. The scenery couldn’t be prettier. I am at Town Lake Metropolitan Park.

I bought a postcard. The front is a picture of Will Rogers, Oklahoma’s favorite son, sitting on a bench, smiling, holding a rope. He was a skilled roper, skilled enough to be in the Guinness Book of World Records. Will had Cherokee heritage. He died in a plane crash in Alaska. I have not addressed the postcard.

I have seen so many of the Yaris cars, all of them fuel-efficient Toyotas. At the 2007 SXSW, I had my picture taken with one of the gals from Yaris. She was very photogenic. She had a T-shirt that said "Ask Yaris." She gave me a book, "Perfect From Now On" by John Sellers.

I drove by the house where writer O. Henry (William Sydney Porter) used to live, which is now a museum. It’s pretty plain looking, really, a little Queen Anne with the shutters closed. It looks a little lonesome. There’s a black lamp post in the front yard. One of my favorite O. Henry quotes is “Hospitality in the prairie country is not limited. Even if your enemy passes your way, you must feed him before you shoot him.”

I stopped into Waterloo records. I wanted to know if they had any T-shirts. I bought one. I also bought a white book tote. I found the new Film School record, "Hideout." If I had my choice, I would play like Film School. I don’t, though, and there’s only one Film School.

Mary sent me a text: r u hungry? wan 2 gt sum food? Mony V. gave me a few recommendations. I met Mary at Woodlands.

“Jones, over here,” I waved.
“I made it!” she said. “My feet!”
“Lotta walking, huh?”
“You betcha! I had to buy Band-Aids for the blisters. I’m not complaining, though! It just feels good to sit down.”
“I was looking at the menu. The special is the pan-seared halibut.”

The waitress came over with some water, buns and butter.

“What can I start you off with?” she asked.
“I’ll have a Topo Chico,” I said.
“I’ll have a white wine,” Mary said.

It is dark. I’ve not packed for Los Angeles.

Wale (pronounced wah-lay), Kid Cudi and Blue Scholars, a set of performers all inspired by Kanye West in one way or another, were the highlights of SXSW and a sign that hip-hop is becoming a stronger force at  the festival. More than a little credit for that upswing goes to Matt Sonzala, SXSW's new hip-hop programmer, who told me that this year had more acts than ever.

Too bad that enthusiasm didn't extend to GZA's show. The legendary Wu-Tang Clan member gave a nostalgic performance at Stubb's Bar-B-Que on Saturday night that could be best described as tepid, with the exception of cuts he performed from his classic "Liquid Swords" album. The Wu-Tang faithful were there en masse, with raised "W" handsigns everywhere as GZA performed songs that begged participation from the entire Wu entourage.  Based on past experiences of seeing the nine-man outfit perform together, GZA desperately needed his crew to lift his performance off the ground.
It didn't help that GZA was preceded by the fresher and more nimble Wale, name-checked in Ann Power's review (read here). The D.C.-based rapper known for including the rapid bongo-beats of Washington-area go-go music recently signed to Interscope Records via Mark Ronson's label (another Ronson signee: a little English gal named Amy Winehouse). Wale encouraged his pal Cudi to perform a song. Cudi mouthed to him, "I don't know this song," so Wale, kind soul that he is, let him do a quick solo number (pictured above).

Wale's rhyme style reflects West and Lupe Fiasco. His thought-provoking, fashion-conscious lyrics contain a little bit of glitz but are grounded in his gritty roots. After bolting ontstage and performing his Internet-hyped song "Nike Boots," he greeted the Austin audience: "I just want y'all to know, I didn't vote for George Bush." Um, did anyone really think otherwise?

But the festival's biggest surprise was the Blue Scholars, a Seattle group making its first SXSW appearance. They've been the toast of Seattle's burgeoning hip-hop scene for the last few years, and for good reason.  Their politically conscious lyricism, delivered smoothly and eloquently by Geologic, features political protesters and soldiers returning home from war.  The group recalls the early days of hip-hop with one DJ and one MC. Check them out for yourself here.

-- post and photo by Camilo Smith

[The post-South by Southwest tsunami of bands is headed toward Los Angeles, beginning tonight. Here are quick first impressions of albums from two of them -- and, really, wouldn't we all want to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with a guy named Rocky O'Reilly?]

Neon Neon, "Stainless Style" (Tuesday, Lex Records): Out of the brine of this era's dancefloor vacuousness comes ... an electro concept album? Sleek disco, hip-hop lite, fuzzy guitar pop -- this collaboration between Super Furry Animals main man Gruff Rhys and L.A. electronic guru Boom Bip has a little bit of everything, including a story line: The album traces the life of auto magnate and hard-partyer John DeLorean. "Stainless Style" is more than just a vehicle for a single or two. Nice.

Oppenheimer, "Take the Whole Midrange and Boost It" (June 3, Bar/None Records): The sophomore release from Belfast, Northern Ireland, duo Shaun Robinson and Rocky O'Reilly walks a tightrope -- to one side bone-rattling squalor, to the other primary-colored pop. Subtract the fuzz, and the twee-pop nation would have another happy citizen. With it (and with guest touches like vocals by Matt Caughtran of L.A. punks the Bronx on "The Never Never"), the album has bite to go along with its catchy title.

||| Live: Neon Neon and Oppenheimer (along with Jim Noir and others) play tonight at the Viper Room. Neon Neon also makes a 6 p.m. appearance at Amoeba Music.

More highlights for Monday, March 17

Explosions in the Sky rock the Wiltern tonight. ... Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong join the bill for Voxhaul Broadcast's Spaceland residency. ... Jason Collett, who has another winner with his new album, "Here's to Being Here," headlines the Troubadour. ... At the Roxy, it's the tongue-twisting Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip, but far more interesting are the Fall-channeling supporting band These New Puritans. ... The Chapin Sisters' residency at the Echo features the album-release show for local quintet the Billionaires, whose "Really Real for Forever" (out April 1) offers nifty slices of boy-girl pop.

-- Kevin Bronson

Here's the video for These New Puritans' single, "Elvis" (album out Tuesday on Domino):

Multi-talented guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, left her job in A&R at Epic Records to produce and write Res' 2001 album, "How I Do." Watch the video for Santi's single "L.E.S. Artistes" here.

Today, I had back-to-back interviews for the first four hours of my day. The best of which was with my friend Mariel at a pond with turtles in it, the not worst but most eventful being with a guy from Holland who asked me a question that started out with, "Well, since you're black, most people would probably expect that you grew up poor in the lower class, listening to gangster rap." Hmmmmm ...

The day got fun, though, around 6 p.m., when it was time for my show at the Levi's/FADER Fort. That show was grrrrreeaaat!! All my friends were there, and its always such a treat to look out and see all of them having fun and moving to my songs like they haven't heard them a thousand times already. The audience was made up of true music fans who were there to party. They were dancing and singing along from the moment I walked onstage. It makes it so much easier when the crowd is there to have a good time. It's like a give-and-take -- we feed off each other's energy. I don't think of myself as an entertainer or a performer with great showmanship. I just like to sing my songs to people who want to hear them. And when its fun, its FUN, and the songs physically come to life. When it's not, well, I try to fake it the best I can. But I've always been a really bad liar.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau's 2007 album, "Grand Forks," revolves around the area's 1997 flood. Watch him here perform one of the album's best tracks, "Here Comes the Water."

My friend Chris Lindgren called. He lives in Denver now. I first began playing music at his club, the Westward Ho. The Ho was an entertainment complex, really the only one of its kind. They had comedy, sports and music, even conferences -- Ronald Reagan spoke at the Westward Ho. I saw Richard Buckner, Bo Diddley, Vic Chestnutt and Mitch Hedberg. Mitch and Chris were friends. Chris tour-managed Mitch Hedberg.

"Is this a travel day," he asked.
"No. I'm already here."
"There's a hotel, the Driskill. When Mitch would come in and do Austin we'd stay there. Stop in and have a drink for him."
"Maybe I will."
"It's historical. Mitch had this joke about hanging out on 5th Street- nothing really happens on 5th Street. All the action is on 6th Street."
"I was thinking about one of his jokes. Can you call them jokes?"
"More like one-liners. Which one?"
"'I took a bite of Swiss cheese and missed.'"

Mary and I drove to The Mean Eyed Cat for the Mojo magazine showcase. They had a long table of BBQ, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and, at the very end, iced tea. I never drink tea. There were fresh-cut lemons. I took a few and pinched them. I had a cut on my finger and felt the sting of the juice. I emptied a packet of sugar and stirred it around. We took a seat at a picnic table. I rolled my sleeves to get some sun.

There was a dog roaming around, a Pit Bull mix. He came to my side. I tasseled his ears. I always talk to animals. "Whatcha doin' kid?" I said. "You a good boy?" He was panting. His face was white, he had one black ear, and his body and belly was spotted. He looked up at me. His little eyelids were pink.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, used to front Stiffed, a ska-punk band.

Really, I'm not much of a blogger. I made a weak attempt at writing one last night at 2 a.m. but no haps. I was too tired to make any of the events of my day sound fun or interesting, when the truth was that I had worked my butt off and was beat.

Not that none of it was fun or interesting. It was. But obviously not that great cuz I don't have jack to say about it! But here's a recap anyway.

I did too many things in one day, so many that it seemed like three days wrapped into one. So I wore three different outfits to go with the illusion. I did a photoshoot for Converse, had smoothies for an interview called Drinks With Blender (for the magazine), caught my boyfriend's show, then had a show of my own at the Mad Decent/I Heart Comix showcase. For this show, I wore my favorite outfit of the day: a fluorescent pink one-piece jumpsuit with a boats and palm trees print that said Phuket all over it. The show was on the roof of a garage, I think. It was really sunny and the crowd was AMAZING! I loved them!

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Battle of the punk wits with Be Your Own Pet, J Mascis and Thurston Moore

Some self-proclaimed SXSW experts advise that you shouldn't see established acts at the music festival. They argue that with 1,500+ bands you should take in the new talent, the unearthed gems, the kids who wanna rock. The problem with that argument is that if you simply see the new blood, you have no baseline to compare them with.

On Friday night, Thurston Moore's underground label Ecstatic Peace! held a showcase at the Mohawk Patio on Red River, and what a showcase it was. The punk rock battle royale of sorts started with a bang when Be Your Own Pet climbed onstage, asked the crowd if they were ready and proceeded to bring the noise like nothing we had seen all week. After three songs, the power went out. Some say because the generators ran out of gasoline, but others suspect because the Lord Above needed 15 minutes to gather his angels together so that they could witness the rock that was going down below.

The Nashville youth got back to their punk assault after the generators were attended to and the fury somehow was released at an even higher level with singer Jemina Pearl Abegg (bottom photo) writhing around the stage like a young girl who had far too much evil inside her that needed to get out. She humped the monitors, rolled around the stage, screamed and yelled as her band jumped around her.

She and her band exemplified the power and beauty and energy of punk rock and they did it in front of two legends, J Mascis and Thurston Moore (pictured at the top), who were not about to be shown up by anyone half their age.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau tries to write a short story every day. He's playing the Largo on March 20 with David Garza.

I took a drive. I stayed on Lavaca. There were some folks gathered around an ice cream stand. That’s something I haven’t had in a while. I pulled into the lot. I waited in line. I was far from downtown, but still close to the music. I ordered a Neapolitan. I made friends with a couple students from the university. The girl had a red nose from being in the sun and the guy was wearing a Texas Longhorns shirt. They were fans of Saul Williams.

I played a CD somebody made for me. “These are bands I think you’ll love!” The first song was by Ana Egge. I took Martin Luther King Boulevard to Lamar, which brought me past Duncan Park. The grass is starting to turn green, most of the trees are bare, but it sure feels like summertime. I don’t have any set direction.

I ran the AC on low. The sunroof was open. I learned a trick -- if you open the sunroof and roll down one of the back windows, it pulls air into the car. I have not removed my sunglasses since I arrived. I have crossed the train tracks. I feel like I am in another state. The scenery couldn’t be prettier. I am at Town Lake Metropolitan Park.

I bought a postcard. The front is a picture of Will Rogers, Oklahoma’s favorite son, sitting on a bench, smiling, holding a rope. He was a skilled roper, skilled enough to be in the Guinness Book of World Records. Will had Cherokee heritage. He died in a plane crash in Alaska. I have not addressed the postcard.

I have seen so many of the Yaris cars, all of them fuel-efficient Toyotas. At the 2007 SXSW, I had my picture taken with one of the gals from Yaris. She was very photogenic. She had a T-shirt that said "Ask Yaris." She gave me a book, "Perfect From Now On" by John Sellers.

I drove by the house where writer O. Henry (William Sydney Porter) used to live, which is now a museum. It’s pretty plain looking, really, a little Queen Anne with the shutters closed. It looks a little lonesome. There’s a black lamp post in the front yard. One of my favorite O. Henry quotes is “Hospitality in the prairie country is not limited. Even if your enemy passes your way, you must feed him before you shoot him.”

I stopped into Waterloo records. I wanted to know if they had any T-shirts. I bought one. I also bought a white book tote. I found the new Film School record, "Hideout." If I had my choice, I would play like Film School. I don’t, though, and there’s only one Film School.

Mary sent me a text: r u hungry? wan 2 gt sum food? Mony V. gave me a few recommendations. I met Mary at Woodlands.

“Jones, over here,” I waved.
“I made it!” she said. “My feet!”
“Lotta walking, huh?”
“You betcha! I had to buy Band-Aids for the blisters. I’m not complaining, though! It just feels good to sit down.”
“I was looking at the menu. The special is the pan-seared halibut.”

The waitress came over with some water, buns and butter.

“What can I start you off with?” she asked.
“I’ll have a Topo Chico,” I said.
“I’ll have a white wine,” Mary said.

It is dark. I’ve not packed for Los Angeles.

Wale (pronounced wah-lay), Kid Cudi and Blue Scholars, a set of performers all inspired by Kanye West in one way or another, were the highlights of SXSW and a sign that hip-hop is becoming a stronger force at  the festival. More than a little credit for that upswing goes to Matt Sonzala, SXSW's new hip-hop programmer, who told me that this year had more acts than ever.

Too bad that enthusiasm didn't extend to GZA's show. The legendary Wu-Tang Clan member gave a nostalgic performance at Stubb's Bar-B-Que on Saturday night that could be best described as tepid, with the exception of cuts he performed from his classic "Liquid Swords" album. The Wu-Tang faithful were there en masse, with raised "W" handsigns everywhere as GZA performed songs that begged participation from the entire Wu entourage.  Based on past experiences of seeing the nine-man outfit perform together, GZA desperately needed his crew to lift his performance off the ground.
It didn't help that GZA was preceded by the fresher and more nimble Wale, name-checked in Ann Power's review (read here). The D.C.-based rapper known for including the rapid bongo-beats of Washington-area go-go music recently signed to Interscope Records via Mark Ronson's label (another Ronson signee: a little English gal named Amy Winehouse). Wale encouraged his pal Cudi to perform a song. Cudi mouthed to him, "I don't know this song," so Wale, kind soul that he is, let him do a quick solo number (pictured above).

Wale's rhyme style reflects West and Lupe Fiasco. His thought-provoking, fashion-conscious lyrics contain a little bit of glitz but are grounded in his gritty roots. After bolting ontstage and performing his Internet-hyped song "Nike Boots," he greeted the Austin audience: "I just want y'all to know, I didn't vote for George Bush." Um, did anyone really think otherwise?

But the festival's biggest surprise was the Blue Scholars, a Seattle group making its first SXSW appearance. They've been the toast of Seattle's burgeoning hip-hop scene for the last few years, and for good reason.  Their politically conscious lyricism, delivered smoothly and eloquently by Geologic, features political protesters and soldiers returning home from war.  The group recalls the early days of hip-hop with one DJ and one MC. Check them out for yourself here.

-- post and photo by Camilo Smith

[The post-South by Southwest tsunami of bands is headed toward Los Angeles, beginning tonight. Here are quick first impressions of albums from two of them -- and, really, wouldn't we all want to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with a guy named Rocky O'Reilly?]

Neon Neon, "Stainless Style" (Tuesday, Lex Records): Out of the brine of this era's dancefloor vacuousness comes ... an electro concept album? Sleek disco, hip-hop lite, fuzzy guitar pop -- this collaboration between Super Furry Animals main man Gruff Rhys and L.A. electronic guru Boom Bip has a little bit of everything, including a story line: The album traces the life of auto magnate and hard-partyer John DeLorean. "Stainless Style" is more than just a vehicle for a single or two. Nice.

Oppenheimer, "Take the Whole Midrange and Boost It" (June 3, Bar/None Records): The sophomore release from Belfast, Northern Ireland, duo Shaun Robinson and Rocky O'Reilly walks a tightrope -- to one side bone-rattling squalor, to the other primary-colored pop. Subtract the fuzz, and the twee-pop nation would have another happy citizen. With it (and with guest touches like vocals by Matt Caughtran of L.A. punks the Bronx on "The Never Never"), the album has bite to go along with its catchy title.

||| Live: Neon Neon and Oppenheimer (along with Jim Noir and others) play tonight at the Viper Room. Neon Neon also makes a 6 p.m. appearance at Amoeba Music.

More highlights for Monday, March 17

Explosions in the Sky rock the Wiltern tonight. ... Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong join the bill for Voxhaul Broadcast's Spaceland residency. ... Jason Collett, who has another winner with his new album, "Here's to Being Here," headlines the Troubadour. ... At the Roxy, it's the tongue-twisting Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip, but far more interesting are the Fall-channeling supporting band These New Puritans. ... The Chapin Sisters' residency at the Echo features the album-release show for local quintet the Billionaires, whose "Really Real for Forever" (out April 1) offers nifty slices of boy-girl pop.

-- Kevin Bronson

Here's the video for These New Puritans' single, "Elvis" (album out Tuesday on Domino):

Multi-talented guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, left her job in A&R at Epic Records to produce and write Res' 2001 album, "How I Do." Watch the video for Santi's single "L.E.S. Artistes" here.

Today, I had back-to-back interviews for the first four hours of my day. The best of which was with my friend Mariel at a pond with turtles in it, the not worst but most eventful being with a guy from Holland who asked me a question that started out with, "Well, since you're black, most people would probably expect that you grew up poor in the lower class, listening to gangster rap." Hmmmmm ...

The day got fun, though, around 6 p.m., when it was time for my show at the Levi's/FADER Fort. That show was grrrrreeaaat!! All my friends were there, and its always such a treat to look out and see all of them having fun and moving to my songs like they haven't heard them a thousand times already. The audience was made up of true music fans who were there to party. They were dancing and singing along from the moment I walked onstage. It makes it so much easier when the crowd is there to have a good time. It's like a give-and-take -- we feed off each other's energy. I don't think of myself as an entertainer or a performer with great showmanship. I just like to sing my songs to people who want to hear them. And when its fun, its FUN, and the songs physically come to life. When it's not, well, I try to fake it the best I can. But I've always been a really bad liar.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau's 2007 album, "Grand Forks," revolves around the area's 1997 flood. Watch him here perform one of the album's best tracks, "Here Comes the Water."

My friend Chris Lindgren called. He lives in Denver now. I first began playing music at his club, the Westward Ho. The Ho was an entertainment complex, really the only one of its kind. They had comedy, sports and music, even conferences -- Ronald Reagan spoke at the Westward Ho. I saw Richard Buckner, Bo Diddley, Vic Chestnutt and Mitch Hedberg. Mitch and Chris were friends. Chris tour-managed Mitch Hedberg.

"Is this a travel day," he asked.
"No. I'm already here."
"There's a hotel, the Driskill. When Mitch would come in and do Austin we'd stay there. Stop in and have a drink for him."
"Maybe I will."
"It's historical. Mitch had this joke about hanging out on 5th Street- nothing really happens on 5th Street. All the action is on 6th Street."
"I was thinking about one of his jokes. Can you call them jokes?"
"More like one-liners. Which one?"
"'I took a bite of Swiss cheese and missed.'"

Mary and I drove to The Mean Eyed Cat for the Mojo magazine showcase. They had a long table of BBQ, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and, at the very end, iced tea. I never drink tea. There were fresh-cut lemons. I took a few and pinched them. I had a cut on my finger and felt the sting of the juice. I emptied a packet of sugar and stirred it around. We took a seat at a picnic table. I rolled my sleeves to get some sun.

There was a dog roaming around, a Pit Bull mix. He came to my side. I tasseled his ears. I always talk to animals. "Whatcha doin' kid?" I said. "You a good boy?" He was panting. His face was white, he had one black ear, and his body and belly was spotted. He looked up at me. His little eyelids were pink.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, used to front Stiffed, a ska-punk band.

Really, I'm not much of a blogger. I made a weak attempt at writing one last night at 2 a.m. but no haps. I was too tired to make any of the events of my day sound fun or interesting, when the truth was that I had worked my butt off and was beat.

Not that none of it was fun or interesting. It was. But obviously not that great cuz I don't have jack to say about it! But here's a recap anyway.

I did too many things in one day, so many that it seemed like three days wrapped into one. So I wore three different outfits to go with the illusion. I did a photoshoot for Converse, had smoothies for an interview called Drinks With Blender (for the magazine), caught my boyfriend's show, then had a show of my own at the Mad Decent/I Heart Comix showcase. For this show, I wore my favorite outfit of the day: a fluorescent pink one-piece jumpsuit with a boats and palm trees print that said Phuket all over it. The show was on the roof of a garage, I think. It was really sunny and the crowd was AMAZING! I loved them!

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Tom Brosseau’s final hours in Austin

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau tries to write a short story every day. He's playing the Largo on March 20 with David Garza.

I took a drive. I stayed on Lavaca. There were some folks gathered around an ice cream stand. That’s something I haven’t had in a while. I pulled into the lot. I waited in line. I was far from downtown, but still close to the music. I ordered a Neapolitan. I made friends with a couple students from the university. The girl had a red nose from being in the sun and the guy was wearing a Texas Longhorns shirt. They were fans of Saul Williams.

I played a CD somebody made for me. “These are bands I think you’ll love!” The first song was by Ana Egge. I took Martin Luther King Boulevard to Lamar, which brought me past Duncan Park. The grass is starting to turn green, most of the trees are bare, but it sure feels like summertime. I don’t have any set direction.

I ran the AC on low. The sunroof was open. I learned a trick -- if you open the sunroof and roll down one of the back windows, it pulls air into the car. I have not removed my sunglasses since I arrived. I have crossed the train tracks. I feel like I am in another state. The scenery couldn’t be prettier. I am at Town Lake Metropolitan Park.

I bought a postcard. The front is a picture of Will Rogers, Oklahoma’s favorite son, sitting on a bench, smiling, holding a rope. He was a skilled roper, skilled enough to be in the Guinness Book of World Records. Will had Cherokee heritage. He died in a plane crash in Alaska. I have not addressed the postcard.

I have seen so many of the Yaris cars, all of them fuel-efficient Toyotas. At the 2007 SXSW, I had my picture taken with one of the gals from Yaris. She was very photogenic. She had a T-shirt that said "Ask Yaris." She gave me a book, "Perfect From Now On" by John Sellers.

I drove by the house where writer O. Henry (William Sydney Porter) used to live, which is now a museum. It’s pretty plain looking, really, a little Queen Anne with the shutters closed. It looks a little lonesome. There’s a black lamp post in the front yard. One of my favorite O. Henry quotes is “Hospitality in the prairie country is not limited. Even if your enemy passes your way, you must feed him before you shoot him.”

I stopped into Waterloo records. I wanted to know if they had any T-shirts. I bought one. I also bought a white book tote. I found the new Film School record, "Hideout." If I had my choice, I would play like Film School. I don’t, though, and there’s only one Film School.

Mary sent me a text: r u hungry? wan 2 gt sum food? Mony V. gave me a few recommendations. I met Mary at Woodlands.

“Jones, over here,” I waved.
“I made it!” she said. “My feet!”
“Lotta walking, huh?”
“You betcha! I had to buy Band-Aids for the blisters. I’m not complaining, though! It just feels good to sit down.”
“I was looking at the menu. The special is the pan-seared halibut.”

The waitress came over with some water, buns and butter.

“What can I start you off with?” she asked.
“I’ll have a Topo Chico,” I said.
“I’ll have a white wine,” Mary said.

It is dark. I’ve not packed for Los Angeles.

Wale (pronounced wah-lay), Kid Cudi and Blue Scholars, a set of performers all inspired by Kanye West in one way or another, were the highlights of SXSW and a sign that hip-hop is becoming a stronger force at  the festival. More than a little credit for that upswing goes to Matt Sonzala, SXSW's new hip-hop programmer, who told me that this year had more acts than ever.

Too bad that enthusiasm didn't extend to GZA's show. The legendary Wu-Tang Clan member gave a nostalgic performance at Stubb's Bar-B-Que on Saturday night that could be best described as tepid, with the exception of cuts he performed from his classic "Liquid Swords" album. The Wu-Tang faithful were there en masse, with raised "W" handsigns everywhere as GZA performed songs that begged participation from the entire Wu entourage.  Based on past experiences of seeing the nine-man outfit perform together, GZA desperately needed his crew to lift his performance off the ground.
It didn't help that GZA was preceded by the fresher and more nimble Wale, name-checked in Ann Power's review (read here). The D.C.-based rapper known for including the rapid bongo-beats of Washington-area go-go music recently signed to Interscope Records via Mark Ronson's label (another Ronson signee: a little English gal named Amy Winehouse). Wale encouraged his pal Cudi to perform a song. Cudi mouthed to him, "I don't know this song," so Wale, kind soul that he is, let him do a quick solo number (pictured above).

Wale's rhyme style reflects West and Lupe Fiasco. His thought-provoking, fashion-conscious lyrics contain a little bit of glitz but are grounded in his gritty roots. After bolting ontstage and performing his Internet-hyped song "Nike Boots," he greeted the Austin audience: "I just want y'all to know, I didn't vote for George Bush." Um, did anyone really think otherwise?

But the festival's biggest surprise was the Blue Scholars, a Seattle group making its first SXSW appearance. They've been the toast of Seattle's burgeoning hip-hop scene for the last few years, and for good reason.  Their politically conscious lyricism, delivered smoothly and eloquently by Geologic, features political protesters and soldiers returning home from war.  The group recalls the early days of hip-hop with one DJ and one MC. Check them out for yourself here.

-- post and photo by Camilo Smith

[The post-South by Southwest tsunami of bands is headed toward Los Angeles, beginning tonight. Here are quick first impressions of albums from two of them -- and, really, wouldn't we all want to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with a guy named Rocky O'Reilly?]

Neon Neon, "Stainless Style" (Tuesday, Lex Records): Out of the brine of this era's dancefloor vacuousness comes ... an electro concept album? Sleek disco, hip-hop lite, fuzzy guitar pop -- this collaboration between Super Furry Animals main man Gruff Rhys and L.A. electronic guru Boom Bip has a little bit of everything, including a story line: The album traces the life of auto magnate and hard-partyer John DeLorean. "Stainless Style" is more than just a vehicle for a single or two. Nice.

Oppenheimer, "Take the Whole Midrange and Boost It" (June 3, Bar/None Records): The sophomore release from Belfast, Northern Ireland, duo Shaun Robinson and Rocky O'Reilly walks a tightrope -- to one side bone-rattling squalor, to the other primary-colored pop. Subtract the fuzz, and the twee-pop nation would have another happy citizen. With it (and with guest touches like vocals by Matt Caughtran of L.A. punks the Bronx on "The Never Never"), the album has bite to go along with its catchy title.

||| Live: Neon Neon and Oppenheimer (along with Jim Noir and others) play tonight at the Viper Room. Neon Neon also makes a 6 p.m. appearance at Amoeba Music.

More highlights for Monday, March 17

Explosions in the Sky rock the Wiltern tonight. ... Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong join the bill for Voxhaul Broadcast's Spaceland residency. ... Jason Collett, who has another winner with his new album, "Here's to Being Here," headlines the Troubadour. ... At the Roxy, it's the tongue-twisting Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip, but far more interesting are the Fall-channeling supporting band These New Puritans. ... The Chapin Sisters' residency at the Echo features the album-release show for local quintet the Billionaires, whose "Really Real for Forever" (out April 1) offers nifty slices of boy-girl pop.

-- Kevin Bronson

Here's the video for These New Puritans' single, "Elvis" (album out Tuesday on Domino):

Multi-talented guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, left her job in A&R at Epic Records to produce and write Res' 2001 album, "How I Do." Watch the video for Santi's single "L.E.S. Artistes" here.

Today, I had back-to-back interviews for the first four hours of my day. The best of which was with my friend Mariel at a pond with turtles in it, the not worst but most eventful being with a guy from Holland who asked me a question that started out with, "Well, since you're black, most people would probably expect that you grew up poor in the lower class, listening to gangster rap." Hmmmmm ...

The day got fun, though, around 6 p.m., when it was time for my show at the Levi's/FADER Fort. That show was grrrrreeaaat!! All my friends were there, and its always such a treat to look out and see all of them having fun and moving to my songs like they haven't heard them a thousand times already. The audience was made up of true music fans who were there to party. They were dancing and singing along from the moment I walked onstage. It makes it so much easier when the crowd is there to have a good time. It's like a give-and-take -- we feed off each other's energy. I don't think of myself as an entertainer or a performer with great showmanship. I just like to sing my songs to people who want to hear them. And when its fun, its FUN, and the songs physically come to life. When it's not, well, I try to fake it the best I can. But I've always been a really bad liar.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau's 2007 album, "Grand Forks," revolves around the area's 1997 flood. Watch him here perform one of the album's best tracks, "Here Comes the Water."

My friend Chris Lindgren called. He lives in Denver now. I first began playing music at his club, the Westward Ho. The Ho was an entertainment complex, really the only one of its kind. They had comedy, sports and music, even conferences -- Ronald Reagan spoke at the Westward Ho. I saw Richard Buckner, Bo Diddley, Vic Chestnutt and Mitch Hedberg. Mitch and Chris were friends. Chris tour-managed Mitch Hedberg.

"Is this a travel day," he asked.
"No. I'm already here."
"There's a hotel, the Driskill. When Mitch would come in and do Austin we'd stay there. Stop in and have a drink for him."
"Maybe I will."
"It's historical. Mitch had this joke about hanging out on 5th Street- nothing really happens on 5th Street. All the action is on 6th Street."
"I was thinking about one of his jokes. Can you call them jokes?"
"More like one-liners. Which one?"
"'I took a bite of Swiss cheese and missed.'"

Mary and I drove to The Mean Eyed Cat for the Mojo magazine showcase. They had a long table of BBQ, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and, at the very end, iced tea. I never drink tea. There were fresh-cut lemons. I took a few and pinched them. I had a cut on my finger and felt the sting of the juice. I emptied a packet of sugar and stirred it around. We took a seat at a picnic table. I rolled my sleeves to get some sun.

There was a dog roaming around, a Pit Bull mix. He came to my side. I tasseled his ears. I always talk to animals. "Whatcha doin' kid?" I said. "You a good boy?" He was panting. His face was white, he had one black ear, and his body and belly was spotted. He looked up at me. His little eyelids were pink.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, used to front Stiffed, a ska-punk band.

Really, I'm not much of a blogger. I made a weak attempt at writing one last night at 2 a.m. but no haps. I was too tired to make any of the events of my day sound fun or interesting, when the truth was that I had worked my butt off and was beat.

Not that none of it was fun or interesting. It was. But obviously not that great cuz I don't have jack to say about it! But here's a recap anyway.

I did too many things in one day, so many that it seemed like three days wrapped into one. So I wore three different outfits to go with the illusion. I did a photoshoot for Converse, had smoothies for an interview called Drinks With Blender (for the magazine), caught my boyfriend's show, then had a show of my own at the Mad Decent/I Heart Comix showcase. For this show, I wore my favorite outfit of the day: a fluorescent pink one-piece jumpsuit with a boats and palm trees print that said Phuket all over it. The show was on the roof of a garage, I think. It was really sunny and the crowd was AMAZING! I loved them!

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Discoveries and disappointments in hip-hop

Wale (pronounced wah-lay), Kid Cudi and Blue Scholars, a set of performers all inspired by Kanye West in one way or another, were the highlights of SXSW and a sign that hip-hop is becoming a stronger force at  the festival. More than a little credit for that upswing goes to Matt Sonzala, SXSW's new hip-hop programmer, who told me that this year had more acts than ever.

Too bad that enthusiasm didn't extend to GZA's show. The legendary Wu-Tang Clan member gave a nostalgic performance at Stubb's Bar-B-Que on Saturday night that could be best described as tepid, with the exception of cuts he performed from his classic "Liquid Swords" album. The Wu-Tang faithful were there en masse, with raised "W" handsigns everywhere as GZA performed songs that begged participation from the entire Wu entourage.  Based on past experiences of seeing the nine-man outfit perform together, GZA desperately needed his crew to lift his performance off the ground.
It didn't help that GZA was preceded by the fresher and more nimble Wale, name-checked in Ann Power's review (read here). The D.C.-based rapper known for including the rapid bongo-beats of Washington-area go-go music recently signed to Interscope Records via Mark Ronson's label (another Ronson signee: a little English gal named Amy Winehouse). Wale encouraged his pal Cudi to perform a song. Cudi mouthed to him, "I don't know this song," so Wale, kind soul that he is, let him do a quick solo number (pictured above).

Wale's rhyme style reflects West and Lupe Fiasco. His thought-provoking, fashion-conscious lyrics contain a little bit of glitz but are grounded in his gritty roots. After bolting ontstage and performing his Internet-hyped song "Nike Boots," he greeted the Austin audience: "I just want y'all to know, I didn't vote for George Bush." Um, did anyone really think otherwise?

But the festival's biggest surprise was the Blue Scholars, a Seattle group making its first SXSW appearance. They've been the toast of Seattle's burgeoning hip-hop scene for the last few years, and for good reason.  Their politically conscious lyricism, delivered smoothly and eloquently by Geologic, features political protesters and soldiers returning home from war.  The group recalls the early days of hip-hop with one DJ and one MC. Check them out for yourself here.

-- post and photo by Camilo Smith

[The post-South by Southwest tsunami of bands is headed toward Los Angeles, beginning tonight. Here are quick first impressions of albums from two of them -- and, really, wouldn't we all want to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with a guy named Rocky O'Reilly?]

Neon Neon, "Stainless Style" (Tuesday, Lex Records): Out of the brine of this era's dancefloor vacuousness comes ... an electro concept album? Sleek disco, hip-hop lite, fuzzy guitar pop -- this collaboration between Super Furry Animals main man Gruff Rhys and L.A. electronic guru Boom Bip has a little bit of everything, including a story line: The album traces the life of auto magnate and hard-partyer John DeLorean. "Stainless Style" is more than just a vehicle for a single or two. Nice.

Oppenheimer, "Take the Whole Midrange and Boost It" (June 3, Bar/None Records): The sophomore release from Belfast, Northern Ireland, duo Shaun Robinson and Rocky O'Reilly walks a tightrope -- to one side bone-rattling squalor, to the other primary-colored pop. Subtract the fuzz, and the twee-pop nation would have another happy citizen. With it (and with guest touches like vocals by Matt Caughtran of L.A. punks the Bronx on "The Never Never"), the album has bite to go along with its catchy title.

||| Live: Neon Neon and Oppenheimer (along with Jim Noir and others) play tonight at the Viper Room. Neon Neon also makes a 6 p.m. appearance at Amoeba Music.

More highlights for Monday, March 17

Explosions in the Sky rock the Wiltern tonight. ... Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong join the bill for Voxhaul Broadcast's Spaceland residency. ... Jason Collett, who has another winner with his new album, "Here's to Being Here," headlines the Troubadour. ... At the Roxy, it's the tongue-twisting Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip, but far more interesting are the Fall-channeling supporting band These New Puritans. ... The Chapin Sisters' residency at the Echo features the album-release show for local quintet the Billionaires, whose "Really Real for Forever" (out April 1) offers nifty slices of boy-girl pop.

-- Kevin Bronson

Here's the video for These New Puritans' single, "Elvis" (album out Tuesday on Domino):

Multi-talented guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, left her job in A&R at Epic Records to produce and write Res' 2001 album, "How I Do." Watch the video for Santi's single "L.E.S. Artistes" here.

Today, I had back-to-back interviews for the first four hours of my day. The best of which was with my friend Mariel at a pond with turtles in it, the not worst but most eventful being with a guy from Holland who asked me a question that started out with, "Well, since you're black, most people would probably expect that you grew up poor in the lower class, listening to gangster rap." Hmmmmm ...

The day got fun, though, around 6 p.m., when it was time for my show at the Levi's/FADER Fort. That show was grrrrreeaaat!! All my friends were there, and its always such a treat to look out and see all of them having fun and moving to my songs like they haven't heard them a thousand times already. The audience was made up of true music fans who were there to party. They were dancing and singing along from the moment I walked onstage. It makes it so much easier when the crowd is there to have a good time. It's like a give-and-take -- we feed off each other's energy. I don't think of myself as an entertainer or a performer with great showmanship. I just like to sing my songs to people who want to hear them. And when its fun, its FUN, and the songs physically come to life. When it's not, well, I try to fake it the best I can. But I've always been a really bad liar.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau's 2007 album, "Grand Forks," revolves around the area's 1997 flood. Watch him here perform one of the album's best tracks, "Here Comes the Water."

My friend Chris Lindgren called. He lives in Denver now. I first began playing music at his club, the Westward Ho. The Ho was an entertainment complex, really the only one of its kind. They had comedy, sports and music, even conferences -- Ronald Reagan spoke at the Westward Ho. I saw Richard Buckner, Bo Diddley, Vic Chestnutt and Mitch Hedberg. Mitch and Chris were friends. Chris tour-managed Mitch Hedberg.

"Is this a travel day," he asked.
"No. I'm already here."
"There's a hotel, the Driskill. When Mitch would come in and do Austin we'd stay there. Stop in and have a drink for him."
"Maybe I will."
"It's historical. Mitch had this joke about hanging out on 5th Street- nothing really happens on 5th Street. All the action is on 6th Street."
"I was thinking about one of his jokes. Can you call them jokes?"
"More like one-liners. Which one?"
"'I took a bite of Swiss cheese and missed.'"

Mary and I drove to The Mean Eyed Cat for the Mojo magazine showcase. They had a long table of BBQ, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and, at the very end, iced tea. I never drink tea. There were fresh-cut lemons. I took a few and pinched them. I had a cut on my finger and felt the sting of the juice. I emptied a packet of sugar and stirred it around. We took a seat at a picnic table. I rolled my sleeves to get some sun.

There was a dog roaming around, a Pit Bull mix. He came to my side. I tasseled his ears. I always talk to animals. "Whatcha doin' kid?" I said. "You a good boy?" He was panting. His face was white, he had one black ear, and his body and belly was spotted. He looked up at me. His little eyelids were pink.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, used to front Stiffed, a ska-punk band.

Really, I'm not much of a blogger. I made a weak attempt at writing one last night at 2 a.m. but no haps. I was too tired to make any of the events of my day sound fun or interesting, when the truth was that I had worked my butt off and was beat.

Not that none of it was fun or interesting. It was. But obviously not that great cuz I don't have jack to say about it! But here's a recap anyway.

I did too many things in one day, so many that it seemed like three days wrapped into one. So I wore three different outfits to go with the illusion. I did a photoshoot for Converse, had smoothies for an interview called Drinks With Blender (for the magazine), caught my boyfriend's show, then had a show of my own at the Mad Decent/I Heart Comix showcase. For this show, I wore my favorite outfit of the day: a fluorescent pink one-piece jumpsuit with a boats and palm trees print that said Phuket all over it. The show was on the roof of a garage, I think. It was really sunny and the crowd was AMAZING! I loved them!

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

Incoming: Neon Neon, Oppenheimer

[The post-South by Southwest tsunami of bands is headed toward Los Angeles, beginning tonight. Here are quick first impressions of albums from two of them -- and, really, wouldn't we all want to celebrate St. Patrick's Day with a guy named Rocky O'Reilly?]

Neon Neon, "Stainless Style" (Tuesday, Lex Records): Out of the brine of this era's dancefloor vacuousness comes ... an electro concept album? Sleek disco, hip-hop lite, fuzzy guitar pop -- this collaboration between Super Furry Animals main man Gruff Rhys and L.A. electronic guru Boom Bip has a little bit of everything, including a story line: The album traces the life of auto magnate and hard-partyer John DeLorean. "Stainless Style" is more than just a vehicle for a single or two. Nice.

Oppenheimer, "Take the Whole Midrange and Boost It" (June 3, Bar/None Records): The sophomore release from Belfast, Northern Ireland, duo Shaun Robinson and Rocky O'Reilly walks a tightrope -- to one side bone-rattling squalor, to the other primary-colored pop. Subtract the fuzz, and the twee-pop nation would have another happy citizen. With it (and with guest touches like vocals by Matt Caughtran of L.A. punks the Bronx on "The Never Never"), the album has bite to go along with its catchy title.

||| Live: Neon Neon and Oppenheimer (along with Jim Noir and others) play tonight at the Viper Room. Neon Neon also makes a 6 p.m. appearance at Amoeba Music.

More highlights for Monday, March 17

Explosions in the Sky rock the Wiltern tonight. ... Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong join the bill for Voxhaul Broadcast's Spaceland residency. ... Jason Collett, who has another winner with his new album, "Here's to Being Here," headlines the Troubadour. ... At the Roxy, it's the tongue-twisting Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip, but far more interesting are the Fall-channeling supporting band These New Puritans. ... The Chapin Sisters' residency at the Echo features the album-release show for local quintet the Billionaires, whose "Really Real for Forever" (out April 1) offers nifty slices of boy-girl pop.

-- Kevin Bronson

Here's the video for These New Puritans' single, "Elvis" (album out Tuesday on Domino):

Multi-talented guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, left her job in A&R at Epic Records to produce and write Res' 2001 album, "How I Do." Watch the video for Santi's single "L.E.S. Artistes" here.

Today, I had back-to-back interviews for the first four hours of my day. The best of which was with my friend Mariel at a pond with turtles in it, the not worst but most eventful being with a guy from Holland who asked me a question that started out with, "Well, since you're black, most people would probably expect that you grew up poor in the lower class, listening to gangster rap." Hmmmmm ...

The day got fun, though, around 6 p.m., when it was time for my show at the Levi's/FADER Fort. That show was grrrrreeaaat!! All my friends were there, and its always such a treat to look out and see all of them having fun and moving to my songs like they haven't heard them a thousand times already. The audience was made up of true music fans who were there to party. They were dancing and singing along from the moment I walked onstage. It makes it so much easier when the crowd is there to have a good time. It's like a give-and-take -- we feed off each other's energy. I don't think of myself as an entertainer or a performer with great showmanship. I just like to sing my songs to people who want to hear them. And when its fun, its FUN, and the songs physically come to life. When it's not, well, I try to fake it the best I can. But I've always been a really bad liar.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau's 2007 album, "Grand Forks," revolves around the area's 1997 flood. Watch him here perform one of the album's best tracks, "Here Comes the Water."

My friend Chris Lindgren called. He lives in Denver now. I first began playing music at his club, the Westward Ho. The Ho was an entertainment complex, really the only one of its kind. They had comedy, sports and music, even conferences -- Ronald Reagan spoke at the Westward Ho. I saw Richard Buckner, Bo Diddley, Vic Chestnutt and Mitch Hedberg. Mitch and Chris were friends. Chris tour-managed Mitch Hedberg.

"Is this a travel day," he asked.
"No. I'm already here."
"There's a hotel, the Driskill. When Mitch would come in and do Austin we'd stay there. Stop in and have a drink for him."
"Maybe I will."
"It's historical. Mitch had this joke about hanging out on 5th Street- nothing really happens on 5th Street. All the action is on 6th Street."
"I was thinking about one of his jokes. Can you call them jokes?"
"More like one-liners. Which one?"
"'I took a bite of Swiss cheese and missed.'"

Mary and I drove to The Mean Eyed Cat for the Mojo magazine showcase. They had a long table of BBQ, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and, at the very end, iced tea. I never drink tea. There were fresh-cut lemons. I took a few and pinched them. I had a cut on my finger and felt the sting of the juice. I emptied a packet of sugar and stirred it around. We took a seat at a picnic table. I rolled my sleeves to get some sun.

There was a dog roaming around, a Pit Bull mix. He came to my side. I tasseled his ears. I always talk to animals. "Whatcha doin' kid?" I said. "You a good boy?" He was panting. His face was white, he had one black ear, and his body and belly was spotted. He looked up at me. His little eyelids were pink.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, used to front Stiffed, a ska-punk band.

Really, I'm not much of a blogger. I made a weak attempt at writing one last night at 2 a.m. but no haps. I was too tired to make any of the events of my day sound fun or interesting, when the truth was that I had worked my butt off and was beat.

Not that none of it was fun or interesting. It was. But obviously not that great cuz I don't have jack to say about it! But here's a recap anyway.

I did too many things in one day, so many that it seemed like three days wrapped into one. So I wore three different outfits to go with the illusion. I did a photoshoot for Converse, had smoothies for an interview called Drinks With Blender (for the magazine), caught my boyfriend's show, then had a show of my own at the Mad Decent/I Heart Comix showcase. For this show, I wore my favorite outfit of the day: a fluorescent pink one-piece jumpsuit with a boats and palm trees print that said Phuket all over it. The show was on the roof of a garage, I think. It was really sunny and the crowd was AMAZING! I loved them!

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Santogold’s last stand in Austin

Multi-talented guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, left her job in A&R at Epic Records to produce and write Res' 2001 album, "How I Do." Watch the video for Santi's single "L.E.S. Artistes" here.

Today, I had back-to-back interviews for the first four hours of my day. The best of which was with my friend Mariel at a pond with turtles in it, the not worst but most eventful being with a guy from Holland who asked me a question that started out with, "Well, since you're black, most people would probably expect that you grew up poor in the lower class, listening to gangster rap." Hmmmmm ...

The day got fun, though, around 6 p.m., when it was time for my show at the Levi's/FADER Fort. That show was grrrrreeaaat!! All my friends were there, and its always such a treat to look out and see all of them having fun and moving to my songs like they haven't heard them a thousand times already. The audience was made up of true music fans who were there to party. They were dancing and singing along from the moment I walked onstage. It makes it so much easier when the crowd is there to have a good time. It's like a give-and-take -- we feed off each other's energy. I don't think of myself as an entertainer or a performer with great showmanship. I just like to sing my songs to people who want to hear them. And when its fun, its FUN, and the songs physically come to life. When it's not, well, I try to fake it the best I can. But I've always been a really bad liar.

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau's 2007 album, "Grand Forks," revolves around the area's 1997 flood. Watch him here perform one of the album's best tracks, "Here Comes the Water."

My friend Chris Lindgren called. He lives in Denver now. I first began playing music at his club, the Westward Ho. The Ho was an entertainment complex, really the only one of its kind. They had comedy, sports and music, even conferences -- Ronald Reagan spoke at the Westward Ho. I saw Richard Buckner, Bo Diddley, Vic Chestnutt and Mitch Hedberg. Mitch and Chris were friends. Chris tour-managed Mitch Hedberg.

"Is this a travel day," he asked.
"No. I'm already here."
"There's a hotel, the Driskill. When Mitch would come in and do Austin we'd stay there. Stop in and have a drink for him."
"Maybe I will."
"It's historical. Mitch had this joke about hanging out on 5th Street- nothing really happens on 5th Street. All the action is on 6th Street."
"I was thinking about one of his jokes. Can you call them jokes?"
"More like one-liners. Which one?"
"'I took a bite of Swiss cheese and missed.'"

Mary and I drove to The Mean Eyed Cat for the Mojo magazine showcase. They had a long table of BBQ, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and, at the very end, iced tea. I never drink tea. There were fresh-cut lemons. I took a few and pinched them. I had a cut on my finger and felt the sting of the juice. I emptied a packet of sugar and stirred it around. We took a seat at a picnic table. I rolled my sleeves to get some sun.

There was a dog roaming around, a Pit Bull mix. He came to my side. I tasseled his ears. I always talk to animals. "Whatcha doin' kid?" I said. "You a good boy?" He was panting. His face was white, he had one black ear, and his body and belly was spotted. He looked up at me. His little eyelids were pink.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, used to front Stiffed, a ska-punk band.

Really, I'm not much of a blogger. I made a weak attempt at writing one last night at 2 a.m. but no haps. I was too tired to make any of the events of my day sound fun or interesting, when the truth was that I had worked my butt off and was beat.

Not that none of it was fun or interesting. It was. But obviously not that great cuz I don't have jack to say about it! But here's a recap anyway.

I did too many things in one day, so many that it seemed like three days wrapped into one. So I wore three different outfits to go with the illusion. I did a photoshoot for Converse, had smoothies for an interview called Drinks With Blender (for the magazine), caught my boyfriend's show, then had a show of my own at the Mad Decent/I Heart Comix showcase. For this show, I wore my favorite outfit of the day: a fluorescent pink one-piece jumpsuit with a boats and palm trees print that said Phuket all over it. The show was on the roof of a garage, I think. It was really sunny and the crowd was AMAZING! I loved them!

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Tom Brosseau visits Treaty Oak and the Driskill

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau's 2007 album, "Grand Forks," revolves around the area's 1997 flood. Watch him here perform one of the album's best tracks, "Here Comes the Water."

My friend Chris Lindgren called. He lives in Denver now. I first began playing music at his club, the Westward Ho. The Ho was an entertainment complex, really the only one of its kind. They had comedy, sports and music, even conferences -- Ronald Reagan spoke at the Westward Ho. I saw Richard Buckner, Bo Diddley, Vic Chestnutt and Mitch Hedberg. Mitch and Chris were friends. Chris tour-managed Mitch Hedberg.

"Is this a travel day," he asked.
"No. I'm already here."
"There's a hotel, the Driskill. When Mitch would come in and do Austin we'd stay there. Stop in and have a drink for him."
"Maybe I will."
"It's historical. Mitch had this joke about hanging out on 5th Street- nothing really happens on 5th Street. All the action is on 6th Street."
"I was thinking about one of his jokes. Can you call them jokes?"
"More like one-liners. Which one?"
"'I took a bite of Swiss cheese and missed.'"

Mary and I drove to The Mean Eyed Cat for the Mojo magazine showcase. They had a long table of BBQ, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and, at the very end, iced tea. I never drink tea. There were fresh-cut lemons. I took a few and pinched them. I had a cut on my finger and felt the sting of the juice. I emptied a packet of sugar and stirred it around. We took a seat at a picnic table. I rolled my sleeves to get some sun.

There was a dog roaming around, a Pit Bull mix. He came to my side. I tasseled his ears. I always talk to animals. "Whatcha doin' kid?" I said. "You a good boy?" He was panting. His face was white, he had one black ear, and his body and belly was spotted. He looked up at me. His little eyelids were pink.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, used to front Stiffed, a ska-punk band.

Really, I'm not much of a blogger. I made a weak attempt at writing one last night at 2 a.m. but no haps. I was too tired to make any of the events of my day sound fun or interesting, when the truth was that I had worked my butt off and was beat.

Not that none of it was fun or interesting. It was. But obviously not that great cuz I don't have jack to say about it! But here's a recap anyway.

I did too many things in one day, so many that it seemed like three days wrapped into one. So I wore three different outfits to go with the illusion. I did a photoshoot for Converse, had smoothies for an interview called Drinks With Blender (for the magazine), caught my boyfriend's show, then had a show of my own at the Mad Decent/I Heart Comix showcase. For this show, I wore my favorite outfit of the day: a fluorescent pink one-piece jumpsuit with a boats and palm trees print that said Phuket all over it. The show was on the roof of a garage, I think. It was really sunny and the crowd was AMAZING! I loved them!

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Santogold crams three days into one

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, used to front Stiffed, a ska-punk band.

Really, I'm not much of a blogger. I made a weak attempt at writing one last night at 2 a.m. but no haps. I was too tired to make any of the events of my day sound fun or interesting, when the truth was that I had worked my butt off and was beat.

Not that none of it was fun or interesting. It was. But obviously not that great cuz I don't have jack to say about it! But here's a recap anyway.

I did too many things in one day, so many that it seemed like three days wrapped into one. So I wore three different outfits to go with the illusion. I did a photoshoot for Converse, had smoothies for an interview called Drinks With Blender (for the magazine), caught my boyfriend's show, then had a show of my own at the Mad Decent/I Heart Comix showcase. For this show, I wore my favorite outfit of the day: a fluorescent pink one-piece jumpsuit with a boats and palm trees print that said Phuket all over it. The show was on the roof of a garage, I think. It was really sunny and the crowd was AMAZING! I loved them!

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Discovery of the Week, Carolyn Wonderland

One of the best ways to enjoy SXSW is to roam, talk to locals and only use your handwritten schedule as a rough draft. Perfect example of this theory happened Saturday at the Filter BBQ. I went there to see Sea Wolf, who were excellent and packed the Cedar Street courtyard. I had planned on skipping the headliner, Kate Nash, until it was announced that Billy Bragg would accompany her for a few songs. So, of course, I stayed and found myself in a very nice conversation with the local anchor of the Austin NBC affiliate, Michelle Valles, and her producer, Haley Cihock, who persuaded me to drop all of my plans for later in the night and see Carolyn Wonderland at Antone's.

I explained that I really wanted to see my girlfriends the Donnas at Emo's, to which Valles took her sunglasses off and said, "Tony, forget about all those little bands down there on 6th street. Carolyn is Janis Joplin, only better." And sure enough, at midnight, there I was standing feet away from Ms. Wonderland, at Antone's, and after the first tune in which she shredded all over the lap steel, I smiled at Ms. Valles, who was completely and utterly correct. Carolyn Wonderland is the real deal. She's an amazing guitar player. She whistled a solo. She even played the trumpet! And damn, can she sing.

If Jack White is looking to partner up with another veteran female singer, the same way he backed and produced Loretta Lynn so marvelously, he should beeline it to Austin and team up with Carolyn Wonderland. She is the perfect match for him -- she plays real blues, sings like someone from a different time, and she's a ridiculously talented musician who has recorded 20 albums and yet, she's this local treasure who remains virtually unknown.

Video and more pictures after the jump.

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Voices in the crowd

Wednesday at Stubb's, during R.E.M.'s SXSW set: "The new songs are really good. But they're like R.E.M. cover songs. This is the sound of a band who tried to change, and it didn't work out, and they've gone back to what they were good at." -- Tim Quirk, VP of Music Programming, Rhapsody.

Thursday at Austin City Limits, during R.E.M.'s performance: "It's really great to hear them play a whole bunch of rock songs again." -- Greg Kot, rock critic, Chicago Tribune.

Thursday at R.E.M.'s ACL show: "Jimmy Webb's 'Galveston' was an anti-war song. It made the Top 20. I don't expect this to make the Top 20, but it's a tribute to that song." - Michael Stipe, before the band played the new "Houston."

Exchange Thursday at the "Body of War" event, after Ben Harper hugged the film's star, Iraq war veteran Tomas Young, before performing:

"If you were a woman, you'd be dying right now." -- a female friend.

"I'm a heterosexual male and I am dying!!" -- Young.

Thursday at "Body of War" as Harper struggled with feedback:

"Benefits are always so hard." -- unidentified bystander.

"Yeah, like the truth!" -- Tom Morello, watching from the side of the stage.

Friday at the Cedar Door, as several long-haired young men hugged when Dr. Dog played a particularly tasty jam:

"Those hippies are so cute. I want to take them home!" -- unidentified female Dr. Dog lover.

"I hate hippies. I want to kill them!" -- unidentified male Dr. Dog lover.

Friday at the Parish, after She & Him left the stage:

"Who is that girl? Zooey Deschanel? Is she from Lousiana? I'm from Louisiana. Maybe I should try to meet her. I just want to hug her. No sex, nothing like that. Just.......[stretching out his arms and embracing himself]...hug her." -- unidentified male fan.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Tomas Young courtesy of bodyofwar.com

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Tom Brosseau meets Tom, Bob and Mary

Guest blogger Tom Brosseau recently toured with Mice Parade. You can read his tour diary here.

Pi Day

I went for breakfast at Las Manitas Café. Everyone had on sunglasses; everyone was wearing a lanyard and badge. I ordered the Spicy Huevos a la Mejicana and coffee. There were two gals at the table across from where I was sitting, talking away, having more hair of the dog that bit them with lime. I couldn’t tune them out.

“What did you do last night?”
“I went to the Mohawk. What did you do?”
“We went to an industry thing. I’m so hung over!”
“Yeah, me, too, and I didn’t even drink that much!”
“What did you have?”
“Wine and beer.”
“That’s why! You can’t mix!”
“I saw this great band yesterday, but I can’t remember their name.”
“Are we still planning on seeing F— Buttons?”
“Yeah, totally!”

The day heated in a hurry. I saw a tomcat perched on a stairwell. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me. I pet him a bit. “My name is Tom too,” I said to him. His little motor started running. “What are you doing down here? Pussy-footin’?” He unfolded on his back and reached his paws out. He was a polydactyl cat. “What’s your trade?” I asked him. “Are you a boxer?” He meowed.

My cellular phone vibrated.

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Ting Tings brings the Indie Spice

If you aren't inspired to start a band after experiencing SXSW, you're doing it wrong. A group that's truly inspiring to watch and hear is the Ting Tings, the finest UK import so far this year.

The duo ripped up Stubb's BBQ last night with a frenzy of popalicious tunes and contagious energy. Katie White ran all over the vast stage and when she threw on the guitar she bobbed her head about like Angus Young.

When asked later after the show if she agreed with the comparison, she asked, "Who's that, luv?"

Um, the guitarist of AC/DC.

"Wouldn't know about him, I grew up listening to the Spice Girls."

Multi-instrumentalist and backing vocalist Jules De Martino simply laughed at the answer and he will be laughing all the way to the bank. White is a delightful presence and De Martino ain't so bad himself, occasionally playing an instrument while keeping the beat on the bass drum with one foot. Together they captivated the crowd who seemed almost completely unaware of who they were. It could be because the Ting Tings doesn't have any material that is legal to download via iTunes ... yet. A topic we discussed in the video interview below after the jump.

But the good news is Sony will release the Ting Tings debut CD in the U.S. sometime in May, the band said, once it launches the girl-powerish single "That's Not My Name."

-- post, photos and video by Tony Pierce

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Who’s Johnny?

Guest blogger Lyle Brooks is looking forward to My Morning Jacket's new album, released in June. 

For the last few years, City Council has grappled with panhandling issues. Many voters would outlaw the begging that has long been a feature of the city. SXSW poses problems regarding the homeless. You can’t have a festival without free booze. From Tito’s vodka to Lone Star beer, we are swimming in it. This is no secret to countless members of our displaced population.

Austin is safe with warm weather and a liberal air, but SXSW's growth has brought certain issues to light. In talking to friends working security shifts throughout the festival, such as Jesse Oliver working the doors at Emo's, I discover that the security concerns are different than what I originally thought. Oliver's not worried about barring access to some uppity industry twit, he's worried about "keeping homeless dudes out of the day parties" and away from their boozy bounty. Free shows require none of the credentials of the more-regulated nights. With this in mind, I walk past Emo’s, Beerland, 710, Red Eyed Fly, Club De Ville and Mohawk, rock venues showing the milieu of industry and local scenesters. Let's face it, laminates aside, rockers are often dirty, smelly people with a reckless relationship with law and order.

Perhaps, during this week of intemperance, a handful of musicians will find label support or, more importantly, widen their fan-base. But it also seems possible that some homeless folks, many of whom are musicians, might blend in, just for a few days.

In the wee hours of the morning, walking from a party, I encountered a man resting by a construction site Port-a-John.

“Johnny, you go to shows?” Either he thought he knew me or he calls everyone Johnny.

I smiled, half-nodding, and he pulled something from his pack. “Johnny, you wanna go to shows, you need the badge.”

I couldn’t tell what he held; it was strung on a lanyard. I told him he better hold on to it and went home.

--Lyle Brooks

Photos by Andrew Collins and courtesy of Emo's

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Lou Reed Tribute - beautiful, raw, emotional

Although Times blogger Todd Martens did a nice job on Extended Play this morning doling out the run down on yesterday's spectacular Lou Reed tribute at the Levi's/Fader Fort here at SXSW, I couldn't resist throwing in my two cents.

Even though there are 1500 bands that will come through Austin for SXSW, yesterday's event was the hottest ticket in town and lines stretched for blocks. Part of the reason was the Fader Fort is one of the coolest venues to watch shows this week. The scene is hip, the performers are almost all top quality, there's decent music in between sets, lots of rooms to explore inside the fort and the booze is free.

Add to that the promise of bands like Yo La Tengo, My Morning Jacket, Joseph Arthur and Moby covering some of the works of Lou Reed, and you will have yourself a hot show. Strangely, because many of the artists chose to cover some of the more mellow tunes from Reed's days with the Velvet Underground, the mellow pace was anything but hot.

Until Thurston Moore plugged in with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley behind him and the rest of the New Wave Bandits.

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Mala Rodriguez turns Austin into Andalusia

Fishing for something to watch on my cable-less television about a year ago, a fuzzy channel 63, a.k.a. the bilingual version of MTV called MTV Tr3s, showed me something that just blew me away: a sharp-rapping slender Andalusian woman who had all the attitude of a pre-neurotic, early Fugees Lauryn Hill. As her sing-song rap video played on the tube, I stood there admiring the lady emcee's crisp and technically varied vocal delivery, all in Spanish. And then the name popped up on the corner of the screen: Mala Rodriguez.

Chants of "Mala, Mala, Mala" (meaning "bad" in Spanish) filled the Flamingo Cantina before she grabbed the mic and hit the stage last night. Backed by two hype men and a backup singer-dancer, she walked on just after 1 a.m., wearing a red beret, white skirt ensemble, lime green fishnets and red Mary Jane shoes. She quickly went into a set list that included most of the songs, such as "La Loca," "Toca Toca" and the down-tempo, dreamy "Volvere," off her 2007 major-label debut, "Malarismo."

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: A few pics from No Age

Guest blogger Randy Randall is one half of No Age. He and his co-conspirator Dean Spunt released "Weirdo Rippers" last year.

We are at SXSW. We played the Rhapsody party early this morning. Mika Miko were awesome at the Other Music party last night. They played right before Jay Reatard and Times New Viking, who are amazing. So much good music!!!!

We got some photos to share:
Stephanie, from Finally Punk, wonders why the bar ran out of water and is only giving away beer?

Mika Miko rock the JellyNYC/Myopenbar parking garage party.

Safety first. Always safety first.

--Randy Randall

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Tom Brosseau arrives in Austin

Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O'Connor. His latest album is "Cavalier."

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Day One with sleep-deprived Santogold

Guest blogger Santi White, a.k.a. Santogold, plays with new wave, punk, reggae, hip hop and lots else on her upcoming debut. She recently toured with Bjork.

I've officially been awake for 35 hours. The dark circles and deep lines were creeping across my face by the minute, despite my best efforts to be the ever-so-social "artist" at the label dinner I just attended in Austin for SXSW. I snuck out just as my entree arrived (three hours later) and enjoyed the slow walk in perfect evening weather with my boyfriend.

Today was fun. I was dreading this trip, in all honesty. I felt like my schedule had been overbooked, which had turned me into a ball of anxiety just thinking of all that I needed to do just to be prepared. I found out just last night that I would be gone for three weeks, and stayed up all night doing a wrap-it-up-pack-it-up. I was all set to be a complete hater on this trip. Sat on the plane next to a creepy guy who stared at me while I slept. Traffic to the hotel put me behind schedule for my MTV interview and performance of a new song I barely knew. So I ran into my hotel room for a quick shower, a not-so-quick hair wash, a bite to eat and to download the instrumental for the song. I was an hour late, but no one acted like they cared. I did my interview and my song and it was painless. Enjoyable even. And I was free for the rest of the day!

Diplo happened to be eating Mexican food (my favorite) across the street and I wanted to crash his meal. We'd been bickering all week about this mixtape we're working on and I thought it might be fun to go slap him around a bit.

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Motörhead delivers the unofficial keynote at Stubb’s

What a difference a day makes. Twelve hours previous, R.E.M. had left the very stage at Stubb's Bar-B-Que that Motörhead now claimed. Ah, the wonders of SXSW.

Dressed in black, including a black Civil War hat, the mustachioed Lemmy Kilmister led his trio, warts and all, through an hour of pure rock that set the standard for all who dare follow in their wake. Twas the Scion Showcase, sponsored by Vice on the fliers and banners, but in reality it was a merciless metal melange featuring High on Fire, Napalm Death, Enslaved and festival surprises Motörhead.

The capacity crowd filled the backyard on Red River in the 80-degree heat; evidence, some say, that Lucifer himself laid out the $180 to get a wristband and mix it up in the dust. Hopefully, he didn't sell his soul to himself, because this show was free.

Motörhead hit the stage on time, introduced themselves and casually explained that they play rock n roll. The devil horns from the crowd were raised high and the rock was laid down in a steady, forceful way.

In a festival filled with pretty emo boys and hipsters in leggings, it was more than refreshing to see a leather group of old fogies shove the metal down the throats of the kids, who accepted it with smiles and cheers and asked for more.

Photos of the band and the scene after the jump...

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Bun B salutes the late Pimp C with Dizzee’s help

Nothing was going to stop Bun B's late night show at Club Fuze off Austin's 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials -- due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9's crew -- and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: "Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can't we get the mic right!?"

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it's been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group's classics, such as the drug game anthem "Pocket Full of Stones" and the Eazy-E-inspired "Front Back and Side to Side." He also threw in some tracks from his "Trill" album, including "Get Throwed" and "Draped Up."

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated "Int'l Players Anthem (I Choose You)." He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, "He chose."

-- Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: 12 bands, 12 hours of rock on Day 1

It's a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: Daryl Hall, beautiful dreamer

Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend -- but get used to it, '80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest -- trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house -- and we were all lucky to be invited in.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

SXSW: R.E.M. rocks the BBQ

It was the SXSW ticket of the night -- especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb's Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band's super-intentional return to form, "Accelerate." The band's hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.'s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe's own delight fed the night's party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we've lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

"I'm sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear," he said before dedicating "Until the Day Is Done," a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, "a man who heard this song and loved it."

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. "Accelerate" is designed to reassert R.E.M.'s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as "Drive" and "Man on the Moon."

Best was the new single "Supernatural Superserious," which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped "Losing My Religion" (which the band didn't play this time) and "Man on the Moon" (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America's dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days -- its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty "extra" players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band's appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he'd never been to the landmark Stubb's before.

Stipe's lyrics can still be cryptic -- he explained that the dirge-like new "Houston" was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you'd probably not guess from just hearing it -- but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe's renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb's backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora's boxes full of mysteries and fire.

-- Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

South-by on two wheels

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who's witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin -- I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise," he says. "Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It's true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. "Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven't greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

--Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

Justin Townes: The Duke of Earle

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that -- making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve's comeback show at New York's Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he's become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he's settled into the role of "hard-core troubadour" -- a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

The next big Tings

Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not "her" or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single "That's Not My Name." White is blond, stylish, and when she's not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking '80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics' lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won't (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including "That's Not My Name." (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME -- which recently praised the duo as being "by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years" -- White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. "I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!"

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson

CoCoComa’s debut is one of the best garage records of the year so far

Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group's new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock 'n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they'll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

-- Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson