Editor's Note: This year, we invited one of our favorite singer/songwriters, Bill Foreman of General Ludd Music, to join us at South By Southwest. Our goal was twofold. First, we wanted to have a beer (or several) with him. Second, we had a challenge for him. We asked Bill to follow in the footsteps of Mary Lou Lord, Josh Ritter and countless other artists, well-known and unknown, by busking -- that is, playing on the street -- during South By Southwest. And so, on Friday evening, Bill tackled our challenge. This is his story.

I came to SXSW to hear music and to busk. As far as the hearing of music is concerned, I have nothing to add to the notes of Splendid's writers, except, having heard the Mountain Goats on Thursday night, that the Mountain Goats are really, really great.

I arrived by train from Los Angeles on Tuesday. Train travel, by not allowing one to rush, makes its own time to get somewhere, and to allow the traveler to see where one travels. Once outside the greater LA area -- past Palm Springs, really -- there are two terrains near train tracks, land with no human settlement, and land with decaying human settlement. Throughout eastern California through West Texas, everything man-made, except a few train stations, was falling apart. Skeletons of hundred-year old houses and stables make it clear that the weathered paint on newer buildings is only the first step in a larger process.

In the middle of Texas, the climate changes. With more water, the decay is different. The foundations of wooden houses warp, and paint is universally peeling. Everything metal is either brand-new or visibly rusting.

I arrived in Austin with a full day to kill before SXSW, so I decided to walk from the hotel to get my wristband. Waterloo Records, which had wristbands for sale, was on 6th, as my hotel. I walked to the address under the freeway, away from downtown. Immediately after passing under the bridge I was in the Texas I had seen from the train, though I noticed here that most signs were in Spanish or bilingual. A few blocks up I got to the address, but no Waterloo. I was on East 6th, it turns out, and Waterloo was West.

As I walked down 6th, I observed preparations for SXSW, and all the signs were in English, save one Mexican restaurant. PA equipment abounded, signs invited, and people wearing nametags -- musicians, press, indie and major label reps, and the conference staff -- peopled the streets alongside the locals. Walking to and fro, moreover, I handed out about $5 in change and single bills (to locals -- not to major label reps).

There is a good deal of busking at SXSW, but SXSW is not about busking. That said, when I busked Friday night, it was an absolute ball. I knocked out tunes next to a pub for two hours. Most people walked by, a few gave me change, about 25 people took the CDs I put up for grabs, and about five people came up, listened, and engaged. How great to have a man in his early twenties almost walk past me, then pause, listen, read my lyric sheet, listen, and say "fantastic tune!" A number of people who clearly were not in the best shape -- not drunk from the party, but fairly clearly homeless -- paused and listened a bit, and then walked elsewhere, where someone was not already soliciting donations.

Again, lots of busking, not about busking. The buskers are more a part of the place than of the festival itself, and become as much scenery as sound. Having been for more than two days a part of the party, I was now able to step outside it and observe. Everything became clear after about an hour and a half: the party comes to the place, but the place stays. Nonetheless, the place becomes for the partygoers a backdrop, and thus almost invisible. Stepping out of the party and back into the place, I saw the two intersecting. The place -- asking for a change, paint decaying -- sees the party very clearly, but the party forgets the place, even when the party's over.

Returning to the party, I deposited my guitar and remaining CDs at the hotel and walked to meet my people at the Bobby Bare, Jr. gig. What follows really happened.

As I walked to the show, I noticed that a man was standing in precisely the same place that I had busked not fifteen minutes earlier. I distinctly remember having seen him on my walk Monday, as he had a Band-Aid on his left eyebrow and looked not at all well otherwise. He stood there, very awkwardly pantomiming playing the guitar and moving, not quite dancing, as if to some song in his head.