Dear Readers,
In the interest of getting our SXSW reviews online as quickly as possible, we're prepping content every night following the shows. However, because some of our writers are too exhausted or drunk to write at 2:00 a.m., they turn their stuff in the following "morning" instead. As a result, don't be surprised if each day's SXSW coverage changes significantly in our "afternoon" edition. We'll indicate on the main site page when each day's content has been updated.

One thing that's clear about SXSW this year: the number of daytime shows and parties has increased significantly. In fact, if you keep really good track of the daytime shows you can probably see more hype-heavy bands than the poor badge- and wristband-wearing dupes who stand in line for them.

Some of us saw -- or rather, heard (but were not necessarily facing the stage during) Stars at the Devil in the Woods party at Emo's; we'd have been more excited if we hadn't seen essentially the same show only five days ago in Chicago. George was also at Emo's for all of Pedro the Lion's set, but can't remember even looking at the stage, though he does recall hearing an interesting story involving a publicist and some handcuffs.

Georgy actually paid attention to what she saw. Here's her report.

My first stop was the Tag Team party at Emo's. Unfortunately, I only caught the last two songs of Adem's set -- imagine someone running down 6th Street wolfing down a chicken Caesar salad -- and it seems like I really missed out. "These Are Your Friends", from the EP of the same name, and "Wake Up Lullaby", from the Ringing In My Ear EP, showcased his brand of vibrant, contemplative acoustic songs, the former of which was fleshed out by an assortment of castanets, tambourines, shakers and a xylophone played by friends.

When the Wrens and all their near-mythic baggage took the stage next, the excitement in the audience was palpable. As it turned out, that paled to the sweat-fueled performance the boys from Hoboken delivered. Bassist Kevin Whelan jumped, shouted, rock-faced and hung his bass from the rafters in a show of fun, fiery theatrics. The set was Meadowlands-heavy, but who's going to complain when "This Boy Is Exhausted" builds from a stark beginning with just guitarists Charles Bissell and Greg Whelan on stage to a full-out frenzy, or when they rage through "Faster Gun"? The coolest thing about seeing the Wrens is, when they thank the crowd or say how happy they are to be there, there's an added level of sincerity that makes it all the more worthwhile.

Next stop was the WOXY.com party at the Blind Pig. As a loyal workday WOXY.com listener, my attendance at this event was partly due to favoritism, I admit, but also due to the killer schedule they'd lined up. While I missed Nicolai Dunger and the Cribs, I arrived in time for LA-duo Giant Drag and their Breeders-esque sound. Annie Hardy's breathy, sneering vocals grew on me, eventually, even if her whining about the heat was a bit too much (since I, for one, was reveling in it, despite having to stare into the sun for three straight hours). Their set got better as it wound on, edgy pop-rock tracks with names like "You're Full Of Shit, Check Out My Sweet Riffs" and "You Fuck Like My Dad". Their cover of Chris Isaac's "Wicked Game", though, was incomparable, a definite highlight.

The biggest disappointment of Feist's set was that she didn't have any copies of the elusive Let It Die available for sale. The rest, however, was pure upside. The Canadian chanteuse -- making her only SXSW appearance, since she (oddly) was not booked on any of the official showcases -- was remarkable, flexing one of the best voices I've heard in a long time. Looping and sampling her voice to flesh out her solo effort, her performance was often bewitching. The audience sang along in a hushed chorus for "Mushaboom" and reveled as "Let It Die" was rechristened as a "siesta" song rather than a lullaby. I was hoping to hear her cover of "Inside and Out", but one nifty cover per showcase may be the rule, I suppose. Interesting note: I saw Feist walking around with a BMG business card after her set. You heard it here first? We'll see!

Earlimart, with their atmospheric rock vibe, took the stage next. While their set was solid -- their songs offer a pleasing array of rhythms, ranging from the loud bray of guitar in "Broke the Furniture" to the slip-and-slide of loops in the shimmery "A Bell and a Whistle" to the uptempo pulse of "Sounds" -- there was nothing spectacular to note. Their recent release Treble and Tremble, which I own, is a serviceable, good-but-not great record, and their live show meets that mark, as well.

(Sidenote: For Easter, I want a basket full of shaker eggs)

Next up, The National, who won me over a while ago with their solemn cut "Wasp Nest", capably brandished their rock chops. Matt Berninger's vocals, sometimes akin to Idlewild's Roddy Woomble's, were alluring and resonant, pulling together an already tight, spirited performance. Even "Wasp Nest" was stirred up by the rip of guitar.

Thanks, Georgy.

Jenny adds:

Jovita's is about a block and a half from where I'm staying, so when I see that two of my favorite bands -- Steve Wynn and the Miracle 3 and Calexico are playing there, it's kind of like hearing that Haruki Murakami's reading at the neighborhood library. I forgot about the time zone, though, and ended up arriving just as Caitlin Cary and Thad Cockerell were setting up. The former Whiskeytown fiddler and her "Please Don't Break My Heart" songwriting partner were trying out selections from their upcoming duets album at this laid-back cantina. Their set tended toward the traditional and twangy, but turned downright rocking by the end, with guest lap steel guitarist Rich Gilbert (Frank Black and the Catholics) breaking out into a frenzy on closer "Second Option".

I spotted Dave DeCastro, who plays bass for Steve Wynn's band (and also records some really excellent solo material on the CD). He said the band had been in Arizona for the last month and was three-quarters of the way done with its next album, slated for release sometime later this year. I'd seen Steve Wynn two months ago in Boston, trying out some of the new material early on, and I was looking forward to the show. I was not prepared for how good it would be. The band was on fire during the set, just explosively good, as they tore through new material and old. Highlights, for me, were "Amphetamine", which closed the main set, and the droning, psychedelic "Death Valley Road", and some very trippy, hard and mind-changing songs from the new album. I heard people saying that Wynn and his band were good at Mother Egan's the night before -- but not this good -- which confirmed my suspicion that this had been an exceptional experience, so far the best of the festival. Wynn and the Miracle 3 are working SXSW pretty hard -- that night they were on the bill at the Guided By Voices tribute at Emo's. Even now, as you read this, you probably have several more chances to see them at day shows and at the No Depression showcase at Tambaleo's on Friday. ("We're playing at one in the morning, when you're halfway between being drunk and hungover," Wynn commented.) Do it. They're extraordinary.

Thanks, Jenny.

6:00 p.m.

While most of us were sitting down to a nice, heavy dinner at Hoover's, people were already getting in line for M.I.A.'s 10:00 p.m. performance at Elysium. This will pay off for them in a few months. When Maya Arulpragasam comes through their towns on a proper tour, they'll be able to tell all their friends that they endured a total lack of personal space to see her do a short set in a dimly-lit club with a shitty PA and a pervasive moldy odor. Start hoarding birth control now, folks.

Of all the bands playing at SXSW, one of the most eagerly anticipated -- among the in-the-know portions of the Splendid contingent, anyway -- was Diamond Nights. For once, when 8:00 p.m. rolled around, we were already in place at our venue of choice: Co-Op's absurdly tiny patio stage, where the band was set to perform for thirty or forty people.

Diamond Nights did not disappoint; Messrs. Phalen, Traynor, Rumsey and Laakso delivered a veritable feast of is-it-or-isn't-it-ironic eighties-style keyboard-enhanced rock, drawing heavily from the newly released (and outstanding) Once We Were Diamonds EP. "Destination Diamonds" rocked the house like a motherfucker, "Saturday Fantastic" killed and "The Girl's Attractive" was every bit as brilliant live as we've always known it would be.

It was a rare and unusual pleasure to begin an evening by seeing a band that actually knew how to play their instruments, let alone shredded like Diamond Nights. Only a few missed opportunities marred an otherwise outstanding set... (1) No merch? (2) Guys, Billy Idol is in town. He could've joined you on stage for "The Girl's Attractive", even if he just sung the words to "White Wedding". (3) What happened to "Buddies"? We were all set to re-enact the climactic scenes from Better Off Dead to it...

George says:
Determined to see Thunderbirds Are Now! before interviewing them at (the ungodly hour of) 11:00 a.m. the following morning, I dragged Jenny halfway across downtown to the Frenchkiss showcase at Whisky Bar.

I admit, I haven't quite come to terms with Thunderbirds' Justamustache, which hits record store shelves next week. It's poppier, more streamlined and decidedly less chaotic than their previous material -- and I liked the chaos. To make matters worse, it was hot and uncomfortable inside the Whisky.

Fortunately, Thunderbirds were excellent -- dead solid on the musical front, nowhere near as cocky as their overall images suggests that they'll be, and imbued with almost inhuman energy. Their set focused almost exclusively on songs from Justamustache -- "Better Safe Than Safari", "From: Skulls", "Eat This City", "198090 (Aquatic Cupid's)" and others. Guitarist/vocalist Ryan Allen is a surprisingly likable frontman, but his brother Scott stole the show with his tireless flailing/dancing. Perhaps predictably, but no less satsifyingly, Scott found his way up onto the Whisky's bar by the end of the set, where he danced like a man possessed.

We made the long walk back to Club DeVille for the Heartless Bastards. We'll let Jenny fill in the details...

Heartless Bastards, from Cincinnati, are a blues rock trio, fronted by the extraordinary Erika Wennerstrom, whose voice is just way too big to be coming out of her. She does sound like Janis Joplin and Grace Slick and maybe even Mia Zapata from the Gits, and she absolutely dominates the band's sound, though the other two are no slouches either. We arrived shortly after the set started, just as The Heartless Bastards were stomping the shit out of "Done Got Old" from the Junior Kimbrough tribute, and in time to hear "New Resolution", in which Wennerstrom pledges not to worry what people say about her. (She doesn't sound like she cared that much to begin with.) They did all the songs from last year's EP, the one that got much of hip Ohio and members of Black Keys on the bandwagon -- "Runnin'" and "Onions" were among the highlights. The new CD, Stairs and Elevators, reworks this songs for the band's current, three-member line-up (there used to be another guitarist), and it is this trio -- Wennerstrom, Mike Lamping and Kevin Vaughn -- that churns out the very fundamental, no-frills, intensity of tonight's concert. You might wonder if putting a relatively untested Fat Possum band on Sunday Night alongside the Stooges, Fiery Furnaces, Ponys, Cat Power and other heavyweights smacked of label promotion, but my feeling is that Heartless Bastards won't be the "who?" band on the comp for long.

Back to Georgy for a bit...

I decided to pay a visit to Indiana's best-kept secret, the Impossible Shapes. Their off-kilter, dark-side rock is part-intelligence and part-madness, with a Built To Spill-meets-Neutral Milk Hotel in a dark alley feel. They were spot-on for the thin but enthusiastic 8:00 p.m. crowd, rolling out songs ranging from oldies like "Jesus and Squares" to newer songs like the ominously pleading "Please Tie Me Up" in their set.

Maybe it was homesickness or just a hometown debt of allegiance, but my next stop was to see Boston's own Apollo Sunshine, decked out in dapper duds as usual. To my dismay, the clothes were really the most interesting thing going on. Katonah is a great, clever album, but it feels like the Sunshine's nuances and quirks are best pressed and not performed.

Hard power-poppers The Honorary Title kicked off a slate of Yahoo!-sponsored "Who's Next?" artists at Eternal. And they could be it, with their organ-saturated crashing melodies and impassioned, hooky refrains. Their slower cuts snooze along, though, while songs like "Bridge and Tunnel", the downloadable single from Anything Else But The Truth, sails along with breezy melodies and Jarrod Gorbel's powerful vocals.

Eventually, a smoke-induced headache (if there's one thing I already miss, it's Boston's band on smoking in bars and clubs) and creeping claustrophobia prompted me to cut the night short after seeing The Reputation. (Full disclosure: I'm friendly with the band and designed their website) The show began innocuously enough with Elizabeth Elmore and company pounding through the soaring "Let This Rest" and catchy "Either Coast"; then the obligatory Reputation-during-a-big-show crisis moment happened. One of Elmore's tuning pegs came out. We even won't mention how later the keyboard fell over (Speaking as one of the people who sort of caught the keyboard, I was pretty damn impressed that the band kept going -- Ed.) and the audio got cut entirely, except to say that the understandable frustration over the matter fueled an especially explosive performance of "Misery By Design". In better news, the band showed off two new songs, one of which is a piano-driven ballad backed by a nifty drum beat by drummer Steve Van Horn.

George continues...

I was close enough to Congress at this point to make the trudge up to Hideout, where I finally had a chance to see Austin's Halley play. Several of us have been hooked on their album Forget the Leaves, Autumn Will Change Us since picking it up a couple of SXSWs ago, especially due to the amazing Beulah-meets-MBV opener, "Adventures of Georgie and the robbers (record player pt 1)". I'm fairly sure I recognized some songs from Forget the Leaves in their set, but the combination of the lateness of the hour, the readily available seats and the band's reverie-inducing music (E6 on one end of the spectrum, floaty and shoegazery on the other), I didn't listen as attentively as I should have. They sounded great, though.

Here's Andrew's report for the evening...

Try as you might, you'll always find yourself catching at least one show at Emo's. There was a time when Emo's was 21+ and I wished it wasn't. Now it's all ages and I wish it was 21+. Why? It's not that I don't like seeing the kids get their punk rock on -- I wish I had the same opportunity when I was 13. It's just that when you're standing next to the current crop of teenagers, you feel just that much older. It's tough enough being in your 30s and checking out the punk rock. Why do the kids gotta shove it in your face? Nonetheless, SXSW Thursday's opening moments were christened at Emo's Jr. at the GSL showcase. Jai Alai Savant hit the stage with a stand-in bassist (the regular was at home with a very pregnant wife) and without their second guitarist (apparently he ain't coming back, either). Vocalist/guitarist Ralph Darden had a difficult time revving up the restless crowd as The Savant pumped out its post-punk-meets-dub. Darden's guitar changed from angular punk weapon to digitally-delayed reggae guitar in a matter of moments, while the bass heavy rhythms and tight-knit drumming kept it all in tow. It wasn't bad, it just didn't get things groovin' the way I'd hoped.

Things took a turn for the uglier (and better) as labelmates The Plot to Blow Up The Eiffel Tower took the stage. A fantastic round of spazzed-out guitar and thick bass lines practically exploded on stage as the adrenalin-charged set ripped its way through the formerly idle crowd. Dressed in black, with matching Eiffel Tower armbands, the band had enough loogie-spittin', crotch grabbin', microphone stand lickin' abandon to make the toughest critic raise an eyebrow. It was sloppy punk with plenty of dangerous potential -- just the way I like it.

Here's another piece of unwarranted advice: scantily clad chicks on stage don't make for a good rock 'n' roll show. Veronica Lipgloss & The Evil Eyes had just such a formula, including a butch-looking saxophone player and frightening bassist/keyboardist. We almost made it through one song, but it just wasn't worth the tinnitus.

A quick walk down Red River led me to Beerland and the Kill Rock Stars showcase. While there was a short line, the Beerland door guys were super-cool (as usual) and I found myself inside pretty quickly. Sherry Fraser's Two Ton Boa was in fine form; the dual basses and carnival-like piano sounded great and Fraser proved that she really does have some incredible pipes. The distorted nursery rhyme-like tracks had a touch of graveyard goth genius, casting an eerie shroud over the audience. The only issue was with the microphone occasionally butchering Fraser's voice. Hands down, Two Ton Boa was the best of the evening's events.

Don't call your band "Holy Fuck" unless you can back it up. This Toronto-based band had all of the warning signs: a pitch-shifted voice, bizarre visuals projected behind them and lots of distortion. The result was shapeless mass of done-before noise that reminded me of Nebula without the talent. "Boring as Fuck" would be more like it.

For those SXSWers with aching backs and sore feet, Club de Ville is the place to be. They've got plenty of chairs to give you that much-needed break. Judah Bauer and 20 Miles took the stage at 11:00 p.m. sharp. Bauer, a third of Blues Explosion, looked a bit weathered as he and his band played several traditional blues rock bits. It was sharp and well played, but it's quite apparent why it's called the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion and not the Judah Bauer Blues Explosion (Well, except that now it's just Blues Explosion -- Ed), as there was a definite lack of coolness emanating from the stage. We couldn't handle it and booked it back over to Emo's. Emo's is like your Mom's cooking -- you always come back to it with open arms.

Providence's Chinese Stars did their best Six Finger Satellite impersonation to a melting crowd. Of particular note, former 6FS bassist Richard Ivan Pelletier is indeed the bassist for the Stars. His rumbling bass lines got booty's of both genders feverishly shaking. The high-registered singing was distracting, but the unreal guitar squawking left most of the crowd in a jaw-dropping gaze.

Following right behind was Los Angeles' 400 Blows. The bass-less trio was dressed in their customary naval uniforms and the simple drum and guitar music was massive. Vocalist Skot wasn't as animated as he's been in the past, preferring to arch his back and lean towards the crowd with glove-enclosed microphone in hand. Christian and Ferdinand still delivered an exciting assortment of riffs and breakdowns, making more noise than many quartets can muster.

After passing by the Mitsubishi-blessed beats of Fat Boy Slim at Stubbs, we briefly checked in with the Minibosses at the Velvet Spade. If you like old school Nintendo turned into noodling metal, here's your ticket to Heaven. However, there's only so much video game music I can take in one sitting, so I cried "Game Over" and headed home for the evening.

Here's a boozy dispatch from Jason Jackowiak...

By the time I arrived at Stubb's for Astralwerks' zip-em-up jamboree, Radio 4 were chang-bangaling towards the end of their set, and thankfully so -- it all seemed rather contrived and NYC hip-to-be-square. Fortunatly, VHS or Beta were up next. Their set was ethereal and vicious all at once, channeling everything from Pornography-era cure to PiL and Duran Duran. Songs stretched out over simmering grooves, injected with snatches of wildly flanging guitars and grimy basslines. "The Melting Moon" and their closing version of "Night on Fire" were particular standouts, but something tells me that the boys from Lousiville have delivered one of the performances of the week.

Former Blur guitarist Graham Coxon was up next, and if he wasn't wired to the mains on some sort of speed, then he's simply one of the strangest, spazziest humans on the face of the planet. In just over and hour's time he and his band sprinted through what seemed like 155 songs, mostly cribbed from Happiness in Magazines, but occasionally dropping a new gem, or old favorite, into the mix. He was twitchy as fuck the whole show, not saying anything that made much sense between songs, and falling to the ground on more than a few occasions. "Freakin' Out" was the penultimate moment of the set, followed by a nasty dirge and a salute to the crowd before he disappeared into the wings. No "Beetlebum" or "Chinese Bombs", sadly.

Walking back to Parish to catch the tail-end of the Merge showcase, we poked fun at the folks waiting in vain to attempt to see LCD Soundsystem, telling them they could have seen at least four shows in the time they spent waiting to not see one. Suckers.

Parish was jammed, but we made it in to see the waning moments of Crooked Fingers. Nice, but really, what else can you say about Crooked Fingers? Speculation ran high about who their "special guests" were, and though I had been spreading rumors on the street that it was indeed Arcade Fire, it turned out to be local faves/most despised men in Austin, Spoon. Upon receiving that news, I was off to Club DeVille to catch Lucero.

Club DeVille is great: part opium den, part performance venue. And they have Knob Creek whiskey. Score. Anyway, Lucero had already begun when I walked in, and as usual, they were fucking brilliant. They're the new Uncle Tupelo, if you didn't already know, and their scorching twang-punk was custom made to close out night two of SXSW -- whiskey-soaked regret amplified by Marshall stacks and copious amounts of distilled goodness. They promised to play more songs than time would allow, but apologized and promised to come back soon to atone for their sins. Lucero: nicest guys in alt.country/rock 'n' roll.

Jenny adds:

Craig Finn and his band were also trying out new material at the French Kiss/Cold Crush showcase at Whiskey Bar. "We don't know how to do a showcase," said Finn, in one of his trade-mark paradoxical, though apparently off-the-cuff axioms, "So we're just going to do a show." Fair enough, and the set started with the lead song from Almost Killed Me, the long, spoken-word introduced "Positive Jam" that erupts, midway through, into the loudest chord change you'll ever hear. It's that mix of found poetry and album-oriented-rock riffs that make Hold Steady so amazing, that and the way that Finn skips around slapping himself ecstatically whenever the music gets too intense, which it does, pretty often. The current band has a keyboard player, Franz Nicolai, whom I don't remember from the show I saw last spring in Boston, and the new songs "Hornets", "Hoodrat" and others incorporate bits of organ and electric piano. Still the main thing, for me, is Tad Kubler's ferocious guitar, blowing up behind artfully constructed pop culture references ("I'm so connected / my UPC's dialed into the system"). Don't you hate these clever kids, Finn asks somewhere in "Hostile Massachusetts"? No way, I wish more bands were this smart and gutsy.

The 1:00 a.m. slot was Mahjongg, whose Afro-funk-referencing, electronically manipulated grooves have been a favorite of mine since late last fall. It took them a long time to set up and the tiny stage was crowded with drums, computers, guitars and found instruments. It's a small stage, which made their mid-set instrument switch offs more complicated than usual, and I saw Jeff get nailed twice in the face by Caryl's violin bow. Their sound was ultra rhythmic -- at one point it hit me that everyone on stage was playing percussion somehow, though not all of them on drums -- and built out of tiny pieces of sound, assembled tightly together in a groove. It's an unusual combination of music for the body, soul and brain, challenging but not difficult, complicated but absolutely fun. The set covered both last year's EP and the excellent new Raydoncong, out since late February.

Finally, here's a report from Splendid's silent partner, Tom Porter, who decided to see SXSW guest-of-honor Robert Plant at Austin Music Hall...

As we all grow older, we get an interesting prospective on what it must be like to be an aging rock star, so it was with much anticipation that my 32 year-old self dragged my 24 year-old girlfriend to see Robert plant at the Austin Music Hall. South By Southwest should be an opportunity to see new and up-and-coming artists of all types in one city over one long weekend, but it seems that there's always a bevy of established (and even washed up) artists who play in an effort to establish their cred... or at least their label's push towards reestablishing their cred.

What do you do if you have a plethora of songs that "everyone" knows and wants to hear... and if you've been playing those same songs for almost 40 years? Plant's answer is to totally rearrange them into something almost new -- a move that was recognizable to fans, but not quite “right” in the minds of the 30-40 something drunken white male who grew up establishing their sexuality with Zeppelin's classics.

Plant's solution is to rearrange all of his former band's classics, play a good sampling of his new stuff, and cover everyone from the Dead to Elvis. The result was a show that all the young artists at SXSW should have been forced to view -- not to pick up on the musical stylings, which were decidedly Zeppelinesque, but rather to learn what it means to be a rock and roll performer.

The 57 year-old plant played for 90 minutes, backed by a group of players half his age; he gave the crowd just enough of what they wanted, and mixed in enough of what they needed not to get stuck in the collective past. In doing so, he proved that there's a reason that Zeppelin is still one of the most influential bands of all time, and showed everyone, young and old, what it means to be a rock icon.