OK, finally -- here's my SXSW entry. First off, a word to the wise: if you care about music, you MUST attend this thing, it's the (semi-)adult alternative to Bonnaroo, Woodstock, the H.O.R.D.E. festival, or any other summertime uber-concert. Sure, it's a lot of money, but you can see literally dozens of bands and hang out in a series of smoky (!) bars and art galleries and barbecue joints drinking and eating and listening to those bands and meeting hipsters and goofy record industry guys from all over the world. The best thing about Austin is, well, Austin -- it's a town with a real vibe to it, that sense that you couldn't be anywhere else but in Austin. Friendly people, great food (tamales! tamales!), cheap everything, and it was 80 degrees and warm and green there, aaaaahhhhh. Thank goodness for us that Karen and Lee Ann decided to move back there, to picturesque Kyle, TX, land of the 4 br./2 ba. ranch house that sells for, oh, $100K. :-o

So my club-hopping began as a solo mission, on Friday night. After checking out Joss Stone, the very young, blonde, British singer with the incongruous voice of a seasoned R&B chanteuse, for free at a lovely outdoor venue along the Colorado River (which for some reason Austin refers to as "Town Lake"!?), I headed to 6th Street, a vast stretch of musical venues. I staked out a spot at Exodus around 10, anticipating the appearance at 1am (gulp) of Calexico, one of my favorite newly discovered bands. SXSW reviews submissions by hundreds of acts, and those that make the cut perform in these showcases, from 6pm to 2am all over the city, in 45-minute sets. Like I said, there is a LOT of music going on. I caught most of the set by Silkworm, a rather Wilco-ish trio from Chicago, from the back corner, then moved up much closer to the stage as the crowd began to fill in. I'd never heard of TV On the Radio, the next band, but from what I could tell everyone else in town had -- and they were phenomenal, a unique blend of, mmmmm, say, The Strokes with riot-grrrrl-ish caterwauling and crazy punk/David Bowie dance moves by the lead singer. They just rocked. Then the Dallas area band The New Year came on, and they had a strong local following -- me, I could take it or leave it. They had five guitars, and were still subdued and monotonous, like Radiohead with all the dystopian genius sucked out of it and really dull lyrics -- although the bass player provided the high comic moment of the night. There were some sound problems, as you can imagine with a tiny crew of roadies setting up six or seven bands a night in 15 minutes flat. So Bass Player is fussing with his monitor or whatever, and scowling at the sound board guy and flailing his arms to signal that he's not hearing anything, etc etc etc. They decide to start playing anyway, which really pisses off B.P., and he stands up and lo! His cable isn't plugged in to his guitar! It's just hanging there on the guitar strap! Loser.

Anyway, I digress -- the headliners, Calexico, were spectacular, totally worth waiting for hours in relative filth (I crouched between sets to ease my poor feet) to see. They are from Tucson, AZ (who knew?) and have a hypnotic, mariachi-inflected, very danceable sound. Drummer, keyboards, pedal steel guy, lead guitar/vocal, and two multi-instrumentalists: both played trumpet (so they could have one or two!), one played percussion (shakey egg!) and the other...accordion! They played all my favorites from their latest CD, and it was a swirling mass of happy listeners streaming out the doors at 2:15 am after the show...aahhh! I wound up getting back to Kyle at 3am, to sleep at 3:30 -- 24 hours after I woke up in Boston to go to the airport! Ooops, stayed up for a whole day, oh well.

The next day, Saturday, was more hipster heaven. Karen kindly shlepped up to South Congress, an area rife with cool shops and restaurants, for lunch at Guero's for tip-top tacos. We wandered into Yard Dog, a gallery with amazing art and a free music showcase in the backyard -- Magnolia Summer, an excellent unknown band, was playing. Mandy, George and I then made our way to Flatstock, the rock poster show at the sprawling convention center. May I just note that my "Mr. Sparkle" t-shirt was the perfect choice to wear -- I got at least a dozen "Hey, that's a great shirt!" from these insanely talented artists and graphic designers, blush blush. Anyway, there were incredible displays of handbills, posters, and original prints for every band you can think of, from Built to Spill to The Sea and Cake to Black Eyed Peas. We rigorously scouted out options, then wound up purchasing a few -- Mandy and I actually bought posters from the renowned Hatch Show Print, for the show we were going to later that night...read on!

After a little rest and some delicious homemade pizza, we headed to Stubb's, a legendary barbecue joint and music venue, for one of the big shows of the weekend: Ozomatli, The Mavericks, Patty Griffin, Old 97's, and Los Lobos. We caught about the middle third of the show, standing in the dusty parking lot in a huge crowd in front of the outdoor stage, under truly big and bright Texas stars, cold and delicious Shiner Bocks in hand. Patty was fantastic, she played with a band and all new material. We headed out into 6th Street into the wave of strolling folks, from bikini-clad freaks to college kids to little kids to yet more wandering hipsters in faded vintage tshirts. Every few feet along the street the sound of a new and different band came pouring out of the next club, it was amazing. There was a block-long line to see The Hives, no dice. We wandered past Esther's Pool, where a naughty magic show was taking place in the brightly lit front window...and ducked into Coyote Ugly (yup, with all the bras) for a minute looking for George's friend Neil Cleary, who'd performed there earlier. At midnight we caught Boston favorites Mr. Airplane Man, a normally rip-roarin' "trash blues" duo, who weren't in top form but suffered from a lame-o sound guy and a very strange venue featuring cheesy velvet paintings of topless centerfolds on the walls, OK whatever. An appropriately surreal end to our night.

Sunday was recuperation day (read: Krispy Kremes), and we decided to tour some shopping hotspots with Miss Karen. We stopped in at Central Market, and even more delicious food emporium than the enormous Whole Foods flagship across town, where I picked up some special pop for Soda King Nathaniel...mmmmm, cane sugar! Next on our list, Tesoros, a wonderful shop crammed with Mexican art and handicrafts from around the world. Then we drove through the University of Texas campus, the city within the city, with a stop at ToyJoy, the most diverting place on the planet. Starving by now, we waited a long time for a table at Stubb's, which was eerily quiet after the rocking night before -- but it was worth the wait. Mmmmmm, brisket.

In fact, mmmmmmm, Austin. I can't wait to go back (just not in the summer, eeeek) for more of that Lone Star flavor. And speaking of which, I saw 29 cowboy hats while I was there -- yeehah!