Well, I survived. People were dropping like flies around me... illnesses, alcohol, complete bodily weariness. I credit being a member of the Herbal Resistance (go Wellness Formula!) with avoiding the first item, knowing better than to drink much during endurance tests like this one for number 2, and as for number 3? Well, you can sleep when you're dead. Or at least back home.
So here's a list of the bands I saw:
The Avett Brothers
Bersas Discos DJs
The Very Best (Esau Mwamwaya & Radioclit)
Pains of Being Pure At Heart
School of Seven Bells
Mumford & Sons
the bird and the bee
Thao Nyguen & the Get Down Stay Down
The Vivian Girls
Cage the Elephant
The Duke Spirit
There was all sorts of stuff other than just the shows, you know. You can't help but have adventures on a trip like this.
Dashing off to see Tricky, I was stopped by a guy with a microphone and his pal with a very professional looking backpack. It turned out they were BBC Radio, and they did a quickie interview with me about Scottish bands (other than Franz Ferdinand, that is). I immediately slipped into Mo-Radio voice, and all went well.
Taming the wild Jackalope.
Nay and I had a very enjoyable time ripping off the heads of small crustaceans and sucking out their guts. After the crew at the party table next to us at a place called The Boiling Pot showed us how, that is. It's not often a place lets you eat with your hands, and dumps your entree out of the bowl into a pile on your table. There, Nay and I were also politely accosted by some rather rough looking guys who had taken pictures of us from the patio, and drew hearts with crayons on the glass wall separating us. Perhaps it sounds sweet, but it was actually kinda creepy.
Seeing the guys of Born In the Flood leap into a cold, cold hotel pool in their underwear, then remove said underwear, toss it to the other end of the pool, and nakedly race for it. (Spin says to think of them as a more rugged Coldplay, but I'll always think of them like this.)
Running into Jeff Klein everywhere. He's so adorable!
Finding cool prints at Flatstock to give to my adopted nieces and nephews.
A parting meal with lots of friends, bottomless mimosas, and delicious South American food before heading to the airport, where I would later be punched in the gut by a sleeping sorority girl on my flight home.
The worst part of SXSW is that towards the end, you are kind of over the thronging, drunken masses. At least, I am. The best part? Getting to check out great music, and if you're lucky, you get to do it with great friends too.