I don’t know how to write this review. I had five paragraphs written that I trashed, because they had this impersonal sheen to them that didn’t do justice to the glory of a Paul McCartney live show. I’ve been trying to write some heady-but-relatable review that includes anecdotes without being specifically from my perspective, but that’s the thing about absolutely brilliant music. It helps you transcend your everyday filters and the separation you might feel from your core, and really lets you be yourself, in the moment, experiencing all that is happening around you. And when a musician has been performing for 55 years for stadium crowds, it is a safe bet that their live show will reach that transcendence.

Photo from PaulMcCartney.com

I really didn’t plan for six hours of Paul McCartney. Since my boyfriend Zack was initially unavailable to join me at Austin’s Erwin Center, I invited my 65-year-old father to relive his past a bit, to be instantly transported to a time of howling masses and Beatle boots. We landed cheap seats for night two, which was good enough for us. When the week of the show arrived, fate intervened and Zack was suddenly released from work four and a half hours early, at 7:30PM, in time for us to stop by the venue and see what the scalping situation was.

Serendipitously, we ended up with tickets for $35 each, and even though they were located miles apart in the venue, we knew we’d just have to make it work. We found ourselves almost behind the stage, in two seats on the edge of a row, practically guaranteeing we wouldn’t be bothered by some lonesome soul wanting an aisle seat by him- or herself. We sat, undisturbed, for the entirety of the show, with a unique birds-eye view of the stage, able to feel both in the moment and behind-the-scenes all at the same time.

Photo by Zack Teibloom

This was not my first McCartney gig. Actually, I would say as recently as 8 months ago, I never really envisioned myself ever seeing Paul McCartney live. But he made a stop in Houston, and Zack desperately wanted to go, and I figured it would be fun so we had an adventure. The beautiful thing about unexpected, mostly unplanned adventures is that there are no pre-conceived notions about what they’ll look like. First experiences with something, particularly live music, are able to approach perfection specifically because there’s nothing to compare them to. It’s just fresh, untarnishable excitement and raw, real reactionary emotions and bliss. So heading back into the arena with McCartney for a second (and third) time was almost inevitably going to fall just a little bit short. I did my best to know this, truly, going into it. I tried to comfort myself when this song didn’t make me cry like it did before, or that song didn’t give me the other-worldly butterflies as I held Zack’s hand, but instead made me feel distant from him and the rest of the outside world.

It was still, as expected, a spectacular show. McCartney was still vibrantly youthful, all flirty grins and dad-moves dancing. He spoke to the crowd in Spanish, playing to his familiarity with the Texan (and, frequently, American) population. He was a gentleman, a funny guy, everything you’d always hope he would be.

However, even though the setlist was close to unchanged from the Houston performance, Austin lost out on some amazing tunes. We didn’t get “Jet.” We didn’t get “I’ve Got a Feeling.” We didn’t even “Get Back.” We did get, for some inexplicable reason, “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite,” which is one of my least-favorite Beatles songs of all time, and also caused me to have the thought, “If you’re gonna get all weird-Lennon on us, McCartney, can’t you go all-in on ‘I Am the Walrus’?!” “…Mr Kite.” just came off as if we were a large group of school children and Paul was entertaining us for the afternoon in a public library. It wasn’t bad, and the light show enhanced it significantly, but it’s still a goofy song with a circus melody that’s awfully weak when compared with the rest of the Beatles/MACCA songbook.

Photo from PaulMcCartney.com

For a while, sitting next to Zack and waiting to get the same glowing-butterflies feeling as before, I thought I might not shed a tear at this second Paul show. I cried so much in Houston, you’d think I was at a wake, but so many moments just caught me off-guard emotionally that I couldn’t help it. “All My Loving” had instantly transported me back to the days of young Beatles and younger girl entourages of fans, and the gravity of this musician’s hit me like a ton of bricks in H-town, causing the tears to flow. In Austin, I was ready for the magnitude of Macca, so I just smiled along joyously, more connected to the now than the past.

“Blackbird” had been the biggest cry-inducer for me in Houston, since Paul introduced it as a song he’d written to try to bring hope to people in the 60s (specifically, African Americans) going through all kinds of hell. This time, although that notion still made my heart swell, my eyes remained dry.

But suddenly, there was a moment. Something that took me by complete surprise, bringing a bit of that raw-emotions magic to Austin. Paul simply said the words, “This one, I wrote for Linda.” Before he even played a note, I sobbed. It was one of those restorative, ugly sobs that are out of your control. It felt powerful. Even when Paul proceeded to flub the opening chords to “Maybe I’m Amazed,” I kept crying, laughing with him through the tears because, how cool is that? This demigod of music can still make mistakes! When he’d played this song in Houston, I thought he might have re-branded it in his mind to be more about his children than his Linda, so it was so incredibly touching to know that these emotions for this woman who was no longer physically with him lingered in the songs for him, even if only by description. That’s the kind of everlasting love we’d all be lucky to have.

Photo by Zack Teibloom

Zack and I were far closer to the stage in Austin than we were in Houston, causing the “Live and Let Die” pyrotechnics to be (literally) even hotter. Getting a first view of Paul and co. entering and exiting the stage was an added bonus of the side-view, and even though we agreed it didn’t really compare to the Houston first-timers gig for us, it was important and amazing in different ways. It put songs in different contexts, brought Paul closer to home.

Photo from PaulMcCartney.com

When my dad joined me for night two, then, I was truly home. It was surprising to me which songs were my dad’s favorites — and made me realize that there are still so many surprises that you can delight in discovering with your parents. Your immediate family is easily taken for granted, because these are people who have seen you from diapers to first jobs and everything in between. For instance, for our pre-show dinner, my dad and I were discussing our big trip up north in our F-150 pickup truck, driving through the Appalachians and D.C. and NYC and the surrounding areas. We recalled our time at Niagara Falls, the one completely unplanned detour we indulged in, and my dad revealed to me that when I was leaning up against the fence near the water, he had been nervous that I’d be swept away.

It wasn’t a real and pressing fear, so he didn’t say anything at the time, but I’d always envisioned my father as the level-headed rock of the family, with my mom bearing all of the worry on her shoulders. I just figured my dad had become more worried about me as he got older and I got further away. Turns out, he was worried for me all along. I don’t mean that in an eye-roll, “Daaaaaa-aaaaad!” kind of way, at all. It was touching to know that he was just as vulnerable as the rest of us were as we grew up together, but I was simply oblivious to it.

When McCartney started up with “And I Love Her,” my dad held my hand and sang it to me, his number one girl with a bullet. It was all the more special knowing that I’d learned something new about a man I’ve known all my life. That might just have to be the song for our Dad/daughter dance at my wedding.

Photo from PaulMcCartney.com

The beauty in music is how it lets us know ourselves and each other. It reveals fears and dreams and quirks that we hide in our day-to-day lives, the stuff we hide away from even ourselves. It’s the quickest path to mediation and mindfulness, because the right song performed the right way at the right moment can get at you in a way nothing else can. It’s what Paul McCartney has managed to do for us all his life — cut right to the heart of things and help us discover ourselves. Thank you for the realness, Paul. I’ll never take it for granted.

 Photo from www.sigur-ros.co.uk

If you’re a human, which I’ll go ahead and assume you are*, your brain can get kinda funked up with stuff. You can hold strong beliefs that you’re worth something just as you are and then be bombarded with messages from the outside culture that, in fact, no, you need about 100 different products and 6 different diets and even then, you must always strive for perfection and, as Lowe’s has taught us, “never stop improving.” Our standard of “acceptable person” seems to be to basically disappear inside of ourselves like so many black holes while we blind ourselves to the fact that the earth is hurting and we come from it, so we should probably give a shit. Between our high expectations for events and holidays and our own futures, and our crippling self-doubt and anxiety, and some deep-seated guilt thrown in for good measure — it can feel a bit like we’re all just Han Solo trapped in carbonite, but in our own minds. Speaking for myself, I know that every day, I live about 99% of it in a state of distraction. Since mindfulness is hard work and can lead to feeling difficult feelings because, you know, those exist, I just float around outside of myself, barraging myself with criticisms cloaked in the thought that this will be somehow “motivating” when it never, ever is. Turns out, it’s actually self-defeating.

Knowing all of this has freed just a couple of fingers from the carbonite, just enough to hold a tiny pick so I can start escaping my self-imposed prison. The light seems to break through my numbness most of all when I can be in a state of mindfulness, and Sigur Ros takes me to that state every time.

This now-three-piece band of Icelandic geniuses was introduced to me via the online journal of a friend from elementary school who I was checking in on (in impolite terms, I was internet stalking her just a tad). She’d posted a link to a song — this was pre-YouTube times so I can’t remember what her outlet was — and it just so happened to be Sigur Ros’ “Starálfur.” I was enchanted immediately by the haunting non-English vocals, and the sweeping, dreamlike quality of the whole masterpiece. I listened to it over and over, but I didn’t dare to purchase the entire album because it just seemed too out of the realm of what I’d normally listen to.

I forgot about it for a little while, and then when I got to college, the fates directed me to a career as a college radio DJ. I was lucky enough to snag a time slot in my first semester at UT, and even though it was at a creepy hour of the day that caused me to call my mom as I walked back across the darkened campus to my dorm, it was the window into pretty much everything that defines me today, musically speaking. Since we were required to play five different genres of music every hour, and my time slot was always two hours long, I had to branch out. Sigur Ros was labeled under the silver genre, for being experimental, and I decided to try more of their stuff. I found myself going back to “Sæglópur” for most of my sets, and when I heard that Sigur Ros would be performing a concert on campus at Bass Concert Hall in early 2006, I thought it would be nice to spend what I anticipated would be a fairly quiet, relaxing evening chilling out to some gentle Icelandic tunes. Oh, how deliciously wrong I was.

Since the Bass show, I hadn’t seen Sigur Ros play together until Montreal and Osheaga with Zack last year. That was a treat, but I longed for what they could do with their own stage, their own set. I wanted the full monty. I wanted to be able to completely lose myself, blocking out everything else (except for Zack), connecting intimately with the band in a blissful nirvana. The stage seemed set for that perfect night. We’d managed to score third row center seats. We arrived early to make sure we were settled and didn’t miss a moment of the night.

I told myself before the show that I would sink into the music. I wanted to totally immerse myself and ignore anything around me that could cause annoyance or frustration. I wanted so badly for this night to carry me through my messy, occasionally frustrating life the rest of the week. But here’s the thing: life is never perfect. Literally, never. And I don’t say this to depress or be pessimistic. But there are blemishes, sometimes monumental and sometimes indecipherable, and they are what keeps us alive.

I’ll readily admit:  I wasn’t just automatically in this “accepting” state of mind. When the show started and the band entered the scene, I was enthralled, and I started to meditate on the visuals and sounds and connectedness I felt. Then, part way through the second song, which is one of my favorites — “Ný batterí” — the pair of dudes who had lucked out and nabbed the chairs that were just to the left (and a little more centered) than mine and Zack’s arrived late and caused all of us to uncomfortably stand and contort ourselves as they passed by to get to their seats. Granted, the show really did start shockingly early and so I can’t fault them too much for not realizing they should arrive early to the venue — still, it jolted me out of my moment and caused me to make “angry Caitlin face” for a moment. I shook that off, I began to fall back into a state of meditation again.

One song later, as I was enjoying the strains of the gorgeous “Vaka” (named for drummer Orri’s daughter), an usher sidled up to our row, with a group of about 4 or 5 attendees beside her. She gestured to the middle, and we tried to decipher who she wanted. First, I pointed at Zack and me to see if she wanted us, and instead of shaking her head yes or no like a normal human, she kind of gesture-pointed again and so it led me to believe she wanted the latecomers next to me. I tapped the guy sitting next to me (who looked like Johnny Depp from Pirates of the Caribbean in a leather jacket) and pointed to the usher, and started to go back to my viewing of the show. But then the guy next to me gestured and looked baffled, so I looked back over and the woman was actually pointing at me. I don’t know how she thought I was single-handedly taking up 4 people’s seats, but I made a disgusted face at her and just shook my head no. This must have awakened her to the landscape of her job, and she realized she was in the wrong place and walked away with the group. I had a mini-panic attack at all of this because there was a fiasco when I was buying the tickets where I never received an email confirmation and I’d always feared that they somehow double-booked my pair of tickets, so I really was afraid for a moment that some horrible error had occurred, but I knew in my heart I was in the right place and I felt strangely proud of standing my ground.

During the breathtaking “Svefn-g-englar,” the bro-iest of bros decided this was his JAM, y’all (even though it sounds like an ode to a slow-moving submarine) and he stood up against the gate, throwing up crazed rock hands and “woo”ing as long as his beer-soaked lungs could take it. And, similarly, during the stunning moment in “Festival” where Jonsi defies the laws of oxygen and the sweetest, purest “ooo” escapes him for at least a few solid minutes, people just couldn’t handle the gentleness of the moment and had to clap, howl, and make sure they got their word in while they could. But, where I would typically become obsessed over these assholes and be so afraid that this band I idolized would associate me with them when I just wanted them to feel my love (which I totally did do at first), instead I was finally able to take a deep breath, block out the noise, and just let myself be swept up with Jonsi.

And that’s when I realized — the fact that life is never perfect isn’t depressing or pessimistic at all. It is freeing. Think about it:  the pressure’s off! If every moment is open to the possibility of a sneeze in an awkward place or a trip over a crack in the sidewalk or a loud ambulance when you’re trying to have a quiet, romantic moment, you can let your expectations go and just really enjoy what is in front of you. In fact, the imperfections make you appreciate beauty and light and positivity that much more.

No moment captured that sentiment for me more perfectly than the encore. The band played back-to-back two of my favorite songs. They started with “Glósóli,” which is the song they opened their 2006 Bass Concert Hall show with that made me fall instantly in love and awe. I remembered how it bowled me over, made my guts drop out, forced my mouth agape. I had that comparison and hoped I would be able to be so vulnerable as to cry while it rushed over me, sitting next to Zack, holding tightly to his hand. Instead, the driving bass drum rhythm was just “off” enough on one beat that it snapped me to attention. At first, I worried that drummer Orri was hurt or something, and it was causing him to hit one low roll just a little bit behind the beat. But as he continued to do this through the whole song, with the rest of the band unblinking, I realized this was simply how they were performing the song. It was like a bit of forced imperfection, and that was when the idea bloomed in my mind that, that was more than OK. It was human and it was right. And, because of this truth, the final song, “Popplagið,” was more impactful than any other Sigur Ros song I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Because I’d allowed myself to accept an imperfection, it gave me the choice to accept my own imperfections and just be in my skin and blood and bones while a maelstrom of a song gradually sucked me under. As the song climaxes and Orri plows into his drums in time and Jonsi rages and everything turns to orchestrated chaos I just existed within that moment. It was more than I could have imagined or hoped for.

The greatest thing about Sigur Ros, though, and why I thought to myself over and over during ”Popplagið,” “This is my favorite band in the world,” is not just that they reaffirm life for me. It’s because they also help me to embrace death. I know it sounds morbid, but as a pre-teen and teenager, I was terrified of dying. I would fall into panic attacks, picturing the many awful fates that could befall me if I wasn’t careful enough. It still creeps into my mind sometimes, particularly when I listen to the news and feel so helpless in the face of external forces so much more powerful than I am by myself.

During almost every song they played, the band had images from their music videos on screen behind them. The first that forced me to think about the scary unknown was “Vaka.” It was all red-tinted, causing the images of the children playing in their gas masks to be all the more disturbing. But somehow, with that sweet song as its soundtrack, the idea of this post-apocalyptic world made a quiet, natural death seem like the better option. It sounds bizarre, but it was like a simultaneous warning of what could be if enough of us do not act, and a peek into the alternative to just letting go if we get to that point. It unsettled me, but it also put me in a more open and raw frame of mind.

I can’t remember which song this matched to — I believe it was one of the newer ones — but in a quieter moment, there were images of blue figures rising up toward the sky, like souls leaving their bodies. But then as I continued to look at them, it seemed like perhaps they were not rising, but merely being — just, existing where they were, until something decided to change. It was one of the most comforting images I’ve ever seen, because it made me realize that time is very liquid and all of our particles could go on forever somewhere in a different form, so that we are changing and not stuck in some suspended state infinitely, but rather always changing forms and living on in new ways.

Capturing the essence of life and death and the innate desire for connection that makes people so beautifully delicate, the band’s newer song “Varúð” was masterfully performed. When I first saw this mystery film that went with the song, I became emotional at its message. All of us travelers on a dark and lonely road can still find light, if we look for it in each other. What I loved so dearly about the live performance was, instead of just having the figurines in the video reach out to one another, the band utilized a figure on the screen and one of the two-dozen bare lightbulbs diagonal from it, on the front audience-right of the stage, which made it feel like we on the ground were the ones reaching out to a stranger. We were putting our faith in connection.

It is difficult for me to ever feel that I am properly explaining what this one band means to me. Perhaps it sounds immature or idolizing, but I truly believe that the flesh-and-blood men in this band are more than that. Their uncanny ability to put to music my feelings, emotions, fears, dreams, and — far outside of just my own individual soundtrack — the music that makes up the human experience, is a gift that makes my heart burst every time I hear them. Through whatever existence I inhabit, for however long I do, I will always be comforted to know that there is a sound to accompany me.

*Unless you’re a super smart dog who can read in which case, please leave me a comment below so we can talk about if, when I see a dog “smile,” it’s actually smiling. And also if you prefer some music over other music.

Set list:
Yfirborð
Ný batterí
Vaka
Hrafntinna
Sæglópur
Svefn-g-englar
Varúð
Hoppípolla
Með blóðnasir
Olsen Olsen
Kveikur
Festival
Brennistein
————-
Glósóli
Popplagið

When South by Southwest began in 1987 — coincidentally, the year (and week) I was born — it was started as a music industry convention to allow new and up-and-coming artists to be discovered, and to allow journalists and label reps to network. 26 years later, and it has been co-opted by music fans as a giant discovery festival, by college students as a free-drinks-ahoy spring break location, by brands as a cultural capital trade show (giant Dorito’s vending machine stage, anyone?) and by well-established artists as a place to try out new music and simply cause a commotion. Because of this, expectations continue to skyrocket each year, causing many to feel disappointed by their experience. If you want one festival in a wonderful but, admittedly, comparatively small city to be all things to all people, it’s going to get a bit nuts.

Each year, as the festival approaches, I can feel my stress levels rise, getting caught up in the madness with everyone and fearing that I won’t get into the best shows, the most exciting parties. I RSVP to 300 parties (a conservative estimate) and attend about 7. I scramble to listen to as many new bands as possible, and usually end up prioritizing artists I already know I adore.

This year was different. This year, I decided it was time to get in sync with the festival. I managed to scour almost all new artists coming to Austin, and discovered about three dozen I was excited about. As the festival finally arrived, I took a figurative and literal deep breath, and leaned back to ride the wave.

Tuesday

This year was my first to indulge in bike riding as my mode of SXSW transportation, and it was glorious. You don’t know how gratifying it feels to zip past a line of cars, watching people walk along 6th street, music blasting from everywhere. As I crossed under I-35, from East to West 6th, I managed to pass an outside stage just as Best Coast was being introduced, and it felt so appropriately sunny and hopeful as my festival week kicked off. It set the tone for magical moments throughout the weekend.

Charli XCX was first on my list, so I headed to the Belmont and was allowed to walk right in with my fancy badge access. I nabbed a free Luden’s throat drop (kiwi-strawberry, aka heaven) and found a spot where I could easily see the stage. Charli was supposed to be on at 8PM, and right around then, eerie distorted game-show-like music blasted from the speakers as two women in high pigtails and neon cheerleader outfits came dancing out on stage, flanking a huge, furry, creepy blue gremlin named Gorburger. Gorburger welcomed us and threatened that anyone on mushrooms was probably having a really weird time — and he was going to make it weirder. At that, thunderous claps echoed around the venue and the stage lights flashed different colors for a solid minute. I don’t know much about hallucinogens, but I suspect this would have been kind of awful for anyone indulging in them.

After the devilish Gorburger left the stage, I was expecting Charli XCX. Instead, Sirah popped onto the scene, and was one of very few artists I just couldn’t stomach the entire weekend. She would jump around, and then stop in her tracks and give a dead stare to someone in the crowd, saying dopily, “Hiiii.” I couldn’t tell if she was being dorky and awkward on purpose, or if she had indulged in some of the mushrooms Gorburger had eluded to. Either way, her flow was OK but overall the performance was like watching someone get onstage who probably shouldn’t ever be, and I was eager for Charli to start.

This is Gorburger. Now go have nightmares forever.

Luckily, Charli was next, and she was even better than I’d hoped for. It was simply her, a drummer, and a keyboardist playing to a backing track, and yet she was captivating. She dances onstage with swagger and style, and seems so comfortably herself and confident. Her voice is, of course, her centerpiece, and it soars sweetly, at times with a biting sting and at others, with gentle heartache. Perhaps most impressive is the composition of her songs. There are so many polished layers and catchy beats, it is clear that this artist knows her own vision for herself.

Feeding off of the confidence of Charli, I headed out on my bike, ready to see more music. My first stop was the VEVO TV lounge for Haim, but it was beyond crowded so I decided to go check out what Planet Quebec had to offer instead. When I went to unlock my bike, out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy with what seemed to be a photo camera plop onto the ground near me. I figured he was just trying to take a look back through what he’d just caught and lost his balance, so I ignored him. After my bike was unlocked and my helmet was on, I noticed the guy hadn’t moved, so I finally looked over directly at him to make sure he was OK. It was at that point I realized he had a video camera, and it was aimed at me, and the red “record” light was on. I was completely creeped out, and looked away quickly to grab my bike and get out. As I started walking away, he called out to me. “Hey! Hey! Look at my film! Look!” The guy was clearly not sober, to say the least, so I kind of glanced over and watched some black and white footage of the city street and just kind of shrugged and walked off. As I did, he yelled out, “Hey, where are you going?” I briskly crossed the street, feeling that I’d escaped an uncomfortable situation, when it got a lot more uncomfortable. The guy appeared next to me, shoving his camera in my face to look at whatever weird footage he had. I said firmly, “No thank you,” and continued to walk. He then reached out and put his hand on the front of my bike, and stopped me, saying, “Look!” I felt very threatened as this guy physically prevented me from moving forward, and shouted, “EXCUSE ME” loudly enough so a couple walking in front of me looked back. I rushed away and hopped on my bike, pedaling as fast as I could to get away. I lost the guy, but it was the first time I felt assaulted by anyone and I was in a horrible mood when I arrived to the Planet Quebec showcase.

Luckily, the lineup was the perfect antidote to a frightening encounter. I was there for Peter Peter, but had arrived early enough to catch Mozart’s Sister first. This pair of women had strong, powerful voices which were the primary instruments used in the music, backed up by electronic tracks that sounded like dark 90s compilations. They reminded me a lot of Grimes, but with a more avant-garde feel.

The only song I knew by Peter Peter was a quieter number that sounded like a sweet French lullaby, so I expected something acoustic and gorgeous. But instead of getting rocked to sleep, I was rocked and rolled. Peter Peter played loud, powerful psych rock that sometimes featured a saxophone. Even the song I knew, “Tergiverse,” sounded heavier live. The stage banter was kept to a minimum, but my favorite was the lead singer near the end of the set:  “Thank you Montreal. Thank you Quebec. Thank you Austin. Thank you Texas. Thank you U.S.A. Thank you … everything.” After dancing around to what the band had to offer, I was spent.

Wednesday

I kicked my day off early with some work tasks, but got to the music as fast as I could. I started at Maggie Mae’s to check out Australian band Gold Fields, who sounded like a harder Cut Copy. They had not one, but TWO drummers, and the one sitting at the set was sweating buckets. Their work paid off:  the crowd shimmied around to their electronic tunes, and they definitely established themselves as a band-to-watch, especially during this summer’s festival season.

After spending some time at a countrified day party on west 6th, we figured it was time for a free drink from the Hype Hotel. We walked in while a huge band was crowded onto the stage, playing loud, raucous rock. I peered over to see who it was, and all of a sudden, it hit me. Matching robes? Women doing unified head-swaying? Strings and brass and a choir? It was, at long last, the Polyphonic Spree. I had wanted to see them live since I fell in love with Together We’re Heavy in high school, and here they were. Tim DeLaughter was every bit the madman, magician and sprightly force I hoped and imagined he would be. He was ever the director, and as he clapped and the audience began to clap with him, he smirked and said, “This wasn’t for you, I was directing them!” referring to his band. My heart exploded when the opening strains of “Hold Me Now” broke into the room, and I hugged my boyfriend Zack tightly and swayed back and forth in euphoria. Another happy festival surprise, another moment where I was where I needed to be.

I had planned on finally seeing Iggy Pop and the Stooges at this SXSW, since I’d missed him at previous festivals, but it seemed every other fest-goer had the same plan, and the line snaked for blocks by the time I got in it. I stood until I moved up adjacent to the entry of Club de Ville, and then decided I’d rather just be in a venue and listening to music, so I got out of line and headed inside. Club de Ville holds a lot of history for me, particularly as being the location of the first KVRX 91.7FM student radio fundraiser that I worked when I was in college. Born Ruffians played our showcase and offered to buy me a drink — I was 18 at the time and turned it down, having never had a drop of alcohol in my system before. (Nope, not kidding. Yep, I’m a nerd.)

Dan Smith, the lead singer of Bastille, was wandering around the venue prior to his set but I couldn’t figure out what to say to him, so I left him be, contenting myself to admire his black shock of hair from afar. Hunter Hunted was the first band up at the Club, and they were a little too twee for my tastes. When they covered the Pixies’ “Where Is My Mind,” making it sound like a scene from Glee, I was ready to move on.

Similarly to Hunter Hunted, I found Little Daylight to be a bit empty, like fluffy cotton-candy pop. After two mediocre pop acts, I moved up to be second row for Bastille, and I was more than ready to indulge in something more meaningful. They kicked off their set with the rushing “Icarus,” and during a part where Smith sings, “Standing on a cliff face,” he began to climb up on his monitor, but it tipped backward and Smith went tumbling with it, just barely able to keep himself up. He laughed at himself, and I was instantly won over. Smith’s voice is incredible, rolling up and down seemingly effortlessly. It’s soft, but also crisp, and backed up by beautiful songs with delicate riffs like lacework, it is something near perfection. Plus, the synth player was wearing a spectacular airbrushed Barbara Streisand shirt. I knew this was going to be my favorite band of the weekend immediately.

Click here for a l’il Vine by Zack Teibloom of Bastille’s “Icarus”.

After Bastille, it was time to high-tail it to Bar 96 so I could scoot up close for Nightmare and the Cat. First, we had to sit through Royal Teeth, which is a group of electronic-pop-rockers with a lot of gimmicks, but also heart. They reminded me of fellow Louisianans, the Givers, but with less interesting music (so they compensated with props and confetti). Their cover of the Knife’s “Heartbeats” was expert, and my favorite part of their act.

Photo by Erika Goldring for BMI.com.

When it was time for Nightmare and the Cat, the whole band gathered onstage…except lead singer Django Stewart. His brother Sam called out for him on the mic, asking that if he were in the building, could he please make his way to the stage. He appeared in a leather jacket littered with zippers, dark circles around his eyes, and thick, angry boots on his feet, which was not the Django I was expecting. This was the band I had been most excited to see live, so I’d prepared myself by watching lots of live videos of their previous shows, and Django had always struck me as a bit of a mystical hippie. Suddenly, a very punk figure stood in front of me. The band kicked off with a new song — their whole set was actually new material, save for “Desert Heir.” The first song, though, was the standout. From the lyrics I could parse out, it seemed to be a commentary on the famous father of the brothers (Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics), and it was an angry, biting song that ended in Django thrusting up a middle finger. After they completed this opener, Django crouched down to sip some beer, and I could see he was trembling. He pulled himself together, though, and performed with confidence the rest of the evening. I was sad to not hear “Sarah Beth” or “Little Poet,” but the new material sounded great, and it strengthened my anticipation of the band’s full-length debut coming out soon.

Thursday

I probably wouldn’t have gone to the Dave Grohl keynote speech if it had just been me by myself. As a kid, the music video for “Learn to Fly” cracked me up and so I loved that song, but I was never a fan on a larger level. I pretty much held the opinion that the Foo Fighters’ music all sounded the same. That opinion wavered when I saw them play live at Lollapalooza a few years ago, but Grohl rubbed me the wrong way. He went on a rant about what “real” musicians were, and how people needed to get behind rock ‘n’ roll again instead of having people hide behind technology. I felt like raising my hand and going, umm — but you’re plugged in to an amp right now? And your guitar exists because of technological innovations? So, I was a bit skeptical going into Grohl’s keynote.

Some really talented string players known as Black Violin opened up for Grohl’s keynote, and the orchestra dork in me was very impressed. When Grohl took the stage, I was very much struck by his “Aaaack-TEENG!” way of presenting himself. He would say something that he knew was somewhat dorky, and then force a laugh at himself to make the audience feel like we were on the same level with him, but really, he was doing it all on purpose. There wasn’t the authenticity of Dan Smith’s laughing at himself after falling backward, where you could truly tell he felt like a nerd. With Grohl, there was a shrugging egotism to the way he presented himself.

That said, I did appreciate some of what he talked about. His main message was that the musician came first, and by that, he meant that one individual had the power to create their own fan zine, write and record their own songs, and be their own PR person. He told the tale of one “life changing” event after the other (and boy, did he apparently have a lot. It should have been a drinking game, how many times he said, “And that was the moment my life changed forever.”) However, I found it awfully convenient how he just sort of skated over the part where Nirvana hit it big. He basically summed it up in two sentences, saying he wasn’t really sure why they struck a chord, but they did and were suddenly huge.

It’s frustrating, because I watch so many Austin artists bust their asses trying to “do it all,” as Grohl suggested we all could, and these people still had to work a day job. Grohl made it seem like everyone could just do this stuff, and then could become wealthy and powerful like him. He did mention sleeping on floors and starving for weeks to practice his craft, which I think was much more useful to talk about. But that was literally one sentence, and then he moved on.

Grohl also seemed to do a 360 on his “real music” stance, because he railed against Pitchfork and other raters of music, saying that if someone likes something, it intrinsically has value. He admitted to loving “Gangnam Style” as an example. This warmed me to him somewhat, although as a music journalist, I was a little hurt at the suggestion that what I try to do is “dancing about architecture.”

I can appreciate very much that Grohl has a true love of what he does, and the musicians around him. And I can certainly agree with the message, “The musician comes first.” I’ve long thought that musicians should be paid well for their craft, because it is such a difficult one. I was impressed by his skill, as he recorded himself live in front of us on a tape recorder. I laughed at some of his jokes, despite his smarmy smirking purposeful laughter that accompanied them. I left a slightly bigger fan, if still a complicated one.

After Grohl, it was time to hitch it to Cedar Street for Bastille, part deux. This time, the synth player was rocking an airbrushed N*Sync shirt that I may or may not have owned at one point. They repeated their same set, including their cover of City High’s “What Would You Do?” For single “Flaws,” Smith got acrobatic again, running into the crowd, and then climbing up the side railing that was holding up a big banner. As he climbed, his foot got caught in his mic wire, and he accidentally unplugged himself. He laughed again, clearly somewhat exasperated by himself, and he climbed back down to plug himself back in without missing a beat in the song. Though the dance party was slightly more subdued because of the afternoon heat and an older crowd, Bastille still got feet shuffling and left to adoring applause.

I also got to treat myself to a second set from Charli XCX right after Bastille. Despite the fierce sun and sweltering heat, Charli danced onstage wearing wool plaid pants, which she made fun of herself for later in her set. She danced around and sang her heart out, and I found I was already able to sing along to many of her lyrics. I couldn’t take my eyes off Charli — I was totally enamored with her swagger. She ended her set the same way she’d closed out at the Belmont, by saying, “I’m Charli XCX — peace!” and throwing up the peace sign. If she lived in Austin, I would befriend her in an instant.

We stopped in at Hype Hotel for a hot minute and caught the end of St. Lucia, who were dancey and electronic but forgettable. Then it was time to carve out a place in line for the Stevie Nicks interview, and I ended up in the third row, on the edge of my seat. There were many idols in the Wittlif household growing up, and most of them happened to be at SXSW 2013. My mom gave us Michael Jackson, Prince, Aretha Franklin and Tina Turner, and my dad gave me Stevie Nicks, Emmylou Harris, Led Zepplin and the Beatles. In some alternate universe, my mom was Sheila E and my dad was Lindsey Buckingham, if that gives you a better idea of the magnitude of this festival for me.

When Stevie took the stage, she was wearing dark glasses and all black, her blond hair perfectly coiffed as always. She was radiant and bewitching, and I soaked up every word she spoke. She talked about everything from the movies she enjoyed — Twilight and Anna Karenina both made the list, though she kept having trouble pronouncing the latter — to serious business about her path to Fleetwood Mac.

“The guys told Christine that, even though they really wanted Lindsey, if she didn’t like me, that they wouldn’t ask us to join the band,” she said. “So we all went out to dinner together that first night, and Christine and I were just at the end of the table going gangbusters, and the guys were like, ‘Oh, no.’”

She said that when she approached the band about doing a solo album, they were all very concerned about that being the end of Fleetwood Mac. She said, “I took each one of them by the hands like this and I said, ‘My loves, my loves — I will never, ever break up the band.’ And I still mean that. I will never break up Fleetwood Mac.” This got a round of relieved applause. She followed, “I just had a trunk load of music I wanted to put out there, and I said, ‘Look, you’re all on vacation anyway. I’ll just do a little record and a one-month tour.’ Chris was visiting her family, and John was lost out at sea on his yacht, and Lindsey locked himself in the bedroom recording junk that nobody would ever hear.” At that, the crowd gasped, “Oooh,” as if they’d heard the worst diss of their lives. There definitely did seem to be some bite in what Stevie said about Lindsey, but at the same time, you could tell she cared for her Fleetwood family.

Two of my favorite moments came from audience questions. One audience member asked, “When did you first know that you were magical?” Stevie responded without missing a beat, “Ever since I can remember, I always wanted to be a witch on Halloween. Not, like, an evil gross witch, but you know, a magical witch. So I’ve always sort of known.” The best question by far was the first woman to approach the mic, who said, “It seems like now, everyone expects all things from women — we have to do it all, the homemaking and the career and everything. How have you dealt with this in the creative industry?” Stevie looked visibly moved, and said, “This is a topic you have to be careful with, because I’ll keep you here all night talking about this. Actually, I have to take off my sunglasses for this.” She said that she felt like the women of her era fought very hard to win more women’s rights, and she felt that a lot of the progress they had made had recently been lost. “I see women being put really back in their place. And I hate it.” Stevie was then asked what she thinks is making modern women “back off” these days. She guessed that perhaps there’s a lack of support in place for women now, paused, and then said firmly, “All I can say to that question is don’t.”

Stevie’s advice to women getting into the business was to have a big attitude. “We have to flow in like goddesses.”

Listening to Stevie talk about her life and interests was special enough, but it was taken to another level when Zack and I headed to the Sound City Players show at Stubb’s later that night. This is the supergroup Dave Grohl put together to save the dingy recording studio Sound City, where so many artists have recorded so many culture-altering albums. When the band first took the stage, one of the lesser players of the Queens of the Stone Age and Them Crooked Vultures, Alain Johannes, was singing lead, and I was ready for it to be over right as it began. It was just straight rock — perhaps called “dad rock” by some, but I won’t use that descriptor because my dad is way too cool to listen to something so boring — and after 20 minutes everyone was ready for a lineup change. I expected that a big name like Stevie’s would be saved for the end of what was rumored to be a 4 hour set, but Grohl announced her as second up-to-bat and I almost fell over. She played 5 songs with Grohl and the Foo Fighters backing her up, and 4 of those were her own material. We were treated to “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around” as Stevie shook her gorgeous tambourine, trailing ribbons behind it. “Dreams” opened with that classic line, “Now there you go again, you say you want your freedom,” and I melted. Stevie’s voice sounded as youthfully warbly and strong as ever — she’d told us earlier in her interview that she was working with a voice coach to keep it in shape — and Grohl really complimented her well. They performed a Sound City song together called “Dance with the Devil,” which Stevie said was about losing a child to an overdose, and she danced with her feather boa as things got heavy. It was clear that Stevie and Grohl cared deeply for each other, and they performed a heartbreakingly beautiful acoustic version of “Landslide” with just Stevie on vocals and Grohl on acoustic guitar. At the close of Stevie’s Sound City spotlight, we decided nothing could be better and moved on to other things.

Amazing GIF by the ever-talented Isaac Solomon. Enferno!

Nothing was going to beat the goddess who is Stevie Nicks, so we headed to a Casio party to indulge in VIP treatment. We sipped delicious drinks and snacked tasty snacks while we watched people get down and dirty to some expert DJing by Enferno, a DJ who actually mixes his stuff live. It was really impressive and a lot of fun, as Enferno sparked a breakdancing battle and mixed some Nirvana into his act, which felt appropriate for the day. I loved that Enferno was always grinning wildly, looking like he was having the time of his life. I was later informed he’d been the turntablist for Madonna, which made perfect sense.

We left early in hopes of me getting my first taste of the Flaming Lips live, but the Belmont line wasn’t budging so the night ended instead in biking around a bit and people watching.

Friday

I started my day early again by heading to the convention center and plopping down in a second row seat for Divine Fits. I’d been meaning to see this new Britt Daniel outfit for some time, and although it felt a little weird to be sitting at a rock show, I was so exhausted that I was actually pretty pleased with the whole thing. I’d heard complaints that the Divine Fits still sounded a lot like Spoon, and while I don’t disagree with that sentiment, I also would never complain about such a thing. I adore Spoon, and so more Spoon-like music is alright by me. I will say that the band had fewer hooks than Spoon normally does, and I wasn’t the biggest fan of songs on which Dan Boeckner takes the lead. But whenever Britt was singing, I got the chills. His voice is honey and his magnetism is unstoppable. First, there was a song about ice cream — about ice cream, people. “Like Ice Cream” was the perfect thing to kick my day off with, and when the band closed it down with “Shivers,” I was sold. “Shivers” is by far my favorite Divine Fits song, immediately arresting as Britt whispers its opening lyric, “I’ve been contemplating suicide/But it really doesn’t suit my style.” As the song goes on, it becomes an aching love song — but a Britt Daniel love song. “She makes me feel so ill at ease,” he coos, which is his way of paying tribute to a woman so great he’s kept on his toes. Britt is the master of capturing dichotomies in life and love, and I’m always happy to tune in.

I wasn’t sure where my next stop should be, and Emmylou Harris was slated to perform with Rodney Crowell minutes later, so I moved back to sit on the floor in the back and hugged my knees to me while a woman next to me did toe touches and leg lifts in the middle of the conference room. Whatever you have to do to get noticed, I guess. Emmylou and Rodney only played three songs, but they were simply gorgeous, and Emmylou’s voice took me immediately to the duets she performed with Conor Oberst for Bright Eyes. She may have been singing songs she wrote with Crowell, but all I heard was “Landlocked Blues.” She was gorgeous, looking almost like she could be Stevie Nick’s blond-locked sister, and three sweet songs were all I needed to feel satisfied.

After some delicious $1 margaritas at the Tiniest Bar in Texas to quench our thirst and give some relief to the spring heat, it was time to head back to the convention center to stake out ground for Vampire Weekend. Sadly, before they took the stage, I was forced to sit through Dawes. I’d seen Dawes perform before, and found them to be pleasant and energetic. This time, I found them to be frat rock. It was all the crap I hated about college, packaged nicely into countrified rock songs. Actual lyric from a Dawes song: “Give me an extra chicken wing.” People. You can’t make this up.

When Dawes-zzz were finally done, we scooted up second row to the left side for Vampire Weekend. I had been obsessed with this band in 2010 after their release of Contra, imagining that someday Ezra Koenig and I would have a rousing debate about the culture of wealth and technology and youth in America and then he’d propose to me, duh. But these New Yorkers had fallen off my radar after a while, and I found that I’d even forgotten most of the lyrics to songs I used to know by heart. They came back to me quickly, as VW opened with “Cousins” and kept the hits coming for their short 5 song set. They played “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa,” “Holiday,” and “A-Punk” which saw the crowd pogo-ing in place. Finally, they closed with new track (and my new favorite) “Unbelievers.” Sample chorus lyric: “We know the fire awaits unbelievers/All of the sinners the same/Girl you and I will die unbelievers, bound to the tracks of the train.” Just, melts me. Melts me. It’s a love song with a religious and political twist, all wrapped in a deliciously catchy pop rock tune. Missed you, Vampire Weekend.

I have had a lot of luck with Green Day. I was one of the very few, very privileged people to gain entry to their show at Red 7 in late 2011 (capacity: 500), and since this was pre-rehab Billie Joe, they drunkenly tore the roof off the venue, premiering some of the music that ended up being released on their latest trio of records, ¡Uno!, ¡Dos!, ¡Tré! They also played a lot of older songs, to fans’ delight, and there was more stage diving, circle pit-ing, crowd surfing and moshing than I’d ever before been privy to. It was a wild, sweaty, crazy night, and even though I feared for my safety at a few points, I had a blast and the band seemed to, too.

When I found out I’d won entry to Green Day’s Moody Theater performance, then, I struggled at first with picking either a spot on the floor, or a safe seat up in the mezzanine. I sucked it up and went floor, hoping that if I stood back in the back I’d remain safe. As it turns out, I had nothing at all to worry about. Since this show was at least 90% people with badges, and many were grey haired and wearing loafers or high-heeled boots, it was basically the polar opposite of the Red 7 show.

I knew there would be a difference when the opening band took the stage. Stickup Kid had driven to Texas for 30 straight hours, and their lead singer Tony Geravesh described his reaction when he got the call. “I was sitting in English class when I got a text, ‘Do you want to drive to Texas and open for Green Day?’ I was like, hmm, I could either sit here and do nothing, or…”

I loved how earnest the band was, and how much love they had for each other and what they were doing. The crowd bopped around a bit as the guys played, but when bassist Jonathan McMaster chided the audience, “You know, in California we have these things called circle pits — have you guys heard of those?” nobody budged. I felt simultaneously relieved for myself, but bad for the band. If you’re a punk rock band, you have to expect some level of madness and debauchery. Still, Stickup Kid were well-received and left the stage to tons of applause and the bragging rights of having opened for Green Day.

Click here for FREAKING OUT at Green Day.

At this point, the crowd was getting just a tiny bit rowdy, so when Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” came through the speakers, it felt totally appropriate that a loud, sloppy sing-along kicked up, replete with lighters raised in the air, swaying back and forth. Shortly after, the lights dimmed, and the theme for The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly blasted through the speakers. When the theme hit an apex, Green Day appeared onstage, ready to rock.

For the beginning part of the set, Green Day relied heavily on newer music. Billie Joe Armstrong challenged the crowd to get crazy, and would even stop mid-song until we were all jumping, screaming, and raising fists to his contentment. Right off the bat, within the first two songs, Billie Joe brought a teenaged punk girl up on stage. She planted a big kiss right on his mouth, and then he prepped the audience to catch her as he got her ready to stage dive into some crowd surfing. I thought that surely, this organized chaos would cause copy-catters, but only one lone guy attempted to surf after that, and it was a pretty much failed attempt.

The guys played hits from American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown, including “Know Your Enemy,” “Holiday,” and “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” They didn’t delve into older material until the 10th song, “Burnout” from Dookie. That kicked off a string of older tunes, including “Welcome to Paradise,” “Christie Road,” and “Coming Clean.” I was one of the rowdiest audience members, leaping up and down with my legs tucked under me, pogoing like I was going to die, throwing my fist in the air. I wasn’t even a Green Day fan when they started out — I was too young and still listening to Hanson in their heyday, and caught on right around the time most people felt like Green Day sold out, with the release of American Idiot. I was pissed at the politics of our country, and pissed at the Bush supporters I went to school with, and thrilled that someone else was as pissed off as I was.

Still, I’ve come to love “Brain Stew” and “Longview,” and was also all smiles for covers of “Sweet Child o’ Mine,” “Highway to Hell,” “Shout,” “Stand by Me” and “Hey Jude.” I na-na’d almost more passionately than I did when I saw McCartney perform the song (almost).

The only part of the performance that harkened back to the band’s Broadway impulses was when Billie Joe brought out a huge super soaker, drenching all of us, and then cruelly spraying us with toilet paper right after. By way of apology, he then brought out a T-shirt cannon and shot about 10 shirts into the audience, even making a couple land up in the balcony.

My entree into Green Day was “Minority,” and they closed out their opening set with it and I went ballistic. I was jumping up and down, screaming along with the obscenities of the song, and truly happy to have made it into the performance, even though I hadn’t been lucky enough to gain entry into the Prince show the next day. I’d been devastated by not getting into Prince, but Green Day made it all better during their 27-song set.

After a brief intermission, the guys came back onstage and rocked out the two songs that had originally made me such a diehard fan. “American Idiot” into “Jesus of Suburbia” instantly transported me to my youthful days of, what was for me, rebellion and discontent. Growing up in a home where I went to church every Sunday, this was my first taste of sacrilege, and it rang true. I had trouble remembering lyrics on some songs, but “Jesus of Suburbia” came to me like it had been lying in wait all along.

I get frustrated with Green Day for the same reasons I get frustrated with Muse these days. They began as beacons of the underground for me, artists who questioned authority and challenged the status quo. They got so big that I had trouble believing the “We’re the everyman!” and “Fight the power!” messages they still seemed to be cashing in on. But at the end of they day, you can still feel the fire inside of Billie Joe, Tré Cool and Mike Dirnt, and they bring it out in you, which is the best any band can ever hope for.

Saturday

The final day of the festival was also finally the day where I got some extra rest. After waking up early for another magazine delivery, I took a nap and enjoyed a luxurious birthday brunch before finally high-tailing it to Maggie Mae’s to catch the last performance by San Cisco. These youthful Aussies impressed with their pop perfection, and of course drummer Scarlett Stevens kicks so much ass it’s kind of not even fair. She’s an expert drummer and has a sweet, innocent voice that compliments lead singer Jordi Davieson’s like peanut butter and jelly.

The band had already amassed a following by the time we saw them on Saturday, and unfortunately, one of their followers was a skeezy older guy who kept drunkenly pushing kids around him, trying to engage them, and then feeling up and kissing a young girl next to him who eventually moved away. He put a bit of a damper on the event, but I was still able to lose myself in the dancey pop songs and am still singing “Awkward” to myself days later.

After wandering around for a while, stopping briefly to ogle Billie Corgan’s shiny bald head from afar while he and the other Smashing Pumpkins warmed up for their night set, I dropped Zack off at the line for Prince (not realizing I wouldn’t see him again for 6.5 hours) and then went for my third Charli XCX performance of the weekend at the Austin Music Hall. When I checked the schedule to see who else was performing on that lineup, Fall Out Boy was listed just under Charli, so I suspected I’d be accidentally seeing them at this random lineup.

When I arrived to the venue, I walked right in with my badge, and when I got inside, I realized I’d inadvertently stumbled into the Perez Hilton party. I’ve never been a fan of gossip magazines or blogs, and wasn’t particularly starstruck whenever he’d come on the stage in between bands to introduce the next one, but I do have to give kudos and say I was pleased with his sponsor, Tic Tacs, and all of their free delicious “mint” (aka candy) morsels scattered everywhere. I nabbed two little boxes of Strawberry Fields which I highly recommend to anyone with a sweet tooth, and also took a photo with my friend Caitlin inside of a life-size Tic Tacs box. Another thing to check off of my bucket list.

The lineup in my book was listed out of order, I found out, which made a lot more sense — turned out Fall Out Boy was going to headline the night as a “surprise guest,” so I wouldn’t be staying for them after all. But I was happily surprised when before Charli came on, a girl group trio from the UK took the stage, sounding like a more dance-pop influenced En Vogue. They called themselves Stooshe (pronounced “stoosh-ee”), and they were tons of fun. They did a lot of crowd interaction, asking us to sing and clap along, and their voices sounded bubbly floating from the big Austin Music Hall sound system. I have since checked out their recorded music, and it honestly doesn’t do them any justice. They’re a group best enjoyed live.

Charli XCX gave it all she had in her last SXSW performance, and even though she played the same lineup I’d seen twice before, I was as enraptured as ever. The third time was still charming, in her case, and I could have even watched her perform the same set back-to-back if she’d wanted to do that. I’m foaming at the mouth for her debut to drop in the states, and sad I’ll have to miss the dance-party tour with her opening for Marina and the Diamonds.

I remained at Austin Music Hall for a while longer, and caught about half of the set for Capital Cities. They were wearing neon blazers, which was the most interesting thing about them.

I headed to Stubb’s next to close out SXSW 2013. Sky Ferreira was slated to go on at 10PM, but she’d had to cancel because she’d lost her voice, so I got to skip straight to Haim. This was one of the groups I’d wanted to prioritize all weekend, and I was thrilled to finally be enjoying them. I was expecting smooth, breezy pop rock songs that sounded like they’d been penned in the 70s and recorded in the 90s. What I got was my face ripped off by rock ‘n’ roll. It’s sad to say that it still feels rare to find ferociously talented females in popular rock and roll these days, but when it comes to artists that are well promoted and accessible to even indie rock fans, so many are still men. So when the sisters of Haim made unapologetic rock faces and two out of three wore no makeup but still effused sexuality and all three were just totally, uncontrollably awesome, I felt empowered by proxy. I wanted to just follow these ladies around to soak in their confidence and their vulnerability and their amazing, amazing musical talent.

These ladies are MY age (two are actually younger than I am), and they are sisters, and they are my goddesses. I saw Danielle Haim perform with Jenny Lewis on the Fourth of July in 2009, and remember being blown away by her guitar and drumming prowess (I actually tweeted about her back then, and promptly forgot to follow up and see if she was making her own music). Youngest sister Alana was feisty in her own right, and growled lyrics from a song I’ve not been able to successfully track down, threatening that if its intended recipient thought she wasn’t pretty, had a bad voice and had skinny legs, “You don’t wanna know what I think of you.” Este was the only one with makeup, wearing bright red lipstick that emphasized her snarling bass faces that she’d make. She took off her jacket at one point, showing off all the rips in the sleeves and saying, “This jacket was in perfect shape when I brought it to South By.” All three ladies had drum sets near them so they could pound out frustrations at will. It was visceral and it was raw, and it was just fucking great. You must see these women live, you will be changed forever.

When Vampire Weekend hit the stage about 35 minutes later, they blared some DMX as their entry music. You could tell it was meant to be partly satirical — intense, angry hip hop as the backdrop to four baby-faced dudes wearing button-up shirts and cardigans. When they broke into “Cousins,” the crowd kicked into high gear, jumping and dancing and singing along like this was the only show that had ever existed, and would ever exist. The guys sounded as polished as ever — even more so when it came to the newer songs. We didn’t get too many of those, actually. Much like their brief Convention Center set on Friday, the guys relied on their older material, which felt like a gesture for the fans. Vampire Weekend have always come across as very smart performers, and in sprinkling in new material between chunks of stuff kids would know, it helped the strong-on-its-own new stuff to be immediately adored.

Every Vampire Weekend song is a song you sing along to, and the “Oh!”s in “M79” were especially ferocious. Multi-instrumentalist Rostam Batmanglij raised the stakes for “Horchata”. Before the band began playing the song, he had the crowd practice the rising and falling “ooh”s, and used his facial expressions to direct us. “Diane Young” transported us to a 50s diner, with bobby sox and jukebox rock, and its pace kept the crowd invested and moving. “A-Punk” was the biggest dance party, and “Oxford Comma” had the biggest reaction and sing-along. But the standout for me, again, was “Unbelievers.” Even more than at their performance on Friday, it came off sweetly and a little sadly, with a driving rhythm and pretty, sing-songy melody. There’s never been a prettier song about hell, and if we’re doomed, we might as well have this dancey anthem to take us down.

The guys closed out the opening set with “Giving Up the Gun,” and after closing on such a strong single, fans made it clear we were not ready to stop dancing. They came back to their encore with their third and final new song of the night, “Ya Hey.” As with most Vampire Weekend songs, there are bits and pieces that earworm their way into your brain and make you feel like you could sing along even if it’s your first listen.

“I Think Ur a Contra” kept things slow and sweet, but “One (Blake’s Got a New Face)” started picking up again, and Austin impressively shouted along to the refrain, “Blake’s got a new face!” Lead singer Ezra Koenig said that they liked to close out in Austin with “Walcott,” and thanked us all for joining the band before ripping into the tune. Everyone around me was sweating, giving their last South By energy to this band and this song and this moment.

As Vampire Weekend have grown in popularity, their crowds have gotten larger, their light shows more epileptic, and their tours more sweeping. But what is so encouraging is that the music is still the centerpiece. They are still going to work, crafting beautiful, layered, interesting pop songs you could spend months dissecting for both musical and lyrical content. If their hiatus had made me put Vampire Weekend on a back shelf in my brain, their South By Southwest performances returned them front and center.

Gather, my children, and you shall hear — a bunch of really freaking great music in Austin, Texas over the next week. Because I love new music, and because I love my readers, I scoured the SXSW 2013 listings and checked out music clips from over 1,000 bands to pick out my favorites and share them with you. Have a safe, fun, wonderful week, and catch me at the shows below!

Please note: I don’t mention Prince/Daft Punk/Sound City Players (aka Stevie Nicks’ new band) or any of the other huge people, but, duh, read the internet and go to see Prince/Daft Punk/Stevie along with these new favorites.

Nightmare and the Cat

Hands down, this is my favorite discovery for SXSW 2013. I actually first “discovered” this band for last year’s South By, but I wasn’t able to make it to any of their shows. Won’t be making that mistake again. Check out the live performance below and get swept up in showmanship, soaring vocals, a driving and catchy melody and all-around great music. This is the 2013 band to watch.

Tuesday at 5PM, Papa Tino’s

Wednesday at midnight, Bar 96

Bastille

I get the sense that this guy is already a huge deal and I’m just late to the party, because his sound and image are polished in a way that is rare for a beginner. Bastille is really just one guy with cartoonish stand-up hair and an excellent voice, making emotive pop songs sprinkled with electronic confetti. I believe that Bastille will be a live show that will knock the wind out of you.

Wednesday at 10PM, Club de Ville

Thursday at 1PM, Cedar Street 

Brazos

Alright. So this is cheating a little because I have always loved Brazos and have written about them multiple times. BUT. They’ve been gone a while, they haven’t come out with a new record since 2009, and they are originally from Austin and damn it, I’m fangirling. See them, immediately, absolutely, no question, if you like music that makes your heart stir and the leaves crackle more sharply.

Thursday at 8PM, Red 7

Saturday at 2:30PM, New Movement Theatre

f(x)

I jumped on the K-pop bandwagon about a month ago, and I haven’t looked back. The K-pop phenomenon seems to take all of the most amazing sugar pop outfits from the 90s and early 00s, and cleans up the dancing even more, dresses up the band members in cuter clothes, and makes pop music that is still infused with modern sounds so as not to just seem totally out of place. f(x) is like what would have happened to the Spice Girls if they’d really stuck around.

Tuesday at 1:30AM, Elysium

Emma Louise 

I first heard Emma Louise because of her incredible single “Jungle,” which was reposted by in-the-know folks on my Facebook feed. This is a writer with amazing capabilities, a soft and sweet voice, and gorgeous melodies.

Tuesday at 4:30 PM, BD Reilys

Tuesday at 7PM, Madewell

Wednesday at 10PM, Lustre Pearl

Thursday at noon, Austin Convention Center International Day Stage

Thursday at 8PM, Blackheart

Friday at 2:40PM, Malverde Rooftop

Friday at 7PM, Hilton Austin Downtown

Friday at 9:40PM, Stubb’s

Saturday at 4:30PM, Maggie Mae’s

Saturday at 7PM, Hyatt Place

Half Moon Run

If you’ve been disappointed in the new, more low-key Local Natives record, Half Moon Run might just be the medicine to heal your harmony void. “Classic indie,” if such a thing existed, would sound just as lovely as this.

Wednesday at 11PM, Club de Ville

Thursday at 12:45PM, Red Eyed Fly

Friday at noon, The Main

Friday at 12:15AM, St David’s Historic Sanctuary

Saturday at 3PM, Brew Exchange

Saturday at 11PM, Swan Dive

Lisa LeBlanc

French with a feisty country attitude. If Texas and France could get along long enough, the spitfire baby they’d have is Lisa LeBlanc.

Tuesday at 9PM, Swan Dive

Friday at 5:15PM, Swan Dive

Saturday at midnight, Swan Dive

Chic Gamine

If Kimbra had a full band and multiple female voices to join her own in harmony, it’d be something like this. Chic Gamine have an upbeat pop sound with R&B underpinnings, and want your hips to shake.

Chic Gamine “Days and Days” from Chic Gamine on Vimeo.

Wednesday at 11PM, Creekside at Hilton Garden Inn

Thursday at 3:45PM, Friends of Sound

Thursday at 8:15PM, Empire Automotive

Friday at 6:30PM, Tiniest Bar in Texas

BOY

FINALLY, an all-girl named after the male population. There are way too many dude-filled bands named after the ladies, it’s about time. AND! These two rule. Vocals like Joni Mitchell, pop sensibilities that are upbeat, sweet and just simply lovely.

Wednesday at 3PM, Austin Convention Center Radio Day Stage

Wednesday at 11:30PM, Central Presbyterian Church

Friday at midnight, Hickory Street

Atlas Genius

Austin had an amazing local band called Ideal Soul Mart that have been on hiatus for quite some time, but Atlas Genius has the same sweet, crying vocals and upbeat pop rock tunes to keep our feet tapping anyway. This band seems like they’ll put on dance parties wherever they go.

Tuesday at 10:30PM, The Main

Wednesday at 11PM, Haven

Thursday at 3:30PM, mtvU Woodie Awards Festival

Thursday at 9:20PM, The Belmont

Haim

I have a really cool mom, and anytime I’m checking out these new bands, I’m always trying to figure out which one will most strike a chord with her. Haim just may be that band. There are so many throwback elements to this song – I can’t even pin a particular era on it, because it’s later Fleetwood Mac and also 90s pop and so much more.

Tuesday at 10PM, VEVO TV Control Room

Friday at 5:15PM, Cedar Street

Saturday at 11PM, Stubb’s

Let’s Buy Happiness

Floating guitar sounds like from Sigur Ros, but with a female vocalist who sounds like a sad morning bird. As lovely and bitter as the band name.

Wednesday at 8PM, Maggie Mae’s Rooftop

Conveyor

These guys have elements of the Dirty Projectors, but with more fun in them. Light, poppy, upbeat, interesting music with fevered harmonics.

Tuesday at midnight, BD Riley’s

Thursday at 1PM, Kenny Dorham’s Backyard

Friday at 2:05PM, Uncorked Tasting Room Wine and Bar

Friday at 4:20PM, The Grackle

Shugo Tokumaru

I’m a sucker for an amazing music video, and this one takes the cake. The music is this pleasant mix of styles that is catchy, bright, and positive. Feels perfect for the oncoming spring and summer months.

Tuesday at 4:40PM, Red 7

Wednesday at noon, Austin Convention Center International Day Stage

Thursday at 1:30PM, The Jr.

Thursday at 3PM, Kenny Dorham’s Backyard

Thursday, 11PM at the Red Eyed Fly

Josh Baze

I really dig Baze’s voice, his flow is liquid, and he seems to promote positivity in his music. The backbeat is catchy and I love the electronic flute-like sounds that brighten “She’s Gold.” I’m a fan already and would love to see this guy rocket up to the popularity of Drake — he definitely has the chops.

Tuesday at 9PM, The Main

Wednesday at 2PM, Antone’s

BRONCHO

Tinny garage rock with some snarly snarl and an upbeat tempo. The “time, time, time, time!” on “Try Me Out Sometime” is infectious, and I can see this band being crazy fun live (possibly, literally).

Wednesday at 1AM, 512 Rooftop

Thursday at 1:45PM, Side Bar

Friday at 1AM, Valhalla

Saturday at 4PM, E 18th Street

Fredda

Fredda’s soft, pretty voice and gentle lulling guitar instantly transport me to Parisian fairytales and light sprinkles with big, red umbrellas and puddle hopping.

Wednesday at 10PM, Brass House

Thursday at 4:15PM, Shangri-La

Robert DeLong

At times, I find myself cringing at DeLong’s lyrics, but at the same time — I relate. He manages to mash up varied musical elements, youthful self-analysis, and pure danceable awesome, and I can only believe he 100% commits in a live setting.

Wednesday at 4:20PM, Frank

Wednesday at 6PM, Waterloo Records

Thursday at 10:15PM, Empire Automotive

Social Studies

Maybe the name of this band makes me a little extra sympathetic to what they’re doing (I loved coloring in some maps and reading about state exports in elementary school, y’all) but I also believe they have the beginnings of something awesome. Their sound is still a little raw, which makes it that much more emotional. It’s pop rock, but with some clever hooks, sultry guitar and echoes that take it to another level.

Tuesday at 5PM, Cheer Up Charlie’s

Tuesday at midnight, Valhalla

Wednesday at 3:45PM, The Liberty

Saturday at 1:30PM, The Stage on Sixth

Little Daylight

This band includes a lot of musical elements that are a big deal right now, but with enough of a personal twist and update that they don’t make me just roll my eyes. Some awesome, bass-y synth, driving rhythm, sweet female vocals and lots of sing-along parts keep me coming back.

Tuesday at 9PM, Club de Ville

Saturday at 12:30PM, Cedar Door

Saturday at 4PM, Brew Exchange

Monsta

They start with a sample of the Charlie Brown Christmas music. Then they mix in a little dub because that’s so “in”. But the vocals. Oh, the vocals. They will stand the test of time, if nothing else. This is really well-crafted stuff, perfect for those “stick it to the man!” moments when you need to pick yourself back up.

Wednesday at 9PM, La Zona Rosa

Saturday at Roail, time unknown (9PM to 2AM event)

Paws

I’m happy I like this band, because I love their name. They’re making raw, emotive, grungy rock music that is catchy and cool.

Wednesday at 1:15PM, Red 7

Wednesday at 10PM, Latitude 30

Thursday at noon, Scoot Inn

Thursday at 3PM, The Jr.

Thursday at 4:45PM, Side Bar

Thursday at 11PM, Valhalla

Friday at 1PM, Home Slice Pizza

Saturday at 1PM, The Mohawk

Charli XCX

If Marina Diamandis and Grimes had a baby, it’d be Charli XCX. She’s been an emerging voice, guesting on other artists’ songs (see: Icona Pop’s “I Love It”) but she is poised to break out on her own in a much bigger way. She’s got clear style and edge, so expect this live show to be an awesome spectacle.

Tuesday at 8PM, The Belmont

Wednesday at 1AM, Club de Ville

Wednesday at Hype Hotel (no time listed)

Thursday at 2PM, Cedar Street

Thursday at 4PM, Mohawk

Friday at 6PM, Urban Outfitters

Saturday at 7:55PM, Austin Music Hall

The Suzan

I often forget this band isn’t singing in English, because the emotion here is universal. It’s just such happy, poppy music we could all sing or sway along to. Pretty, sparkly, and sweet.

Wednesday at 2PM, Austin Convention Center International Day Stage

Saturday at 11PM, BD Riley’s

Daltonians

Soft, like a baby blanket. Cool, like a Texas night. Simply lovely.

Thursday at 10PM, Stephen F’s Bar

Saturday at 9PM, Esther’s Follies

San Cisco

Super young and super cute, San Cisco reminds me of Los Campesinos! but with slightly (very slightly) less cynicism. Dance around, shake-your-hips music.

Friday at 9PM, Club de Ville

The Lighthouse and the Whaler

Really catchy indie pop with sing along-able vocals and sparkly guitars.

Friday at 4:45PM, The Tiniest Bar in Texas

Friday at 9PM, Hickory Street

Saturday at 9PM, Karma Lounge

Because of how wonderful Austin’s community of musicians, photographers, artists, venues and of course music fans are, our Free Week showcase at Swan Dive co-hosted by CoolinAustin went off swimmingly, despite the nasty weather.

From the first note played, y’all filled up the room to make it cozy-warm, and our wonderful representatives from HAAM allowed this Free Week show to stand for something wonderful and give back to the musicians who are devoting their time and artistry to two weeks of face-melting awesome.

The Collection, our only “foreign” band (from Greensboro, NC) kicked things off gorgeously, with haunting harmonies and raucous folk that made me think of some kind of Decemberists-Frightened Rabbit lovechild.

The Baker Family brought incredible energy, pretty melodies and haunting guitar playing, along with their merch table-baby carriage, and were definitely a crowd favorite, as sing/multi-instrumentalist Liz donned her fox(bear? panda?) mask for added theatricality. Plus, they devoted a song to the Collection called “Sharpening the Saw:” “The drive to the mountains seems so far/Making our way back to North Carolina.”

With a lineup change infusing fresh energy into their sound, Your Friendly Ghost sound better than ever, and they treated us to their hits, some new jams, and a killer Radiohead cover that took some guts and a touch of recklessness — exactly what these guys do best. They floored attendees and acquired new fans for their sound and their fury.

Last but never, ever least, the Couch brought fire to a cold and rainy night, and closed things out with a bang. As always, they were raucous, gritty and awesome.

For our silent auction, we raised $200 that will all be going straight to HAAM, and we couldn’t be more thankful. Special thanks go out to Katherine Squier and Pooneh Ghana for donating their gorgeous photos, and to the Alamo Drafthouse for their generous gift card donation.

While most folks are lamenting the end of the holiday season, Austin gets to stoke itself on another reason it is one of the best cities to live in: two whole weeks of additional gifts in the form of free, awesome live music. This year, we teamed up once again with CoolinAustin to curate a showcase of some of the best local musicians, as well as one group of folksy travelers from Greensboro. We’re back at the Swan Dive for a night of fun, and even more exciting — we’ve teamed up with HAAM to make this a benefit that will give back to the musical community that graces us with their gifts most days of the week.

Since entry is free, we’re hosting a super-cool silent auction with items from the Alamo Drafthouse, Austin photographers Pooneh Ghana and Katherine Squier, and more. All proceeds will go right to HAAM. Doors for the show are at 8:30, with music starting at 9:30. Hope to see you there!

It’s that magical list-y time of year again, and when I began to think about who to put on my “Favorites of 2012″ list, I was honestly a little disheartened. It took me a long time to even think up 10 contenders, let alone contenders I was even familiar with. I knew who would be in my top 5 fairly easily, but beyond that, it seemed like a wasteland. I sat, sadly envious as I watched other respected bloggers come up with huge lists of the top 50 records they’d found this year, and worried that I wouldn’t be able to confidently and comfortably supply something so supple.

I spent much of this year catching up with new favorite music from 2011 — the Drums’ Portamento, M83′s Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming and old Los Campesinos! albums. I played these on repeat (as my boyfriend can attest), so I didn’t have much time for “new” new music. But, after digging through, and truly spending time with, what 2012 had to offer, I realized I’d overlooked some incredible music and came to adore my favorites even more. My list’s order hopped around a few different times, but I feel good about where it has all settled out. I especially love how many amazing ladies I’ve got on this list.

I hope this list helps you realize the splendor of 2012 music, and perhaps helps you discover some year-end favorites for yourself.

10. Grimes, Visions

I love a risk-taker. I especially love a risk-taker who is a woman. I just finished rock journalist Caitlin Moran’s book, How to Be a Woman, and she talks about how women are still coming into our own when it comes to historical accomplishments, and how pop music really allows us to make our mark, since it’s immediate and ever-changing. On Visions, Grimes is a DJ, a writer, a musician and a mixologist. She combines elements from electronica, pop, rap, and probably what is the landscape of Bjork’s brain to make danceable, addictively catchy music that is sometimes miss, far more often hit. She also manages to have strength and power while maintaining a sweet, delicate vocal styling that, in its dichotomy, breaks barriers. You may be taken aback when you first watch the bizarro video for “Genesis” that seems to nod to video game culture, but I promise you will find yourself returning to it again and again.

9. Sarah Jaffe, The Body Wins

I was on the edge of my seat, waiting for this album. I’d seen Sarah Jaffe perform  over the course of a year, from the fall of 2011 through South by Southwest 2012, and her transformation from Denton folk goddess to edgy, R&B-inspired electro-rock siren has been exciting and enchanting. Opener “Paul” started to pop up in the beginning of her live shows a while back, and her voice is still so chillingly powerful that it could stop time. There are some oldies that have been re-imagined, like “The Way Sound Leaves a Room” and “Sucker for Your Marketing.” There are new tunes that knock you on your ass, like the sorrowful “Fangs” and haunting “Hooray for Love.” The most undeniable track is the first single, “Glorified High,” which is the kind you set on repeat, so you can try that breakdancing move again during the pre-chorus. Jaffe still quiets us down at the end with a lullaby, as “When You Rest” caresses a lover invitingly, begging them to put aside any arguments, put to bed any demons, and snuggle up.

8. The Tallest Man on Earth, There’s No Leaving Now

I think I am secretly a Swedish forest fairy. There’s no other explanation for my adoration of Swedes and folk music and the mountains, really. And with There’s No Leaving Now, the Tallest Man on Earth manages to combine all of my loves into one sonic experience. There are twinkly guitars that sound like they’re coming from Paul Simon on “1904,” and “To Just Grow Away” is the soundtrack to a maypole dance in some tiny German town. As always, TMOE mastermind Kristian Matsson weaves emotional honesty into a picaresque landscape of harvest rivers and clear, blue waking skies. If you can embrace his Dylan-esque voice, you will reap the benefits of Matsson’s wintery soundtrack to living and loving.

7. Ben Kweller, Go Fly a Kite

Classic. This is the best way to describe Ben Kweller’s latest release, Go Fly a Kite. It’s a timeless album, capturing elements from past and present. It’s rock through-and-through, but a more polished, grown-up record for Kweller, even though it’s still relatable at all ages. “Out The Door” owes its “na-na-no”’s and guitar riffs to the Beatles, and “You Can Count On Me” is a hat tip to a classic rough-and-tumble promise of friendship. “Gossip” is a standout on the album, with a hook-y time signature change and soulful piano part. “Full Circle” has a standard Kweller sing-along that is even better at a live show, and “Mean To Me” hints at some rockin’ and wailin’ that are highlights from Kweller’s past albums. The musicality of this record coupled with Kweller’s own incessant likeability make it an instant standard.

6. Marina & the Diamonds, Electra Heart

I’m a feminist (seeing as I tend to believe all of us should pretty much be able to pick what and who we like, and want to be. And because I’ve got lady parts.) I’m also wholly, unabashedly into fashion. So, Marina & the Diamonds speak to me. Marina Diamandis herself has said that her Diamonds are not her band, but her fans, and she makes it so easy to sign up for the role. She sings about frustrations with being a woman, being a person in love, and being someone who is quite hard on herself, all while laying down a sick, danceable beat. On Electra Heart, there is plenty of deception, heartbreak and melancholia, and Marina’s ability to change her personality from song to song is miraculous. On “Primadonna,” she is cheeky and shrugging, asking, “I know I’ve got a big ego/I really don’t know why it’s such a big deal, though.” Then she’s wondering aloud at what our pornography driven world has come to, and what it means for us, on “Sex Yeah.” She’s a forlorn young girl who just doesn’t fit in, “Feeling super, super, super! Suicidal” on “Teen Idle,” and writes the playbook for “How to Be A Heartbreaker” a few tunes later. At the album’s close, though, you feel as though Marina is bearing it all:  all of her self-consciousness, hand-wringing and desperation come through on “Fear and Loathing,” which lets her voice soar above all of the self-doubt. Electra Heart is emotionally raw and musically raucous — a true gem.

5. Jack White, Blunderbuss

Jack White has been a slow burn for me. My kid brother loved the White Stripes, and while I appreciated their grunge as something far edgier than what I was listening to at the time I first heard them, it didn’t move anything in me initially. The Raconteurs started to perk up my ears, because their boxcar racing music video for “Steady As She Goes” used to be played over and over again on various Fuse countdowns and I enjoyed the spunk in it. When I was ending my collegiate career and finally expanding my musical horizons to include some grit ‘n’ grind, the Dead Weather came along. Spitfire siren Alison Mosshart was a far easier female icon for me to get behind than the quiet, smiling Meg White (even though — perhaps because of the fact — I am much more like Meg myself). She roared and writhed and sank her teeth into everything, and I was enamored. And here was Jack White, the guy who had put her in the lead to take a seat behind the drum kit. My respect for Jack grew and the duo could do no musical wrong in my eyes. With this year’s release of White’s first solo endeavor, Blunderbuss, it felt like a reconciliation of all of his past projects. He took the raw quality from the Stripes, the pop sensibility of the Raconteurs, and the delicious, devious darkness from the Dead Weather and crafted an album I can comfortably listen to, start to finish. One of the sexiest pump-up songs of 2012 is “Freedom at 21,” with its relentless pounding drum beat and harsh guitar riffs. “Love Interruption” snarls with a “fuck you” attitude only a jilted lover can pull off. “I’m Shakin’” sounds like it came out of the past — on first-listen, I thought Jack had just included some old-timey jam on the record done by a past idol. All in all, Jack has created an unforgettable rock record from start to finish.

4. Oberhofer, Time Capsules II

Oberhofer’s Time Capsules II hit me like a meteor from space. A meteor of catchy, sweet, fun and spunky pop tunes, shooting fireworks and sparks in a trail of awesome behind it. Start to finish, this album is awesome. It has songs that can be your favorites, and songs that can be your most-favorites, and that’s about it. Mastermind Brad Oberhofer has a voice that is dark, warbly and disarming — when I first heard it, it made his music feel almost unapproachable, too cool for the likes of me. But his wild shrieks and uninhibited experimentation create a whirlwind that you get whipped right up into. And boy, can Oberhofer write some choruses! “Landline” features a sing-alongable “La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la- the landline!” hook set to twinkly surfer-pop, “Yr Face” exposes a caring heart and a melody made for love, both young and old, and “oOoO” is just what that title looks like. “Away Frm U” is the top track, with a guitar riff that sounds like some dear, near friend crying on your shoulder while embracing you with an urgent hug. It’s magic, how emotional one simple guitar riff can be, and it builds to multiple climaxes, whistling and Wild Thing howls. At only 10 songs long, TimeCapsules II encapsulates a perfect moment in time, a sweet moment where “I knew which way my life was pointing to/It was pointing back at you again.”

3. Miike Snow, Happy to You

Miike Snow had a lot to live up to after releasing their self-titled and much-adored debut. On that record, they wrote 11 incredible club-worthy dance songs with depth and staying power. So when they came back with the much darker, ironically titled Happy to You, it was not as immediately striking. Really, it sounded like the band had gone to outer space for a while and come back, somehow, stranger than they already were. They left their masks on some other planet, but brought back the sounds they’d collected. After a few listens, however, Happy to You finds its way inside of your bloodstream, pumping your heart to the rhythm of the music. Instead of one overpowering but overdone hit like “Animal,” Happy to You has “Devil’s Work” and “Bavarian #1 (Say You Will)” and “Pretender” and “Paddling Out.” After seeing Miike Snow perform their work live, it hit even harder. The military worthy drumming in “The Wave,” the heartache in “God Help This Divorce” — try not to get teary when lead singer Andrew Wyatt sighs, “She was a beauty queen/But I held her down, down, down.” Miike Snow open up on this album, and reveal more emotions in the weirdness. Plus, when your lead singer is getting down with his bad self onstage during your own song, you know you’ve got a winner. Don your leather pants and dance yourself strange.

2. Yeasayer, Fragrant World

If you were waiting for an album that expressed human futility, our inevitable ruin, a post-apocalyptic wasteland — essentially, The Suburbs, Pt. 2 — you were waiting for Fragrant World. It’s got crazy outer-space synth sounds, dealings with death and eternal life, commentary on politics and more metaphorical examinations, and is, as always with Yeasayer, one big, creepy, amazing dance party. The immediacy of a song like “Henrietta,” with a punchy bass line and neon reverb, is balanced out with the cold roboticism of “No Bones,” which is all computer looping and voice distortion. And yet, the more you listen, the more the album as a whole draws you fully into its world. That’s the beauty of Yeasayer:  even when they test you with evil-sounding voice distortion, they are still moaning about a subject that is easily relatable: “Make no bones about it/we’re older now than I like to admit.” On “Folk Hero Shtick,” the past and present collide, emphasizing the false folk sheen of the antagonist in the song. It wavers in and out, peaking at the chorus with dubby synths and a smooth melody. There is so much landscape to explore on Fragrant World. It’s a huge undertaking that insists on return trips, to allow for new discoveries and favorite moments.

1. Sigur Ros, Valtari

It begins with a breath. Just as in life,Valtari inhales as it cries its first peaceful, innocent notes. I have always said that I want to be listening to Sigur Ros when I die someday, because they seem to know exactly what the journey of existence and path to its end should sound like. On Valtari, they venture into heaven. For all of the patience this band has demanded of me over the years, none have demanded it as much as Valtari. It builds slowly on “Ég anda,” adding thoughts and feelings until the familiar comfort of Jonsi’s voice chimes in. Six minutes float effortlessly away, as if in a dream, and you suddenly find yourself in “Ekki Múkk.” This was the first song I heard off of Valtari, while I was sitting in a cold office cubicle, watching a tiny boat float in the air over green water, and I started to cry because, even in an adult world where I had to pretend I knew what I was doing, this helped me to know, somehow, that there was more and it was good and I was alright. “Varúð” is one of the biggest songs on this record, with urgency and crescendos and a sense of discovery after hard-fought effort. After such an undertaking, you have to enjoy the scenery, breathing easy, walking with a light step. “Rembihnútur” evokes this feeling of wonderment, and even toward its end, nods to Jonsi’s solo efforts, with a chorus of strings and voices that break into an excited drum beat. When you listen to the vinyl version of the record, this song goes endlessly on at the end, locked in chalky rhythm. Flip the side, and you’re suddenly transported to an angelic choir, with Jonsi as its lead. “Dauðalogn” is beautiful, but tinged in sadness, like a comforting word at a memorial. “Varðeldur” follows close behind, as observers wipe their eyes and leave tokens behind them. A sorrowful voice haunts this song, cooing, weeping quietly underneath a piano. The album’s title track feels like a rushing combination of all of the emotions felt before it, a last-ditch effort to untangle meaning from it all that falls into a child-like dream state two minutes in, letting go and giving in, rewarded in bursts of light. The final song, “Fjögur píanó,” is the gentlest. It simply wanders calmly on, contented and unhurried. It is a true comfort after the melancholy in the previous few songs, and blooms at the end in warming sunlight. Valtari is simply lovely, a gift of self-discovery, peace, and love. What a wonderful thing to be left with in 2012.

There was an avalanche of rock at Holy Mountain on Saturday night. The Couch packed the house with fans and a who’s-who of Austin musicians, proving that they not only appeal to the general public, but also are greatly beloved by their peers.

The four piece owned the now-larger Holy Mountain stage, performing with confidence and joy. The whole venue seemed transformed by their release show, with a section partitioned off for a “couch” photo shoot, and an incredible free silent auction table boasting goodies like a specialized Couch-friendly necklace and a prize package from the AV Club.

Still, the music took center stage. The sound filled the room as the band shot through their debut album. Single “Oh, Libby” perked up the most ears, as its familiar lilting guitar riff floated through the air. “Aphrodite,” however, was the song I found myself singing on my bike road home and through the next morning, with the catchy pre-chorus punctuated by the music.

The night ended young and the Couch left their audience wanting more. They played tons of tunes off of the new record, but even debuted a newer-than-new song led by songstress Sara Houser.

It was a great moment for the Couch, feeling almost like their Quinceañera, the moment where they were just picking up the wave, heading toward a crest. They’re a band to watch, a band to hear and a band to love.

Relive the night by purchasing the Couch’s self-titled debut here.

The Couch are cranking out rock tunes to turn your head, and if you haven’t tuned in yet, here’s your chance. They are releasing their self-titled debut album at Holy Mountain this Saturday, and if you consider yourself a fan of rock ‘n’ roll you must attend.

From start to finish, The Couch is raucous, catchy and quirky in the best of ways. It starts off with an explosion of fiery guitar prowess that breaks up opener “Aphrodite,” and doesn’t slow down from there. Guitarist and vocalist Taylor Wilkins is especially heartfelt on “Ghost,” where his vocals intertwine with a mess of distorted guitars, and his call-and-response with killer vocalist Sara Houser give a great balance to the tune. “Oh, Libby” is the best match to Wilkins’ vocals, acting as a spunky, upbeat change to the rest of the album’s darker undertones. The twinkly guitars scream “summertime,” so it’ll warm you all through the winter.

Sara Houser’s star truly shines brightest on this record. Her voice is sweet and passionate to counteract a grungy, stripped “Kick the Can,” both complimentary and unexpected. On “Ratchet,” she is delightfully powerful, dark and threatening all at once. “Ducks in a Row” is equally dark, and turns almost space-rock-y near the end.

The album plays with eerie tunes in the middle, but is bookended by power and fun, which makes it very listenable and offers relief after heavier tracks. Were you looking for the next big thing in Austin, Texas? It’s the Couch, and they won’t take this sitting down.

To see for yourself, head for Holy Mountain this Saturday at 9PM. Featherface and our favorites Royal Forest open, so get there early.

I didn’t know what I was in for. I couldn’t have even comprehended it if I wanted to. Had I not been dating a guy who likes to rank his “must see before I die” acts, I honestly would not have thought to travel three hours to Houston, Texas to see Paul McCartney. It’s not because I didn’t want to, by any means. I think in my mind, I thought of McCartney as an almost novelty act. I knew he was incredibly talented, and even though my favorite Beatle person-wise is Ringo (yes, believe it), I knew he was a songwriting genius and still sounded solid at the age of 70. But if I’m being honest, I thought of a Paul McCartney show the same way I think of a Bob Dylan or Robert Plant show at this point. I’m always humbled to be in the presence of a legend, but it’s not their heyday. Two of the Beatles are gone, so I knew I’d never be able to see the whole unit the way I’d want to.

In fact, I hesitate to name the Beatles my favorite band of all time for that very reason. The live show is so important to me that it’s hard for me to conceptualize a band as my all-time favorite if I haven’t experienced the power of their in-person performance. Even though the Beatles are a band that literally helped me to grow up — Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Magical Mystery Tour and, of course, Abbey Road were formative albums that forced me to move past my candy-pop-and-top-40-only stage — for some reason, the idea of Paul alone just didn’t hold the same weight as the idea of building a time machine and going back to the time of screaming, fainting fan girls and riotous excitement.

But then, I found myself buying tickets for Sir Paul as a birthday gift to my boyfriend, and as the date approached, I began to really try to wrap my brain around what was going to happen. I was going to go watch, live, in person, a man who is one of the most famous people on Earth, who has changed millions of lives with his music and his message, who has experienced the turmoil of the 60s in person, who has lived among legends, who has befriended people who appear in my mind more like book characters, because they are too famous to humanize.

Even still, as we drove on to Houston, I was in a haze. It was as if I was going to go watch some movie, or play, or show put on inside of a glass box, separate from myself.

Sitting in the hard seats of the baseball stadium, waiting for MACCA to emerge, I was thinking about how cold I was. I tried to distract my mind with anything else — the older folks speaking behind me, the personalized shirts of the fans around us, Zack’s warm hand holding mine, the layout of the stadium, the still empty seats. But as 8PM came and went, my mind kept drifting back to the cold, and the thought of, when is this thing going to start? I felt similarly to when I am standing in line for a roller coaster, except that instead of wanting to quietly sneak out while nobody was looking because of my terrorizing fear of roller coasters, I was anxious for the show to begin so it could feel real. I wanted to start the ride.

At around 9PM, the wheels clicked on the track and we were rolling. Instead of waiting for his band to emerge onstage and then come out to applause meant just for him, Sir Paul headed on in the mass, still a member of a band at heart. A grin stretched so wide across my face that I knew I’d be sore later, and I didn’t care at all. I got swept up in the psychedelic strains of “Magical Mystery Tour” and mouthed the words as I danced in my seat.

I didn’t know how many songs McCartney would play that I wouldn’t know. If it was a Beatles song, I knew I’d know it. If it was a Wings hit, I’d know it. Any Wings deep cuts or McCartney-only tunes were the wildcards, and so “Junior’s Farm” fell on unfamiliar ears.

Then, the ground fell out from under me. At the strains of “All My Loving,” I was there. I wasn’t just watching some huge jumbotron of some faraway performance. I was a participant, and I was awash with the feeling of utter disbelief and satisfaction and uncontainable excitement that all of those young kids must have felt when they saw the Beatles. Behind Paul, the opening footage from A Hard Day’s Night was playing, and I saw those fresh faces of the boys, smiling sheepishly and running around like school children. Tears started to stream from my face. I was Snow White, awakened by this moment to be truly in it, and truly alive.

Paul was magnificent at representing each mood of every song. During “All My Loving,” there was youthful, bouncy energy. Next up, for “Jet,” he was howling and rocking and melting our faces off as fists pumped in the air and lips mouths, “Ooo!”

“Got to Get You Into My Life” narrates quite literally the way in which I met my boyfriend, so we got a bit googly eyed singing it to one another, and then snuck glances back at the stage to make sure we didn’t miss an epic Paul face.

I have to say, I’ve seen photos of the show since attending it, and they do no justice to what I was there to witness. In the photos, Paul still looks great, to be sure, but he looks his age. There, live, in person, I could promise you Paul was the same 21-year-old who started the Beatles back in 1960. I would have bet my life on it. When he snapped his suspenders and leaned back on one leg, or “Whoo!”d into the mic, or mussed his own hair, he had all of the youthful hammishness and twinkle in his eye as I’d ever hoped to see.

Standing in a Houston crowd, I was a little nervous about how my concert counterparts would react when Obama’s face appeared in a mosaic of stars behind Paul while he performed “Sing the Changes,” but then I remembered that many of these folks were likely hippie conscientious objectors to be fans of the Beatles, and I saw tons of peace signs thrust in the air later on in the night when we were navigated through “A Day in the Life” into “Give Peace a Chance.”

Apart from marveling at Sir Paul’s incredible vocal prowess, I was reminded that the man practiced for hundreds of hours at a bar in Germany with his Beatles and could therefore rip out a solo without blinking. I was reminded of this, specifically, when he ended Wings’ “Let Me Roll It” with a raucous “Foxy Lady” tribute. He then got to play the part of Awesome Uncle Paul as he rolled his sleeves back and told us the following story:

“Right after we came out with Sgt. Peppers, that came out on a Friday and that Sunday, our friend Jimi was playing a show and had learned one of our songs just in that short amount of time. The problem was, with the way he played he was always out of tune at the end of the song. So he finished the song and peered out in the crowd and he says, ‘…Eric? Eric, are you out there?’ — Eric Clapton, you know. (Paul bends down to represent Clapton hiding from Jimi in the crowd.) ‘Eric, can you get up here and tune this guitar for me?’ So anyway, quite a time!”

Sticking with his guitar-nerd-trivia theme, McCartney followed up this anecdote by playing “Paperback Writer” on the guitar he first-ever played that song on. I’ve always enjoyed that song, but for some reason it stands in my memory of this night as one of my favorites. There was a vibrant energy coming from the band as they performed it. Maybe it was because of that incredible and insane anecdote Paul had told, or maybe it was the guitar. Maybe it’s just because he’s Paul-freaking-McCartney. “Paperback Writer” ruled. I could feel the presence of my dance-queen mother with me, shaking her hips and shoulders in some psychedelic 60s dress, and I did my best to dance enough for the both of us.

Paul’s videotron was on point the whole night, but there were a few specific moments that were so perfect that I got chills. One was during “Maybe I’m Amazed,” where a video Linda had taken of Paul with their kids melted in and out of frame, with James popping out of Paul’s coat and Stella hanging onto his side. Paul looked so young and handsome and full of love and life, and that feeling seemed to channel out of his performance of the song itself.

Sometimes, though, Paul’s own introductions to songs were enough to carry me through to a higher level apart from anything that was there in front of me — my mind painted a picture more vivid than anything that could possibly be put on a screen. The most intense moments were a back-to-back punch of “Blackbird” and “Here Today.”

Paul said, “You know, during the 60s we were in the UK and watching all of this turmoil that people were facing in the U.S. during the Civil Rights movement, and I’d just see the pain on people’s faces, and I knew it was a hard struggle. So I wanted to do something to add to that movement, to help in some small way. So I wrote this next song just to give these people some hope, to know that they were supported. This one is called ‘Blackbird.’”

I sobbed openly, imagining that time and that struggle and the hopelessness, and then this song swooping in like a small beacon, just something to move forward by. It was a lot to take in, and it moved me to find that light in my own life and push forward through any struggle I might face. It’s what you look for in the best, most special songs, and Paul had it times two when he started his next introduction.

“To everyone out there, is there someone you love? Have you told them you loved them? If you haven’t, well, you should, because sometimes people aren’t around for as long as we think they will be. We can take that for granted. You should never waste a second to tell someone that you love them. And so this next one is for my dear friend John. Let’s hear it for John.”

As the audience around me erupted in applause, some rising to their feet, I clapped quietly, and continued swimming in my own tears. The emotional one-two punch of struggle and heartbreak and memories was overwhelming, and as Paul began to sing “Here Today,” I just saw John’s face in my mind, through all of his iterations. It was a powerful moment.

Sir Paul knows when his audience needs a break, so he relieved us with “Dance Tonight,” as his goofy, round drummer did the “Gangnam Style” dance followed by the “Macarena.” Paul insisted his favorite was the sprinkler.

I say this with no hint of complaint or criticalness — actually, it’s said with eagerness at future possibilities — “Eleanor Rigby” was a magic moment that hit without the full capacity of its punch. That was one of my first “favorites” when I was younger and moody, and although I still felt the tingle of nostalgia when its opening harmonies were sung, with only a tinny synth filling in the string parts on the song, the Houston performance of this song just hinted at the power it could have with a full orchestra behind it. I am now determined to see Paul again with an orchestra so that this song can really knock me on my ass the way it’s supposed to.

Speaking of knocking me on my ass, however, Paul would have been remiss if he’d not done a tribute to his other passed Beatles brother, George. He brought out a ukelele, telling us that he performed one of his favorite Harrison tunes on it for George himself, and now he’d play it for us. An adorable, stripped version of “Something” came brightly out of the ukelele, and there was a swing in Paul’s step as he sang the song to us. When Paul crooned, “You’re asking me, will my love grow?” the full band came rumbling in behind McCartney and the song got back to its original roots.

Energy remained high during Wings classic, “Band on the Run.” When the guitars get sinister, I am always reminded of any one of Judas’ songs in Jesus Christ Superstar, enough so that Zack and I had to Google to see which came first (the album-only version of JCS was actually first, but not by much, and the stage version came out the same year as Band on the Run). As the namesake of Paul’s tour, this song cranked out with oomph, and made me think of my dad quite literally running one of his marathons with this as his backdrop.

“Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” was one of the more surprisingly large sing-alongs, with a chorus of thousands of voices singing together and a bunch of people around us getting out of their cold stadium seats to dance merrily with the group they came with. It’s the Beatles “Mmmbop,” if you will, and even though it’s a bit silly, it’s a unifying, fun song that was absolutely undeniable in such a setting.

I’ve been listening to “I’ve Got a Feeling” a lot since the concert, and I have to say, the energy was somehow more electric in Houston than it even comes off crackling on record. Sir Paul dug deep inside of his vocal chords to roar this one out, and he happily received his applause at the close of the song, remarking, “Houston — I’ve got a feeling about you, Houston.”

It has to feel strange for McCartney when he takes the reigns on Lennon-lead songs. And yet, because of the power of those songs, Paul doesn’t pass them up. “A Day in the Life” was a shocking but incredible surprise, and even though it felt a bit uncomfortable to hear the sweet Beatle sing, “He blew his mind out in a car,” the sincerity with which he performed the song made McCartney believable anyway. After his actual verse in the song, when he went into his dream, Paul switched over to “Give Peace a Chance,” and I saw a bevy of mostly female crowd members get to their feet and wave peace signs in the air. It felt special, and heartening, and united the crowd of Houstonites in a way I wasn’t sure was possible.

In line with that mood, “Let It Be” was a beat in the same breath, and sounded simply beautiful. But it was time to bring out the big guns, and Paul knew it.

I’m not necessarily one for pyrotechnics. The flash of a show can be enjoyable, and I’ve never disliked it when a band like Muse goes crazy with lights and shiny pants. But oftentimes, I feel like that kind of thing can be a hokey way of preventing a crowd from realizing that the music isn’t good enough to stand on its own. That’s never a concern for Paul McCartney. “Live and Let Die” is a song with sonic flash, in and of itself, and although I could feel something building, I didn’t know what I was in for.

The piano twinkled, the band crooned out their harmonies, and then — the mood shift. The title line was sung. I had tilted my head down for a moment, and all of a sudden, the punctuation on Paul’s “…let die.” The keys, guitars, drums all exploded and with them, plumes of fire shot up from the front of the stage. As the music hurried into its frantic sprint, fireworks shot from both the front of the stage and behind the stadium. My heart raced and my eyes lit up like a child’s and my mouth hung open as I peered over at Zack, who was smiling back knowingly. He had known about this display, and even so, he seemed bowled over by how awesome it was.

There’s really only one slow song that can follow an explosive performance like that, and it has to be “Hey Jude,” every time. It was never my most favorite Beatles song, to be honest. Yes, it’s catchy, and yes, I think it’s adorable that it is a song Paul wrote for John’s son Julian. But I tend to skip past it after a few “na na”s when I’m listening to it on record. In Houston, I got to help perform it. Paul had us all sing the “na”s and, quite honestly, we all sang the whole song. Sir Paul even directed the men and women to sing the part in separate choruses, and after the men sang, he sent a wink to the ladies by saying, “OK, boys, now listen to this.” We sounded quite impressive, as our naked voices joined together and we waved our hands in the air. This was the song that closed out the first 29-song set, and it just left us wanting more.

Paul didn’t make us wait very long. “Lady Madonna” was a true tribute to some fantastic ladies, as faces of Princess Di, Mother Theresa, Diana Ross and so many more flashed across the screen. “Day Tripper” and “Get Back” just wet the whistle, and when the band left again after that first encore, there was no way we were letting that slide.

The final encore was a thing of perfection. Paul came out to quietly envelop us in “Yesterday,” and then teasingly inquired, “It seems like you still want to rock ‘n’ roll, Houston. Is that right?” The applause rained down like the eight bright spotlights, lifting McCartney to his rightful place. “Alright,” he shrugged. “You asked for it.” “Helter Skelter” came roaring from the amplifiers, and Paul’s kiss-off again reminded me of the roller coaster at Disney World called Splash Mountain, right before the big 50-foot drop where Brer Rabbit cries, “Please don’t throw me in that briar patch.” Or maybe that was the actual point-of-view footage of a roller coaster that swept us through a thrilling maze on the screen behind Paul.

Either way, I was still on an adrenaline high when Paul went back to his piano. “So, there comes a time when things must end,” he said. The fans were distraught — there were cries of “No!” and please for more songs. “No, no, there does! We have to go home!” Paul insisted. “And, at the same time — you have to go home, too!” He introduced the band, thanked the crew, and my heart stopped as the melancholy chords of “Golden Slumbers” eased out of the keys.

This song was my baby blanket during difficult years in high school. It was my shoulder to cry on when my self-consciousness was so painful to bear that it drove me to an eating disorder. In a frenzy of hopelessness, as I grappled with the reality that I would not be able to control everything in the world around me, “Golden Slumbers” commiserated as it reminisced, “Once there was a way to get back home,” and reassured as Paul sang, “Sleep little darling, do not cry.” It helped me to deal with death, because I thought that as long as I had Paul to tell me that the golden slumber would lead me to the warmth of safety of people who loved me, I figured it would be OK. And here I was, watching the real, blood-and-muscle McCartney playing this piano and singing these words. I knew this song would make me cry. I wanted this song to make me cry. My face flooded until I was able to break through and sing “Carry That Weight” with the crowd. We chugged through that song like a runaway freight train as images from the Beatles’ Rock Band game played on the screen, and in “The End,” we were quietly rocked to a close.

This was a show of a lifetime. This is a moment I will never forget. This is a time where I suddenly became a part of history in a small, wonderful way. It’s been five days, and I’m still riding the high.