Out ‘n' about in the City of Angels with Blurt's roving shutterbug (2/15 - 2/28).

By Scott Dudelson

(above) Rosie Ledet - Live @ The Mint (www.themintla.com) - 2/15

(below) Carrie Rodriguez - Live @ House of Blues (www.houseofblues.com) - 2/16

Alejandro Escovedo & Carrie Rodriguez - Live @ House of Blues (www.houseofblues.com)  - 2/16

Los Lonely Boys - Live @ House of Blues (www.houseofblues.com) - 2/16

Alkaline Trio (singer Matt Skiba) - Live @ House of Blues (www.houseofblues.com) - 2/17

Cursive - Live @ House of Blues (www.houseofblues.com) - 2/17

Imaad Wasif - Live @ Spaceland (www.clubspaceland.com) - 2/18

Tinariwen - UCLA Live @ Royce Hall  (www.uclalive.org) - 2/20

Dinosaur Jr. (J. Mascis)  - Live @ The Troubadour (www.troubadour.com) - 2/23

Strange Boys (singer Ryan Sambol) - Live @ The Echo (www.attheecho.com) - 2/26

***

Scott Dudelson is a music journalist and concert photographer based in Los Angeles.  Scott is also the Chief Operating Officer of Prodege, LLC, the company behind www.swagbucks.com.

Notes from the road while on tour in Europe: why the Ettes frontwoman's not eating the bratwurst in Germany this time around.

By Coco Hames

I dropped out of college after my first semester because it was horrible and I hated it, and when you do that, not only is it complicated to go back, but you lose your right to live in the dorms.  Yes, it is a privilege to live in meningitis and crabs infested hellholes with Stachybotrys being pumped through the filthy air vents so you constantly have bronchitis and insulation so poor that your bed sheets are always damp and there's a film of cold, dirty water on top of everything, AND your roommate climbs uninvited into bed with you so you punch a window and face disciplinary action from the university OR your roommate is in ROTC and needs wakeup calls from her fellows every morning at 4am, right after you've gotten home from drowning your loneliness at a bar called BALLS...

When I came back to Gainesville -- after a few months back at home, working at a boutique where, when I go back there with my mom, the shopgirls stare at me and whisper audibly "SHE'S the nastiest one", meaning, evidently, both my sisters are mean and nasty, but I'M the worst, and mind you, these are people who don't know me or my family to begin with -- I found a room open in a big brick house near campus (it's here: http://maps.google.de/maps?hl=de&tab=wl).  It had 6 bedrooms and was occupied by an art student, a library sciences student, a really strange older student whose bedroom was actually a closet, and two Cuban cousins whose nicknames were Kiki and Pipa.  Pipa was a nursing student, and Kiki was studying film.  She made a student film and my boobs are in it.  Fact.

Kiki has always been a major lover of animals (I've mentioned her before, we used to foster dogs together) and has been vegetarian for as long as I've known her.  Except when we got Jennie-O turkey corn dogs, but that was a long time ago.  My older sister was vegetarian for a long time, refusing to "eat anything that had a face" and rocking her Greenpeace AND Depeche Mode t-shirts.  And world... I have now joined their ranks.  It's been a couple of months.  I am a vegetarian.

You can read my blog a couple posts back about my issues with the factory farming of animals, and while I really don't think investigating and becoming cognizant of that terrible system pushes to change you from meat eater to veggieoid, it did heighten my awareness of my own concept and process of meat eating.  And I thought to myself, self, do you like eating meat?  And myself said "Shit yeah I do!"  I love an obscenely rare, bloody steak, I love Chick-Fil-A (who I imagine are major supporters of factory farms/CAFOs, Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations, their term, though I do hate birds, and don't care very much about chickens) and I'm Southern, so how in the hell can I possibly exist without pork? 

So I thought about it.  And I thought about how I don't cook or eat that much meat anyway, because as a wary consumer and vaguely compassionate person I am uncomfortable with the unanswered question of how the animal was treated when it was alive.  And I wondered whether my body needed meat or did not need it.  So I kind of thought, okay maybe I'll try not eating meat and see if I care, see how I feel.  So I did that, and I told my friends and fam I was doing so, and everything was fine.  And then my brother-in-law gave me Alicia Silverstone's new book for Christmas, which is a cookbook/manifesto suggesting "The Kind Diet" which would of course be totally free of animal products (that's eggs and dairy, too).  And honestly, I was totally offended, I was like, Alicia Silverstone seems like a very nice girl as far as actresses go, but she is also most likely a BOOB and has her head up her Hollywood ass, and her advice could not possibly apply to me, UMEBOSHI PLUMS ARE $18 FOR ABOUT AN OUNCE.  But check it yo, it did.

I'm pretty sure Alicia Silverstone the person is exactly like she is in Clueless, which seems very pleasant to me actually, because I love Clueless and love her in it.  But she very passionately and enthusiastically suggests, politely, that you might try a diet free of animal products, just for a few weeks, and see how you feel.  Alicia Silverstone notwithstanding, if you asked me (I won't come at you unsolicited, not my style) I'd suggest the same.  I don't really feel like going into it, all the statistics, not just about the animals but the way animal products generally adversely affect us humans and our planet, links to cancer, diabetes, heart disease, pollution, poisoning epidemics that kill children, global warming, you name it.  I'll just tell you a vegetarian diet suits me, I feel better, the personal is the political, and there you have it.

So anyway, not like you care, but I no longer eat meat, taking it day by day.  If Poni gets that rare steak, I look at it, and it neither offends me or turns me on.  Not like it used to.  I just don't want it.  So that's me, I shant devolve into a postulating preacher man about how much better I feel bodily or how my head is clearer, my moods better, my bod a bit foxier, whatever.  Though I will tell you that I understand why people are preachy about it, just like people are (annoyingly) preachy about anything they're passionate about, religion, rock climbing, etc. 

I've never been rock climbing, though I did just stupidly (and soberly!) risk my life climbing up a giant tree on Dog Island (http://wikimapia.org/165081/Dog-Island) because my little sister's childhood friend dared me to.  What an idiot.  I was not safe.  In Phillip Pullman's epic and glorious trilogy His Dark Materials he speaks of the "grace" children have, that innocence that protects them and informs them their beautiful, poetic, prescient knowledge, the elegance of their sensitivity to the spiritual and magical world around us all.  Yeah, I do NOT have grace anymore, that shit was scary and MAD dangerous.

Off to Stuttgart tomorrow, you never know what the future might bring.

Jarvis Cocker and Air wrote that Charlotte Gainsbourg album everyone's been talking about??

***

Blurt "co-co-editor" Coco Hames fronts The Ettes - Hames on guitar, Jem Cohen on bass and Poni Silver on drums. Their Greg Cartwright-produced album Do You Want Power arrived in stores last fall, their music was featured in the Drew Barrymore-directed film Whip It, and you bet we've got a big feature on the band in the latest issue of BLURT.

The band is on a European tour currently then upon returning to the states will be headed to Austin for SXSW. After that they'll be opening for the Dead Weather throughout April. Check out the band's MySpace page for music and tour dates.

Motion City Soundtrack leaves venerable punk label and winds up making its punkest album ever.

By John B. Moore

There are a lot of assumptions when it comes to Motion City Soundtrack.

The Minneapolis band started churning out records during emo rock's peak so they were lumped in with the eyeliner and skinny jeans crowd, despite having more in common with bands like Cheap Trick and Superchunk; they signed to the indie punk rock label Epitaph, but they were certainly not a punk rock band. While the scene kids were busy trying to figure out just where these guys fit in, the band was diligently putting out some of the best synth-backed pop albums since The Cars.

Their latest effort - and first for Columbia Records - My Dinosaur Life is probably their best to date. Ironically, it wasn't until they left Epitaph that they put out their most punk-inspired album.

Justin Pierre (vocals/guitar) talked recently about the new album and the band's contradictions.    

***

Lyrically, the new album seems a little more personal than some of your pervious ones. Were you worried at all that you were sharing too much?

Nope. I tend to write what I know. And being as self obsessed as I am, that is not difficult. I don't think it's that much different from any of the previous endeavors, but I'm not the best one to ask as I am in the middle of the thing being created and not able to look at it from any other angle.

This record also seemed a little more rock focused than past efforts. Was there a conscious decision to change the sound or was that simply an evolution?

That was the only thing we consciously talked about doing; making a rock record.  As far as how we went about doing it, that part was no different than previous efforts.  We just wrote whatever came to mind and worked out as many ideas as we could, finally coming up with around 25-30 ideas/songs.  Then once we got together with Mark (Hoppus. The Blink 182 co-founder produced the record), he helped us choose the final 18-20, of which we recorded 15.  Twelve made the album.

Were you guys listening to anything in particular while writing or recording that had a strong influence on the songs?

For the first time I can say that there was nothing in particular I was listening to while writing this record.

So what else can you tell me about the record?

I am always excited about each of our records when they come out, but this one is by far my favorite.  Everything from the artwork to the order of the songs to the songs themselves to the Producer, Engineer and Mixer is straight up solid gold.  I think of all our records, we came really close to hitting the mark with this one.

You mentioned that you recorded with Mark Hoppus, who you've worked with in the past. What is he like to record with?

He creates a truly relaxed environment within which you are not afraid to try things and fail. Not only is he a musical genius, but he's a patient man and knows how to get great performances out of the bands he works with. I feel that if you listen to the bands he's produced, they tend to sound much more like themselves on that particular endeavor than on any other outing.

Was it a tough decision to leave Epitaph? 

Yes and No.  Our deal was up and Brett (Gurewitz, label founder and Bad Religion guitarist) gave us his blessing, but it was still hard. I hate goodbyes. Luckily for us Columbia has been amazingly into everything that we've wanted to do. It doesn't feel that different from an artist friendly perspective, which is the most important thing to me.

Epitaph is obviously known more for punk bands. Did you ever feel out of place with them?

I think we were one of the first signings that was a little left of the dial and I think there was some backlash from fans of the label, but Brett started signing country acts, hip hop acts, Tom Waits and many truly diverse bands (on his sister label Anti- Records).  That, in my opinion, is the most punk rock thing you could do; something that no one is expecting.

How is the current headlining tour going? Any interesting tour stories yet?

The tour with The Swellers, This Providence and Set Your Goals was amazing. All the bands were completely wonderful humans and a pleasure to watch. I tend to hibernate between shows, so I have no good stories from the road. We did brave the worst snowstorm of the year on the east coast. Unfortunately This Providence and The Swellers did not make it through the snowy cloud of chaos.

What is the thing that has surprised you the most about the music business?

I am surprised that CD sales are going extinct and vinyl sales are rising. This is very interesting to me.  Most people listen to music on an mp3 device of some sort, which is easier than carrying a case of CD's around.

What's next for the band?

Tour, tour, tour.

I'm out of questions, anything else you want to add?

I am currently full of caffeine.

[Photo Credit: Peter Yang]

Announcing the first installment in our "Play For Today" series of video game reviews. This time out we take on Heavy Rain, Aliens Vs. Predator, Major League Baseball 2K10 and Halo Legends. Watch out for those screen shots and trailers - some of ‘em will bite (or bean) ya.

By Aaron Burgess

Game of the Minute: Heavy Rain

Platform: PlayStation 3

Developer: Quantic Dream / Publisher: Sony Computer Entertainment

ESRB Rating: M

A hard rain's a-gonna fall. Every game has a storyline, but until Heavy Rain, no game did so much to be a storyline. While it's oversimplifying to call the PS3-exclusive title a digital Choose Your Own Adventure, the idea that you control the story's outcome is central to Heavy Rain's development. This idea, of course, prompted some fair questions leading up to the game's release: Would the serial-killer thriller simply be one big Quick Time Event (a sort of Dragon's Lair-meets-CSI in 1080p, if you will), or would developer Quantic Dream  - also responsible for the similarly boundary-pushing 2005 title Indigo Prophecy - rise to the challenge? Well, rise they have, and if you have a PS3, this is one game you can't miss.

You experience Heavy Rain through the eyes of four characters, each on a mission to stop the Origami Killer - so named for his calling card of leaving folded paper shapes at his crime scenes. However, the game doesn't simply throw you into action: You'll need a few hours just to get used to Heavy Rain's control system, in which onscreen prompts force you to make quick, instinctive choices and familiar button schemes turn on their heads. At first, it'll seem as though literally nothing's happening, but as you soon learn, even the most mundane events in Heavy Rain (e.g., taking a drink, choosing whether to play with your kids, forgetting to take your asthma medication) have butterfly effects that influence the story's outcome - and your character's fate.

Visually, the game is just as stunning to experience. Though a depressive, rain-sodden pallor colors the scenery, the level of character detail takes you past the uncanny valley and gives you a true sense of immersion (down to pervy skin-on-skin level, if you so choose) in Heavy Rain's key players. Though there's no "game over," your choices for each character can have fatal, game-changing consequences - and as the days play out and the Origami Killer continues to evade capture, you'll find yourself wondering how things could've been different had you just, say, stopped that robbery in the convenience store. As the story picks up, so do such moments of action - and indeed, you'll experience enough tension, fear and uncertainty during Heavy Rain that you may need to hit pause just to keep your bearings. And that, of course, is the one way in which Heavy Rain will always differ from real life.

Rating: 9/10

Aliens Vs. Predator

Platforms: Xbox 360, PlayStation 3, PC

Developer: Rebellion / Publisher: Sega

ESRB Rating: M

How I could just kill a man. Despite the myriad shortcomings in the celluloid collisions of Aliens and Predator, the Aliens Vs. Predator game series gave us a chance to avenge both franchises in cold blood. With the latest AVP title, developer Rebellion reprises the three campaigns from its 1999 PC hit, letting us spill blood as an Alien, a Predator or a Colonial Marine. Each campaign draws on the key abilities of its titular (anti)hero, with the Marine challenge being easiest to grasp due to its basic survival-horror, first-person-shooter experience. Things get trickier as you have to adjust to the unique biology and hunting tactics of Aliens and Predators, but the payoff is delightful in some truly sick kills.

Seasoned gamers should have no problem tearing through single-player campaigns in less time than it takes to watch both Alien(s) Vs. Predator films back to back, but the high-tension multiplayer modes (oh, how those alien life forms love to multiply...) allow for extended playability and fierce co-op play. Unfortunately, the graphics and lighting aren't quite on par with the action, but kudos to Rebellion for its immersive sound design. Tearing your enemies limb from limb never sounded so good.

Rating: 6/10

Major League Baseball 2K10

Platforms: Xbox 360, PlayStation 3, PlayStation 2, Wii, PSP, Nintendo DS, PC

Developer: Visual Concepts

Publisher: 2K Sports

ESRB Rating: E

Put me in, coach. Last year's MLB 2K entry found 2K's dedicated sports developer Visual Concepts taking a beating from armchair pitchers and hardcore sports gamers alike, but with Major League Baseball 2K10, things appear to be turning around. Not only have the pitching and batting mechanics (as well as the AI) been raised to similarly high levels, but the graphics have pushed the game miles beyond the jagged, buggy punch line that was 2009's entry.

These, of course, are just the most obvious upsides to MLB 2K10: It's when you get into the "My Player" career mode that you truly see the game's pluses. The new addition lets you create a player, choose a franchise and play your way from the minor leagues up to the Hall of Fame. Sports-gaming sticklers will dig the concept that you earn skill points that actually complement your player's position - meaning that you don't necessarily need to stress over your star pitcher's batting average. Although if you decide to start a new career by dubbing yourself "Orel Hershiser," you already know what you're getting into.

Rating: 7/10

File Under "Extras"

Halo Legends (Warner Home Video)

I can see your Halo. If your knowledge of the Halo franchise goes as far as "space games where I like to kill stuff," that's totally fine-but for those of us who aspire to be the Master Chief of our own worlds, Halo Legends is a seven-story, eight-episode treasure trove.

Admittedly, the package - available on both DVD and Blu-ray Disc - drags a little with the slower-paced, dialogue-heavy "Origins" episodes that open it. But from the Ralph Bakshi-reminiscent "The Duel" (a Covenant storyline that explodes with graceful brutality) to the Spartan-driven episodes that close the anthology, Halo Legends takes us on an expansive, beautifully animated journey beyond the game. Of course, for those of us who can't wait to get back in the game, you'll want to stick around for the extras, where a trailer for the upcoming Halo Reach awaits.

Rating: 8/10

Our game guru, Aaron Burgess, lives digitally but dreams in analog down in Round Rock, Texas. Contact him at first2letters@gmail.com / AIM: First2Letters.

Jimmy McGriff at the Hammond B-3

By Carl Hanni

Let us now praise Jimmy McGriff. 

The roll call of great jazz organists is finite but full of very large characters with very large talents; Richard "Groove" Holmes, "Brother" Jack McDuff, Johnny Hammond, Charles Earland and of course Jimmy Smith come immediately to mind. But for my $, Jimmy McGriff is top cat, the baddest of the bad, soul brother #1 of the jazz organ.

Jimmy McGriff's reputation and standard tag line posit him being the bluesiest of the great soul-jazz organists of the golden era of the 1960s and ‘70s, and that's a fair assessment. He's definitely brings a hard blues edge to his work that the others all took turns swinging at, but that in no way equals any sort of a narrow focus in McGriff's playing; in truth he was as, or more, diverse than the rest of the Hammond B-3 pack. 

I've only heard a relatively modest amount of McGriff's quite extensive catalogue that dates back to 1963, but have heard enough to know that it's a very great thing indeed. McGriff, who died in 2008, extruded a sense of positivity and flair in his playing that might seems at odds as his status as a blues player unless we've forgotten that playing the blues was/is, after all, about banishing the blues and trying to have a good time doing it. That is, while we're not dragging the line through the harsh, painful bottom end of the blues pond. Like all great bluesmen McGriff could play both sides of the coin, the upside and the downside. If he spent more time on the up, joyful side, well, that's just who he was. His fusion of blues, R&B, soul and jazz remains one of the most refreshing and enjoyable in modern music, sounding vital and very alive several decades after his cut his most famous sides. 

McGriff benefitted from long associations with some cool labels in the ‘60s and ‘70s like Groove Merchant and Solid State, and, later in his career (he died in 2008) with Milestone Records. He also benefitted hugely from his collaborators, especially the producer Sonny Lester who he cut numerous records with. Lester was obviously key to McGriff's polished, inviting sound and overall sonic stylishness. All artists should be so lucky as to have such a solid collaborator; one can only imagine the confidence it would engender, knowing that the guy in the control room has your back.

McGriff cut hot sides with soul-blues belter Junior Parker, with gospel singer Tramaine Hawkins, some cutting sessions with his mentor Groove Holmes and a series of records later in his career with the great sax player Hank Crawford. He also worked with fellow soul-jazz legends David "Fathead" Newman and Bernard "Pretty" Purdie as The Dream Team towards the end of his career. He had hit singles like the early "I Got A Woman," "Kiko" and the super funky "The Worm," and several albums did quite well on the R&B and jazz charts. He played in Buddy Rich's band off and on for a couple of years, fronted some mid-sized big bands and experimented with smoother jazz fusion in the dreaded late ‘70s (the Sargasso Sea of jazz) before dropping that crap and getting funky again. The man had a full, satisfying career. 

When discussing Jimmy McGriff it all eventually circles back to the one thing, the key thing, the thing that lives on; that SOUND, McGriff behind the Hammond B-3, the Jaguar/monster-truck hybrid of organs. One of the greatest sonic contraptions of the 20th century, the B-3 is to organs as the V-8 was to earlier engines; an advanced specimen, capable of great and sometimes terrifying things, dangerous and thrilling in the hands of a master like Jimmy McGriff or others like the afore mentioned Jack McDuff, Jimmy Smith, etc.  Although McGriff came to the organ after playing several other instruments, he was clearly a natural. His playing seems effortless and totally unaffected; he has flow, soul and an endless supply of groove. His mix of soul, blues, jazz, R&B and funk covered a good portion of the bases of what was worth listening to in popular music in the 1960s and ‘70s and on into the ‘90s. McGriff was a man of his times, reflecting back the best of what was in the air and on the street.

Some of own favorite Jimmy McGriff records include A Bag Full of Blues, A Thing to Come By, Jimmy McGriff at the Organ, The Main Squeeze and Soul Organ.

***

You can leave comments below or e-mail them to me directly at modmedia@theriver.com .

Carl Hanni is a music writer, music publicist, disc jockey, book hound and vinyl archivist living in Tucson, AZ. He hosts a monthly concert and film series at The Screening Room in downtown Tucson, and spins records wherever and whenever he can. He believes that in a better (all analog) world all records would be released on vinyl, but takes good music from wherever he finds it--even on CD. He currently writes for Blurt, Tucson Weekly, Goldmine, Examiner.com and (occasionally) Signal To Noise.

Serving up another edition of LETTERS FROM THE ROAD, our guest post series where we invite musicians we are utterly nuts about to take over and write whatever they like. 2 rules: it has to be in the form of a letter, it has to have something to do with music. This week's LETTERS FROM THE ROAD guest author is a friend and brilliant singer-songwriter who we adore, Jim Boggia:

Dear Taylor Swift,

We need to talk.

I want you to know up front that I really tried to find someone else to write to - someone else who could ease my pain, someone else who might not make me feel so bitter. But I am bitter, Taylor - bitter about things you're probably too young to understand and that you probably, to be fair, are not so much responsible for as you are representative of.

You know where this is going. Yes, it's the Grammy thing. That performance. You can't sing. You took home four Grammys . . . . and you can't sing. There's a moment in the first chorus of 'Rhiannon' where you can see Stevie Nicks is visibly cringing at how flat you are singing. Let me make sure you understand this, because you're young and this might be lost on you. This is not Stevie WONDER we're talking about cringing at your performance, but Stevie NICKS, a woman who owes her career to sleeping with a genius guitar freak/audio architect. Because you see, that's how it was done in the old days and we didn't necessarily approve of it, but it got us laid, so ok - let the girl who likes to pretend she's a witch sing a couple of songs. But even she still had to hit the notes.

How can I make you understand?

A long time ago, we had a group called the Beatles. You might have heard of them as they are now a video game. Anyway, we loved them so much that we even liked to hear their drummer, Ringo, sing one song an album, even though he couldn't really quite hit the notes. But, the thing is Taylor, he was the DRUMMER. And we really loved the Beatles. And everything else they did was so groundbreakingly amazing. And it was only one song an album.

When you don't hit the notes it's different, and not in a good way. I know, I know, on your records, it sounds like you CAN hit the notes [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

... for those of you heading to Austin next couple of days:

1. For some reason all of the stores at the Austin airport have bankers hours and seem to be closed after dark. So forget grabbing a quick cup of coffee or a snack (if you're the type who likes to head straight from the plane to the party).

2. It's about $25 to take a cab from the airport to downtown. It's a one dollar to take the Austin Flyer (the local bus). The express bus picks up on the baggage level, one-stop the entire way until downtown. From the taxicab area, walk 25 yards directly to the right, you'll see the sign. Plus it's not even really a bus... it's more like a pretty trolley.

3. If you're unlucky enough to be staying at a hotel near the airport, make sure you get the cell phone of the taxi driver who brings you there. Taxicabs are nearly impossible to hail during SxSW. But if you have the celly of your guy, you can make him your bitch all week [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

Dropkick Murphys are as magically delicious as ever. And don't forget The Claddagh Fund which they recently established. Happy Saint Paddy's Day, everybody!

Bu John B. Moore

Aside from maybe The Pogues and The Chieftans, no other band is more closely associated with St. Patrick's Day in the U.S. than Boston's Dropkick Murphys.

According to singer and bassist Ken Casey, the Celtic punk rock band was never really supposed to leave the basement of the barbershop where they screwed around blending bagpipes with distorted guitars.  So it's as much a surprise to the band as anyone else that 15 years later they are spending the week leading up to St. Patty's Day playing night after night to sold out crowds (seven night in all) at Boston's House of Blues.

For those not able to make the pilgrimage this year to Mecca for the Guinness crowd, The Dropkick Murphys are releasing a live record (culled from last year's shows) and DVD this week.

Casey, quite possibly the nicest guy in punk rock, spoke recently about the band, jamming with the hippies at Bonnaroo and the group's newly minted charity.   

***

Congratulations on the new record and DVD. I'm interested in why you wanted to put out another live record.

I think the main reason is because we did the first live album after we had three studio releases and we have since done three more studio albums and occasionally we would look at the track list of the live album and go "Wow,  there's a lot of songs that we play now that aren't on here." And what I'm most proud of about the whole new album is that it's a completely different track listing than the first one. One song, "Forever", is on both, but it's a completely different version. I know some of my favorite bands growing up, I bought every single live album they put out - Live in London, Live in Belfast, Live in Germany - but it was the same songs over and over again. I thought it was pretty cool that we had enough material to span two live records.

Because you guys have so many songs you've done as a band, do you ever have a problem putting together a set list every night?

Yeah, absolutely. You want to make it different, but you want to give people the songs they definitely want to hear and some times, between playing the standards and wanting to change it up from the last time you were in town, we end up playing 28 songs a night. There are only 20 on the album, because that's all that would fit on the CD. It also goes to show that our songs are getting longer... We go to a great deal of effort in changing it up. We save our set lists, so we can see what we played last time we were in town and make sure they get a different set the next time. I'd say that's probably one of the most burdensome things with this band. I spend hours every day looking over the set list a thousand times and trying to write it so it gives people their money's worth.

So have you come to the acceptance yet that you're pretty much going to be playing a show every single St. Patrick's Day for the rest of your life?

Well I guess if you don't want to do that you should start a different type of band then what we started. The whole Boston thing has become a little tradition. When you're in a touring band, you're away a lot of the year and you don't get to catch up with as many people as you like. Honestly, over St. Patrick's Day there are so many people in town it's like a convention almost. Backstage we get to catch up with all our friends and family. It's something we look forward to every year, so it's not like a burden to us.

You guys are playing Bonnaroo later this year. Do you know what you're in for, what to expect?

I looked at the line up and it's pretty diverse. But we play that stuff in Europe in the summer time - just massively diverse festivals - so I think even though we haven't done the Coachellas and Bonnaroos in America, we're very much accustomed to doing those types of shows and I think our music is suited for festivals and just being party music to a degree. We do very well in that setting in Europe and I imagine it will be a good time. I don't know if I'm supposed to say because they haven't announced it yet, but they're putting some other punk rock bands on the bill on that day with us.

It certainly had that reputation of being just for hippie jam bands, but I know they've been broadening the line up a bit with Bruce Springsteen playing last year.

If it's good enough for Bruce, it's good enough for us.

You guys got to play with him recently didn't you?

Yeah, twice last year. That all came about because we've become friendly with Bruce through his son turning Bruce on to the music. We've been backstage when he was doing two nights at the Garden and on the first night he said "When are you going to do a song with me?" and I said. "Whenever you want." He said, "How about tomorrow night?" So obviously we were there the next night and this past summer, he came back and was down at Great Woods (in Massachusetts) and me and my wife were in the audience just watching the show and all of a sudden during the show I get a text from the tour manager "Bruce just told me he wants you up here for the encore." Honestly, talk about inspirational, I've met a lot of musicians that I look up to and 90 percent of them have kind of somewhat let me down with their personality or how they've carried themselves in a business way, but he's just a class act through and through. Here you are up on stage singing with, in my opinion,  the greatest rock band in the world and you feel like you're singing with your buddy's band in a bar because they make you feel that comfortable and at home.

It's seems like it would be tough for guys in bands who spend a lot of time on the road, being away from family and friends. But you have a few kids and a wife and you guys spend a ton of time touring the globe. How difficult is that?

Yeah, it's very, very hard and it's probably the toughest on me because when it's the day to go to the airport I always feel like it's the first day of school. You just don't want to leave. "My wife will call me from the car and say "(the kids) started bawling, but 30 seconds down the road they stopped." You just got to make the most of the time you're together. Right now we're on a ski trip up in New Hampshire. I just have to make sure that when I am home I make up for it. If it all came out in the wash, I probably have more time at home with my kids then the guys on my street that are leaving for work at 7 in the morning to beat rush hour and are not going to be home until 6 o' clock at night. When I am home, I'm taking them to school and all the sports and stuff like that, so I get to be around to catch a lot of the stuff other dads miss. I get to take the good with the bad and realize that I'm very fortunate to have had the opportunities that I've had in this band and to be able to provide for my family. If going away for a bit is what it takes, I always say I could be going to Iraq or Afghanistan, so I'm very fortunate. We've also brought the kids on some of the trips, so they've seen the world, so it's just very cool.

It's also got to be pretty cool for the kids on career day to say "My dad is a rock star."

My eight year old is just now getting that, cause she's on the new DVD step dancing. There's just a little clip of her, but she understands. Before I had three kids, she used to come on tour a lot with my wife and I. My wife would take her to bed in the back (of the tour bus) when we were on stage and after the show when we all came back to the front of the bus, my wife would be asleep and my two-year-old daughter would wake up and come up to see us. On the same token, I really don't think they think I'm cooler than anybody.

Another thing I wanted to ask you about is the foundation you started, the Claddagh Fund.

We've had some great opportunities through the success of the band to be able to help different people, whether it's sending out tickets to shows or signed CDs for auction items to lending the band's name and sometimes playing at charity events. It's just become something that over the years we've become more and more involved in over the years. As we did things for other causes, I always felt as great as this was we were missing the potential to tap into our fan base - who are the most generous fans in the world. The few times we have gone to them in a public way or via the Web site to help a cause, the response has been overwhelming. It makes me very proud to say that. As we started the Claddagh Fund we've done several events. We did a skate at Fenway Park when the Winter Classic ice was down; We just did a celebrity bartending night at McGreevy's and what we're getting ready to launch - which is kind of the end goal of The Claddagh Fund - is the Friends of the Claddagh Fund, where basically people can pledge their help to raise funds in other cities. Kind of almost satellite chapters of the fund. When you think about the potential, if a kid takes on that role in Seattle or Sydney, Australia, you have an army of people raising money and at that point, you're talking raising millions of dollars for good causes rather than $100,000. I'm really excited about this and to see the response of fans.

When did you start the Fund?

We started in late November and did our first event in mid December, so who needs six months to plan an event?   

Are there specific criteria for where the money goes?

Yeah, the mission statement is obviously about community and friendship and helping each other out and those are the attributes of the Claddagh: Friendship, Love and Loyalty. As far as who we directly help, the three causes we mainly focus on, are children's issues - whether its financial or medical or just things like a Boys and Girls Club, Anything that aids in easing their hardship in any way. The second was veteran's issue s and third was alcohol and substance abuse, because unfortunately that has affected many people in my life. As of right now, with the first event we gave to eight local charities, from Boys and Girls Club to the Franciscan Children's Hospital to Boston Family Services to the Fisher House, which is a place where family of veterans can stay when the veterans are receiving treatment in Boston. The last event we did, the celebrity bartending, was for Haitian orphans. At the moment it seems bizarre to not be doing something to help out when there is such a tragedy so close to home. We'll always try to focus on things close to home and pick some national charities as well.

Have you guys started working on any new songs yet for the next album?

Yeah, we're about six, seven songs into it and the goal, depending on what the touring schedule does to us, is to be in the studio by the end of the summer. We're excited about that prospect. By the time an album does come out this will probably be the longest time between records... It seems like maybe waiting a bit will get people excited. Either that or they'll forget about us and move on to someone else. I guess we'll see.

Photo Credit: Kerry Brett. The new Dropkick Murphys album, Live on Lansdowne, is released today, March 16, on the band's own Born & Bred label. Details on it, tour dates, and more at their MySpace page.

Traipsin' the light fantastic in Austin without spilling a single beer!

By Johnny Mnemonic

Ed. Note: With South By Southwest 2010 in full swing, we decided to send BLURT blogger Johnny Mnemonic, who pens the "Music Journalism 101" blog for us, to Austin and report back with his daily misadventures, er, observations. Only hitch was, he neglected to inform us that he's currently in England and won't be back in the States until the summer. "No problemo," he assured us. "I've attended SXSW numerous times since its inception in 1987. At this stage, I think I can wing it." We hereby present the erudite Mr. Mnemonic's long-distance account of this year's SXSW - as he imagines it might be going down. Guarantee: all dialogue not reported verbatim.

***

Day 1: Tuesday, March 16

Greetings, Blurters. I'm safely ensconced in my hotel room here at the Bloomsbury in London, currently on a freelance assignment for MTV networks. Readers of my Blurt blog will recall that about a year or so ago I lost my editorial job when the music publication I worked for went under, and since then I've been hopping around in a freelance capacity - including, apparently, covering SXSW for Blurt now. Without further digression, then, here's what happened my first virtual day in Texas.

My flight into Austin is delayed by a protracted layover at the Dallas airport, so to pass the time I play my favorite SXSW-related game, Spot The Traveling Musicians. Many of them are easy to pick out in a crowd; garden-variety tourists and businessmen do not, as a rule, carry guitar cases and dress in all black. If the traveling musician is female, she can additionally be identified by the western boots she invariably wears, as her far savvier Texas peers wouldn't be caught dead in clunky cowgirl boots that will kill your feet after standing for 10 to 12 hours straight, which is what SXSW is all about. British bands offer an additional wrinkle in this people-watching exercise that's always delightful: garden-variety tourists and businessmen are rarely accompanied by a short, fat, balding manager who feels compelled to speak in a loud, obnoxious Manchester accent to nobody in particular. The sub-strata of traveling journalists is worth mentioning here too: as anyone who's ever been to SXSW knows, male music writers do in fact look EXACTLY like Elvis Costello circa 1977, which is to say, anemic, with thick glasses, and hair that looks like it was trimmed with a chainsaw; female writers, dead ringers, every one of them, for Carnie Wilson prior to her notorious gastro tuck.

Upon finally arriving in Austin I take the SuperShuttle into town and promptly use up my entire stash of business cards by exchanging them with the other 50 people riding in the van. Luckily I had the foresight to ship ahead an extra box of 5000 cards to my hotel, and after arriving at the Hilton (adjacent to the Austin Convention Center, where much of the SXSW action takes place), I secure the package and check into my room. Whew - the blow and reefer I packed inside my Hole bootleg box set, which I'm hoping I can get autographed by Courtney Love while I'm down here, wasn't detected. Party on, Garth!

I pull on my faded, vintage No Depression teeshirt, the one featuring the reproduction of the cover of very first issue of the late, great Americana magazine, which was given out to everyone who attended the first organizing event of the Americana Music Association all those years ago, and with that subtle telegraphing of my hipster status to anyone I may chance to encounter, it's off to 6^th Street.

Which isn't really 6^th Street yet because the city of Austin hasn't blocked it off yet. That will come soon enough, though, and meanwhile, it's fascinating to see the main SXSW drag looking relatively uncluttered and not smelling of beer and puke. There are even cars, which reminds me, I need to check with my roommate to make sure he reserved a vehicle. He won't be in until Wednesday, but you'll meet him soon enough.

Since SXSW Music doesn't really get going until tomorrow, the must-attend music events going on today are somewhat slim pickings. So I head over to the Alamo Lamar theater to see what movies are being shown as part of SXSW Film and manage to catch most of Le Donk & Scor-zay-zee, a pretty funny British rockumentary about UK rapper Scorzayzee that also features cameos from the Arctic Monkeys. Aren't UK rappers silly!

Then it's time to hit the big Paste magazine "Kickoff" party at the PureVolume House on Trinity, where Jakob Dylan & Three Legs are supposed to play - Dylan's band is to include Neko Case, Kelly Hogan and Jon Rauhouse, and he comes on at 11, which means I won't have to sit through that family band of Christian rockers Eisley, who are headlining. When I arrive around 8pm I hear opener Harper Blynn strumming away quite earnestly, and there's barely a line to get in, so all looks good - until I am refused entry at the door. Seems that the event is RSVP only, and all my protestations fail to sway the mousy little Paste intern checking off names. I even point out that I used to write for Paste and politely urge, "Go tell Josh Jackson that his old friend Johnny M is here!" - no dice. I spot Jackson over near the bar and try to catch his attention but he pretends not to see me.

As a last straw, I pull my teeshirt up over my chest to display my big Jesus-on-the-cross tattoo that stretches across my entire torso (it's designed so each of my nipples is positioned as a nail hammered into one of the palms) but the Paste gal just goes "Ewww" and turns away in disgust, so I guess I'm fucked.

Utterly dejected - I really, really, really, really wanted to see Neko Case; not in a stalker kinda way; I just wanted to be right down front to watch the sweat glisten on her forehead as she sang; but again, it's not like I was desperate or anything - I hoof it from Trinity over to east 5^th Street to Levi's Fader Fort, site of the Zynga party where the Constellations and Metric will be playing. This turns out to be RSVP too, and I make a mental note not to be so quick to delete those label and p.r. emails that flood my inbox during the run up to SXSW next year.

Luckily the door person is way more civilized than the bitchy little Paste intern, and I don't even have to pinch my nipples and lick my upper lip at him like I did before. After a short wait in line, I'm admitted just as the Constellations are nearing the end of their set but I do get to see the Atlanta band's lead singer climb up on top of the PA and pull some Iggy/Lux Interior type moves (without actually exposing himself) while his bandmembers, all 15 of them (or so it seems; it's a big band) crack up.

Metric, featuring the ever fetching Emily Haines, comes on around 10, and I move right down front so I can watch the sweat glisten on her forehead - she does not disappoint. I start to pull up my shirt and flash my Jesus tattoo at her, but wind up sloshing beer on both myself and the people on either side of me (I am holding a bottle in each hand), so I scratch that idea and just enjoy the music.

Later that night on the street I run into my friend Kumie, who's here on a PopMatters badge to do live blogging from the music panels each day at the Convention Center, and she tells me that at the Paste party Neko Case and Jakob Dylan recreated the famous Mick Ronson-David Bowie mock-fellatio scene during a cover of "Suffragette City" and that the club just went nuts. Fuck.

I grab a bratwurst with extra kraut and chili from one of the street vendors on 6^th Street and much it down walking back to the hotel. Time to call it a night. SXSW Music on Wednesday awaits. Neko, if you're reading this, I adore you. I'm registered at the Hilton.

To be continued.

***

Johnny Mnemonic is the pseudonym of a "highly-regarded" national writer with, he advises us, over two decades' experience working as a music critic, reporter, editor and marketing consultant. We've never met him face-to-face, and he further advises he will be delivering his blogs to us via the "double blind drop-box method," whatever that is, to ensure his anonymity.

Traipsin' the light fantastic in Austin without spilling a single beer!

By Johnny Mnemonic

Ed. Note: With South By Southwest 2010 in full swing, we decided to send BLURT blogger Johnny Mnemonic, who pens the "Music Journalism 101" blog for us, to Austin and report back with his daily misadventures, er, observations. Only hitch was, he neglected to inform us that he's currently in England and won't be back in the States until the summer. "No problemo," he assured us. "I've attended SXSW numerous times since its inception in 1987. At this stage, I think I can wing it." We hereby present the erudite Mr. Mnemonic's long-distance account of this year's SXSW - as he imagines it might be going down. Guarantee: all dialogue not reported verbatim.

Read also: Day 1

***

Day 2: Wednesday, March 17

In hindsight, I should have picked up my SXSW Music badge yesterday. It probably wouldn't have been much use, gig-wise (re: my comments in yesterday's report about RSVP-only events) but it would have saved me a lot of time this morning. I also should have gotten up much earlier, but I was hungover, and that bratwurst last night at 2a.m. didn't do me any favors... I digress. The point is, by around 11 a.m. on Wednesday morning at SXSW, the Convention Center is starting to get pretty clogged by bands, journalists and attendees all aiming to pick up their credentials so they can get crackin' for SXSW, and this Wednesday is no exception as it takes me about an hour standing in line to finally get to the badge pickup booth. It's not a big deal unless you're hungover - something about Motorhead fans standing behind me jabbering away rapidly in Japanese makes me queasy (Motorhead is playing tonight, I learn) -  but I have no one to blame but myself.

Badge finally claimed, I go grab my SXSW swag bag which, truth be told, has been on a steady decline, qualitatively speaking, for several years now. There's the official SXSW directory that's a keeper of course, plus the occasional magazine worth hanging onto for the plane flight home, but all the other paper goods get chucked straight into the trash - memo to all you companies who actually pay to have your stuff inserted in the SXSW bags: you're wasting your money. I don't know a single person other than first-year SXSW newbies who bother to take more than a cursory look through the bag; besides, it'll just weigh you down if you take it all home on the plane. As far as the hard goods are concerned, there's always a few sets of promotional earplugs, condoms, pain relievers and energy supplements, but the CD samplers and singles are, as with the paper goods, destined for the dumpster.

Here's a fun game you can play at the Convention Center however: plant yourself just outside the swag bag pickup room, and when you see a cute gal exiting, approach her and very casually ask, "So... I only got two condoms in my bag. Can you spare yours?" It's worth it just to see her reaction, and who knows, it just might be the start of a great relationship! (Girls, I suggest you not try the reverse or you'll have some poor schmuck following you around like a horny dachshund for the rest of your Austin visit.)

As today is Saint Patrick's Day, I plan to head up to the Dog & Duck Pub, somewhat north of the main drag on 6^th Street, for their St. Paddy's Day Party where the likes of Black Irish, Sean Orr and, er, Rosie Flores and Jon Dee Graham are playing. On the way, though, is the official Paste Magazine Day Party at the Galaxy Room on 6^th, and I figure I'll pop in there and give the Paste crew a chance to apologize for treating me so shabbily last night. Apparently folks were supposed to RSVP for this party too, but luckily a short wait in line plus my badge gets me in. The lithesome Lissie is just delightful, while Roman Candle pulls out all the stops in classic we-gonna-blow-Austin-up fashion. I want to stick around for Roky Erickson & Okkervil River, but as that set isn't due for several hours, I have to leave and get to the D&D.

Waitaminnit - I almost forget about what's become a SXSW tradition for Wednesday, the Guitartown & Conqueroo Kickoff Party. This year marks the 10^th bash to date, so it's time for some serious twangin' at Joe's Bar & Grill (West & 6^th). The Hoodoo Gurus' frontman Dave Faulkner is onstage in the front room when I arrive, and while that doesn't sound like your usual twang act, he strips his songs down to their essence to reveal his inner folkie. Meanwhile, in the back room James McMurtry, a SXSW perennial, is getting cranked up, so I watch his set - packed, incidentally - and while he's still going on and on about George Bush (memo to James: Obama ain't doing so swell), the mofo can rock like, well, like a mofo.

I also remember that I had promised a publicist I'd swing by the "Beatles Complete on Ukulele Festival" at Jaime's (Red River), which is exactly what it says it is. A Beatles tribute band along with Roger Greenawalt plus some special guests (including Ben Kweller) are attempting to play all 185 known Beatles songs on, you guessed it, ukulele. I pop in, locate the publicist so she knows I was good on my word, get some drink tickets from her, then cut out when I'm sure she's distracted. (There is an art to letting publicists know you are good on your word.) To be honest, I just fucking hate anything played on a ukulele.

There's some kinda commotion down the street from me - it's at the parking garage across from Stubb's on Red River. I suddenly realize what that cryptic Twitter message I'd gotten a couple of hours earlier was all about: Broken Bells is playing a surprise gig as part of the SXSW "Pop-Up Show" series. Somehow I manage to squeeze in and there's James Mercer and Danger Mouse doing pretty much all of their self-titled debut for the over-capacity crowd in the garage, which with its echoey acoustics gives the sound a cinematic Phil Spector-like vibe. The highlight is when Danger Mouse's buddy from Gnarls Barkley, Cee-Lo, comes out to guest on "The High Road"; nobody recognizes him at first because he's wearing that Darth Vader outfit again, but then he waves his light saber in the air and removes his helmet and the whole place erupts in cheers. Frankly, the uniform looks pretty tight; dude's put on some weight.

The trek up to the Dog & Duck seems to be curing me of my hangover; well, that and the beer I had at the Galaxy Room, followed by the two shots of mescal I had at Joe's Bar, and the beer I had at the Uke fest using the free drink tickets. Rosie Flores has just started at the D&D when I arrive, and I could swear she's affecting an Irish accent on a few of her songs - border music and Tex-Mex done Pogues style, go figure! I get to chat with her a bit after her set and I can't help but saying to her, "Funny, Rosie, you don't look Irish!" She laughs and gives me a guitar pick. About that time a girl walks by completely topless; her breasts have been painted green and she's got a pair of shamrock-shaped pasties covering her nipples. I follow her across the room until she notices me, and I try my Rosie line on her: "Funny, they don't look Irish!" She smiles coyly and hands me a flyer for some metal band that's showcasing the next night. Well, it was worth a stab.

My phone rings and it's my roommate Artie; he finally arrived in Austin, has picked up his rental car, and is going to swing by and pick me up so we can drive over to Waterloo Records where Cheap Trick is doing an instore at 6pm. The store is jammed when we get there, and - WTF?!? The band's not playing, just sitting there like mooks, taking questions from the audience for a goddam Q&A/autograph session. Why not save this shit for the SXSW panels at the Convention Center?!?

Robin Zander looks bored out of his skull, barely muttering his answers, leaving Rick Nielsen to provide the necessary pep to prevent this sorry ass trick from turning very cheap. He's a real trouper, though, and he knows his rock lore. When one helium-voiced fanboy rambles on and on with what's apparently a five-part question involving whether or not the re-recorded In Color that the band cut with Steve Albini will ever be released, Nielsen winks at the crowd and casually says, "Could you repeat the question?" Before the fidgeting, red-faced kid has an epileptic fit from the embarrassment, however, Nielsen rescues him by quipping, "Albini stole the master tapes because we never paid him, then he threw them in Lake Michigan, so we've been negotiating with a tape collector who apparently got ahold of a copy." All throughout Waterloo you see people tapping away furiously on their smartphones and netbooks, no doubt trying to be the first on their block to post this fascinating info (fake, as many Cheap Trick fans reading this probably already realize) to their blogs and newsgroups. I'll have to check the blogs and newsgroups in the morning to see who was duped.

Artie and I duck around the corner from Waterloo to a little Chinese restaurant for a quick bite of grub, then it's off into the mystical evening that is Austin SXSW! The plan is to wind up at Stubb's for the big NPR Music showcase, where Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings, Broken Bells and Spoon will be playing. This will definitely be a long-line wait if we don't get their early - SXSW attendees have a sheep-like tendency to all get in line whenever they see a queue, operating under the assumption that they're gonna miss out on... something, not realizing that they could probably see six good bands at smaller showcases in the time it takes to get in to a single large showcase.

So we summarily take my own tried and tested advice and decide to check out a couple of shows en route. Come to think of it, let's see how many bands we can pack into a single paragraph and two hours without worrying about where on the map the clubs actually are, or whether it's even logistically possible to do this - after all, this is a virtual recap of my SXSW, not yours!

First stop: the Central Presbyterian Church on 8^th Street, where some serious psychedelia is being stirred up by Austin's Balmorhea. Then it's over to Buffalo Billiards down on 6^th to see NYC's electronic/hip-hop maven Hesta Prynn, part of the Time Out New York showcase (very gay, what with Japanther and Andrew W.K. slated to play later). In short order we've soon caught: Tampa soul combo Nervous Turkey (Cedar Door, Brazos Str.); Brooklyn blogger-approved buzzband (is there any other kind?) Here We Go Magic (Brooklyn Vegan party, natch, at Club de Ville, Red River St.); the venerable and always entertaining My Dad Is Dead (Habana Calle 6 Patio, 6^th St.); The League of Extraordinary G'z, an Austin combo that's part of the OGPR/All Hip Hop showcase way out at La Zona Rosa on 4^th St.; which puts us in the mood for some more hip-hop, but since we couldn't bring our gats on the planes, we settle for the Nerdcore Showcase at the Karma Lounge on 8^th, where Jay Bizzy is apparently doing battle rap with himself and patrons are flocking out into the street in droves; and lastly to the Action! PR metal showcase at the Mohawk Patio on Red River (see how we are zeroing in on Stubb's?) to catch the mighty Zoroaster! Boo-yahh!

Seriously - if anybody can top that itinerary without using a Star Trek transporter device, I wanna know about it. Like I pointed out yesterday, I've been doing SXSW since it started up in 1987; suffice to say, I know the shortcuts around Austin. Of course, it helps when you're doing blow by the scoopful to keep you energized. At one point Artie reminded me I'd promised to "light him up like a stick of dy-no-mite!", so we made a quick detour in the middle of all this by the hotel room where we both did our finest impressions of a Hoover vacuum cleaner. Like I said - boo-yahhh! (That's Artie below, btw.)

Artie and I finally land at Stubb's, and sure enough, the line for the NPR Music showcase is stretching halfway up Red River almost to 10^th Street. There must be a thousand people here! I tell Artie to hold my spot in line and I go sauntering casually to the front to scope things out. There I spot Carrie Brownstein yakking with Bob Boilen, both prominently kitted out in NPR Music running shorts and muscle tees, so I come up from behind and give Carrie a Heimlich-type bearhug just under her ribcage- we hung out for a week in L.A. a number of years ago when I was profiling Sleater-Kinney for the newspaper and have kept in touch ever since; the hug's kind of a private joke between me, Carrie and Janet Weiss - then ask her if she can help me out. "I'm doing a virtual report on SXSW for BLURT," I inform her, "so it's not like I'll actually be bumping anybody from the line or even adding to the capacity inside, although I'm not sure what to do about my roommate." She tells me no problem and ushers me right in while Boilen looks on, munching nonchalantly on a massive plate of nachos. I swear he just texted the whole deal about the bearhug to the NPR Music blog. I'll have to check that in the morning.

Following a quick duck inside a bathroom stall to "powder my nose," I plant myself down front next to the left-hand side P.A. just as Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings are strutting onstage. Holy fuck, they are good. Sharon's shaking that moneymaker like Mick Jagger's paying her to put on a Tina Turner wig and do a private dancer thing for him. I wave my arms in the air like I just don't care, knocking a few beers out of the hands of the folks on either side of me, but like I said, I just don't care. Boo-yahh!

Broken Bells is next, reprising their set from earlier in the day, minus Cee-Lo, who I am informed via the SXSW Twitter hotline that he is making a guest appearance as a backing singer for Motorhead at the Austin Music Hall clear on the other side of town. Damn! I wanted to see Motorhead and I was just out that way at La Zona Rosa not two hours earlier! C'est la Lemmy.

Anyhow, Spoon is onstage at Stubb's now, clearly the hometown heroes of the moment. They rock, they roll, Britt Daniels gurns and grimaces and flicks guitar picks like he's Rick Nielsen of Cheap Trick, and it is clear they are basking in the Austin spotlight. Or moonlight. Same difference.

Spoon's heading out on a national tour any second now, so don't miss ‘em. As for me, I'm tooted up to the gills and I need some booze bad. I think I'm gonna go back to the Dog & Duck and look for Shamrock Girl. Something about her seemed magically delicious. Happy Saint Patrick's Day, everyone!

To be continued.

***

Johnny Mnemonic is the pseudonym of a "highly-regarded" national writer with, he advises us, over two decades' experience working as a music critic, reporter, editor and marketing consultant. We've never met him face-to-face, and he further advises he will be delivering his blogs to us via the "double blind drop-box method," whatever that is, to ensure his anonymity.

South By FauxWest: SXSW Day 3

Traipsin' the light fantastic in Austin without spilling a single beer!

By Johnny Mnemonic

Ed. Note: With South By Southwest 2010 in full swing, we decided to send BLURT blogger Johnny Mnemonic, who pens the "Music Journalism 101" blog for us, to Austin and report back with his daily misadventures, er, observations. Only hitch was, he neglected to inform us that he's currently in England and won't be back in the States until the summer. "No problemo," he assured us. "I've attended SXSW numerous times since its inception in 1987. At this stage, I think I can wing it." We hereby present the erudite Mr. Mnemonic's long-distance account of this year's SXSW - as he imagines it might be going down. Guarantee: all dialogue not reported verbatim.

Read also: Day 1

Day 2

***

Day 3: Thursday, March 18

Ask any SXSW oldtimer what's the main difference between the first decade or so of the event and now, and to a person, the answer will be "the size" - many of them will complain that SXSW has gotten too big, and not without some justification. Where the festival started out as a means of spotlighting up-and-coming artists and paying tribute to a host of deserving non-mainstream musicians while also providing a means of connecting up industry professionals who didn't necessarily work for some foreign-owned corporation occupying several floors of a NYC skyscraper, in 2010 it has become, by some estimations, just one huge protracted exercise in marketing/branding and an even more protracted excuse to - not to put too fine a point on it - get really, really fucked up.

Doesn't mean it ain't a helluva lot of fun. Just sayin'.

Based on how I felt this morning when I woke up more or less in my own bed and in my own clothes but with a pair of shamrock-shaped pasties affixed to my forehead and crimson lipstick on my left earlobe, I can attest to the latter notion - the getting fucked up part. As a result, today I have promised myself to stay sober until at least 3 pm, and anyway, I want to hit some of the panels at the Convention Center. Attendees tend to frown upon someone who continually stands up, brandishing a beer, to interrupt the panelists.

Smokey Robinson is delivering the keynote address this morning and I can't miss that. On second thought, maybe I should, as the well-preserved (like, Botox quality) Motown soul legend delivers platitudes like "I'm fortunate and blessed to be able to do what I do. I'm never going to forget that, ever. Keep your feet on the ground -- and keep a thick skin." He sounds like a goddam motivational speaker. What's next, sell me a book? A couple of awkward moments do occur when interviewer and nationally known pop critic Dave Marsh apparently forgets where he is on his page of notes and asks, three times in succession, "So, is there still racism in the music industry?" A visibly amused Chuck D is spotted down front in the second row, rolling his eyes and giving the universal "what a dumb honky" up/down motion with his shoulders. The general consensus among the folks I poll later is that SXSW should have stuck with their first pick for the keynote, Lemmy from Motorhead, who reportedly got crossed off the deal when he kept insisting on being able to smoke cigarettes during the keynote session. Smokey or no Smokey, the Convention Center is smoke-free. Ha-ha, I just made that little pun up!

I go straight from the keynote to the "Does Rock and Roll Belong in a Museum?" panel, with the rhetorical thesis being, "Initially, many thought the idea of the Rock Hall was antithetical to the spirit of rock and roll. Despite its success, the question of whether rock and roll belongs in a museum persists. What efforts are being made to preserve this art form?" Things get lively almost immediately when Jim Henke, who you may recall has had more than a small hand in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, gets into a verbal sparring match with Lenny Kaye, no mean archivist himself but clearly more enamored of the immediacy of rock than its enshrinement. Onstage with the Patti Smith Group, Kaye often seems the calm at the eye of the hurricane, but here he's in full bitch-slap mode, such as the moment when he jumps up from his chair and starts screaming at Henke, "I knew Lester Bangs! He would be mortified to learn that rock music was being stuffed like a dead animal and propped up in a display case!" Journalist Ann Powers, also on the panel, but with rumors swirling about another round of pink slips coming down at the Los Angeles Times is reportedly vying for a job at the Rock Hall herself, diplomatically keeps mum through all this and busies herself updating her Facebook page and Twittering about the panel ("OMG, LK just spit on JH, I think I will get chile cheese corndog after this is over").

En route to another panel, I happen to spot Dave Marsh strolling down the corridor, barking into his cell, as a small, sweatily earnest entourage that looks suspiciously like aspiring music journalists trails in his wake. Hold on - I don't think those two African-American guys on the periphery are entourage per se, as they are doing that up/down shoulder thing. Score! SXSW meme spotted! Or at the very least, somebody's being mocked here, but far be it from me to get involved.

That next panel: "Where Goes English Folk Music?" Thesis: "English folk music has been used as a rich source of material for everyone from Bob Dylan to Devendra Banhart, but it has been frequently written off as dowdy and irrelevant. What place do old, anonymous ballads, passed down over the centuries, have in the modern pop pantheon? An exciting panel..." Whoops, no it isn't. Next.

Ergo: "Merge Makes Noise". Thesis: "Merge Records principals share stories from the book Our Noise and answer questions from author Michael Azerrad. From modest beginnings documenting the Chapel Hill scene, Merge has evolved into a highly regarded independent label nurturing significant acts such as Spoon and Arcade Fire." This is a lot of fun since it has Mac and Laura from Merge/Superchunk reading passages from the Merge oral history that was published last year while Azerrad tosses in little contextual quips. They have the audience, comprised almost exclusively of 30-somethings like myself who grew up on Merge, in a rapt state, one which turns to rowdy delight when a pair of surprise guests saunters onto the panel stage: Britt Daniel, from Spoon, and his old Elektra Records A&R nemesis Ron Laffitte. Spoon, of course, had ripped Laffitte a new one a decade ago with their "The Agony of Laffitte" single, detailing his mishandling of their career, and ultimately rendering the music executive a music industry punchline. Apparently time heals all wounds, however, for Daniel and Laffitte now embrace warmly before sitting down to join the discussion; they even laugh about their warring days, with Laffitte going so far as to call his former Elektra boss Sylvia Rhone "a serial bitch."

 At the end everyone brings out guitars, Laffitte and Azerrad included, to perform a massed version of Superchunk's "Slack Motherfucker." For an indie rock devotee like me, you couldn't ask for a better present.

Whoah - I'm starving. Time to head downtown for some grub. I text my roomie Artie, who was long gone by the time I woke up, to see if he can pick me up and drive me down to south Austin, but he doesn't hit me back, so I start walking. At the corner of 6^th and San Jacinto I spot Ann Powers camped out next to a vendor's cart, apparently making good on her Tweet. I'm in more of a barbecue mood, however, so I opt for the dude across the street whose specialty this year has turned out to be astoundingly popular: pulled pork drenched in caliente sauce and wrapped up in a massive flour tortilla. Wow, I am going to be shitting fire later tonight, but it's worth it. Maybe I can score some pain pills from someone... While squatting on the curb I spot Cary Baker, majordomo of p.r. agency Conqueroo, walking past, and I call him over to congratulate him on another Guitar Town/Conqueroo SXSW kickoff party (see yesterday's report), adding that I was still disappointed not to get my usual emailed copy of his annual compendium of SXSW day parties and events - Cary's as legendary for that as he is for his many exploits in the music biz for the past few decades. He grimaced, then explained that he actually had sent it out, but as SXSW parties have now officially outpaced the actual showcases that badgeholders and wristband wearers are paying to see, his 917-page word document (up in size somewhat from last year's 56-pager) wound up crashing servers and clogging email inboxes across the board. "Next year, I'm just gonna Twitter that shit," he added.

One thing I'm pretty excited about this evening is seeing the premiere of the rock biopic The Runaways, so I hoof it over to the Paramount Theatre. It's not bad, although the music's way better than the acting, but as it officially opens in theaters in the U.S. today, I'll let you read the reviews and decide for yourself. Meanwhile, though, in attendance are the stars, Kristen Stewart and Dakota Fanning, plus director Floria Sigismondi and Cherie Currie from the band. Significantly, Joan Jett is not on hand, which is probably a good thing.

 After the screening, while all the girls are onstage taking applause, an obviously plastered Jacqueline Fuchs, aka "Jackie Fox," the original Runaways bassist who was essentially written out of the film due to a legal dispute, runs down front screaming obscenities and promising to "stick a goddam cherry bomb up everyone's asses before we're done here!" Apparently Fuchs/Fox and Jett have had a longstanding beef over lingering band issues, and the film has aggravated matters even further. Cat fight!

I notice Kim Fowley standing over to the side, near the left-hand exit sign, with a Cheshire-like grin. Spotting him in the audience at the Bellrays show later that night I will ask him, "So, what was that all about at the screening?" And he fills me in on the behind-the-scenes drama surrounding the film, and Fuchs, and how he's "sorta been playing Joan and Jackie off each other" in his various contacts with them. "Just like I used to do with the band in the ‘70s!" he crows, beaming. I grin back, then try out that up/down shoulder thing on him. He just stares at me blankly, as if I'd asked him to recite all the American presidents in order. So much for SXSW memes.

Way back in the first paragraph I was talking about the convergence of marketing/branding and getting blitzed at SXSW: no better example of that can be found at this year's festival than at the Stone Temple Pilots' StubHub showcase at the Austin Music Hall out on the western end of the downtown area. It's almost as teeth-gratingly annoying as the Metallica show last year at Stubbs (and possibly more so since I was able to walk to Stubbs while the cab drive to the AMH costs 12 bucks), for the simple reason that Metallica and STP are, or at least should be, the antithesis of what SXSW is all about, crass commercialism dressed up to look like rebellion, with a side dish of Hooters-type girls shoving handbills into your face every time you turned around.

After waiting in line for an eternity I finally gain admittance in time to see the last song from TAB the Band, which is apparently the group that Joe Perry of Aerosmith's two sons formed, and which I'd suggest a name change to something that sticks in the mind a bit easier - like, SUCK As A Band. From the mountains of gear the group has you wouldn't expect the kind of niggling garage rock that comes out of the PA, although the main attraction here actually appears to be the four-rows-deep cougar brigade that's crowded down front, woo-hooing and high-fiving at every move the singer makes. Said brigade steadily grows in size during the wait for STP until it resembles an entire assembled nunnery minus the funky headgear. Women in their forties need to avoid camisoles and feathered hair. And those butterfly tattoos on their shoulders just make them look desperate.

The band comes on and pretty much the first thing Weiland does is make a shameless plug for product: "The reason why we're touring right now is we're about to put out a new album." And from that point on it's corporate rock by the numbers, just like it's the early ‘90s again - hey, I understand Alice In Chains is touring too! The cougar nuns go wild for all the hits and I see an army of journalists scribbling furiously whenever a new song is played, and I also see a couple of shoving matches and some beers getting tossed and some seriously stoned motherfuckers zoning out. Hey, it's an old-school RAWK SHOW, baby, none of that limp-wristed indiepop shit, and to prove it, somebody disembalms Doors guitarist Robby Krieger in time to guest on a boozy version of his old band's "Roadhouse Blues." Jeez, Robby looks like my dear departed 90-year-old granddad shortly before we had to put him on the ventilator.

I can't take this charade, so I cut out early to beat the crowd and manage to catch one of the shuttles into town. En route, a surprisingly chatty fellow passengers engages me in conversation and I soon learn he is in possession of a big ol' sackful of Percocets. This strikes me as the perfect way to revive my delicate sensibilities, having been numbed from an overdose of TAB and STP, so we engage in the time-honored barter system: we detour over to my hotel room, him huffing several lines worth of Colombia's main export and me washing down a pair o' Percs with the quarter-bottle of Tequila that somehow magically appeared on the nightstand between yesterday evening and this morning. "Boo-yahhh!" he hollers, for no particular reason, and away we go on our respective itineraries.

First stop: Prague, over on Congress, just in time for the Jim Jones Revue. Jones used to be in Thee Hypnotics, and the BLURT editors advised me not to miss him, and I am not disappointed as his group emits an amped-up take on early rock ‘n' roll that'd singe Little Richard's mustache clean off. With Kid Congo Powers' Pink Monkey Birds up next, followed by The BellRays, it's a retro rock and soul party at the Prague like nobody's business.

I realize I had promised myself to take it easy tonight, but the Percs have kicked in big time so I'm in the mood to wander and socialize. Second stop: the Encore Patio (Red River), just as Camper Van Beethoven are coming on, and they'll be followed by Cracker, which makes for a David Lowery double-dip that can't be beat. Unfortunately everyone's buzz gets shaved when, during Camper's set, Lowery gets an electrical shock, which sends him into a hissy fit: "This place is bullshit!" he screamed. "Don't ever come here again! Don't ever spend any money here if you like Camper Van Beethoven." Out of the corner of my eye I see the bartender huddling furiously with the two doormen and another bouncer, who is now glaring at Lowery like Mike Tyson about to come out of his corner. Memo to bands: don't scream at the employees of a venue, at least not until you are finished and your gear has been packed away. Sensing trouble and intent on maintaining my mellow disposition, I make my exit and decide to head down to Stubb's.

Good choice. Drive-By Truckers are in full flight when I get there, although I have to listen to them while standing in line as my "virtual reporter" pitch to the folks at the entrance doesn't work for me this time like they did Wednesday at the NPR showcase (see yesterday's report). But I'm in for Band of Horses, followed by Broken Social Scene, and here late at night in Austin under the big ol' Texas moon, the music washes over me like an emotional tsunami. I wave my arms in the air like I just don't care, knocking a few beers out of the hands of the folks on either side of me, but like I said, I just don't care.

Two Hooters girls walk past me, and in an impulsive move, I yank all their handbills away from them and toss ‘em up in the air, and as they flutter down delicately over the crowd, glistening in the multicolored Stubb's spotlights, a huge cheer erupts, which turns out to be because the Drive-By Truckers' Patterson Hood has just appeared during BSS' set to do a stage dive but in my addled state I think it's for my act of symbolic rebellion. A pair of hamhock-sized hands grabs me by the shoulders and I am escorted speedily from the venue. En route I twist around and do the up/down shoulder thing, but apparently Stubb's bouncers aren't down with the SXSW meme thing. No problemo, amigo. Life is sweet when you're young and single, a good buzz on, and partying on a national music magazine's expense account.

To be continued.

***

Johnny Mnemonic is the pseudonym of a "highly-regarded" national writer with, he advises us, over two decades' experience working as a music critic, reporter, editor and marketing consultant. We've never met him face-to-face, and he further advises he will be delivering his blogs to us via the "double blind drop-box method," whatever that is, to ensure his anonymity.

Blurt blogger and shutterbug Scott Dudelson is roaming the highways and clubways of Austin this week and he's got the photos to prove it. Check out his report from Wednesday, March 17, and Thursday, March 18, as well as his regular photo blog.

By Scott Dudelson

Friday, March 19

(above) Emily Haines of Metric @ Stubbs

(below) Metric @ Stubbs

Mike Mills of R.E.M. @ Ghost Bar

Wayne Kramer @ Ghost Bar

Billy Bragg & Wayne Kramer @ Ghost Bar

Billy Bragg @ Don't Mess With Texas

Frightened Rabbit @ Don't Mess With Texas

Audible Mainframe @ Spin Party

Foxy Shazam @ Spin Party

Fucked Up @ Spin Party

Miike Snow @ Spin Party

Rogue Wave @ Spin Party

Wooden Birds @ Mohawk

Steel Train @ Encore

Citizen Cope @ SXSW Day Stage

Diane Birch @ SXSW Day Stage

Jakob Dylan & Neko Case @ SXSW Day Stage

Dead Confederate @ Little Radio Party

***

Scott Dudelson is a music journalist and concert photographer based in Los Angeles.  Scott is also the Chief Operating Officer of Prodege, LLC, the company behind www.swagbucks.com.

Traipsin' the light fantastic in Austin without spilling a single beer!

By Johnny Mnemonic

Ed. Note: With South By Southwest 2010 in full swing, we decided to send BLURT blogger Johnny Mnemonic, who pens the "Music Journalism 101" blog for us, to Austin and report back with his daily misadventures, er, observations. Only hitch was, he neglected to inform us that he's currently in England and won't be back in the States until the summer. "No problemo," he assured us. "I've attended SXSW numerous times since its inception in 1987. At this stage, I think I can wing it." We hereby present the erudite Mr. Mnemonic's long-distance account of this year's SXSW - as he imagines it might be going down. Guarantee: all dialogue not reported verbatim.

Read also: Day 1 (Tuesday)

Day 2 (Wednesday)

Day 3 (Thursday)

***

Day 4: Friday, March 19

Wow. Courtney Love remembers me.

Given La Love's track record, it's saying a lot if she remembers what she did last week, much less an encounter with a journalist over two decades ago. But she remembered this one - I'm getting off the elevator in the lobby of the Hilton and she's about to get on with a couple of skeez-looking friends. She notices me staring at her she suddenly gets a startled expression on her face, then a sly smile.

"Johnny, I lost my dress!" she blurts, in that signature raspy voice of hers. I'm speechless for a moment, then both of us crack up. See, back around 1990, I was assigned to write a profile about Hole for Option magazine, and a late lunch with the band in L.A. turned into an afternoon shopping spree at a bunch of vintage clothing shops over in Silverlake. Courtney insisted I come along, and I wound up being assigned the position of temporary personal assistant, following her up and down the aisles and holding onto the dresses and blouses she was yanking off the racks. One of the dresses I suggested to her, in fact, a greenish-blue flowered number with a scooped neck and a hemline just above the knees, caught her fancy and would later turn up on none other than Mr. Courtney Love, aka Kurt Cobain (whoops! Rickroll alert!),  in a Nirvana photo shoot.

Now she's telling me how the dress in question disappeared some time after Kurt's death during one of her many stints in rehab; seems there have been a lot of personal assistants over the years, some more temporary than others, and some of them a bit on the light-fingered side. "Someone told me they heard it was on eBay at one point," she tells me, shrugging. "You look good, Courtney," I tell her. "How is SXSW treating you?" Turns out she's getting ready to go get fixed up for the big Spin magazine party this afternoon over at Stubb's where Hole will be unveiling songs from the new Hole album Nobody's Daughter. "You wanna come see us play? My band kicks ass!" Courtney is positively beaming; she seems to be totally sober and in a really good space, so I make a mental note not to mention the fact that I've spent most of my SXSW thus far in a chemical- and alcohol-induced haze.

I swap cell numbers with the skeez on the left, who turns out to be, you guessed it, one of Courtney's personal assistants, and she promises to come escort me in at the Spin party when I show up, as it's one of those special invitation/laminate-only events that seem to be slowly taking over SXSW, and since the big national magazine I used to write for went out of business, I don't have the same juice I used to have where it comes to guests lists and music industry parties. (A lot of people have been complaining about the proliferation of RSVP and invite events at SXSW, whereby you now have a situation that often renders your official SXSW badge irrelevant; I mean, what's the point of buying the goddam thing if the shows you want to see have exclusive guestlists you have to get on? But I digress...)

Today there are so many day parties happening that I'm flummoxed as to where to start. I'm definitely going by the annual Bloodshot party out at Yard Dog Gallery on South Congress - I should have invited Courtney to come with me and I could show her some of the vintage and antique shops out that way - not to mention the 40 Watt/JamBase bash at the Side Bar on 7^th Street, which will double as a kind of tribute to recently departed artists Vic Chesnutt, Jerry Fuchs and Jon Guthrie. Before all that, though, I need to get some breakfast and then check out some more panels at the Convention Center like I did yesterday - they were pretty lively!

Only problem is, today's panels look like they were designed for a bunch of eggheads and shut-ins, and as tutorials for musicians who are so clueless they have no business getting into a line of work like this. They boast titles like "A Guide to Recording Music Online," "Shoot Your Concert DVD for Free," "Green Touring: Stupid, Dumb, or Best Idea Ever?" and "The Cloud vs. the Paradise of Infinite Storage." WTF?!? Who comes up with these dumbass names?

The one glimmer of hope is the official SXSW Interview with Cheap Trick, featuring the entire band plus nationally-known pop critics Greg Kot and Jim DeRogatis. Indeed, this turns out to be a lot of fun, with a lot of interesting tangents and surprises, such as when Rick Nielsen pulls out his latest custom-designed guitar (it's shaped to look like DeRo, with Jim's face for the headstock), and when Kot leans over and removes the cigarette from Bun E. Carlos' lips (Carlos looks shocked for a moment, his look suggesting no one has ever done that before, until Robin Zander whispers something in his ear, presumably informing him that there's no smoking in the Convention Center, and hands him a pack of Nicorette).

The subsequent Q&A session is less enlightening, although one priceless moment occurs when a helium-voiced fanboy rambles on and on with what's apparently a five-part question involving whether or not the re-recorded In Color that the band cut with Steve Albini will ever be released, Nielsen winks at the crowd and casually says, "Could you repeat the question?" Before the fidgeting, red-faced kid has an epileptic fit from the embarrassment, however, Nielsen rescues him by quipping, "Albini stole the master tapes because we never paid him, then he threw them in Lake Michigan, so we've been negotiating with a tape collector who apparently got ahold of a copy." All throughout the auditorium you see people tapping away furiously on their smartphones and netbooks, no doubt trying to be the first on their block to post this fascinating info (fake, as many Cheap Trick fans reading this probably already realize) to their blogs and newsgroups. I'll have to check those blogs and newsgroups in the morning to see who was duped. Meanwhile, the band appears to be getting a lot of traction in Austin...

Leaving the Convention Center, I start doing the zig-zag thing for the day parties, down to South Congress, out to the west side, back in to the main drag, then finally over to Red River for the Spin party at Stubb's where I rendezvous with my roommate Artie. Artie made the wise decision to avoid hanging out with me yesterday, because for the past 6 months he's been "grooming" (his term) this cute young female publicist - is there any other kind? - who works for a prominent NYC p.r. agency, and now that SXSW has arrived it's time for the big payoff, and in the past he has found that being associated too heavily with me can sometimes have a deal-breaking effect, trim-wise. I'm not sure why, although I am told that I have an "unfiltered" personality, go figure. The smile on Artie's face tells me that his efforts, which included penning rave reviews for pretty much every client of the gal's p.r. firm over the course of the past six months, were not in vain. If you've ever wondered why some male journalists always seem to favor certain acts, this is one of the reasons:

Anyway, he's holding me a spot in line outside Stubbs and it is stretching halfway up Red River almost to 10^th Street. There must be a thousand people here! I tell Artie about running into Courtney earlier, then give the personal assistant a ring - pretty soon we are standing in the backstage area of the venue, watching members of various bands mill around while Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings are finishing up a blistering set that has the Spin crowd going nuts.

Meanwhile, Courtney spots me from the dressing room door and waves me over. "You wanna do something really fuckin' cool?" she whispers. After she explains what she has in mind, it's pretty obvious I'd be nuts not to go through with it event though I'll look like a total idiot. The personal assistant takes me over to another dressing room and we get started.

Time for Hole. The band swaggers on first, then Courtney comes out in true diva fashion, lights a cigarette, props one foot up on the monitor, and glances over her shoulder at me. I am standing behind a big set of bongos (on loan from the Dap-Kings) and dressed like some kind of African witchdoctor. She smiles, counts the band off, and then we're off - Hole is doing the Stones' "Sympathy For the Devil," and I'm onstage playing it with them. Holy shit. This is just like the Stones at Hyde Park in '69. Courtney is a genius. I will have to check the blogs and newsgroups tomorrow to find out how I did.

So now you know - that was me up there. If anyone has a video of the song, please post it to YouTube and let me know.

After that I get off so I can watch the rest of the set from the wings with Artie. Standing there in my witchdoctor getup, I feel a tad self-conscious, at least until I see the lead singer for glam band Foxy Shazam walk by, decked out in tight leather and looking like he just came from an oil-wrestling contest. That makes me feel better. Meanwhile, Courtney is at the mic going into a little Bret Michaels riff, cracking her bandmates up. Artie and I hold our lighted cellphones up in the air and mouth the lyrics to Poison's "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." Seriously, it doesn't get much better than this at a rock show.

Following Hole's set, Courtney invites me and Artie to a party in north Austin, but we respectfully decline. We are, after all, professional journalists, and we are here to report on SXSW, not go get all wasted at some party. To tell you the truth, though, the rest of the night kinda goes past in a blur, and something I have experienced year after year of attending SXS is something other people have told me they've experienced too, which is hitting a wall of sorts after about three days of this. To an extent, adrenaline kicks in, but jolt after jolt of adrenaline tends to wear you down over time too.

One thing's for sure, however: I am winding up at Club 1808 up on 12^th Street, as there is some serious psychedelic shit going to happen, and as Courtney's personal assistant handed me a small bag of ‘shrooms as a thanks for helping the band out onstage, well... you can see where this is all leading.

I float into the club around the time Rusted Shut is finishing up, and then right at midnight, Austin's premiere sonic alchemists ST 37 take the stage amid a discombobulating stew of feedback and liquid light show. They are followed by Japan's Acid Mothers Temple & the Melting Paraiso UFO, which is to say, the entire venue achieves lift-off somewhere around 1:30 a.m.

Wandering back towards the hotel an unspecified amount of time later, I purchase a neon purple hotdog with bright orange chili from an awesome-looking street vendor at the corner of 6^th and Neches. It is the best hotdog I have ever eaten in my life.

To be continued.

***

Johnny Mnemonic is the pseudonym of a "highly-regarded" national writer with, he advises us, over two decades' experience working as a music critic, reporter, editor and marketing consultant. We've never met him face-to-face, and he further advises he will be delivering his blogs to us via the "double blind drop-box method," whatever that is, to ensure his anonymity.

Blurt blogger and shutterbug Scott Dudelson is roaming the highways and clubways of Austin this week and he's got the photos to prove it. Check out his report from Wednesday, March 17, Thursday, March 18 and Friday, March 19, as well as his regular photo blog.

By Scott Dudelson

Saturday, March 20

(above) She & Him @ Rachael Ray Party

(below) Rachael Ray herself!

Andrew WK @ Rachael Ray Party

Chapin Sisters @ Rachael Ray Party

Dr. Dog @ Rachael Ray Party

Tom Morello/Street Sweeper Social Club @ Rachael Ray Party

Boots Riley/Street Sweeper Social Club @ Rachael Ray Party

Priestess @ Harley Davidson Party

The New Harley @ Harley Davidson Party

Big Light @ Galaxy Back Yard Tent

The Like @ Stubbs

Exene Cervenka @ Bloodshot Showcase

***

Scott Dudelson is a music journalist and concert photographer based in Los Angeles.  Scott is also the Chief Operating Officer of Prodege, LLC, the company behind www.swagbucks.com.

Traipsin' the light fantastic in Austin without spilling a single beer!

By Johnny Mnemonic

Ed. Note: With this entry, BLURT blogger Johnny Mnemonic, who pens the "Music Journalism 101" blog for us, concludes his Austin report - all the way from England, where he's been on a freelance assignment. Not that a minor detail like being thousands of miles removed from the scene of the crime stopped him, so as we pointed out at the beginning, here's SXSW 2010- as he imagines it might be going down. Guarantee: all dialogue not reported verbatim.

Read also: Day 1 (Tuesday)

Day 2 (Wednesday)

Day 3 (Thursday)

Day 4 (Friday)

***

Day 5: Saturday, March 20

Did you ever wonder why SXSW blogs and daily recaps are always peppy and perky and full of details and fun anecdotes for the first few days, and then as the week starts to wind down those reports steadily become truncated and as frayed around the edges as the bloggers and writers no doubt are themselves torn ‘n' frayed from four or more days of little sleep, lots of alcohol, and pretty much nonstop sensory overload?  For those of you reading this who have never attended SXSW, it's akin to going to a carnival and getting on the rollercoaster, followed by doing the bumper cars, and that followed by a race through a dimly-lit funhouse/hall of mirrors, while the whole time carnival music blares nonstop at maximum volume - then doing it all over again. And again. And again. With barely a few hours of rest before one of the carny workers takes your ticket and pushes you right back onto the ride.

It's fun, but like that old saying about hitting your head against the wall - it sure feels good when it stops, too. As I type it's Sunday afternoon and I'm sitting in the virtual terminal of the virtual Dallas airport, the same place where on Tuesday I got stuck for several virtual hours and entertained myself virtually by playing the "spot the traveling musician" game. This time around, though, all those black-clad dudes and cute chicks in cowgirl boots look decidedly worse for the wear, and even that fat bald English band manager who couldn't stop yapping five days ago seems relieved to just flop down in a chair and read a newspaper. I'm with him on that, but first, my virtual report - truncated, yes, but in an alternate dimension somewhere, absolutely true - on the final day of the 2010 SXSW. See you next year!

***

Way too early on a Saturday morning, but for some reason I feel great! Okay, I'm dog tired, but my head is buzzing like a meadow in spring. Hmm... looks like my roomie Artie scored last night; over on the dresser beside his bed are two, not one, SXSW laminates. All you need is love, so that's sweet! Quick shower and I'm off. Over on 6^th Street there isn't a whole lot of activity, but I do spot a massive line of people down near Red River, and as the demographic appears to be (a) young, in the 18-and-under sense, and (b) dressed painfully hipster-centric, in a kind of Nickelodeon-meets-Hot-Topic way, it's pretty obvious something is happening down at Emo's this morning. Or more likely, around noon or so; only in Austin at SXSW will 3,000 kids queue up at 8:00 in the morning for in hopes of gaining admittance to a roughly 550-capacity venue that doesn't even open for another four hours.

What a bunch of sheep, I think to myself, as I go grab a quick cup of coffee. I have to hurry so I can bolt over to Stubb's (cap: 1,800) and queue up with 3,000 adults in hopes of gaining admittance to the annual Rachael Ray Feedback Party. This is one event that, having attended it previously, I was smart enough to RSVP for. The event started three years ago basically as a way for the celebrity cooking diva to pimp her husband's (John Cusimano) rock band, The Cringe, at SXSW without having to pay some label or organization to let them piggyback onto their party. Well, the bandname tells you what you need to know. In any event, only a schmuck wouldn't jump at the chance to play a bill that's guaranteed to draw a bazillion SXSW attendees, most of them lured as much for the free, Ray-approved eats as for the music. On the menu this year: Tex-Mex Sliders, Pulled Pork Tortitas, Quesadilla Suiza Stacks, Queso Fundido Taquitos and Albondigas Subs. Funny, Rachel, you don't look Mexican!

So anyway, this is the biggest RRFP ever, and Stubbs is the only logical place to hold it considering that last year the wait to get in was upwards of two hours. Truth be told, the band lineup has never been better: She & Him (Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward), Jakob Dylan & Three Legs featuring Neko Case and Kelly Hogan, Street Sweeper Social Club, Andrew W.K., Dr. Dog, School of Seven Bells, Justin Townes Earle, Bob Schneider, Local Natives, J. Roddy Walston & the Business, Pearly Gate Music, Steve Conte & the Crazy Truth, Freelance Whales, Lawrence Arabia, the Orion Experience, Mishka and Shayna Zaid & the Catch. Oh, and The Cringe!

In fact, it's while The Cringe are onstage that I spot Ray over next to one tables near the right hand side of the stage, watching the band. I wander casually over towards her but she appears to be totally transfixed by the performance, that trademark Joker-like grin of hers frozen across her face (although it's entirely possible that she's simply afraid her hubby will glance over and catch her not being, like, less than enthralled). I get a perverse urge, then act upon it: I slip the last of the ‘shrooms left over from the previous evening into her Albondiga. Call me a rebel, call me a criminal, or just call me Owsley, but tell the truth: haven't you fantasized at some point about having the chance to dose Rachael Ray?

A couple of hours and several plates of Tex-Mex Sliders, Pulled Pork Tortitas, Quesadilla Suiza Stacks, Queso Fundido Taquitos and Albondigas Subs later, I stagger through the Stubb's exit gate and realize I need to go find a place to take a nap. I'm stuffed.

As a result, I miss all the panels I wanted to take in, but through my powers of retroactive prescience, I have divined what I missed:

• "Effecting Social Change via Music and Technology": ain't gonna happen; rock fans are even more apathetic in 2010 than they were in 1969.
• "Ethics in the Music Business": don't exist; just ask that guy who keeps flooding your in-box with his latest half-ass strategy to "bring bands and fans together via an exciting new and dynamically symbiotic social networking platform".
• "How a Timeless Artist Remains Vital": marketing- and dollar-wise, that's a no brainer: die.
• "Too Much Information! Does Interacting Kill Rockstar Mystique?": yes.
• "Artists: Getting a Digital Ass-Kicking?": yes.
• "Can China Build a Better Music Business?": no.

Now that I've got all that out of the way, I can go drink some beer.

On the way I run into Artie and his new girlfriend. "Dude, we were looking for you at Rachael Ray's party!" he says. "Did you hear what she did? She jumped onstage during the Street Sweeper Social Club's set, grabbed the mic from Boots Riley, hollered, "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!", then dropped to her knees in front of Tom Morello and mimed doing the David Bowie-Mick Ronson thing! It was awesome!"

Shit, I miss all the best stuff at SXSW. Anyway, I laugh with them, then before we go our separate ways. I can't resist telling the girl, who as you may recall works for a certain high powered NYC public relations firm, "Since you two are an item now, I guess Artie can't write about your clients anymore." To which she replies, coyly, "Well, then I'll have to get you to do it, won't I, Johnny?" I chuckle, then shoot back, "Dunno ‘bout that. Last time I profiled someone on your roster you tore me a new one for printing the city your client lived in - that stalker shit you were so paranoid about, even though, as I pointed out, she had already posted the name of the town on her MySpace page." The girl blushes, so because I'm really a sweetheart I add, "But don't worry. I covered for you." Ah, the journalist-publicist relationships can get so complicated. Sometimes the only solution is to sleep with one another.

Anyway, off for a couple of beers.

Several hours later: Holy shit. I. Cannot. Believe. This. Is. Happening.

Each year at SXSW there's The Big Rumor that circulates, typically regarding this or that artist who may make a surprise appearance. A few years ago it was gonna be Dinosaur Jr, who at the time had not done the full reunion tour, and even up-to-the-last-minute texts were flying about the band "set to go on in a half hour" at such-and-such a place. (I got sucked into that one and rushed over. Turns out it was just Witch.) Last year the word on the street was that Neil Young would turn up for a stealth concert; it made sense, because there was also a special panel devoted to Neil and his forthcoming Archives box. But no dice.

This year I've been hearing that Husker Du is going to do a one-off reunion gig. Despite the acrimony that supposedly lingers between the three members, from a logistical standpoint, it's plausible: Grant Hart is in town for several shows, including the Second Motion/Blurt Magazine showcase that's happening tonight, and just last week Bob Mould did a three-night residency at the Rusty Spurs club here in Austin (he apparently knows the owner from their college days). I'm not sure where erstwhile Husker bassist Greg Norton fits in, particularly given some of the comments Hart made about Norton in a recent Blurt interview, and his and Mould's generally dismissive attitude towards Norton and his musical talents. But still - anything can happen, and SXSW has become more and more often a kickoff party  for new musical projects, particularly those where a lot of dough stands to be made and therefore the glare of an industry confab like SXSW makes for beautiful marketing symmetry.

Tonight, that anything that can happen does happen. I'm sure a lot of people reading this will think I was hallucinating, but that all happened to me last night at Acid Mothers Temple. I've only had two beers tonight, I swear. The Second Motion/Blurt showcase at the Taproom At Six has drawn a fantastic turnout, and we've already had stellar sets from Ireland up-and-comers The Walls, UK singer-songwriter Gemma Ray, Marty Willson-Piper from the Church, pop legend Tommy Keene, the aforementioned Grant Hart, and Adam Franklin (of Swervedriver) with his latest band Bolts Of Melody. We've also already passed the 1a.m. mark and Franklin's just come back onstage for what we presume will be the last encore when he glances over at the wings and casually announces, "I'd like to bring a couple of new friends of mine out here..."

It's Grant Hart and, you guessed it, Bob Fucking Mould.

Hart settles in at the drumkit, while Mould plugs in. Smiles all around onstage, while in the audience you can hear the collective thump of jaws hitting the floor. Franklin nods at his newly-enhanced band, then turns to Mould and makes a classic "we're not worthy!" bowing motion; Mould cracks up, cocks his head and points at Franklin like "You da man!" And before anyone in the room can react, they've launched into "8 Miles High," in all its post-Byrdsian, proto-Huskerian thunder.

A four-song H.D. mini-set then ensues: Mould's "New Day Rising" is followed with barely a pause by Hart's "The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill" (both from the H.D.  early classic New Day Rising), then another Hart song, "Don't Want to Know if You Are Lonely" (from 1986's Candy Apple Grey), and finally a marathon, 12-minute version of Mould's "Could You Be the One" (from the band's 1987 studio swansong Warehouse: Songs and Stories). The crowd is pretty much going berserk, and the musicians are exchanging glances like, is this really happening?

Apparently the four Husker songs, plus the Byrds tune, was all they'd had a chance to prepare, so for one final encore, circa 2:30 in the morning, following a brief onstage huddle, Mould launches into the signature "Back In Black" riff. Franklin beckons to some of the musicians at the back of the stage who've been taking all this in, and in the blink of an eye Gemma Ray, a couple of the Walls, Tommy Keene and Marty Willson-Piper are all clustered around the extra mic stand, swapping off on AC/DC lyrics. Someone in the crowd catches Mould's eye and he gestures the guy up - holy crap, it's Greg Norton! Franklin's bassist hands Norton the axe and...

Wait a minute; it's not Norton. It's actually Franz Nicolay, late of the Hold Steady, who's been in Austin promoting about 15 different musical and literary projects he's currently involved with. I'm not sure if anyone knew Nicolay could play the bass, but he most certainly can, with aplomb. At one point all the musicians except Nicolay and Mould pull back, leaving Nicolay, Mould and Hart in a semi-circle, jamming away, and I swear if you squint, it looks exactly like Husker Du. Later, when I get back to the hotel, I will go online to see what the bloggers are saying and what the Twitterers were tweeting (not to mention Lords a-leaping, ha-ha) and sure enough, a slew of them are claiming it was the actual full Husker Du at the show, so I'm just correcting any erroneous reports here.

Things turn chaotic at this point. Willson-Piper shouts out he'd like to bring up a few friends, and all his bandmates from the Church hop onstage. Then Tommy Keene pulls not one but two rabbits out of his hat by bringing on a couple of guys he's played with in the past, Paul Westerberg and Bob Pollard. Not to be outdone, since it's technically his showcase and all that, Franklin brings on everyone from Swervedriver and subtly steers the AC/DC song into a primal version of "Son of Mustang Ford." Sheer pandemonium. It looks like one of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremonies end-of-evening all-star jams - a notion that's indelibly reinforced when fuckin' Paul Shaffer jumps up there too! Where the hell did HE come from!?! Such a ham, and... whoops, it's Moby, in town to help promote his dynamic new social networking platform that will bring bands and fans together. Still, it's quite a sight.

Suddenly Rachael Ray is running on from the wings, grabbing Mould's mic and gibbering something about "I think this is a pile of shit while John Sinclair rots in prison!," but Mould quickly boots her off the stage with one deft swing of his Flying V. Things finally come to a conclusion about 4a.m. and the club owner assures everyone that this is without at doubt the longest SXSW showcase Austin has ever seen. Who am I to complain!

I spot Ray curled up in a fetal position behind the merch table at the rear of the club and I want to go console her, but an overwhelming sense of guilt washes over me so I just ease out the door, into the Texas night, in search of a chili hot dog prior to hitting the sack.

Another successful SXSW has come and gone. Let's get on that ride and do it all over again! How was yours?

***

Johnny Mnemonic is the pseudonym of a "highly-regarded" national writer with, he advises us, over two decades' experience working as a music critic, reporter, editor and marketing consultant. We've never met him face-to-face, and he further advises he will be delivering his blogs to us via the "double blind drop-box method," whatever that is, to ensure his anonymity.

A Blurt editor arrives in Austin wielding a camera and all hell breaks loose as we get in your face once again...

By Randy Harward

(above) Michael Monroe and Cheetah Chrome

(below) Monroe again!

Gemma Ray

The Walls

Dwight Twilley

Big Star w/Mike Mills

Street Sweeper Social Club

 Billy Bragg, Boots Riley, Tom Morello, Wayne Kramer

Broken Social Scene

Chylde

John Hiatt

Hollerado

Marty Willson-Piper

Walter Salas-Humara (Silos) & Blurt CEO Stephen Judge

Metric

Motorhead

Nudozurdo

Roadsaw

Suckers

The 88s

Those Darlins

Tommy Keene

Whitey Morgan & the 78s

By Carl Hanni

SXSW CD Swag Sampler!

SXSW is a bounty of unasked-for (and sometimes unwanted) CDs, cassettes, download cards and more, pressed into our hands at shows, in the convention center and on the street by sometimes anxious, occasionally sweaty strangers. Some of them are treasure troves. Here's the scoop on a few of the best ones I received. 

Boom Pam: somebody handed me this at the Balkan Beat Box show, which is fully appropriate. From Tel Aviv, Boom Pam mash up twangy surf guitars, Middle Eastern/Mediterranean and Balkan beats, plenty of forward motion and a rocking tuba on "Malibu" and four other tracks on a delightful five song EP. www.boompam.org,  www.myspace.com/boompam.

Guadalupe Plata: I got this from a gent at the booth promoting new music from Spain in the  trade show in the convention center. Guadalupe Plata are a 3 piece playing big, heavy blues ala Black Keys, R.L. Burnside and John Lee Hooker, played w/drastic fire and amazing chops, especially on the slide guitar. In addition to these masters their MySpace mentions Hound Dog Taylor, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, Skip James, Son House and Elmore James. Who knew the Spanish had the dirty blues gene? Amazing stuff.  www.myspace.com/guadalupeplata.

The China Invasion Tour 2010, Featuring Bands from Maybe Mars. From a showcase of new Chinese bands. This 16 song sampler features nine contemporary Chinese "rock" acts, several who record on the Maybe Mars label and many who come out of the D-22 Club scene in Beijing. I'd previously heard the electrified Carsick Cars and the terrific 3 piece Snapline, who played an eye-opening set on guitar, vocals and keyboard. P.K.14 were a SXSW buzz band this year, according to some sources. White seen to be drawing their energy from Philip Glass, while Xiao He from an avant garde re-casting of traditional Chinese folk music. Av Okubo, Gar, 24 Hours and Ourself Beside Me also represent. The energy from these bands is all experimental, fresh and genre-bending. The kids are alright in China, apparently. www.maybemars.com. 

I got to see the Berkeley-based Real Vocal String Quartet perform a beautifully played, lovely set, despite a feedback-jittery PA and a rolling tide of deep booty bass from the club next door. The four women add vocals to their violin, viola and cello line-up, presenting a modern chamber mash-up of music from around the world. I got the self-titled 14 song CD from cellist Jessica Ivy, who I also saw at terrific sets by Golden Arm Trio and Fishtank Ensemble. Their set was a welcome respite from the drunken hoo-raw outside the club, and proof that you can see just about anything you want at SXSW, if you bother to look for it. www.rvsq.com.

I also got a LED Artists sampler CD from a charming woman at the Balkan Beat Box show. A collection of artists that they represent? distribute? promote?, the sampler features 19 tracks by 15 international acts, including Kimi Djabate (Guinea-Bissau), Nguyen Le (Paris via Vietnam), Liu Fang (China), Boris Malkovsky (Israel), Ljova and the Kontraband (NYC via Russia)  and Mercedes Peon (Spain). This is the real world music--less on electronic beat/world groove, more on modern updates on traditional music that doesn't necessarily have one eye cocked towards the dance floor at all times. www.LEDartists.net.

Light In The Attic Records sampler. I spent some time--and some $--hanging out at the booth the Seattle-based Light In The Attic Records had at the SXSW record show. LITA are one of the the top-shelf re-isssue labels in the country, who also distribute other fabulous, European based re-issue labels like Vampisoul, Timmion Trikont. These are the folks that did such a great job re-issuing all four of funk goddess Betty Davis four releases, as well as key records by legendary folkie Karen Dalton, garage punk ground-breakers The Monks and more. Their catalogue is stuffed full of amazing soul, funk, reggae, R&B, Latin, psychedelic, rock and folk releases. The sampler CD has tracks by Davis, Dalton, Monks + Rodriguez, the Black Angels, Earth, Roots and Water, The Free Design and more. www.lightintheattic.net.

Funk Aid for Africa and Haiti, mixed and compiled by DJ Obah. Ok, I paid for this one (for a good cause) at a showcase put together by Wax Poetics magazine and Dubspot Records. This was one of best showcases I saw at SXSW, with sets by Ocote Soul Sounds, Chico Mann, Brownout, Jovi Rockwell and more, with killer DJ sets between acts. The sampler CD features a continuous groove mix by Ocote, Ticklah, Happy Mayfield, The Pimps of Joytime, El Pueblo and many more. www.dubspot.com, www.nextaid.org. 

Stone River Boys, Love On The Dial. Perhaps this isn't totally fair--I ride to and from SXSW w/SRB's manager and I know and have worked with one of them (Dave Gonzalez) off and on for years--but it WAS given to me at SXSW, and it/they are so darn good that it really shouldn't go unmentioned. Fronted by Texas country soul singer/songwriter legend Mike Barfield and featuring the awesome guitar, vocal and songwriting talents of Dave Gonzalez (Hacienda Brothers, The Paladins), the Stone River Boys pick up more or less where the Hacienda Brothers left off, producing an untouchable fusion of modern Texas soul and hard, precise honky tonk music. I saw the Boys wind a mid-afternoon crowd up into a spinning top with just four songs. The record is a monster. www.stoneriverboys.com.

***

You can leave comments below or e-mail them to me directly at modmedia@theriver.com .

Carl Hanni is a music writer, music publicist, disc jockey, book hound and vinyl archivist living in Tucson, AZ. He hosts a monthly concert and film series at The Screening Room in downtown Tucson, and spins records wherever and whenever he can. He believes that in a better (all analog) world all records would be released on vinyl, but takes good music from wherever he finds it--even on CD. He currently writes for Blurt, Tucson Weekly, Goldmine, Examiner.com and (occasionally) Signal To Noise.

Some curious/humorous observations; conclusions, all you...

SxSW Interactive

• Strictly on time


• Panel/keynote speakers wear wireless/clip-on mics (most often)


• Panel/keynote production appears flawless (ex: nametags/hash tags clearly visible, high-quality sound, SxSW staff on-hand and in control)


• Open-door policy (attendees enter and leave panels/keynotes as they please)


• Multitasking assumed and celebrated (ex: tweeting, hash tag strains broadcast simultaneously on stage screens, taking photos/videos, watching videos/accessing links speaker mentions as he/she continues talking)


• Panels/keynotes packed to capacity, one-in/one-out entry queues outside most doors, attendees (literally) battling for panel/keynote front row seats


• Panel/keynote attendee questions usually benefit everyone in the room


• Panel/keynote speakers revered as "rockstars" as attendees vehemently Twitter speeches as "gospels" and rush the stage post events


• Collective, impromptu crowd reactions are frequent (from applause to walkouts)


• Attendees share uber-alpha networking gene, introducing themselves to each other at nearly every possible opportunity, whether seated or in queue... most even managing a pitch


• Attendees have business cards


• Attendees display exuberance in helping each other, openly sharing newly observed/learned tips/ideas


• Panel/keynote speaker metaphors run rampant, assuming attendees will connect dots rapidly (which they do)


• Conversely, attendees express frustration/impatience when panels/keynotes move "slow"


• Overall celebration/mutual admiration between panel/keynote speakers and attendees, each easily vacillating between roles as "students" and "leaders"


• Overarching business-casual fashion, geeky yet hip


• Parties attended mostly by men in khakis [...]

A Triple-A radio programming veteran, Kate has served as Music Director of the Loft at XM, Midday Host at WYEP, Evening Host at both WNCS and WUIN, as well as Content Supervisor for Pump Audio. Currently, she's the CEO of Outlandos Music, a new-music discovery service for grown-ups. Kate has been nationally recognized for her ardent presentation of music and her ability to champion talented, compelling artists.

Announcing the latest installment in our "Play For Today" series of video game reviews. This time out we take on Final Fantasy XIII, MLB 10: The Show and Endless Ocean 2: Blue World. Watch out for those screen shots and trailers.

By Aaron Burgess

Game of the Minute: Final Fantasy XIII

Platforms: PlayStation 3, Xbox 360

Developer / Publisher: Square Enix

ESRB Rating: T

What's your Fantasy? Since its modest 1987 debut in Japan, the Final Fantasy series has grown into the biggest role-playing game on the planet. So, when news broke that Final Fantasy XIII would detour from the franchise's core element-the nonlinear, open-ended RPG-fans (including this one) understandably cocked an eyebrow. The good news is that, while Final Fantasy XIII strips down the gameplay to a linear, battle-driven style, the storytelling, sound and visual design that've been Final Fantasy hallmarks remain as captivating as ever. The bad news is-well, if you stopped at the word "detour," you already know.

Final Fantasy XIII opens in a universe divided into two equally dazzling, if diametrically opposed, worlds: the cloud city Cocoon, where harmony reigns supreme (at least on the surface), and the larger terrestrial region Pulse, where-well, let's just say it's not the sort of place you'd want to spend a lot of time. Unfortunately, due to some twisted machinations among Cocoon's leadership, that's just where the game ultimately takes you-although you don't arrive in Pulse on your own. Part of a six-character Cocoon-ite party that's been wrongly stigmatized as enemies of the people, you must fight your way through both worlds to prove your valor.

While it assigns a lead role to the stealthy, pink-haired Lightning, Final Fantasy XIII gradually puts you in control of all six characters, each of whom develops roles and capabilities as the story progresses. (And, truth be told, it takes several hours of play for the real action to start.) You enter battles in control of one character at a time, but your party members' roles prove invaluable to your success in moving through the game. You can assign your party up to six different combinations of three roles each (a.k.a. Paradigms) before entering battle, and because no two enemies' capabilities are the same, you need to shift Paradigms to get the advantage. It's a nice addition of strategy into an otherwise straightforward, turn-based battle system, and it'll have you thinking twice before approaching a new foe.

The scaled-back gameplay gives the impression that Final Fantasy XIII is a quick play-and for those used to the freedom of an open-ended, nonlinear world complete with challenging mini-games, it may well be, relatively speaking. After a lengthy warm-up period during which the story takes shape, you'll spend a good weekend mastering the battle and skill systems, as well as getting to know the heroes and villains. Luckily, Final Fantasy XIII's characters and story offer enough complexity that it's easy to get lost in their world, even with the borders the game's developers have put around it.

Rating: 8/10

MLB 10: The Show

Platform: PlayStation 3

Developer / Publisher: Sony Computer Entertainment

ESRB Rating: E

The greatest player of them all. Sports gamers can be real sticklers for detail, and as its long-running MLB: The Show franchise proves, Sony continues to stay hyper-focused on the challenge this presents for game developers to step things up. This year's installment is loaded with details (did that fan just clamor for a foul ball?) and camera work so true to life, casual viewers could easily be fooled into thinking they're watching a real MLB matchup.

Graphic realism, of course, isn't the only advancement MLB 10: The Show brings to the game. Gameplay and AI are remarkably nuanced, with neither being reinvented so much as they've been dialed closer to the real thing. If you're playing a season, Franchise mode lets you equip, handicap and even pay players according to their real-life counterparts in the big leagues. Want to call the game as the catcher? You can do it in the new Catcher mode. And of course there's the Road to the Show mode, back again in version 4.0 with a set of interactive training games that help you sharpen your player's fielding and pitching skills as you move him from the minors to the Show.

Sony has long touted MLB: The Show as "the most realistic baseball game ever," and there's no disputing that claim with this year's model. But MLB 10: The Show is also the most playable baseball game ever-and when you pair that with the game's realism, well, you've got another homerun.

Rating: 9/10

Endless Ocean 2: Blue World

Platform: Wii

Developer: Arika / Publisher: Nintendo

ESRB Rating: E10+

I can hear the ocean's roar... Sometimes you just want a break from the typical challenge-based game-a need the first Endless Ocean was happy to fill. Unfortunately for those who crave more a little more zip with their zone-outs, the free-roaming title felt a bit too relaxed for its own good. Enter Endless Ocean 2: Blue World, which couples the stress-reducing experience of its predecessor with simple diversions and point-accumulating challenges.

After a brief setup to customize your character, you literally dive into Endless Ocean 2, swimming through tranquil, wide-open environments to find the source of a siren's call. Of course, you can also skip this story altogether, choosing instead to explore the sea floor while learning about and helping the ocean fauna. You'll find sunken treasures along the way, too, which you can sell to pay for trinkets, and if you have a broadband connection and a Wii Speak microphone, you can invite friends to dive with you. (Assuming, of course, they also have the same setup.)

Simple as it may be, Endless Ocean 2: Blue World offers significant replay value-even if the graphics are limited to the Wii's 480p-tops capability to eclipse reality. But for those times when you just need to get away from it all, it's a heck of a lot more affordable than taking a real dive.

Rating: 7/10

File Under "Extras"

Turtle Beach Ear Force PX21 Universal Gaming Headset

Compatible With: PlayStation 3, XBOX 360, PC

Turtle Beach's latest gaming headset won't replace your 5.1 surround system, but if you'd like to give the rest of the house some peace while you're gaming into the wee hours, the Ear Force PX21 is up to the task. The cushioned earpieces help to muffle external noise, while the stereo-expander feature and variable bass boost let you hear every footstep, reloading or pulled grenade pin in lifelike detail.

Independent volume controls let you balance in-game audio with the sounds of your online chat, and the microphone features a flexible boom that keeps ambient noise from leaking into your commands and curses. Plus, thanks to a 16-foot cable, you can get up to take a drink without accidentally waking up your roommates. Retail price is a hair under $80-gear up at Amazon.

Our game guru, Aaron Burgess, lives digitally but dreams in analog down in Round Rock, Texas. Contact him at first2letters@gmail.com / AIM: First2Letters.