BeggarsSooo this will be a brief – super-brief – one on account of me actually writing it up more than a week in advance while my head tries to process everything I need to get done before decamping for Austin.

UK indie-dance outfit Friendly Fires seem to have a Forrest Gump-like knack for getting on tours with some of the buzziest acts of the day. They’re here next week – March 31 – for a sold-out show at Lee’s Palace alongside White Lies and The Soft Pack and last year, they rolled in as support for Lykke Li, who you could understatedly say had a good 2008.

To mark their good fortune, the band decided to record a cover of one of Ms Zachrisson’s songs and did a pretty decent job of maintaining its slinkiness, which is no mean feat considering that they don’t have her innate qualities – which is to say being Swedish and sexy.

And I know that Friendly Fires are a trio – but I couldn’t make them all fit in the image crop. My apologies to unnamed, excised Friendly Fire dude.

MP3: Friendly Fires – “I’m Good I’m Gone”
Video: Lykke Li – “I’m Good I’m Gone”

Frank YangConsidering that Friday afternoon was arguably one of the best blocks of music experiences I’ve ever had at SxSW, it figured that the karma pendulum would have to swing the other way sooner or later. As it happened, it was sooner.

The official portion of the day started downstairs at Waves, a narrow little venue on 6th, where Shad was kicking things off. You can insert my standard “not really a hip-hop guy” disclaimer here, but I really grew to like his The Old Prince Still Lives At Home during Polaris season last year, and though I’d caught bits of his live show, had never seen him do a proper set. Guess I can check that off my list. Backed by a live rhythm section and DJ, Shad was a complete entertainer, his raps flowing into his banter and back while evidencing loads of charisma and good humour.

It was then up to the Central Presbyterian Church for Fanfarlo, which was the perfect setting for their ornate, orchestral folk-rock. Frontman Simon Balthazar, natty in a bow tie, looked like a nebbish music teacher leading his charges in exercises in musical splendor, in this case their really excellent new album Reservoir. I commented on the Arcade Fire reference points when previewing this show but the comparisons go far beyond just sonic and stylistic similarities. Fanfarlo also manage to create the same sense of excitement and wide-eyed wonder that I got on early listenings of Funeral. Very highly recommended.

So it sounds like things were going pretty well, right? What on earth was I complaining about? Well, the next stop on the sched was Maggie Mae’s Rooftop, and one thing I’d forgotten when planning things out was how much I absolutely hated Maggie Mae’s rooftop. If you’ve never been, the “venue” is a not-that-wide balcony around the perimeter of the venue with little in the way of actual sightlines, a low, poorly-lit stage and the washrooms just off to the side so that people needing to expel their beer have to fight their way through the crowd and walk beside the band to get to the restrooms. So lame. And of course it’s always packed, even for acts you’d think were a bit niche – like British bluegrass revivalists Mumford & Sons. They were pretty terrific last year in support of Laura Marling (who was standing behind be trying to videotape the proceedings) and when they finally got their sound issues sorted, they were pretty terrific again. With four-part harmonies and superb musicianship to go along with emotionally resonant songs that really do seem to bring new life to the genre. Great performance, shame about the venue.

And yet I didn’t leave, for Wheat were set for the downstairs – a much less heinous locale than the upstairs, to be fair – at 11. In the half-decade since I saw them last, they’d essentially split, re-formed, lost a member, and generally gone through more existential shit than any band should ever have to – and yet, here they were, back again and with a new album ready for June release. Their persistence alone was reason to cheer, but the jury is still out on the new material. That the band – now with Brendan Harney on keys and vocals and with a new member behind the kit while Scott Levesque handles guitar, lead vocals and epically awkward stage banter – was having a great time being back was unquestionable, but their aesthetic has gotten so art-pop eclectic that it’s difficult to get a handle on. I mean, a dance song? Really? Maybe I’m just too emotionally invested in their old stuff, which they thankfully included enough of in the set. But I will still give the new record a proper chance when it arrives.

By rights, The Bird & The Bee’s midnight show at Karma Lounge should have been a disaster, if not cancelled outright. For starters, the band on before them – some awful dirge-country outfit – was running a half hour late (worst words in the English language – “we have three more songs”). The venue was packed, sweaty and generally horrid (two banks of green LED lights ensured the absolute least flattering light for the performers possible). And when the Bird & The Bee finally got to set up, they were incapable of getting Greg Kurstin’s keyboards working through the monitors. I was tired, drinks had been spilled on and around me and with things looking bleak – the SxSW volunteer and stage manager almost got in a fight – I was ready to cut bait and sleep.

But patience was rewarded as the band improvised with their equipment and not only salvaged the evening but made it a triumph. With their matching primary colour plastic dresses and synchronized dance moves, to say nothing of some wonderful songs, Inara George and her band literally managed to turn my frown upside-down. The set was shortened a bit due to the delays but they were still able to fit in the essentials – “My Love”, “Fucking Boyfriend” and “Love Letter To Japan” – as well as a couple of delicious covers, Hall & Oates’ “I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)” and The Bee Gees’ “How Deep Is Your Love”. Swoon. Too short and I want/need them to tour up to Toronto ASAP. Do it.

So perhaps my lead-in to this post was a bit dramatic. It was hardly a bad night, not even close, though there were moments. I think the weariness of the week is starting to really hit me. But got to pull up the ol’ bootstraps… last day! Woo!

Frank YangThe Hot Freaks! Yesterday was the day, the first of our third big to-do at SxSW. To say I was excited was an understatement – the past two were my highlights of SxSW if not my whole year and there wasn’t any reason to think this year would be any different.

And yes things got off to a bang. Throwing the whole notion of headliners closing things out, The Wrens agreed to open the show up at high noon on the Mohawk’s patio, and if they were feeling sluggish from their 1AM showcase the night before, it didn’t show. It had been some years since I’d seen them – over five, to be exact – but the band were manic as ever onstage, if not more. Maybe the long break since The Meadowlands has made them extra hungry to get out and play, but whatever it is, they who’ve been called the best live band in America show no signs of being ready to give up that title – give us that new record and hit the road!

As The Wrens finished up their set, I dashed inside the Mohawk where The Rural Alberta Advantage were starting theirs. They were the only band I had planned on seeing twice this week, and considering the first time was just last night, there’s not a lot else I can say. Granted, the inside of the Mohawk is a slightly different sort of room from the Central Presbyterian Church, but one thing they had in common was being filled with people discovering the band and presumably, since there’s really no other logical response, loving them.

Showing they know how to mark a tenth anniversary, Insound had stacked their stage over at Club DeVille to a ridiculous degree – this was where I was going to be spending the rest of the day, no question. I got there in time to see Handsome Furs, whom if you believe some of the coverage from CMW last week were the only band that mattered. I’ve never managed to love or even like the band as much as some, but do find their live show and its utter rawness engaging. Dan Boeckner has got rock star charisma to spare and Alexei Perry’s beats may be simple, but they’re insistent and effective. Hard not to get caught up in their set.

If they got Club DeVille worked up, then the briefly reunited American Analog Set brought things way down in the best possible way. On hiatus since 2005’s Set Free, they got back together to pull a “Don’t Look Back”-esque revisit to 1999’s The Golden Band for this show only. A special occasion to say the least. I’d forgotten how beautifully hypnotic AmAnSet was, particularly their earlier records – I’d only seen them live in their (slightly) more upbeat and poppier configurations. This show, however, was all shimmering vibraphone, whirring farfisa and Andrew Kenny’s somnambulant vocals – pure aural beauty in its sleepiest form. Though it’s great that Kenny has a new project in The Wooden Birds, I hope this isn’t the last of AmAnSet (although I sort of do, since it means I was there).

Though The Thermals were playing what seemed like a hundred and one shows at SxSW to drum up interest in their forthcoming Now We Can See, out April 7, they’re certainly giving their all to all of them, if this show was any indication. Mixing up new material with old, though tragically “Pillar Of Salt” was cut, The Thermals’ set was compact but pulverizingly good, with Hutch Harris and Kathy Foster bouncing around the stage while new drummer Westin Glass laid the foundation. Simple, direct and so good.

And finally, The Hold Steady. It’s possible they were at SxSW to promote their new live CD/DVD set A Positive Rage, out April 7, but it’s also possible they just heard that there was a big party down in Texas and there was beer. Whatever. The Hold Steady doesn’t need an excuse. Now most sets at SxSW – official or unofficial, big band or small band – clock in at around 40 minutes, and I expected The Hold Steady to do the same. But when they were setting up the stage in front of a jam-packed Club DeVille, they taped down a set list in front of me and there were 21 – Twenty-one – songs written down. This was not going to be a sampler, this was going to be a full and proper set. ZOMG, as the kids say.

And oh my god, what a set. I’ve seen the Hold Steady a number of times and it’s never anything less than a great show, but for whatever reason – maybe the small venue, maybe the party atmosphere of the festival, maybe the ruthless efficiency with which they tore through their set – this may have been the best one I’ve seen them play. Though they’ve justifiably graduated to larger venues and have proven their ability to work the large rooms effectively, they still come across best in the small scale where Craig Finn can sweat on you directly (as he did to me more than a little) and lead the audience in singalongs. And for 70 minutes, covering material from across their entire career, they just killed and killed and killed. They didn’t, however, make it all the way through the set list – they had to call it at 18, leaving out “Stay Positive”, “Cheyenne Sunrise” and “Slapped Actress”. I would have loved to hear them all, but I don’t think there’s any room for complaining of any kind here.

Fantastic.

Frank YangWhen I arrived at Austin’s Central Presbyterian Church on Thursday night, the lines to get in were already folded on themselves several times over and spilling out onto the sidewalk. I’d have liked to think that they were all there to see The Rural Alberta Advantage like I was, but most were probably looking for a good seat to see Grizzly Bear.

Both opening bands should have thanked eMusic profusely for arranging the bill as they did, and basically giving two unknown acts an opportunity to impress a packed house of Grizzly Bear fans. First up were San Francisco’s Girls, who failed to make much of an impression. Their jangle-with-a-touch-of-psychedelia pop was decent enough, but really not anything that hadn’t been done many times before and better. Shrug-worthy.

I realize I’m pretty biased about The RAA on account of how much I love the band, but I think I am stating an impartial fact when I declare that for their debut SxSW showcase, they absolutely killed. It took me a little bit to adjust to hearing Nils Edenloff’s vocals, so strained and dry on record, echoing in the church acoustics but it really did give chills. Indeed, Paul Banwatt’s thunderous drumming and Amy Cole’s marvelous harmonies never sounded better – talk about presenting a band in their very best light. I’ve always believed that the only thing you need to make someone love the RAA is to have them hear them play and I cannot believe that wasn’t the case for everyone in attendance last night – the huge, absolutely huge response they got when they came down from the stage and into the centre of the church for their “Good Night Song” did not lie. Nor did the person I overheard leaving, saying “that may have been the greatest thing I’ve ever seen”. It sounds impossible, but the Rural Alberta Advantage gave Grizzly Bear a tough act to follow. A staggering performance.

I could have happily ended the night there, but that’d have been a waste of an evening so I after leaving the church (and making one Grizzly Bear fan waiting anxiously in line very happy), I hopped over to Rusty Spurs to see Italian-Canadian’s A Classic Education. I reviewed their debut EP last year but was quite surprised to see how far they’d come since then – the six-piece band on stage was quite confident and assured, and more than capable of creating stirring, epic-scale sounds. But having said that, I found that my initial criticisms that they didn’t sound fully realized somehow, still held – though less so. The newer material sounded good but it also sounded like they were reaching for something still just a bit out of reach – but with time, I expect they grab hold and do so firmly, and when they do, it’ll be something to behold.

At this point there was a break in my schedule during which I opted to head to the venue for the evening’s Playboy party, for which I had a precious invite. Now to be honest, I didn’t really want to go – Jane’s Addiction holds no kind of appeal for me – but I figured that I should at least give myself the option. Or someone else, since the registration guy opted to just hand me my admission wristband rather than put it on me and make it non-transferable. It’s here that I considered just walking down 6th Street, offering it up to the highest bidder but instead kept it handy in case I chose to go.

But whichever way I decided, it was still too early to go – doors weren’t open for another hour – so it was back into the scrum to find something to see. Chairlift were running way behind so after conferring with Kyle from More Cowbell for a bit, I opted to hit Emo’s Annex to see Little Boots, on account of her being an artist of no small amount of buzz, to say nothing of the fact that I was right in front of the venue and there was no lineup.

Before Ms Boots were peculiarly-named Danes The Asteroids Galaxy Tour, who near as I could tell played danceable funk-soul with a distinct Scandinavian iciness, an interesting mix though I was a bit more preoccupied with trying to assess just how heinous this show would be to photograph – a venue as large as Emo’s Annex really should do better than two red floodlights.

It occurred to me just before Little Boots came on that the things I knew about her – formerly of Dead Disco, plays a Tenari-On and styolophone onstage and is given to doing dancey covers and remixes – but didn’t really know what her own material, was like. Answer? Catchy electro-dance pop, no big surprise there, but what was somewhat surprising was how full-on diva (in the good sense of the word) Victoria Hesketh was. Resplendent in sheer strapless dress and impressive heels, there was no mitigating the glam for the indie masses – she danced, preened and worked the crowd like a pro, and the audience ate it up. I was going to say that this isn’t normally my sort of scene, but I seem to be developing an affiinity for the ’80s-retro synth stylings of late, so maybe it’s becoming my scene. Which is okay, because it’s rather a more attractive-looking scene than my usual one.

And speaking of attractive, I didn’t end up going to Playboy. Absolutely hit a wall before Little Boots’ set and barely managed to drag myself back to the hotel. My dogs, they were barking, and the bunnies were going to have to get by without me. Alas.

Frank YangFor the second day of SxSW, I eschewed all the running around that marked the first day – instead, I let the bands come to me. The best place to let this occur was the Mohawk, where Rhapsody were again throwing an impressive party.

Leading things off and obviously dazed in the bright midday sun were Vivian Girls, who manage to grow on me a little more each time I hear them. I think their live show worked better for me because it shed the deliberately tinny production of the records and actually delivered some serious oomph with its simple pop sensibilities. Lock me in a room with the album on repeat for a week and I might even become a fan.

I decided to not pay attention to Wavves, who was up next, but was front and centre for the following act – School Of Seven Bells. The band maintained the trio-plus-sampler live format they used when they visited Toronto in November and while I still believe a live drummer would really take things to another level, I found their performance to be a lot looser and more natural this time out – one of the perks of relentless touring, I guess. This was most evident in the Deheza sisters’ vocals, which while still spot-on in their harmonies, had an extra expressiveness that I hadn’t noticed last time. Nice to see and hear their live presentation doing proper justice to the material.

And while not the afternoon’s headliner, it could be argued that Glasvegas were the biggest draw on the bill – after all, the Scottish quartet had rolled into town on no small amount of hype and many, myself included, wanted to see if they could measure up. And in a word, I would say yes. The reservations I had about their self-titled debut aren’t allayed, but they are significantly outweighed by the sheer intensity of the music’s delivery. Decked out in their signature black outfits – and flushed and sweat-drenched by set’s end – Glasvegas proved to have plenty of live charisma. Of course frontman James Allen provided much of it, with his Ray-Bans and pompadour, but much credit must be given to Rab Allan who I was surprised to see handled much of the difficult musical details – guitar, vocals, keys – that make the album a winner, and that he did so while bounding around the stage with bassist Paul Donoghue. A spirited performance from a band that I’d half-expected to phone it in (don’t ask me why I thought that). Very impressive.

At this point there were a few options open to me, but all were filed under “contingency” depending on whether or not the Brush Square Park tent was a badge-only venue, as it usually was in years past. The draw was Graham Coxon, who was a late addition to the festival lineup and the good news was that the venue was indeed open to all.

The bad news was they were running quite a bit late and that I was going to have to sit through a performance from an outfit called Esser to get to Graham. They were a British outfit that you’d have to call pop, but only in the most vapid sense of the word. With a frontman whose only distinctive qualities were a gimmicky haircut and annoying on-stage mugging, they pillaged soul, reggae and dance styles without managing to adopt any of their respective redeeming qualities.

Thankfully their set was somewhat truncated to allow Coxon to play his almost full-set. It’s remarkable – putting aside his skewed pop maven role in Blur, I knew Coxon in his solo guise mostly as a noisenik of the highest order, paying tribute to his American punk and hardcore influences. If this solo acoustic show is any indication, however, his new record The Spinning Top – out in May – will cast his as an improbable folky. Even assuming the arrangements on the album are more electrified, the songs are still very lyric-centric and decidedly unlike his past works. And speaking of his past works, I will confess a tiny part of me was hoping to hear “Coffee & TV” or “You’re So Great”, but I know that’d have been as likely as, well, something entirely unlikely. But still a treat to see one of my favourite all-time guitarists live, in any setting.