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There's no easy way to sum up a week without vegetables. There's plenty of one-sided banter, live audio and interviews on our daily SXSW podcasts. But, in short, here's what I'm still thinking about, two days home from South By Southwest.

Best Show: Cold War Kids

Click the photo to watch an audio slideshow of Cold War Kids at SXSW. 

From the moment they took the stage, Thursday night, the band never wavered in it's intense delivery of lyrics that stop traffic and beats that can choke snakes.

More on "SXSW: Sticky, Dirty, Salty, Stinky"

Riverfront Times freelancer Jaime Lees is a huge Stooges fan. Here's her report on the group's set at Stubbs.

It's hard to find the line between journalistic appreciation and gushing fan girl. There have been quite a few occasions when I've had to put aside my love of Converse-wearing guitarists or cowbell-crushing drummers in order to sound more professional or just to get my point across.

So, here's my confession: Finding objectivity is especially hard when writing this. Not to be too Rob Gordon in High Fidelity, but the Stooges are one of my all-time, top-five favorite bands. In my heart, this is real rock & roll. It's dirty. It's raw. It's loud. It's got soul. And I think the riff from "T.V. Eye" might still be the hottest thing I've ever heard in my entire life. (See? "Hottest"? Forgive me, I can't stop myself.)

More on "Shake It: The Stooges at SXSW"

Click the photo to watch an audio slideshow of last night's show featuring live audio from KOL's set.

Kings of Leon: After Palo Nutini; before Spoon; even more before The Stooges
Would Meatface Approve? Yes. And he'd give a kick to the Scrabble bag to any hipster who said otherwise.
Random Quote: After Spoon, "Hey, I hear the Arctic Monkeys are the special guests at La Zona Rosa. Let's skip Iggy and check it out." (It was actually Perry Farrell's Satellite Party. And yes, we did skip Iggy.)

The centerpiece above my fireplace isn't a bust or my forefathers, it's a concert poster of a previous Kings of Leon show at Stubb's. So, to say catching this show was mandatory would be as understated as saying Lone Star beer comes from Texas and tastes "okay."

The first time I saw Kings of Leon, they were playing to a handful of peeps at a side stage at Lollapalooza 2003. Perry Farrell and Janes Addiction were the main attraction. But last night, KOL was at the big dance and Farrell was pitching his latest meal ticket to a less-than-half-full La Zona Rosa. What a happy turn of events.

It was the best I've heard the band, taking steps away from the record versions of tracks off Youth and Young Manhood and Aha Shake Heartbreak, and introducing a few tracks to be heard on next month's Because of the Times. I'm reserving full judgment of the new material till I get a proper listen to the album, but it's obvious that the band's injecting some new ideas into its red-dirt rock that fueled the first two records. The songs are more anthemic, full of fuzz and at times turn away from the dusty roads that made KOL more than a trite, 21st-Century Skynyrd. They've always offered more, but there were moments in the new material that felt like desperate pleas toward a lower common denominator.

Right, but I'm reserving judgment.

His hat says, "Fuck y'all I'm from Texas." His shirt says, "Drunk? Free Breathalyzer Test, Blow Here." And his body language says, "If you talk to me, I will spit on you."

Excuse me, sir?

[Looks up from his romance novel. Grimaces.]

. . .

Oh. Sorry?

. . .

Okay, sorry. Bye.

[Looks back at his book.]

The sign of a damn good time.

Somebody fucked up.

Hard to read, but it says, Ha ha! I'm in Austin and you're not!

That is all.

Last year, it was Lady Sovereign. This year, it was supposed to be Lily Allen. But boozy blues chanteuse Amy Winehouse was the name that emerged as the next hot U.K. diva-to-be at SxSW. We're happy to say we saw her a few times. We're sorry to say that none of those times was on stage.

Prior to the music kickoff at SxSW, rumors circulated that Winehouse had canceled her performances. We knew that wasn't true on Wednesday night, because we saw Winehouse in the lobby of the hotel where she's staying. It was 10:30 p.m., and we were outside the hotel doors, smoking and bemoaning Austin's ban on puffing inside public places when a white van pulled up.

Out climbs Winehouse, along with a huge black guy who we presumed to be her bodyguard. She was all smiles and waves with us, looking happy and sober. The next time we saw her, she looked a little pissed and ripped.

We missed Winehouse's performance at Eternal on Thursday night because the line to get into the venue stretched across 6th Street and down the sidewalk. We missed Winehouse's performance at La Zona Rosa on Friday night because we couldn't haul ass fast enough from another venue to get there before her set ended.

But at around 2:30 a.m. on Friday night/Saturday morning, we were standing outside the hotel smoking again when Winehouse came staggering up by herself. She wasn't smiling this time.

Her big black bouffant hairdo was a little disheveled, and her black Elvira eyeliner was starting to run down her face. We wanted to stop her and ask her what it felt like to be "the next big thing," but she looked really tired and somewhat pissed. Besides, we figured we'd have a chance to talk to her and see her perform on Saturday afternoon -- she was supposed to play at the private NY2London Party that Le Tigre was hosting at Habana Calle. We'd RSVP'd for the party two weeks before SxSW, figuring that even if we missed Winehouse's scheduled performances, we'd have this last chance to see her sing.

Well, Winehouse canceled. No one knows why. Most people speculated that she was drunk, hungover, or hungover and drunk.

On Saturday night, we ran into Winehouse again, this time at a tent show off 6th street and Red River. She wasn't performing; she was just hanging out, with another woman leading her around by the hand. So we took the opportunity to finally approach her.

"Hi, Amy. Can I get a picture with you, please? I've been trying to see you perform all week, and I haven't been able to."

Winehouse's response was a dirty look and silence. She kept walking as if we weren't even there. So we left, secure in the knowledge that Winehouse already has the whole bitch/diva attitude down (at least on this night; maybe she's nicer when she's not being touted as
"The Shit" at a massive music festival).

So we never saw her perform, and have had to rely on feedback from those who did catch one of her shows. Here's some hearsay:

(From a woman who saw her Friday night): "She was really good. She had a great backing band, too, and some backup singers that were doing some cool moves. She's got a great voice."

(From a fellow music critic who saw her twice): "She's not much of a performer. She's got a great voice, but she hides behind the microphone."

Well, so much for catching Winehouse's performances. But there's always the hotel lobby. Maybe we can buy her some drinks and get an a cappella performance in the elevator before she blows town. Provided she's not in "future star" mode again.

We figured that most of the people packed onto the patio at Red 7 on Friday, March 16, were there to see seminal punks J Church. The SxSW Pocket Guide listed "special guests" as the act that would follow J Church, and we hadn't a clue as to who the guests would be.

The audience clearly had a clue, though, because when the "special guests" took to the stage, the crowd was shouting along to the song lyrics, pumping their fists, and enthusiastically flinging beer everywhere. The band was Austin's own Riverboat Gamblers, and the performance they were about to give was nothing short of a decadent punk rock spectacle.

While Riverboat Gamblers charged through their super high-energy songs, singer Mike "Teko" Wiebe put on a performance that even the infamous Iggy Pop may have a hard time matching when The Stooges play tonight at Stubb's. Wiebe never stopped moving -- racing from one end of the stage to the other, jumping off the drum riser, diving into the crowd to crowd surf, climbing on top of the monitors, and literally swinging from the rafters, and not in a way that looked remotely safe.

The first time Wiebe did it, he climbed atop the monitors, grabbed one of the bars that held up the patio tent, and swung across the rafters, monkey bars-style, all the way to the other end of the stage. The second time, he launched himself off the drum riser, grabbed hold of a rafter, and swung back and forth over the crowd. During the last song, Wiebe climbed up onto the rafter to the far left of the stage and hung upside down from his knees, where he stayed, singing red-faced through the final song of the set.

Did we mention that Wiebe was sick? Well, we'd have never known it from his performance, but he let the audience know."I'm sick tonight," Wiebe told the crowd. "I've got bronchitis, tonsilitis, and a touch of Down's Syndrome."

Someone in the crowd commented, "Oh my god, I wonder what the performance is like when he's not sick."

In addition to his explosive energy and kamikaze stage stunts, Wiebe had the best between-song banter we've heard all week.

"Bronchitis is for the birds," he said. 'I injected Vitamin B directly into my dick today."

More on "Riverboat Gamblers: Austin's own swings from the rafters...literally"

The water here in Austin isn't helping the delicious nappyness.

It's simultaneously sticky and slippery, can leave a film, and leaves conditioner obsolete. And no matter how hard you try, that shampoo ain't coming out of your hair. Once the sweat sinks in, you're facing sticky fingers and an afternoon hit of V05.

There's a taste, too. Minerals? Maybe. I'd like to think it's so rugged and boss out here they just don't bother purifying the water in the way the city slickers are accustomed.

It turns out we're not all crazy. According to a recent press release from City of Austin Water Utility, "customers may notice an unusual taste or odor in their tap water as the result of odor-causing algae growth in Lake Austin and Town Lake."

That's supposed to be comforting?

"Austin's tap water continues to meet all regulatory standards," continued the release, "and AWU officials stress that the Austin Water Utility water is safe to drink despite taste or odor fluctuations."

Thanks, I'll stick with Lone Star.

Stalking. Shimmying. Hands-on-hips swivels. Tight-ass visible through blinding glitter pants. Just play one of the old ones and we’ll eat out of your hands.

Perry Farrell’s back catalog gives him the right to make those giant gestures onstage --grandiose, tai-chi movements, arms cutting through the air as if altering time and space. We allow the ass-shaking. It’s ok. It’s Perry. He might play one of the old ones. You know, the songs that alternated between pumping your blood white-hot agro and getting the mood set for a threesome. That cred let us forgive that he’s allowing his wife, Etty, be onstage as a backup singer in his new band, Satellite Party. We’re cool. We had the same contract with McCartney: just play a few of the old ones, and we’ll look past Linda on keyboards (the big difference being Perry’s wife is built like Pamela and moves like Jameson). Skin and bones and pointy nose. And 40-something? It’s alright.
Perry’s power-of-life stage proclamations: “What’s up family? Family of Light lands in Austin Texas, and oooooooooooooo, what a gentle landing it was. I almost feel like I am still floating” would be embarrassing if not for that back catalog--that, and the confidence we all have in knowing that he actually believes that shit.

But it’s been a long time since Perry wrote the accompanying soundtrack to our life-altering events. We must always remember: David Lee Roth has a great back catalog as well. Fifteen years is a wide-open window for self-parody.

Farrell’s Satellite Party is meant to be a collection of artists—Steve Lillywhite, Flea and John Frusciante, New Order’s Peter Hook, Fergie, Jim Morrison (yes)—experimenting with new sounds and creating a hybrid category of music. It won’t change the world. Won’t change your life. But it has more promise than Perry’s previous post-Janes’ projects.

On stage last night was Perry’s new guitarist (and co-producer) Nuno Bettencourt. Seeing the guy who wrote “Get the Funk Out,” performing half windmills on “Ain’t No Right,” was a bit unnerving, but the guy from Extreme has the chops, if not the subtleties to lay down something ethereal for Perry to float above. Dave Navarro was influenced by Robert Smith (you can hear The Cure all over “Three Days”); Nuno was influenced by Eddie Van Halen. It shows onstage, and Perry will have to rope him in every so often.

Though Perry has been talking a lot of hip-hop in this new rock-and -roll-can-save-the-world blender project, the sound was just not there. Reggae? Check. Middle eastern ? A bit. Psychedelia? Sure. If Perry is so enamored of hip-hop and DJs, he should have a live one onstage.

But that didn’t matter last night. After two days of seeing the young and old prowl around, stare at the floor, try to act tough, try to act rock star, the crowd at Stubb's was dying to see the real deal.

Perry delivered. He commanded. Few knew these songs, but the band was solid. And there was a rock star. So much so, that your eyes were drawn more to Perry than his skirt-up-to-there/chest-out-to-here muse on his right.

The hard-charging “Insanity Rains,” was hard not to like. “Ultrapayloaded Satellite Party,” merged Spanish guitars with a Middle Eastern flair. Yes, the show seemed to have peaked at the old song he graced us with: “Ain’t No Right.”

But the “Mountain Song”-like intro to set closer “Celebrate,” teased the crowd into thinking another old one was coming. When the disappointment wore off, we instead got a killer closer, full of Perry’s life-affirming mumbo, only now, the audience was participating. It was the highlight of the evening—something new and not just unhorrible, but potentially great---and offered promise that this thing might just work.
“I just want to grab you by the hair and fuck you,” Perry told the audience near the end of the set. By that stage of the game, half of the crowd would have let him.

Random quote: “If I wanted to see four guys jerk off surrounding a chick with big tits, I would have gone on the internet. Not pay 40 bucks.”

Names: Chris Juargo (left) and Mikey Bielecki (right)
Spotted: 6th.

Chris, handing me a flier: Come to our show tonight. We're in a band called Fight the Quiet.

Only if you let me take your picture.

Mikey: You have to get in the picture with us. We like hugs.

There's no one around to take the picture. So [ignoring him] just, get together. Yeah, that's it. [Click.] What bands have you seen so far?

Chris: We're not really seeing people. We're going around checking out what's going on, but we drove out here from Flagstaff, Arizona to try to get some work done and promote.

Give me a two sentence description of your band.
Chris: A catchy blend of power-pop and alternative rock with nice hooks?

Aw, c'mon. That's boring. What do you guys sing about?

Mikey: He's the guitarist, I play drums, we don't know. No [to Chris], what does Nate sing about?

Chris: Nate sings about joy, happiness, the usual -- love.

Did you say love or muff?

Chris: Yes.

Click the photo for an audio slideshow for Rev.'s set.

Please forgive my brevity, but I just fell asleep for 10 minutes with this computer on my lap and I can't afford to let that happen again. I hear the computer-in-lap consequences are a lot worse than if I bored you to television with a sophisticated report on the day, highlighted by Rev. Peyton's Big Damn Band.

The band in question is the good reverend on guitar and vocals, his wife, Breezy, on washboard, and Jayme on drums. I'd call it minimalism if there wasn't so much going on with the limited instrumentation. And at the very least, the band's raw energy is a slap in the face to overproduction and cheesy stage and studio antics that have dominated rock and roll.

The intensity behind Rev's eyes tells more of a story than most bands hope to tell with all their fancy machinery, which, unfortunately, too often does not include a washboard.

On Friday, March 16, Phoenix-based band The Breakup Society rocked the patio stage at Habana Calle 6, during the Get Hip Records showcase. It was a miracle the garage/pop/rock band made the gig at all -- the group left Phoenix to make the drive to Austin late on Wednesday night, but they didn't arrive Thursday evening, thanks to a massive wreck on the I-10 Interstate involving Hazmat trucks. Once in Austin, the band frantically searched for a room, finally landing lodging at some Budget Inn that was nowhere near downtown.

The bad luck streak didn't seem to dampen the band's spirits, though -- when they got onstage to play a slew of songs from their catchy retro rock album, James at 35, the band was all energy (despite some hard-to-hear vocals), with front man Ed Masley doing Joe Strummer jumps and splits, and cracking jokes with the audience between songs. Here are some of his quotable quips:

"You're beautiful. But it could just be the lighting."

(Following the bass player's announcement that his microphone was shocking him): "The mic is shocking him, he says on the last night of his life."

"This is a love song. Aren't they all?"

"If you want to hear more lead guitar and less effectual rhythm guitar, shout out 'Turn it up.'"

Our associate, Victoria Renard, was all up in Iggy's grill when The Stooges played (Seattle radio station) KEXP's broadcast from Austin City Limits.

Click the photo for an audio slideshow.

The Bravery slept through their set at the Village Voice Media Party

But, I have to say, they appeared well groomed and clean. They probably got a shower this morning. Maybe that's why their set lacked in the rock category.

Although, I'm willing to be convinced otherwise. I could only take about three minutes of the set.

Here's a piece of the set.

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