Beirut's Zach Condon speaking to John Norris
Photo: MTV News

NEW YORK — And I thought I was a Francophile.

A few months back, a photo of a hot-air-balloon exhibit in Paris, circa 1907, caught the eye of Beirut's Zach Condon. It was, the young singer/ songwriter/ uke and horn player figured, the perfect image for the cover of his new album, an homage to France — its music, its culture, its cities — called The Flying Club Cup. While the album title stuck, the photo (due to rights issues) did not. Still — on the Beirut Web site and on the merchandise accompanying the new record — a hot-air balloon can be seen, floating off to new adventures, à la Jules Verne. And how apropos is that for this musical world traveler, who only a year ago turned a rapt audience on to Balkan sounds with Beirut's stunning debut, Gulag Orkestar. Now Condon's balloon has headed west, landed squarely in the middle of the "hexagon" (as the French call their land) and produced a record that hopes to do for classic Gallic pop what Gulag did for gypsy music.

Following Beirut's second (and best) of three recent New York shows, I talked with Zach about being a "grumpy old" 21-year-old, the challenge of a second album, recording at home in New Mexico and in a Montreal church, his globe-trotting ways and his current fascination with France.


John Norris: So when did you first realize that this album would reflect the French pop music of the mid-20th century?

Zach Condon: I've been listening to French chansons since I was, like, 15 or 16, for a very long time. But I never got obsessed with it till very recently. It's funny, after doing all this Balkan music, after looking into these Eastern European countries and being so obsessed with their sound and how different it was from ours, I remember taking a closer look at music that was slightly closer to home, so to speak.

Norris: And you lived in Paris for part of last year. Is it important to you that each record have a real specific geographic or ethnic identity to it?

Condon: I'm definitely not trying to. I'm definitely not the kinda guy that sits in his room and has a map of the world and is, like, throwing darts and is like, "Well, it looks like it's Germany this time. Let's do it." [He laughs.] It's very much a situation where slowly something just grows on me. Something just kind of consumes me. And I can't help it. I need to do it. I absolutely need to do it. I needed to do this.

Norris: You're headed to Europe for shows in a few weeks, and I noticed on your tour itinerary the great Olympia in Paris. That's gonna be a moment, right?

Condon: I'm scared. I mean, it's two months from now, but I'm scared. I feel like I've bought hundreds of CDs from the Olympia in Paris. The most famous French artists — Yves Montand, Edith Piaf, Jacques Brel — everybody has played there, and the fact that we're playing there has been the most shocking thing that has come about this year.

Norris: You've cited Jacques Brel a lot as an inspiration; you've even covered one of his songs live this year.

Condon: Well, yeah, Brel was actually Belgian. And it's funny. I was in Belgium, and I was sitting under a photo of Brel, on the same bench as me. And I was obviously extremely excited about that, you know. "Jacques Brel — in the same seat as me!" But all the interviewers were like, "We hate Brel." And I'm [like], "Why?" And it's because Brel made so much fun of Belgium, so that was strange being there and talking to these people about Jacques Brel, who they both love and hate.


The Flying Club Cup — while not as immediate as Gulag Orkestar and Beirut's late-2006 EP, Lon Gisland, and less dominated by those signature mariachi-esque horns — is a grower. With the nostalgic "Nantes," the mournful "Cliquot" and the sing-along "A Sunday Smile," Condon still delivers melodies that soar and transport. But will people come along for the ride? A year ago it was hard to find a disparaging word about Beirut, in print or online, but early reaction to the new record has been mixed, and a Village Voice review of the band's recent Central Park show was especially scathing. Does he care?


Condon: Look, last time I was shocked the press was even paying attention, and this time, sure, I'm wondering what they're going to say, and as of yet it's been fairly positive with some negative things. And it's almost like I welcome that, because it's like I'm walking on a fence, and it's kind of a good thing that there can be negative and positive views about what we're doing 'cause it means we're just — we're not for everybody.

Norris: Well definitely with this second album, the "novelty" of Beirut is not there. While this is a different record, for sure, to an extent you and the band are a known quantity. Does that make things very different?

Condon: Yeah it does, a lot. When I was working on this album I completely disappeared from the music scene in New York and the East Coast. I went back to Albuquerque [New Mexico] to record this album, to disappear from that. I had to remember that I was recording for an audience of one, not a hundred-thousand. And yeah, this album has changed a lot of things. And I'm scared of an audience of that size. Had I known that there was an audience in Europe, and America, South America — all I can tell you, because I haven't actually figured it out, haven't wrapped my head around it, is yes, I actually am quite intimidated.

Norris: After recording in New Mexico, you guys did end up working in a proper studio in Montreal. And that all happened because of [Final Fantasy's] Owen Pallett?

Condon: Well, the first thing that I have to say is that I have been so amazed by and interested in Owen Pallett's music for as long as I can remember. Because this guy has taken pop music and he's turning it on its back. He's classically trained and you know it's just amazing what he's doing with pop music. And so he invited me to his studio, the Arcade Fire church studio in Montreal. They had left to tour, and Owen had traded string arrangements for free reign of the studio, so to speak. And he was gonna do it alone, but then he asked me if I could trade him some brass and percussion parts as well as some vocals for two weeks of absolute freedom in the studio. And of course I took him up on it. It was towards the end of recording this album. It was absolutely amazing.

Norris: In a weird way I think Flying Club Cup is a more intimate, more understated record than the last two, and I don't know if people would have expected that. Was there any feeling that "I have to make this one as different as possible from the last two"?

Condon: Being reactionary is a bad thing, as far as I'm concerned. Because I'm just trying to write songs, I'm trying to write pretty songs. So it wasn't like reactionary. It wasn't like some sort of punk-rock thing where it was like a reaction to what has come before. It was more of a "What do I find beautiful now?" and "Can I replicate this?" And well, for that matter, "Am I capable of it?"


Apart from his tremendous musical gifts, it's hard to know exactly what to make of Zach. The guy can come off as alternately charming, aloof, sweet and condescending. He opens his mouth and sings in that plaintive, dramatic, seen-it-all way, and a few minutes later, he can be the likeable curmudgeon, bitching about the heat, the venue or busting on a bandmate for his busted trumpet.

When it comes to his musical paeans to France or the Balkans, he is nothing less than sincere. When it comes to everyday life, well ...


Norris: I've heard people use the term "old soul" to refer to you. You know, "He dropped out of high school 'cause it wasn't challenging." "He seems to have always been thinking way ahead of his peers."

Condon: Well, that's funny, 'cause I don't feel old.

Norris: You're not as world-weary as your music might make it seem.

Condon: I'm not as world-weary as I seem, but at the same time, ah ... I'm a grumpy old man in a 21-year-old's body. I complain about my knees, complain about my hips, complain about my throat. ... No, obviously that's not true. But I don't disagree that I feel and act and participate in a world that doesn't exist for most people my age, and it's always been the case. I've always been a complete and utter stranger to my generation.

Norris: Do you think you're a cynic? If I was to ask your friends ...

Condon: They would tell you I'm one of the most cynical people you could meet. And I am. A lot of my friends give me hell for being cynical and pessimistic. And yet the only way I can — man, I really don't want to use this word — but the only way that I can kind of transcend that state of mind, which is the constant state of mind that I'm in, is to write these songs, to sing these songs, and frankly, it's the only thing that goes above and beyond everyday life. Taking the subway, walking down the street, buying a bagel in the morning — there's something very unique about it and something very transcendental.

• Beirut Reinvent Their Sound — And Music Videos

• Beirut

Iggy Pop and The Stooges perform on Saturday night
Photo: Tim Mosenfelder/ Getty Images

AUSTIN, Texas — Every March, the music industry throws on a pair of shorts, slathers on the SPF 45 and heads on down to Austin for South by Southwest, a weeklong celebration of bands, BBQ and (sometimes free!) beer. It's a brutal bacchanal and music marathon powered by thousands of acts playing in hundreds of venues — at all hours — plus an unreal number of complimentary drinks and fancy private parties.

Sleep is not exactly a top priority, so MTV News dispatched three of its most tireless reporters into the fray. They filed reports twice each day and, as you'll see below, endured all kinds of hardship — endless lines, hipster infestation and a diet consisting almost entirely of fried food — to bring you incisive reportage on the event's hottest happenings. Saturday's report is below, and at the bottom you'll find links to coverage of the previous days. Dig in: If you spill a little BBQ sauce on your shirt, it's the next best thing to being there.

The Afternoon

James Montgomery, MTV News writer: Growing tired of the SXSW rigmarole — a routine that could charitably be described as "Get up, shake off the cobwebs, eat something fried, drink, walk to a field, drink, watch some band, drink, walk to a dingy club, eat something else fried, drink, watch another band, drink, drink, pass out" — I decided to take my pal (and Beirut/ Bishop Allen multi-instrumentalist) Jon Natchez up on his promise of a full-blown "BBQ excursion, deep into the wilds of Texas."

And deep we went, indeed, heading way west through the dusty foothills ... driving for more than two hours (we got lost) until we came upon the sleepy town of Llano, home to a BBQ mecca by the name of Cooper's Old Time Pit Bar-B-Que. Joining us on the excursion was Isaac Green, head honcho of Almost Gold Records (home of Peter Bjorn and John) and self-described BBQ connoisseur. He told me that SXSW vets swear by Cooper's, a true carnivore's cornucopia of smoked meats.

We downed pounds of ribs, brisket and Cooper's famous BBQ pork chops; talked about some of our festival faves (a list that included Midlake, Beach House and Jamie T) and reveled in the fact that we were literally miles away from the SXSW buzz. Oh yeah, and we had some cobbler, too.

But now it's back to the grind as we enter the festival's final raucous hours ... of course, there's more rumors of a Rage Against the Machine reunion Saturday night (March 17), plus the triumphant return of the Stooges. What'll happen? Nobody knows ... but we're certainly gonna close with a bang. And some of the brisket I brought home.

John Norris, MTV News correspondent: Just what Austin needed this week — another reason to drink!

But yes, it is St. Paddy's Day ... so by early afternoon, the South by Southwest-ers were tying on the booze bag again, and I found myself among a 50-percent-green-wearing crowd at the Cedar Street Courtyard, an outdoor patio wedged between Irish pubs. But taking the stage at this party sponsored by Filter magazine was a trio of not Irish but English lasses: the Pipettes. Their names are Becki, Rose and Gwenno. Think Lisa Loeb, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Linda Evangelista in polka dots. Musically, think '60s girl group meets punk sass — a combination in full effect as the ladies ran through songs like "Tell Me What You Want" and "Your Kisses Are Wasted on Me." Shangri-Las for the 21st century? Bananarama with a backing band? Time will tell.

Since one music-publication event deserves another, we made our way from the Filter party to the Blender house, where I met up with those Southern-indie-twang-rock-sons of a preacher man, the Kings of Leon. The brothers Followill and cousin Matthew have a third album, Because of the Times, just a few weeks away, and they're in town to play their first-ever SXSW. When I reminded them that they are one of the three or four biggest bands at this year's fest, they said there is still a challenge.

"There are so many of these beautiful girls around here hanging out with these new bands," famously randy frontman Caleb Followill laughed. "We feel like, hey, we're supposed to get our pick of the girls."

Something tells me the Kings have no problem in that department.

That said, their "kingly" status in the U.K. has yet to be replicated on their home turf, where the guys are still pretty much princes. Will that change with Because of the Times, a much more expansive record — with a seven-minute opening track called "Knocked Up" and forays into jam-band territory? Whether it does or not, the Kings are loving life.

"We'll play our show [Saturday's Esquire party at Stubb's]," Caleb said, "then sit back and watch Iggy Pop and the Stooges. And probably party."

No doubt. Good luck guys.

Gil Kaufman, MTV News writer: We've entered the dead zone: My feet hurt from standing on cement club floors 14 hours a day, my eyes hurt from constant smoke and cavelike conditions, and my soul aches from constantly denying my urge to pummel every clown I see wearing a headband and ripped-to-shreds low-top Keds.

The day started off promisingly with some smokin' Afro-Cuban funk from the 11-piece Los Angeles band Rhythm Roots Allstars. Then not-so-hot mess Mickey Avalon took the stage looking like a cross between Pauly Shore and a down-on-her-luck gutter-punk girl and sounding like the Beastie Boys on a bad day. The only saving grace was when he handcuffed an audience member to a chair and then lost the key and practically dragged her across the stage by her wrist in search of release.

Not wanting to fight the inevitable lines, I camped out at Red 7 and saw a mix of horrible "indie" comedy — OK, portly comedian Brian Posehn's set about how the closest he'll ever come to a sex scene in a movie is playing the demented killer who offs the comely teen couple was kinda funny, and David Cross was great as usual — and yet another set by the Black Lips. No vomit this time, just lots of spitting and bad wigs. The best part was when some fan tried to give Cross a copy of early porn actress Linda Lovelace's autobiography, "Ordeal," and he looked puzzled and politely declined in favor of bobbing his head to the Lips.

Toronto hardcore band F---ed Up thrilled an afternoon audience with a set of smashing tunes and lived up to their name when frontman Pink Eyes bashed his forehead bloody with the microphone and then put a drumstick where the sun don't shine. The crowd later went nuts when hardcore punk legend and original Circle Jerks singer Keith Morris took the stage and yelped one out while swinging his hip-long graying dreadlocks.

And finally: How can you tell an indie-rocker is tired? They cop a squat on the squalid, sticky floor of Red 7 and close their eyes for a quick catnap in the middle of a show.

The Evening

James Montgomery: Well, it's over. More than 100 hours of non-stop rock (and the occasional hip-hop act looking for directions back to the interstate) came to a close on a hectic, dude-master-terrific Saturday night in Austin. And as if the last night of SXSW 2007 weren't enough to pack the streets, it was also St. Patrick's Day (WOOOOOOOOOO!!!) which meant that every steakhead within a 30-mile radius was required to thrown on a green T-shirt — or backwards ball cap — and head down to Austin to gawk at girls, get in fights and get really really inebriated (Sixth Street will surely be awash in green vomit come sun-up — WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!) ...

Quote-of-the-night honors went to the — ahem — gentleman in the cocked fedora and black tank top, who bellowed into his RAZR, "No, we're down here on Fifth Street and Colorado ... No, Colorado — like the city."

Yeah, man. And after spending more roughly 30 minutes trying to navigate the packs of heavily gelled dudes (careful to avoid brushing their shoulders and setting off a testosterone OD), I sorta gave up and ducked into Habana Calle 6, where, as luck would have it, the Changes, four clean-cut young men who make strummy, summery pop, were just launching into an exceedingly nice set (seriously, these dudes make the Shins look like Turbonegro — your mom totally wants your sister to marry one of them immediately). Then, in one of those "Woah, look who's playing?!?" moments that totally makes SXSW worth it, I glanced at my schedule and noticed that former Helium frontwoman/my teenage crush Mary Timony was about to take the stage at Emo's tiny "IV" venue. So I rushed over and heard her unspool songs from her upcoming album The Shapes We Make, which were pretty excellent in that spacey, super-proggy "Revolution of Hearts, Pt. 1 & 2" kind of way (OK, 14 people in the world know what I'm talking about right now, and most of them were probably at the show) ...

Then, I bade farewell to SXSW '07 with a late-night performance from Australia's finest hirsute rockers (Jet be damned) Youth Group, who were great, but didn't hold my attention as I was starting to see spots. Soon after that I was making the seemingly 17-mile walk back to the Embassy Suites, and as I crossed over the Congress Avenue Bridge, I began to mull over my SXSW experience.

And you know what? I don't have any definitive closing statement. As I re-read my notebook, I found myself thinking things like "Wait, I saw that band?" and "Wow, I went there?" And maybe it's because, after three straight years of SXSW, things tend to blur together — or maybe because there just wasn't that much interesting stuff going on this year. I mean, I know which bands I truly liked (a discussion we'll delve deeper into when we all return back to the office on Monday), but I can't pick any that I particularly loved or hated. For better or worse, the year's SXSW was one of the more average fests in recent memory: There didn't seem to be a real defining moment or breakout star to speak of.

Then I thought, "Wait: In just five days, I spent less than $200, ate roughly seven pounds of BBQ, saw a ton of rock shows, went for a drive in the Texas flatlands, linked to a photo of the Ultimate Warrior in one of my earlier posts and saw Duke lose in the first round of the NCAA tournament — what the hell do I have to complain about?" So maybe the problem wasn't SXSW; it was me.

But that's clearly a whole other ball of wax. Right now, it's time to get some sleep, make my ears stop ringing and head back home. Plus, maybe I can finally get around to eating a salad — and you have no idea how happy that last sentence has just made my small intestine.

John Norris: Some final thoughts on the final night of South by Southwest 2007:

For some reason, the festival seemed more sane this year. Not sure if it was the absence of one hugely hyped "must-see" show on the order of last year's Arctic Monkeys gig, but the biggest this week — Bloc Party, the Cold War Kids, Lily Allen, Beirut, the Good, the Bad and the Queen — didn't feel as out of control.

Credit, as always, is due to the host city for proving yet again that it's one of America's greatest music capitals. Voxtrot, Okkervil River and Ghostland Observatory are three of the better known local heroes who played the festival, but plenty more showed that Austin not only knows how play host to great music, but produce it as well.

Also, the schedule provides a multiplex's worth of opportunities to see certain bands: Some artists play one or two gigs during SXSW week, others play eight. It's hard to imagine that anyone in Austin who wanted to see the Pipettes, the Ponys or the Fratellis this week didn't have the opportunity to do so. And speaking of the Fratellis, Interscope Records wins the Golden Sledgehammer Promotion Award for them: from the Fratellis hotel room keys to the ubiquitous Fratellis flyers all over town to the Fratellis cocktail glasses in every other club ... and I've already used the word "Fratellis" six times in this paragraph! Aaargh!! The champ for the most Austin shows this week? I'm pretty sure that title goes to Peter, Bjorn and John with NINE. That'll earn you a Swedish massage.

Mucho thanks to our team here in Austin this week — not just James and Gil, but also Alyssa Vitrano, Damian Vaca, Matt Elias, Aaron Pinkston and above all, my musically maniacal producer, Chris "CJ" Smith. They are the best, and we'll all be bringing you lots more coverage from SXSW on MTV News this week. Till then — later, pardner.

Gil Kaufman: The apocalyptic atmosphere on Sixth Street described above made it feel as if all hell could break loose at any moment, and that's kind of what it sounded like at Elysium during the scorched-earth show from Pennsylvania psychedelic rockers Black Moth Super Rainbow (that's the best band name ever), who performed with Austin's equally trip-tacultar Octopus Project. The instrumental experimentalists created a thundering, paisley explosion of beats and noise that might be the sound of a spaceship taking off — if its engines were made of two sets of drums, a bass, guitar, sitar, two glowing tambourines, a Theremin and four keyboards.

The true apocalypse, though, came a short time later with a set that was the perfect capper to a chaotic five-day journey. To say that reunited Detroit punk godfathers the Stooges blew the roof off Stubb's would be an understatement (and not only because the outdoor venue has no roof). The always shirtless Iggy Pop gyrated like a demented go-go dancer and kicked off the show with five classic Stooges songs that sounded so raw and snarling they made you forget the band took a 33-year break between their last two albums. "Loose," "I Wanna Be Your Dog," "TV Eye," "1970" and "Funhouse" were crackling with chaos and electricity and the permanently amped Pop was clearly sucking up the energy from the crowd.

During this year's festival I saw a ton of great new bands and I have a whole new arsenal of things to add to my iPod. But nothing gut-punched me like the Stooges. It's something you can't buy in a bottle, ink on your arms or piece together from a thrift-store wardrobe. As Iggy told me shortly after the show, "We're the last great rock and roll band, man."

For more SXSW coverage, check out the week's earlier reports:

· "Tom Morello's SXSW Gig Turns Into Raucous All-Star Jam With Slash, Perry Farrell"

· "Grunge Rebirth, Beyonce Nod — And Flavor Flav! — More SXSW Surprises"

· "Amy Winehouse Raises Eyebrows, Bloc Party Draw A Mob As SXSW Wakes Up"

· "Pete Wentz Clones Descend, Lily Allen Warbles As SXSW Gets Under Way"

For more sights and stories from concerts around the country, check out MTV News Tour Reports.

[This story was originally published at 10:16 p.m. EST on 03.17.07]

• Five Coolest Things At SXSW 2007
• Morello Jams With Slash, Farrell At SXSW

• Kings Of Leon, Mastodon, Flava Flav, More Rock SXSW '07

• Iggy Pop & The Stooges
• Peter Bjorn and John
• Kings Of Leon
• Lily Allen
• Rage Against the Machine

Flavor Flav performs at SXSW on Friday
Photo: John Shearer/ Wire Image

AUSTIN, Texas — Every March, the music industry throws on a pair of shorts, slathers on the SPF 45 and heads on down to Austin for South by Southwest, a weeklong celebration of bands, BBQ and (sometimes free!) beer. It's a brutal bacchanal and music marathon powered by thousands of acts playing in hundreds of venues — at all hours — plus an unreal number of open bar tabs and fancy private parties.

Sleep is not exactly a top priority, so MTV News has dispatched three of its most tireless reporters into the fray. They'll be filing reports a few times each day (scroll down for the evening report), which will chiefly serve as a way of keeping you up to speed about what's going on deep in the heart of Texas, but also double as a convenient way — for us, anyway — of making sure everyone's still alive.

The Day

James Montgomery, MTV News writer: Another afternoon, another 36 Kool-Aid-colored wristbands to weigh down my wrists. At every day party I attend, my wrist gets slapped with a brightly colored piece of plastic (or, as is the case at the Levi's/Fader fort, two pieces), which — in theory — are supposed to keep the unwashed masses from gate-crashing and allow me preferred access to VIP areas and/or free booze. But the only thing they're really good for is snagging on clothing and making me look like this guy.

I know, I know ... cry me a river. But after only three days at SXSW, I'm totally starting to feel the inner Andy Rooney in me come to life (and he loves Robyn Hitchcock). Maybe it's the fact that every dude here is wearing a tank top, or the fact that every girl looks she's Karen O's stunt double. Who knows? ...

OK ... deep breath. Spent the afternoon at the SPIN party, where there was free popcorn, free ice cream, free cigarettes and, of course, more free wristbands! There was also a middling set from New Orleans funk act Galactic featuring cameos by a who's who of rappers that no one cares about (Lyrics Born, the Coup's Boots Reilly), a Kirsten Dunst sighting and a truly awesome early evening performance from the Kings of Leon, who rock nearly as hard as their pants are tight (and that's very).

Off now to get some dinner ... then hopefully catch a sweaty, late-night set from Girl Talk. Oh, also, my buddy in Beirut just invited me on a four-hour "BBQ excursion" set for Saturday afternoon. Wristbands or no, things are lookin' up, indeed!

John Norris, MTV News correspondent: By and large, the consensus in the local media and among people I have talked to seems to be that while the significance of SXSW has changed — I mean, we all know where music is "broken" in 2007, and it ain't at one gig at one festival — the festival still plays a vital role. As a one-stop shop for those who don't have bands rolling through their town every week, and for artists to get their music seen and heard by those in and out of the mainstream biz.

Among the bands, at varying levels of notoriety, that have introduced themselves to me on the streets of Austin and gotten their music into my hands in the past couple of days: Aloke, the GoStation, Locksley, New Year's Day, the Animators, the Stock Market Crash and some pretty cool garage girls from Atlanta who go by the lovely name the Coathangers (who count in their arsenal a fairly demure jam called "Nestle in My Boobies").

Finally, I have been avoiding going on a vegan rant for the last few days and just sucked it up and dealt with foraging around town to find non-animal-product dining. When in Rome ... yeah, yeah. Well, I'm sure as hell not gonna start eating flesh slathered in barbecue sauce, that's for sure. I'm often in situations like this — it means repeated trips to Asian places, which at least know what tofu is — so I've been twice to P.F. Chang's and once to Veggie Heaven. But then you slip and eat cheese sometimes. At last year's SXSW, even Chrissie Hynde — as much an icon of animal rights as a goddess of rock — told me she occasionally will eat cheese and she's been vegan for more than 30 years. Really, I love longhorns. To look at. Or pet. Not to eat, sit on or wear. End of screed.

Gil Kaufman, MTV News writer: I'm going to announce a moratorium on the bad-name thing, though Chicago's Flosstradamus get an honorable mention. Let me just say this now: If Australia's Youth Group don't become the next U2, something is seriously amiss. These guys have the kind of swaying, epic songs — like "Shadowland" — that fill up a dingy daytime bar show and make it feel like a stadium.

The pressure to melt down in public for new hot messes like Amy Winehouse must be intense, but it doesn't seem to be slowing down the hottest mess on everyone's tongue this week, Atlanta's notorious Black Lips. More than six years into their career, the band still knows how to shock, or revolt, as when guitarist Cole Alexander lost his lunch mid-solo just two songs into the band's set. Pro that he is, he never missed a lick, though the crowd did take a step back.

Note to the dude walking down the street with earplugs in: Bro, yeah, it's loud in the venues sometimes, but you can take them out on the way to lunch.

One of the reasons rock stars love South By (that's what the cool kids call it, for real) is they can just blend in, because every hipster doofus worth his salt has rats-nest hair, too-tight jeans and an expensive-looking ripped shirt. So, if you walk down the street and see Sonic Youth guitarist Thurston Moore hanging on the corner, or Joan Jett waiting for a cab outside your hotel, yeah, it's them.

Speaking of which, I was on the phone in the elevator and I see a guy walk in with a huge clock around his neck and a bunch of dookie chains and my first thought is, "What kind of a bozo thinks he can cop that look from Flavor Flav in 2007?" Oh, my bad, it was Flavor Flav! We chatted, I wished him luck on his show Friday night (March 16) and when the doors opened, he gave me a knuckle pound and zoomed out into the lobby on his wheelies.

Here's what I missed today but heard about from people who were better line-jumpers than me: Pete Townshend jamming on "The Seeker" with the Fratellis, and Vietnam — or "those dudes with the giant beards," as one patron described them.

The Evening

James Montgomery: If you like slightly tubby guys with super scraggly beards, rare, out-of-print Boredoms 7-inches and uttering the phrase "They're still playing the same song?!" then the Ecstatic Peace Records and Tapes showcase was the place to be Friday night. Owned and operated by Sonic Youth frontman Thurston Moore, Ecstatic Peace releases records (actual records; like, on vinyl and everything) by a whole lot of erudite, experimental bands that you've never heard of, many of which — including the ethereal Gown, the drone-y Black Helicopter and the unpronounceable Charalambides — were on display tonight.

Of course, doe-eyed dreamboat Michael Pitt's little grunge outfit, Pagoda was there too, but I spotted John digging them pretty hard, so I'll leave it to him to document their set. Needless to say, it didn't take me long to get my fill of avant instrumentalism, and I was quickly out the door. But not before snagging a copy of the free Ecstatic Peace 'zine for my reading leisure. Thanks, Thurston!

Then it was off to Stubb's, where a little of the old "I'm with MTV News ... my camera crew is inside, and I need to get to them now!" routine (note: professional!) got me to the front of the line and into the much-hyped gig by Damon Albarn's new project, the Good, the Bad and the Queen. I'd been hearing a lot about how the whole thing was some sort of semi-conceptual play, a sort of time-skipping portrayal of life in London throughout the 20th Century, and I was anxious to check it out myself.

Sadly, all I got out of the performance a whole lot of former Clash bassist Paul Simonon's booming, bubbly low-end (I mean, seriously, dude was loud) and a few pictures of Albarn in a top hat. Playing on a stage littered with streamers and Union Jacks, in front of an impressionistic portrait of London, the atmosphere was right, but the music — all percolating, dubby basslines and three-quarter-speed guitars — wasn't. Truth be told, the whole thing was a complete snoozer. And if it was come sort of concept, I wasn't getting it. Maybe, on this night, I just wasn't smart enough for any of it. Not sleeping and existing solely on ribs and cigarettes tends to do that to a person.

John Norris: While I didn't stick around at Stubb's long enough to check out the Good, the Bad and the Queen, there was still plenty of the Snide, the grungy and the unexpected to go around.

Began my travels at Buffalo Billiards, where you rack 'em up downstairs and upstairs you hear music — cool music on this night, in the form of Nashville's Clem Snide, the band fronted and really embodied by one of the dryer, wittier guys in indie music, Eef Barzelay. He led his two backing players through a 40-minute set full of Clem Snide's trademark tunes that build and build ... and suddenly end. Eef's sarcasm was in abundance as well, in songs like "Girls Don't Care" and in his between-song patter, like when he told the SXSW crowd "You quench me. Your applause is like calamine lotion on my mosquito-bitten skin." Oh and he even busted out a bit of Beyoncé's "Irreplaceable."

Three encounters making my way down a packed 6th Street: former MTV VJ and walking musical encyclopedia Matt Pinfield, shooting a show for DirectTV; my old pals Taylor and Zack Hanson, being interviewed for another video outlet; and Damaris Drummond, a performance artist who is planning to cover herself with vintage Atari joysticks on Saturday and ask people to choose one to play with. Where in Austin will this happen? "Wherever they will let me," says Damaris. I am not kidding.

Nor am I kidding when I say that Michael Pitt rocks. Pitt may be the easy-on-the-eyes actor who starred in "The Dreamers" and "Last Days," but he has apparently put acting on the backburner indefinitely to concentrate on his neo-grunge band Pagoda, who played outdoors at the Mohawk. With Pitt on guitar and wailing vocals (playing a Cobain-like character has clearly had an impact on him), plus bass, drums and cello (!) the band ripped through one impassioned song after another, and you might have thought it was 1993 all over again. Only one beef though: say something, dude. I get it, you want to downplay the "movie star as frontman" thing; who wouldn't? But apart from "Thanks Thurston" and "This is our last song," Pitt was totally mute ... and he tended to overdo the whole back-to-the-crowd thing. Mike — you can play guitar, you can sing and scream, your band is good. Lighten up.

Plenty light and comfortable is Mancunian troubadour Damon Gough, a.k.a. Badly Drawn Boy. Although large open-air Stubb's may not have been the best setting for his sound, Gough lit up the night with his peppy alt pop, including the winning title track from his most recent release, Born in the U.K. Plus, he's a dead ringer for my MTV News buddy Aaron Pinkston, who was watching the show with me. There could be a sitcom in here. Couple of bearded, longhaired, beanie-wearing dudes from opposite sides of the Atlantic. It could work ...

Gil Kaufman: If there's anyone who loves the Ramones more than me, it's Japanese punk bands. Which is why the Japan Night showcase is always at the top of my list. This year was no disappointment, with a killer set from Osaka's The50Kaitenz, a power trio who rocked a blistering set of Ramones-inspired rockabilly while wearing matching black suits with Colonel Sanders-style black string ties. They were followed by the equally off-the-charts Pistol Valve, a 10-woman collective with eight horn players, an electric violinist and DJ, all combining forces (like Voltron!) to create a truly unique brand of Afro-Cuban-funk-jazz-hip-hop-a--go-go, all while wearing fedoras and varying stages of lingerie.

After flashing my badge, dropping some names, pretending to call my nonexistent cameraman and using every slimy excuse I could think of to jump in front of the two-block long line, I finally got in to see hot not-mess Brazilian funk carioca trio Bonde do Role. The group — really just two MC's and a DJ — mash up party-ready Bailefunk rhythms with hip-hop and samples that range from classic rock to Brazilian dance and snatches of the "Grease" soundtrack, and they had the packed house bouncing off the walls. They got even the most jaded hipsters to throw down.

Can James snag himself a nap? Are there more Beyoncé covers in John's future? Will Gil's line-cutting come back to haunt him? Check back all weekend for our SXSW coverage!

Earlier this week:

· "Tom Morello's SXSW Gig Turns Into Raucous All-Star Jam With Slash, Perry Farrell"

· "Amy Winehouse Raises Eyebrows, Bloc Party Draw A Mob As SXSW Wakes Up"

· "Pete Wentz Clones Descend, Lily Allen Warbles As SXSW Gets Under Way"

For more sights and stories from concerts around the country, check out MTV News Tour Reports.

[This story was originally published on 3.16.2007 at 8:45 p.m.]

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