Hey guys-- As you know, I went to SXSW last month... I'm a writer, so I wrote a few different articles about the show for various people. The following is something I wrote up for one of my clients, but this section turned out to be a bit too out there for my editor, so it got mostly cut... Just for fun, I thought I'd post my original, uncut version up as a blog... I think it pretty well describes the scene down there, at least from my jaded perspective... Enjoy! -------------------------------------- Every year, the streets of Austin, Texas, become a mad zoo of bodies buoyed by tired legs and feet, all struggling to cut through the musical soup around them. Rock bands, acoustic folk singers, jazz horns, hip-hop beats and country twangs seep out of bars and night clubs and into the streets, mixing with cell-phone chatter and the grinding of cars that whiz by in search of parking. You try to figure out where to go. Who to see. How to somehow check out five bands that are all playing at the same time in five different places. You head down to the convention center and wait an hour in line to get your badge. You pick up a massive “bag of swag” with CDs, magazines and other free stuff that suddenly adds 20 pounds to your body weight. You'll be lugging this thing around until you can get back to the hotel. Welcome to South by Southwest, or “SXSW” if you’re one of those acronym hipsters. On the first day, you head out from the convention center (after walking the exhibit floor and attending some serious panel discussions, of course). You convince yourself that you have some important “meetings” to attend offsite. Of course, every such meeting is at a bar and involves several pints of beer along with a side of nachos and second-hand smoke. Before you know it, it’s dusk and you find yourself eating some kind of deep-fried popcorn shrimp that, well… let’s face it: It’s oil-drenched breading with a shrimp aftertaste. A few more pints later, you head out to see some shows. After about 10 bands in the course of five hours, it’s 2 a.m. An early night. On the second day, you wake up with dry mouth. Your hair smells like cigarettes and Tabasco sauce (don’t ask). There’s a big stain on the jeans you wore the day before. It’s either mustard or a chunk of vomit that splashed up on your leg from a toxic puddle you passed on your way back from the bars. You go out for breakfast, but it’s already 11:30 am, so you have to settle for lunch. It’s a burrito or something. You’re not really sure, but it tastes good so you move on. More panels during the day. You schmooze. You shuffle through your satchel to look busy. You make a cell-phone call to look important. Now, it’s 3:30 p.m. Time for another offsite “meeting.” Oh, looky here. Somebody hooked you up with a pass to a private party at Maggie Mae’s on Sixth Street. There’s free beer and food. The music is awesome (and you’re not even drunk yet). Pretty soon it’s 8 or 9 p.m., and you’re inhaling a pizza from a paper plate on the street. The pizza contains a Satanic combination of Jalapenos and pepperoni. Man, it tastes good. You buy another. And another. Suddenly, you’re sitting at The Elephant Room listening to the Lascivious Biddies (www.biddies4ever.com). You’re drinking pints of Guinness. Mmmmm… Guinness. It’s 3 a.m., and the cab drivers are getting finicky. At this point, if you’re not young, blonde and female—you ain’t getting a cab on Sixth Street. You walk back to the hotel. On the third day, you wake up with dry mouth again. Like a dog, you slurp water from the faucet. Your hair still smells. Your pants… well, you can’t really find your pants. Some lunch. Some sessions at the convention center. Some more “meetings” with people who like to drink. Now, it’s night again, and you’re starting to run out of batteries. You figure, one more showcase, and before you know it, you’re hanging out with some friends on the 18th floor of the Crowne Plaza hotel looking out at the cityscape below. Big-honking star Jason Mraz (www.jasonmraz.com) has been sneaking around the hotel, trying to dodge groupies, for at least two hours. When he gets up on stage, you’re standing about seven feet from a guy who usually plays in front of thousands. Tonight, he plays for less than a hundred. Raul Midon (www.midon.com) follows with a heartfelt set, followed by the amazingly soulful Vienna Teng and London-based rocker Rachel Fuller (www.rachelfuller.com). Before you know it, Raul Malo (www.mavericksmusic.com) (of The Mavericks fame) is channeling the ghost of Roy Orbison for an hour. Then it’s renowned NYC-based songwriters Amy Correia (www.amycorreia.com) and Jesse Harris (www.jesseharrismusic.com) (yeah, the guy who wrote five songs on Norah Jones’ multi-platinum album, Come Away With Me, and won a Grammy for “Don’t Know Why”). He plays in front of only a couple dozen people at 1 a.m. Where else could that happen? You sit there stunned. What an amazing night. At this point, it becomes clear that SXSW—more than anything—is a celebration of music (against the backdrop of gleefully excessive drinking, but I digress). It’s an opportunity for people who love music to get together in one place, do some work, strike some deals and have a whole lot of fun. It’s also an opportunity to see live performances from some of the best artists on the planet. Everything is compressed at SXSW. With a convention pass, you can get into just about any show featuring artists who have honed their craft to the fine point of a diamond knife. SXSW is like a professional sports league: Not everyone is the star quarterback, but every single person who made the cut is pretty damned good. You won’t find a bad act here. In fact, you get so spoiled after a couple of days that you start to criticize performances that would have blown you away anywhere else. The bar is pretty high at SXSW. And, of course, that’s why people keep showing up year after year.