Brian McClelland | Live Music Editor

SCENE STEALERS/AMAZING SHOWS

A band like Portland, Ore.’s Derby—a stellar power pop outfit with nary a boob, beard, or gimmick in sight—is nearly invisible at SXSW. But while their buzz-free, sparsely attended showcase (granted, the upstairs music room at Buffalo Billiards is freaking ginormous) might have been a disappointment for the band after the long drive, it was certainly a treat for those of us looking for an incredible show without the usual crowd of hot ’n’ stinky tools that inevitably make most buzzier shows nearly unbearable. (People! Wash your pits!) Anyway, Derby’s set—highlighted by frontman Nat Johnson’s warm vocals and a more rockin’ take on their sweet shuffle “Sunk a Few”—was a revelation, and a reminder of what attending this festival is about: being introduced to new and original music. That’s an oversimplification, yes, but when you’re lost amongst the buzz-blinder bullshit, it’s easy to forget what you’re there for.

The Go! Team’s Exodus show was easily one of the most fun sets of the festival—even viewed from the sidewalk directly behind the stage. Their mix of cheerleader chants, squiggly keyboards, and short pants under shorter skirts had the overheated capacity crowd—and us dorks outside with our grins plastered against the grimy window—in constant motion.

Nashville’s David Mead delivered a perfect set of gorgeously melodic pop songs that fit somewhere between Paul McCartney’s more interesting character ballads and Barry Manilow’s “Mandy”—and I mean that in a good way. Performing a set of mostly newer material in the grand piano ballad folk/pop vein of his critically acclaimed breakthrough Indiana, Mead switched between playing piano and clean electric guitar, backed only by a cellist. The over-capacity crowd of 40-ups were pleased as punch, but man, were their dogs barking. Oy!

Celebrating their sold-out showcase earlier at Habana Calle 6, Dressy Bessy were seen dancing down in front at the Blender Bar at The Ritz’s jaw-droppingly good Jessica Fletchers showcase—after JF snuck the band in through a backstage door, due to DB’s Tammy Ealom having lost her wallet and ID during the previous night’s pub crawl with the Essex Green and Deathray Davies. DB were returning the go-go favor, as the JF boys had been wiggling like fools on and off-stage during DB’s earlier set.

BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT/WASTE OF TIME:

So Rogue Wave is like the Shins, right? The Shins for Parents Who Think They’re Cool for Loving Death Cab, maybe. Like everyone else who hadn’t yet seen the band perform live, I was ready to embrace RW’s frontman Zach Rogue for his indie sensibilities and I-started-a-band-cuz-I-got-fired-from-my-day-job back story. Unfortunately, the band’s lackluster, hook-free, and damn near adult contemporary set at Stereogum’s otherwise wicked day party had me running for the Parish’s awesome wall-hugging padded leather benches after three songs. The upside? Padded leather benches! You people can keep your Rogue Wave. And your middle-aged spread, too!

Featured bands submitting their best tunes to sxsw.com and then refusing to play them: San Francisco’s Oranger has a truly great song, the serpentine, stuttering, Spoon-friendly “New Comes and Goes”—still a sxsw.com free download—that didn’t make it into their early afternoon set at Ioda’s Emo’s Annex day party. And although what did make it into their set was nowhere near as memorable, the keyboardist did manage to grab the audience’s attention with numerous apeshit-crazy theremin breaks in their rocking opening number “Garden Party for the Murder Pride.” Too bad they choose to use the instrument strictly for its easy noise and kitsch value, with no regard to melody or nuance. Everyone looked, though, so that’s cool, right? Minneapolis’ all-girl cabaret-folk-poppers Coach Said Not To has a similarly captivating track (also still available at sxsw.com), “Tongue in Cheek,” that didn’t make it into their intimate set at the Hideout. WTF? There’s a reason Sammy always plays “Red,” kids.

While Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs’ packed-to-the-rafters official showcase at the narrow gauntlet known as the Drink (an evil place I now refer to as Where Gassy Label Reps and Aging Hipster Record Store Clerks Go to Die) must have been fun for the 20 or 30 people in front of the stage who could actually see something besides the top of George Jones’—er, I mean, Matthew Sweet’s—ever-expanding dome, the rest of us that weren’t within sight of Hoffs’ hypnotizing smile were left to focus on the music, which was under-rehearsed and overwhelmingly OK. Performing only tracks from their then-unreleased covers CD, Under the Covers, Vol. 1., Sweet & Hoffs harmonized beautifully on some really wonderful classic pop/rock faves (including Neil Young’s “Cinnamon Girl” and the Beatles’ “And Your Bird Can Sing”). But while it is a treat to see them perform together—they’re obviously having fun—these two are incredible songwriters in their own right, and it’s ultimately disappointing to hear them put so much energy into a set (and album) of other songwriters’ material. Let’s hope that they include some of their own (soon-to-be) classics in their upcoming tour—or better yet, actually collaborate on some new classics. (Note: If you’re one of the many 40-ups who share a super-creepy fan-boy crush on Hoffs, forget the whole last paragraph—the show was rad, gramps!)

Opening a buzzier-than-thou lineup at the Jane magazine’s Beauty Bar day party (also featuring Mates of State, Of Montreal, and Giant Drag), Detroit’s Tiny Steps played a set of what they repeatedly referred to as “pop songs,” but were actually pretty standard (and poorly sung) indie-garage-rock verses followed by more indie-garage-rock verses disguised as choruses. A poor mix also did this set in, along with one of indie-rock’s most obnoxious clichés: the band’s fill-in bassist’s amp was twice as loud as anything on stage and, in the it’s-better-to-look-good-than-to-sound-good tradition, the dead strings on his bass rattled through his speaker with an stultifying and ultimately tuneless whoompf.

The Ark looked and sounded exactly like every awesome cover band I saw in St. Louis in June 1986. And although the fist-pumping tools in the audience went totally nuts for these dudes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this unintentionally creepy post-Darkness hair metal band keeps a very unironic stash of roofies and ballgags backstage.

BEST CROWD RECEPTION:

The most enthusiastic sing-along we heard all week: A crowd of drunks in a non-SXSW venue screeching along to a jukebox blasting Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” at ear-splitting levels. Finally! A place where industry tools can go and, you know, just be tools. More room for me and that crazy dude with the barf-stained shirt at the Cribs gig, yo.

OTHER FESTIVAL HIGHLIGHTS:

The Kinks’ Ray Davies’ “special presentation” was certainly well received by the few dozen lucky enough to gain entry—I saw one graybeard shakily wipe away a tear. Performing selections from his critically acclaimed solo debut, Other People’s Lives, interspersed with self-shot (and way self-serious/congratulatory) documentary footage (who knew Davies played such a vital role in 9/11, Katrina, the bombings in Afghanistan, and Abu Ghraib?) and cringingly pretentious scripted spoken word. Now, I love the Kinks. Love love. But when Davies theatrically read tripe like, “Why is it/that love is so difficult to find?” over a soft bed of his geetar player’s finger-pickin’, I gotta tell you—I had to stifle a few giggles. Davies was exactly as I’d always imagined: completely insane with ego. Luckily for us, he had a few brilliant new songs (the sweet “Next-Door Neighbour” was a highlight) tucked under his straightjacket.