Cautionary tales? Absolutely. But at the same time — thinking on issues of media — I wonder if we’re missing the point. When I hear talk of publishing being boosted by a theoretical shift of books to the “impulse buy” category, for instance. Or, as Edward Champion puts it in a piece on Nick Bilton’s Tools of Change address:

Instant gratification certainly gratifies, but how precisely do all the doodads aid rumination? Maybe there are some circumstances in which it’s probably best not to have it immediately.

Right about now seems like a good time to reference the Slow Listening Movement* as well.

*-link updated, 2.26.09. More randomly, those seeking a chuckle may want to make their way here. It relates to books, and therefore is absolutely relevant.

Specifically: the reference to “the $650 all-access wristband”, which conflates two different SXSW-viewing options; the reference to a mosh pit forming “by 4am” (unless the bands started back up and played a second set apiece, everyone had finished by then); and the closing bit about “1,000 fans beating each other up on a bridge”, which comes off as sensationalistic — even at its most hectic, it was more like 30-40 people acting crazy and the rest standing and watching.

Via Fucked Up’s blog, the NME’s original story, which also has the 4 a.m. time listed. Strange.

I crossed the street to the 500 block, passing the Austin edition of Coyote Ugly. The door was open and a few bodies could be seen at the bar. Through the open door, “Don’t Stop Believing” dissolved into the air outside, looking for a fist to pump. I walked on.

We’re at a point now where likeminded labels, publishers, and reading series (some names: Asthmatic Kitty, Flameshovel, Featherproof, the Happy Ending series) have collaborated; I don’t necessarily think it’s outlandish to imagine a handful of writers doing short readings between bands at some showcase or party at SXSW or CMJ. (Bumbershoot, I believe, has something like this, but I believe that’s more in the context of a broader arts festival). Maybe it’s my inherently culturally utopian tendencies at work, but this seems like it could be beneficial for all involved.

Physical damage, too. Bodies in motion against one another and concrete as Fucked Up played. A man assuring his friends that the cut on his forehead, and the blood on his shirt, was worse than it looked just after Tyvek finished their set. Two of the most cathartic sets I heard — those from Castanets and Retribution Gospel Choir — were watched from a pew in the middle of a church, and the fact that those chords and words came forth from a band situated on an altar gave them a potentially different context than had they been played from a stage. (And potentially not.)

At times, the shows I saw at SXSW felt like the biggest basement show I’ve ever attended, with everything that imparts. Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but if the last few years have seen the more populist wave of punk-reared bands (Against Me, Thursday, etc.) reaching a wider audience, one wonders if 2008 and beyond will find the noisier, more obscure corners of that aesthetic heard by an unexpectedly massive number of listeners as well. (One could make the point that Kimya Dawson’s recent elevation in profile is also a indicator of this.) Having made that argument, though, I also feel the need to raise its opposite: what if there’s a ceiling? No Age’s next New York show will be at the Bowery Ballroom, and if their higher profile is any indication, that’s probably not the largest space they’ll play in the year to come. Is there a point beyond which a blown-out sound no longer fits with a space?

On the other hand, that’s a question that’s not really answerable until the situation itself arises. The next year or so should be an interesting one as far as music is concerned, and one (or more) in which a lot of elements worth giving a damn about will have their time in the sun.

Ume were followed by The Subjects and The End of the World. Each band takes a fairly traditional rock configuration and tweaks it somehow. In the case of The Subjects, some of that comes from the group’s distinctive vocals, which fit in with the compressed yet aggro feeling of the songs being played. The End of the World’s songs strike me as — this may make little to no sense, I’m willing to admit — pulsing more than jangling or coming from a blues- or folk-influenced structure. It’s a subtle distinction, but it makes for a constant sense of momentum, and that combined with Stefan Marolachakis’s voice is a fine combination.

Mannequin Men? Oh yes. When they played Flameshovel’s CMJ showcase, I alluded to…

…stripped down, noisy rock music played with abundant energy. Throw in dueling stage banter — the drummer graciously thanking the crowd, the singer shouting him down for a more confrontational approach…and you’ve got something amazing.

All that was present, plus a point when about twenty people got on stage. Madness, and infectious.

I’ve never seen a bad Bound Stems show. Their set Saturday night did nothing to change that fact, but even moreso than that, left me eagerly awaiting their upcoming The Family Afloat. As much as I’m fond of Appreciation Night, the newer songs ran through an at times grueling emotional range, veering into the beautifully cathartic. If the recorded versions are half as good, this band will have made an album to sit beside Seam’s Are You Driving Me Crazy? and The Wrens’ The Meadowlands.

Last up? Make Believe. Surrealistic rock that shouldn’t work on paper but does; certain bits of “Political Mysticism” remain lodged in my head a day later. And Flameshovel’s Jesse Woghin lent guest vocals to the set.

Tomorrow: some closing thoughts, odds & ends, etc. For now: this photo, taken on my way to lunch a few hours before heading back east.

John Reis kept making self-deprecating, you’re-too-kind-esque remarks in response to an enthusiastic crowd response to The Night Marchers’ set. After a while, though, that grin on his face seemed to imply that his attitude was more tongue-in-cheek than anything else. Reis can write gritty, taut rock songs in the same way [athletic prodigy] can play [sport], and his demeanor indicated that he’s pretty well aware of that. And the set itself was excellent.

Brutal Knights, Fucked Up, and No Age played. It was a punk rock show on a pedestrian bridge. It was amazing.

From there, I walked to the Hydra Head showcase at Red 7. Caught the last few songs from Clouds — solid, metal — before dälek took the stage. They opened with one from deep into their discography — “Spiritual Healing”, from From Filthy Tongues of Gods and Griots — and followed that up with an unrelentingly intense set. While there, I picked up their split 12″ with My Education, in which the two work on variations on an Arvo Pärt composition.

My Brightest Diamond at Asthmatic Kitty’s showcase would be my next stop. I liked their set just fine, but I was impressed with it more than I was moved — which is, I suspect, simply a matter of personal preference. Castanets — the main draw for me — were next, and played a short, wrenching set abounding with covers. Particular standouts were an unsettling version of Tom Petty’s “You Got Lucky”, and Ian McCullough’s “Lover Lover Lover”, which takes on an entirely new set of implications when sung next to an altar.

Fleet Foxes were, as they were on Thursday, terrific; Yeasayer’s set, on the other hand, was fine but didn’t convince me that the couple of qualms I have with their record are unjustified. Closing out the show was No Age, who I’ve inexplicably missed every time they’ve come through New York. Noisy, cathartic punk, and yet incredibly melodic in places. I wasn’t disappointed, and it wouldn’t be the last time I’d see them that day.

Also, a quick plug for my friend’s festival coverage : Maria’s SXSW dispatches, both audio and visual, are very much worth checking out.