Girls Can Tell

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Tumblin' Tumbleweeds

This morning, after getting off to a very late start, we breakfasted at Magnolia Cafe and experienced a short wait for a table, though not so short that some smarty-pants little kid in homemade overalls didn't correct me for putting my shoe on the bench. Nevertheless, my hopes remained high for the upcoming stroll up South Congress to see what the rich hipsters were up to. Turns out, not much. We popped into the Bloodshot Records party at Yard Dog, and there were only about 30 people on hand to see initial act Devil in a Woodpile, who sounded tight despite the earliness of the noon hour. A foray down to Jo's Coffee – always a hotbed of hipster activity, even during the off-season – yielded nothing of note, apart from a bleary yet friendly looking Wayne Hancock waiting for his fix. So, we gave up on cool-as-shit central and headed to a party we knew wouldn't fail us.

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The Triumphant Return of Beatle Bob

We arrived at the Merge/Barsuk party at Pok-E-Jo's and were greeted by the dulcet tones of Seattle's Aqueduct. And who should my wandering eye spy showing off his smokin' moves up by the stage? None other than Beatle Bob himself, with that old reliable Prince Valiant haircut! I'd been wondering if he'd made it to this year's Festival since I hadn't yet crossed paths with His Ubiquitousness, but there he was, unwilling to disappoint his adoring public. (Wonder if he made it to the Guided by Voices Hoot Night since they gave him his big break in one of their videos?) After Aqueduct closed their set with a goofed-up version of the Geto Boys' "Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta," Bob took off, and we set up our camp chairs.

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Hey, Good Lookin', Whatcha Got Cookin'?

After devouring their barbecue lunch, North Carolina's Rosebuds took the stage and field-tested songs from their upcoming April release while a freight train trundled by in the background. "We've got two more, and then ah can eat mah banana puddin'," drawled singer Ivan Howard. "Bet it's not as good as Ivan's world-famous banana pudding!" countered his wife, keyboardist Kelly Crisp. Of course, being the good Southern girl I am, I had to learn Ivan's secret, which Kelly was more than willing to share. "You have to spring for the good vanilla wafers, get the name brand. And you have to cook the pudding – don't use the instant kind – and pour it over the vanilla wafers while it's still warm," said Kelly, all hopped up on sweet tea. She reckoned they should post the recipe on www.therosebuds.com, but remember that you heard it here first.

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The Diamond Smuggler

Next up was Crooked Fingers. Singer Eric Bachmann, whom my better half likened (positively) to Neil Diamond after their showcase the night before, sat quietly in the barn-type-thing by the stage, staring off into space. I, of course, pounced on the gentle giant in hopes of hearing about any and all of his wild SXSW exploits. "We just got in at 4pm yesterday and are leaving this afternoon, so this is pretty much all I've done," said Bachmann, letting me down easy. They're on tour, you know, and the poor darlings have to drive to New Orleans next. He promised a mellow set for the afternoon show ("We can't really rock until nighttime"), and then clasped my hand in both of his huge, soft paws before we parted ways. Sigh.

All told, it was a mellow day full of sunshine and free Red Stripe. It doesn't get much better than this.