Charley Crockett, cootie catcher, Agatha Is Dead!, and More Reviews From the Final Day of SXSW

Agatha Is Dead! Is Casually Great

Ever been to Berlin? Get there. In lieu of transcontinental passage, Austinites had only to make it as far as Red River on Wednesday evening, last hurrah for SXSW 2026. Post-punk fourpiece Agatha Is Dead! represented their home city with the dark gothy thrust assigned to the German capital. “Do we have time for a shot?” asked front blonde Lilly Bartholomew-Günther after a quick soundcheck. They gave it back, too, tapping into an alt-noir running from Joy Division to Danzig. Baggy pants and ballcaps, with drum piston Joey Ramone Hansen sporting a cowboy hat and driving the group like it came with the job, their casual anonymity connected them to locals everywhere standing atop a similar stage midweek in clubland. While hands in one’s pockets remains a bad look on a musician (sorry, Lilly) that dissipated soon enough behind the sonic thrust. Bartholomew-Günther and co-founding guitarist Noah Oisin O’Donoghue dropped into a mouthwatering guitar harmony at one point that underlined the group’s potent engine room, catalytic converter Arthur Melzow grounding all on bass. Even so, Bartholomew-Günther’s chill presence front and center belied a subtly booming lower register, part Johnette Napolitano, part Erika Wennerstrom, and all Agatha Is Dead! – Raoul Hernandez

Lila Tristram Invokes the Witching Hour

How reassuring, as a cynical, hungover Austinite, to see Lila Tristram perform on the final night of South by Southwest. Most of the strangers the London musician met this week said they’d be gone by Wednesday, she told Central Presbyterian, affirming skeptics’ hypotheses that the restructured festival would fizzle after the weekend. Yet as the first-time States visitor flooded the church with the mournful, spellbinding folk of last year’s America, all of the conference’s mystical promises of opportunity and discovery – for the artist and for those of us who stuck around – felt wonderfully within reach. Local artist and Tristram’s “longtime buddy” Austin Basham backed her up on vocals, glockenspiel, synths, and banjo during songs like “Baby,” from America, and 2023’s “caravan,” about the real-life story of her grandfather up and moving his family away from society in her father’s youth, but Tristram proved most moving when she sat down at a grand piano, her “first love in the world.” Framed by stained glass and a life-sized wooden cross, the multi-instrumentalist trilled grandiose baroque chords as she built from an airy falsetto to a forceful full throat. “I’ve come here on my own to America,” Tristram told us at the start of the conjuring. I hope she leaves with a team. – Carys Anderson

Locals Prove More Rap Shows in Austin Are … Very Necessary

Rap showcases can devolve into dart throws when bookers attempt to cram 10+ artists into a tight window. Producer Steelo Foreign’s Very Necessary record label embraced that challenge on Mohawk’s outdoor stage, to mixed results. One previously unannounced guest promised to perform the most tasteful music ever heard before playing one track and hastily plugging their socials. Houston underground artist BBY Kodie offered an entertaining, but short, set featuring a Southern twist on Kelis’ “Milkshake.” Headliner Valee (“Skinny”) somehow started punctually after a slew of set times were disregarded earlier on. The Chicago rapper looked uninterested by the end of his 28-minute obligation and let his brother, KiltKarter, perform while he sealed a blunt in the background. 

Two Austin-bred rappers, however, displayed some promise within the show’s frenetic pacing. Wiardon’s lack of performance reps was evident as he ran cuts from 2025 mixtape FOR YALL, but the consistent rapper-producer grew in confidence until he ended with a psych rock-influenced track off his upcoming album. Moscato J mixed JELEEL!’s past love for backflipping, Playboi Carti’s rage, and hyperpop-fueled, Auto-Tuned melodicism into a clumpy batter of unbridled energy. He even scaled the top of a speaker to command the abiding crowd in need of a jolt. For as much as we love to peruse SX lineups in search of the next international breakout or random star appearance, the festival also reminds us of the overlooked talent right in our backyard who deserve more opportunities to perform. – Derek Udensi

Minori’s Island Grooves

Once any carnival clears city limits, here comes the next, and already loaded into the cannon. Austin Reggae Festival, April 17-19, is sponsored in part through the Flamingo Cantina, which saw out SXSW by hosting its native lifeblood: reggae. And oh damn, did Minori just slip through Austin’s clutches undetected? Not quite. On a night when APD outnumbered patrons – on the streets only – Dirty Sixth’s Caribbean outpost looked mighty sleepy with several acts to go when “Mini from the Block” got onstage with her mic, her red headwrap, and enough rhythm for a like-minded festival on Auditorium Shores. Despite becoming industry standard, singers performing solo sometimes assume a lot on the part of an audience. This SX vet once saw Charli xcx perform solo to six people in a now-coffee joint on Red River. Now he’s witnessed Jamaican gem Minori Izumi Russell fill a room out of thin air and thereafter hold it in the palm of her outstretched hand. On a good day it’s hard for a vocalist to truly sync to a backing track, but the Kingston native’s sheer command sounded like she led a band. Calling her music a fusion of hip-hop, reggae, and R&B, she mastered all and more in a husky, folky, plaintive delivery united by a lilting Jamaican accent. “Red Pill” and “Keep On Keeping On” demonstrated original intent, but when she let Damian Marley with Sly & Robbie own one track, the Flamingo turned back from pumpkin to island paradise. – Raoul Hernandez

cootie catcher Juggles, Jigsaws Their Final Set

It’s only human to step onstage with some waning enthusiasm on the last night of South by Southwest, but multitasking quartet cootie catcher still leapt through their final set with comfortable ease. Straight from the pages of Ghost World or the animated Nineties of Daria, their “puzzle pop” sound is shot through with a neon-hued streak of electronic experimentation that chops vocals, twists synths, and drops sound effects throughout their performances with unexpected cartoon flair. Songwriter triad Sophia Chavez (vocals, synths), Anita Fowl (vocals, bass), and Nolan Jakupovski (vocals, guitar) delivered three distinct indie rock registers, taking turns with self-aware falsetto, slack-jawed sincerity, and pseudo-apathetic spoken word. In semicircular rounds and overlapping harmonies, the straight-faced singers build out a charming jigsaw delivery that was still compelling even when it occasionally fell a little flat. While even the bubbles in the keg seemed ready to lay down, Chavez coaxed tired smiles from the 13th Floor audience, playing hopscotch with her bandmate’s vocals on her DJ deck while Fowl and Jakupovski bared their hopeless romantic souls. Drummer Joseph Shemoun filled the final moments with a triumphant solo, toasting the nights’ end with a well-earned salute. – Caroline Drew

Charley Crockett’s Ram Jam Provides the Goods

“The Man From Waco.” “The $10 Cowboy.” “Crucified Son.” “That guy plastered on every Downtown Austin sidewalk.” Charley Crockett is known by a lot of names. Behind a cowboy hat, glasses, and a toothy grin, his mystique and sheer charisma made him a beloved musical figure in his adopted home of Austin, Texas. For the final day of SXSW, Crockett and his band brought the “Ram Jam” to Stubb’s Amphitheater, two weeks before the release of his newest album, Age of the Ram. Fresh off of the Texas premiere of his Don’t Look Back-esque documentary A Cowboy in London, Crockett headlined Stubb’s main stage for the first time in a five-band showcase that proved to be a classic display of his fast-growing vintage-country, funk-laced discography. 

Opening with “$10 Cowboy,” Crockett and his fellow San Benito-born backing band, The Blue Drifters, came out fast and almost never stopped. The songs seemed to bleed into one another, akin to radio station transitions. Tones also shifted, from the melancholic “Easy Money” and “Welcome to Hard Times” to jukebox honky-tonk numbers like “Don’t Tell Me That.” Where there was room, couples two-stepped atop the dirt and gravel. Every Austin Crockett show feels like a homecoming, and this was no exception – exemplified by inclusion of several Austin-referencing songs in the setlist like “Ain’t That Right” and “Crucified Son.” The modern country outlaw has clung to our city and distanced himself from the country music mecca of Nashville, after criticizing its soul-sucking music executives and “bro-country” scene – garnering him another nickname, “Cosplay Cowboy,” from rival country artist Gavin Adcock. 

Crockett’s outspokenness about the corruption of the Trump administration and right-wing hypocrisy aligns with the progressive politics that defined outlaw country pioneers like Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson. “People tell you to live more like Jesus, then get mad when you do,” he sang alone on acoustic guitar during a soon-to-be-released song. After a blistering rendition of “Lonesome Drifter” ended at midnight, insatiable fans at the front chanted for an encore and the band obliged, returning for an extra three songs: Western narrative “The Man From Waco,” early hit “Jamestown Ferry,” and the thematically dogged frequent closer, “Paint It Blue,” capping off an hour-and-forty-five-minute set. Crockett’s new doc showcases the artist’s requisite trials and tribulations, but in the flesh, it’s hard to see how he could have been much better. – Joseph Gonzalez