In case anyone doubted how hardcore Toronto hardcores Fucked Up were: they apparently played an impromtu show in the middle of a riot, on a bridge, at SXSW on the weekend. The NME puts it this way:

A riot occurred in the early hours of this morning (March 15) on Lemar Pedestrian Bridge in the midst of the SXSW festival in Austin, Texas, during an impromptu party gig by hardcore rockers Fucked Up.

Fucked Up were playing an unofficial gig at around 4AM (CMT), when fans who had attended SXSW gigs earlier in the night began congregating. Soon around 1,000 fans were on the bridge.

Fired up by the music, the fans began to mosh, creating a mosh-pit 30-people wide. The bridge began to buckle and bounce under the weight of the crowd, which prompted many fans to jump into the river to escape.

Police soon arrived at the scene, but realised that they were powerless to halt the riot and could do nothing but wait until it quelled.

It's hardcore. It's Fucked Up. One in the same.

Also: Watch the official Fucked Up show here.

Above: Fucked Up. Photo by Shawn Scallen.

UPDATE: Conflicting reports! The whole episode appears to have been exaggerated. Video of the concert further demonstrates it was a mosh rather than a riot.

It's Saturday and as the music festival activities are winding down, the corporate product push is being stepped up big time. As more and more "natural tobacco" cigarette packets are pressed into the hands of those entering the cloudy Smokin' Music venue on Trinity (where Blue Rodeo held court Friday night), the poor sods decked out in goofy mascot suits promoting record labels and consumer goods mingle with with the masses of delegates back and forth across Sixth Avenue. Meanwhile gorgeous young women in halter tops strapped with cooler packs filled with free beverages are working the venues up and down Red River.

The aspiring spokesmodel types hit the stuffed Red-Eyed Fly club while Steve Earle's son Justin Townes Earle is twanging through his own Hank, Sr. derived honky tonk numbers during the well-attended Bloodshot label showcase at Red-Eyed Fly on Red River.

"Would you care to try something new?" queries the skilled pitch person suggestively, offering me a chilled can. "It's half beer, half energy drink -- so you get the best of both all in one!" When I say "no thanks," she looks slightly confused and then fires back, "it's free," as if that would change my mind.

When I shake my head no, she smiles and moves onto a group of already well-oiled fiftysomethings on a music biz playa's version of a spring break bender who can't believe their double good fortune of having three smokin' hot babes cozy up to them bearing cold refreshments. They eagerly take a can apiece and call over their friends to join in the free sample bonanza. In a flash, the smiling drink dealers have reloaded and are onto the next group of marks. They've got a lot of product to unload in a very short time.

Five Wonderful Moments in Austin:

Reminiscent of the amazing days of DJ Q-Bert, Shortkut and the rest of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz proving their world turntablist supremacy. For those who witnessed this spectacle, it was nothing short of transcendent. A-Trak isn't the only ill Canadian DJ.

2. Game Rebellion.

Damn, damn, damn. Best punk rock group of the show, and best new band I've seen this year so far. There is a song that remains unrecorded, and it is called "Off With Their Heads." Its brimstone-fiery, apocalyptic, slash-and-stab rhythm drilled into my head deeper than almost any rock song I've heard in ages. Their whole set was soul-piercing, like their hilarious crowd participation bit: "Put your 2's up! Two for Tupac! Two for peace! and V's for vagina!" This 7-piece black punk Rastafarian and African-American collective recreated Tupac Shakur's "Hail Mary," Jay-Z's "PSA" and Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Their own songs were something like Black Sabbath meets Bad Brains with some Slayer thrown in for good measure. As I said, I hear the future, and its name is Game Rebellion. I bought their disc, called Searching For Rick Rubin, and I must say, Rick would be a wise man to invest a mountain of money into these air-tight insaniacs. Discover them.

3. Pride Tiger.

There you are. Just walking down the street, when something grabs you by the ears, and doesn't let go. You are compelled by the force and the finesse of the music to not concentrate on your previous destination. Your attention is owned by some wyld stallyns on an excellent adventure that Dogstar could never create. I loved hearing Pride Tiger. I loved it twice as much when they said "we are from Vancouver." And their drummer/lead vocalist Mike was very pleasant to meet. I'm instantly a big fan. If their recorded stuff is anything like their show, it's over.

4. Eddie Blue.

Know the name. Know one of the next biggest blues guitarists of the future. I saw him with my own two eyes, this 11-year-old prodigy, cast a magic spell over all with the electric guitar that became an extention of his imagination. This kid is going places that haven't been imagined yet. Eddie Blue, I said. Eddie Blue.

5. Seeing Graph Nobel sing back up with Talib Kweli in front of thousands of party-goers in a huge field overlooking a peaceful river and plush foliage.

Her sweet and supple voice carried 'Get By' in a new way, and having Philadelphia's secret R&B jem Res sing along was just more honey on top of the icing on top of the cake. Toronto: best kept secret? For how much longer?

Five Disappointments in Austin:

1. Not seeing The Wailers.

I was just too burnt out on Saturday night to muster the strength to go experience the vibes inside this potentially monumental occasion. I know being burnt out seeing par for the course, but words cannot describe the level of energy one needs to take in all there is to offer at SXSW Austin.

2. The increasing police presence downtown on 6th St. every day of the festival. Bummer, dude.

3. Missing Del tha Funky Homosapien because of a lackadaisical cab driver (compounded by my own folly). I don't care if Del was a bit drunk and not at his highest energy, rappers like him are not appreciated and respected like they eternally should.

4. Missing B.O.B., rising Southern rap new jack.

I wanted to see if the hype on this guy was real or not. The Cool Kids weren't all that and a bag of coke, and I'm always ready willing and able to show love to the real thing when I hear it. I just don't rate a lot of these new school MCs because they don't have what it takes to make it last in rap, and just because the bar for standard lyricism has lowered so much in 2008, I'm not going to respect these fly-by-night pop ringtone rap sensations because they made some catchy dance or are super-rich off some endorsement deal or whatever. Values may have changed, but my standards haven't. These BET hits still can't compare to 'The Humpty Dance'.

5. Not seeing Melissa Young.

A beautiful girl promoting her debut album, her regular speaking voice was warm and melodic and her smile was magnetic. I read her song titles on her flyer, got intrigued by her natural confidence, but alas, I didn't make it to the show. As the guy in the colorful music memorabilia store said: "So much music, so little time."

There is a prevailing theme to SXSW 2008 for me: Canada is the future.

So many genres, so many ideas, such a consistently great reaction from the crowds... it was a sight to behold. Bubbles blew through the air in the sharp sunlight of the VICE Chromeo party that zombified partiers populated slowly-but-surely at Stubb's.

Digitalism was one of the opening acts at the open bar party, where I reunited with magazine legend Suroosh Alvi of VICE fame. I hung with him in Montreal over a decade ago, as he drove me around with a mind-bogglingly humble DMC world champion DJ A-Trak through the cold streets of Montreal. How times have changed.

4th Pyramid hosted the hangover therapy session with appropriate concern, but the Daft Punk-ish throb of Digitalism electrified people awake.

The 120 bpm bangers didn't have as many peaks and valleys as I might like, but the consisten future ancient tribal kickers with warbling white boy soul glazed on top was delicious. They did that song that's the Rogers commercial, "The Sun Is In The Air," and it kinda ended the show on a weak note.

A girl from Windsor, Texas saw me dancing up a storm, came over and asked where I was from. I said Toronto, and she said: "It's always the Canadians that are the most enthusiastic!"

Chromeo came to the stage triumphantly, with their sexy lady-leg keyboard stands lighting up the stage. "Side By Side" was glorious, and their Montreal dedication was heartfelt. "I Am Somebody" resonated deep with its pop funk power, but the mini-cover vocorder versions of "I Want My MTV," "Small Town Girl" and other jams was utterly delightful. Strike one, Canada.

Later, walking down the street, I look in a window to see an 11-year-old boy make a guitar bleed “Amazing Grace.” In the blues book of future history, the name Eddie Blue will have a big ass chapter, mark my words.

Strike two for Canadian music comes with rock saviours from Vancouver, Pride Tiger. I saw four songs of theirs, and loved every fucking minute of it. The drummer was lead vocalist, and was like Animal-from-the-Muppet Babies level of awesome. The other dudes killed it too. I'm not going to over-intellectualize what I think about them, I just love them, and blame Canada for exporting more uncut dope to SXSW.

But the VICE Party had to be the place to be on a Saturday night in Austin, without a doubt. After DJ Z-Trip mashed up "For the Love of Money" and after Killa Kela beatboxed a solid and short set (download), I saw MSTRKRFT kill the night. The head-crushing, knee-knocking, hips-hurling, neck-snapping percussive penetrations never stopped viciously hurtling people forward into digital electro-rock-disco bliss. Once again, those damn Canadians were a notch above most, and continued to destroy their moments in the spotlight with relentless excellence. The crowd-surfing, dancers on other shoulders, and never-ending twirling were in full effect as evidence of how much of a zoo that spot became, especially when “All I Do Is Party” lit people's asses on fire.

Strike three, Chretiens, you're out!

Activity at the daytime parties reached a fever pitch on Friday with the always popular Bloodshot event at the Yard Dog Gallery and the Village Voice Media party at La Zona Rosa being two of the bigger draws of the hundreds of unsanctioned afternoon showcases taking place in clubs, bars, restaurants, record and video stores, clothing boutiques, hotel suites, parking lots, residential backyards, and under tents in parks.

It was surprising to find such a huge crowd of people at La Zona Rosa to see The Cribs but it soon evident that the many folks had just come early to ensure getting into the venue to see Soundtrack Of Our Lives (who had rushed onto the stage in just over 10 minutes) to play their trippy psychedelic-ized songs to the backs of delegates heading for the exit. Surprising, yes, but not totally unexpected based on what I've been seeing over the last couple of days. It appears that the general level of interest in bands playing conventional guitar rock has rarely been lower.

Thurston Moore gives hope to all ageing hipsters who fear losing their precious cool. The Sonic Youth patriarch, who turns 50 this year, headlined an Ecstatic Peace (his label) showcase last night and quite easily blew away every young(er) band that preceded him. Moore played deceptively sedate at first, strumming his acoustic and noodling through tracks from Trees Outside (his latest). But the show gained speed, momentum and volume as it went on and by the end Moore traded his acoustic for a custom Fender noisemaster.

Moore mused aloud about getting old and then glowingly recalled hanging out with Lou Reed the night earlier. He then tore into an obscure Reed cover that opened with the lyric “I’m not a young man anymore,” then gave it the Moore slash, burn and screech treatment. The crowd went nets and practically begged him with applause for an encore. I guess growing old doesn’t always have to be graceful.

One of the most talked about artists down here is red-hot Brooklyn transplant Santogold (aka Santi White, pictured). The producer turned singer is being called the next MIA and once you’ve seen her collar-busting mix of reggae, world, dub and Philly hip hop the comparison feels pretty accurate.

White’s been hitting a lot of parties and small stages around the festival but we finally caught up with her opening for the big N.E.R.D. reunion at Stubbs. Flanked by two backup singers/dancers, she made the most of her condensed time slot, pumping quick-stepping jams arranged with skillful melodies. This festival feels like her coming out party. Keep her on your radar.

Above: Santogold, quick-stepping

Watching smoking-hot German producer Alex Ridha (aka Boys Noize) absolutely tear the roof of the Beauty Bar patio last night was astonishing for a few reasons. First, seeing a DJ have that kind of command over people’s emotions and bodily reactions is always a thrill, especially when he or she is actually mixing records and not hunched over a laptop.

It also showed a growing shift in the rock star model for DJs. Where once you’d have a John Digweed type perched up in his lofty booth, musically governing over raving thousands, Ridha is playing to young, fashionable crowds who want chaos: stage diving, rushing the stage and pseudo-moshing. Everything and anything to just plain up the anarchy factor, which is something that’s already in no short supply here at SXSW.

Earlier in the evening Vice Records trotted out their newest acquisition, a ridiculously over-staffed collective from Athens, Georgia called Dark Meat. They range between 15-20 drugged-out looking members, but they’re not all playing instruments. Some for instance are simply on stage throwing glow stick and candy at the audience while the rest of massive band plays a stomping mean brand of dirty southern rock.

They actually hold it all together surprisingly well. And though it feels like we’ve seen too much of the bigger-is-better concepts in music the last few years Dark Meat are more of spectacle and don’t take themselves too seriously like other Arcade-aping groups. Think acid-dropping pirates and you’ve got some idea.

Bearded Brooklyn folk rocker Phosphorescent (Matthew Houck) kicked things off at the Black Mountain show over at a multi-level cowboy bar called Mohawk. Houck has been getting a lot of attention for his Sam Bean-style indie folk, which he does perfectly well.

But “well” got old three songs in and you’re left wondering how many sad sacks are out there dwelling in New York lofts writing pain-inspired dirges. I guess if you can’t get enough of the Will Oldham scene then get on this, otherwise take a pass.

Last night was just too insane for me to stop for a second to write how insane it was. A beautiful blur of mindblowing music, I heard so much stuff it was inconceivable to imagine so many options are available. Quickly, I'll run down a list with reviews:

The Cool Kids. Truly, this warrants a "meh." They won't be as big as people think. It's cool, no pun intended, but they are not the second coming of EPMD, much less The Clipse or whoever they want to emulate with their style. They know how to LOOK like rappers in 2008, though!

Sia. I had to try and see a bit of her again, her show in Toronto was legendary. It was similar here, all the way down to her 5-piece all standing in the same spots and wearing the same plain white tees. But when the music is that immaculate, why quibble? Sia is the next Bjork.

The Hard Lessons. Okay, you want to know who the rocks the show something fucking disgusting? Detroit's The Hard Lessons. A nut-hugging, shorts wearing lead guitarist, a wild maned female keyboardist and back up singer, plus a drummer who looked like a little person with super-sized percussive power, this was rock and roll at its absolute finest. Everyone deserves to hear them.

N*E*R*D*. Thank god for friends. 4th Pyramid and I were rolling around, prowling for opportunity, when lo and behold, someone calls his phone, and says "come to the back alley door NOW", and we get to bypass the longest line I've seen so far, the three block queue to see one of the hottest tickets period: Pharrell and Co. After seeing Lou Reed rip through "Take A Walk On The Wild Side," with Moby (!!!) supporting on guitar, N*E*R*D* took to the stage and ran through some awesomeness. New songs and old, this was one of the biggest and best (and most exclusive) shows so far. Peace to Pharrell for including me in "Fly or Die," it was enthralling to spit an ad-lib in one of my favorite N*E*R*D* songs. And peace to Shay and Chad Hugo and the double drummers of destruction.

Time started to unravel around now, about 9 PM. I wanted to see Del tha Funky Homosapien, and I tried so hard, but wound up on the wrong side of 4th St., and the cab driver wanted nonchalantly took me to Scoot Inn, the location of Del, Devin tha Dude, El-P and Dizzee Rascal's show. Devin's lateness (twice this weekend) forced Del to go on first, and I missed him. Arrrrgh! That's all I can say to that.

Devin's smoked-out sing-a-long sessions strangely inspired not one, but two fights, one of which almost knocked over the soundboard and caused a clear out of massive proportions. Guess Devin may be used to this: he didn't bat an eye, stop a flow for a moment, or even address the mess; he just kept on rhyming about that "Doobie Ashtray." Why did he do me that way?

El-P was next, and he tore shit up with the mighty Mr. Dibbs, a live bassist and a keyboardist, who both made the Fantastic Damage and I'll Sleep When You're Dead jems shine that much brighter. Starting with "Smithereens" and running through "Three Kings," "Deep Space 9 MM," and "Up All Night" (with a Rakim/Know The Ledge bridge that was amazingly amazing), El said: "I have an unpopular opinion: the system is fixed! That's why I don't vote! Also, people ask: what if Obama wins? Well then, he's one of them!”)

Awesome.

Dizzee Rascal rocks too. Really, he's got "it." He was tired, but he still killed the show. Will it work over here? Time will tell. Him and El-P look like they want to make something happen. It would be nice.

Highlight of the night: seeing Geto Boys legend Bushwick Bill prove that the veterans are on a level the new schoolers just don't know exists. What an ultra rare opportunity.

No one was really expecting the festival's kick-off keynote address given by the chronically surly Lou Reed (pictured) to be a rah-rah rousing affair -- particularly at 10:30 in the morning -- and as it turned out, Reed didn't have any sort of speech planned, nor did he have a guitar with him to knock out a tune if things went awry. Instead he had his old pal Hal Willner sitting across from him in an equally comfy chair to alternately lob softball questions, offer praise and add a bit of levity to what turned out to be a dull infomercial for Julian Schnabel's new film Lou Reed's Berlin based on a recent live re-playing of what has been called "the most depressing album ever made."

"The film just played here in Austin, how many people went to see it?" asked Reed to a smattering of applause. "Great," he sighed, "less than half."

After showing a clip which involved some artistically out-of-focus shots of Reed and his band on stage intercut with close-ups of fingers on guitar frets and cymbals, Willner began blowing smoke about Reed's songwriting prowess to which Reed responded by reciting a few lines from Rock Minuet.

Things got slightly more interesting when Willner began posing queries to Reed emailed in prior to the session. One question about the creative process seemed to engage Reed but only to say "I never understood how my songs got written. I want to know that myself. If I did, I'd have written Son of Wild Side and own an island in the Caribbean!"

Reed then went on a tear about the horrible sound of MP3s, observing that "You can get almost any song in the world now as and MP3. And if you have the time and money, you might be able to get a version of the song you can actually listen to." He went on to say, "People have got to start demanding higher standards otherwise it'll soon be only people with money who can afford good sound. Technology is taking us backwards -- it's just making it easier to make things sound worse."

At the clubs, UK funk crew The Heavy proved to be true to their name at Elysium, providing boldly pounding riffs for charismatic frontman Swaby whose commanding delivery had flashes of Curtis Mayfield's falsetto and Corey Glover's confrontational posture.

Meanwhile, up the street at Club De Ville, the impressively poised 24 year-old Boston R&B belter Eli "Paperboy" Reed backed by a horn-hyped backing crew of similarly well-schooled twentysomethings gave notice that we haven't yet heard the last of the old school soul revival that took SXSW by storm last year. With Reed taking his cues from the classic recordings of Bobby Bland, the Falcons, Solomon Burke and the Swanee Quintet (!), it appears that he's on the right track with a bright future ahead.

Anticipation was running high for the Night Marchers set at Emo's being that the group is fronted by former Rocket From The Crypt mainman Jon "Speedo" Reis who has lost a considerable amount of weight. He was standing beside me for most of the previous set thrashed out by Seattle's mighty Spits and I didn't even recognize him. While their set began with a heartening whump, the Night Marchers quickly lost steam and when Reis started into this sappy Eddie Money-style ballad, I was heading for the door.

Looking for some international flavour, I checked out the Sounds of Spain showcase happening just across from the Convention Center. The first band was called We Are the Standard, whose lead singer looked a bit like a Spanish Rivers Cuomo.

Their sound, a bit of Hot Hot Heat jerky new wave mixed with an industrial edge, was unfortunately ignored by the crowd in favour of the free sangria and paella table.  

Over at Beauty Bar, a retrofitted hair salon remade to look like a bar John Waters cooked up, San Francisco kraut rockers 60-Watt Kid were tweaking knobs and stomping pedals to a small but interested-looking crowd.

There’s something inherently problematic about playing psychedelic German noise rock under the blistering sun. If we’re supposed to zone out on experimental sounds you need a little ambience, something Beauty Bar in the light of day is scarce of.

Not to make sweeping generalizations or anything, but Motorhead fans act like total idiots. While watching the ancient metal lords at Stubbs a guy next to us threw a tallcan of Lone Star in the face of another guy, covering him with suds. Here’s come the brew ha-ha we’re thinking, but no. The victim raises his devil horns and they embrace like brothers. Huh? Even Lemmy must be tired of being around these dolts.