Glasser’s Cameron Mesirow was one of the exceptions at the recent South by Southwest Music Conference in Austin, Texas. Unlike many “must-see” bands, she only performed twice during the five-day festival; some bands played seven or eight times as many gigs.

“I refuse to be that kind of band,” Mesirow says with a laugh. “Seventeen shows in five days? I bet 16 of those shows didn’t matter to them.”

Mesirow treats each of her shows as an event, with a visual panache to match her vocal abilities and unconventional yet highly melodic songs. She opened her first show in Austin with a rapturous a cappella version of a traditional Irish ballad, “Let No Man Steal Your Thyme,” then dove into the layered, swirling avant-pop of her hypnotic 2010 debut album, “Ring” (True Panther Sounds). She matched the swooning arrangements with shaman-like twitching and dancing in a layered hoop dress. It was simple but mesmerizing theater, the kind of showmanship that frankly not enough pop concerts have.

AUSTIN, Texas -- "This is our last show," singer-songwriter Sharon Van Etten said with a mixture of exultation and exhaustion during her final set at the South by Southwest Music Conference. "We made it -- we made it to Saturday!"

Van Etten was among 2000 bands and artists who performed at the 25th annual conference, which concluded Sunday. Many of those artists were like Van Etten, performing as many as seven or eight times during the week, sometimes several sets a day, all hoping to crash through the round-the-clock din that had saturated hundreds of venues clustered around 6th Street since last Tuesday. Austin becomes music's international capital once every year, and the conference has seen attendance skyrocket since it debuted in 1987. Back then it was a little grassroots gathering focused on Texas music, an earthier alternative to the then-dominant New Music Seminar in New York. In its first year, South by Southwest attracted 172 bands and 700 registrants. This year the number of bands hovered around 2,000 and registration exceeded 13,000.

The big music companies rolled out their heavy hitters to flog new albums or tours. Kanye West, the Strokes, Foo Fighters and TV on the Radio all performed in major showcases and big brands like Vice magazine and Perez Hilton hustled to outhustle each other by presenting the most must-see bands in invite-only parties. There there were were the inevitable "buzz" bands, up-and-comers who have generated mounds of media attention in recent months: the Los Angeles hip-hop collective Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All, British soul balladeer James Blake, Chicago power-pop quartet the Smith Westerns. But as usual the heart of the festival was the artists striving for any sort of recognition at all, trying to transform a labor of love into a living.

AUSTIN, Texas --- Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All has built a reputation as hip-hop's most transgressive act, the new underlords of twistedness.

But in their penultimate concert at the South by Southwest Music Conference early Sunday morning at Buffalo Billiards, the hip-hop collective flipped off their fans, barked at the sound engineer and then walked offstage after performing only 15 minutes. Confused fans, many of whom had waited for hours and paid $20, hung around for a few minutes, perhaps anticipating an encore. But Odd Future was gone for good.

In previous performances at the conference, the group had been lauded for its high-energy onslaught, a furious, stage-diving, speaker-climbing, water-bottle-throwing spectacle awash in sweat and testosterone, and vulgar tales of gore, debauchery, cannibalism and deviant sex all presented under the guise of humor and over-the-top entertainment, a gleeful "up-yours" to the grown-ups. Or something like that. I'm willing to give the group a second chance -- a few snippets of lyrics in the three songs they actually performed suggested a knack for complex, internal rhyme schemes and a hint of introspection that might provide a context for all those horror fantasies. "Friction ... contradiction ... it's my composition." Well, yes, that about sums up what it feels like to be a teenage street kid from Los Angeles, which is what most members of Odd Future are.

But even teen rebels should know better than to insult their fans. When Johnny Rotten addressed the final audience the original Sex Pistols would ever play for in 1978, he asked, "Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?" He walked off and the band broke up. I doubt Odd Future will break up (though it would be the ultimate rebellious gesture in a career founded on doing the "wrong" thing at all times), but they sure cheated their fans on this night. At the very least Odd Future owes them a refund.

greg@gregkot.com 

AUSTIN, Texas -- Carrie Brownstein, the former Sleater Kinney guitarist and current "Portlandia" star, was getting herself into a state. "Yeah, I'm a racehorse," she sang, "You put your blinders on me." Later, she was delivering an angry incantation: "Pony up, pony up, pony up." Brownstein was singing like her id was on fire, and her band Wild Flag followed suit: Janet Weiss' tumbling drums, Mary Timony's untamed guitar, Rebecca Cole's thick Hammond organ drones.

In the sixth of seven shows they were scheduled to play this week at the 25th annual South by Southwest Music Conference, Wild Flag raised the ante Friday for their yet-to-be recorded debut album. Brownstein and Weiss took the cerebral passion of their old band, Sleater Kinney, and sent it rocketing out into a far less confined world, one where psychedelic guitars and free-form jams roamed free. Brownstein and Timony, herself a force in the band Helium, were a rambunctious combination up front, their guitars jousting while they crashed into each other and tumbled on the stage. Weiss and Cole held it all down, with Weiss making like a more disciplined Keith Moon, keeping the songs on course even as she orchestrated crescendo after crescendo with her drum volleys.

It was one of those sets where you wish you could rewind it and experience the whole thing over again, right now. The quartet closed with a storming version of Patti Smith's "Ask the Angels," Timony crumpling to the stage floor while Brownstein egged her on. "Wild, wild, wild..."

Though Wild Flag was easily the best band I've seen at the conference, there were some fine sets earlier in the evening. The Seattle collective Shabazz Palaces, with their reggae-flavored stoner hip-hop, the seven-part vocal harmonies of AgesAndAges, the punk-meets-the-Shangri-Las harmonies of the Dum Dum Girls (once some microphone malfunctions were overcome).

At a showcase for Spanish rock bands, the Barcelona quartet Mujeres got off to a slow start, clearly a bit intimidated by the prospect of playing a major North American show. But by the end the band was doing a terrific job of channeling '50s rockabilly and '60s Nuggets-style garage rock -- not just the sound, but the attitude behind the sound. When the singer started barking like a feral dog, the music kicked to another level, finally bowling everyone over with a rousing cover of the Velvet Underground's "Run, Run, Run."

greg@gregkot.com

AUSTIN, Texas -- So how's that Live Nation-Ticketmaster merger working out? Representatives of the music industry, including Ticketmaster CEO Nathan Hubbard and an attorney for the Department of Justice, showed up Friday at the South by Southwest Music Conference to discuss the biggest music business story of the last decade.

In general, the discussion was low-key and free of invective, even though a number of panelists had reason to feel otherwise, including independent promoters whose livelihoods are threatened by a Live Nation Entertainment conglomerate that dominates music ticketing, arena and stadium-level concert promotion, and manages some of the top acts on the circuit. Despite all signs pointing to a monopoly that could raise ticket prices, and ruin or at least undermine countless independent businesses, the Ticketmaster-Live Nation merger was approved last year.

Though ticket prices have not skyrocketed and independent promoters such as Chicago-based Jam Productions and Los Angeles-based Mitchell Frank, who were represented at the panel, are still in business, it's too early to gauge the merger's impact, Chicago booking agent David Viecelli of the Billions Corporation said. "The threat of consolidation has yet to be realized," he said. "There are a lot of people in the industry who want to get their hands on ticket fees and surcharges, and it's not a good situation. The concert industry needs to be stripped down and rebuilt" rather than consolidated.

The slumping economy has forced promoters to tow the line on ticket prices, but that may not last as Ticketmaster moves to an open-market pricing model where ticket prices rise or fall depending on demand. The system will reinforce a hierarchy where only the wealthiest fans will be able to afford the best seats, Hubbard acknowledged.

But the Ticketmaster CEO insisted that the merger has been good for consumers in that it has allowed the company to build in greater efficiencies in the way it sells tickets. "Ticketmaster satisfaction is at an all-time high," he said, bringing chuckles from more than a few in the audience. He also deflected concerns that Ticketmaster is now able to share information about competitors with Live Nation by saying, "We talk to the Department of Justice every week about this issue, and we take it very seriously."

John Read, a Justice department attorney, confirmed that his department monitors compliance of the merger terms daily, which suggests an enormous amount of resources are being expended to make sure Live Nation Entertainment isn't gaining a competitive advantage.

"We haven't seen the big disaster" that some merger critics predicted, Read said. "Ticket prices have not gone through the roof. It's still early but so far things are OK."

Read also said that the Justice department has received "several complaints" about how Live Nation Entertainment does business, and each is being investigated. "We have not sued them yet for contempt," he said. Looking up at the audience he added, "The key to this (working) is to get information from you all" on how Live Nation does business.

greg@gregkot.com  

AUSTIN, Texas -- Earlier in the day Thursday, Bob Geldof challenged the 2,000 bands signed up to play the 25th annual south by southwest Music conference this week to show him something. America, he said, was full of "complacent, smug" bands who had lost the ability to suggest change and possibility.

But midway through a set by Tune-Yards later that evening, I found myself yearning to text sir Bob: "Have I got a band for you." The group dispensed with indie-rock tropes --- guitars, mopy songs, four-square rhythm -- in favor of percolating, percussive rapture that suggested West African juju music abetted by skronking saxophones. Band founder Merrill Garbus did it all: looping her voice into a chanting swirl, slamming out punk-rock chords on a ukele, hammering on a drum, and singing like a soul enchantress.

Equally splendid was singer Cameron Mesirow, a k a Glasser, who opened her set with a stunning, a cappella song that rang down from heaven in a cavernous 8th Street church. Blending chamber-pop tranciness with Bjork-like electro twitchiness, Glasser -- like Tune-Yards -- challenged convention at every turn.

The night's only letdown was the highly hyped Twin Shadow, which replicated the flashy keyboards and soul-rock flourishes of mid-'80s Prince. Singer George Lewis Jr. could do a lot worse than taking a walk back to "1984," but he didn't bring much new to his Paisley Park retro.

greg@gregkot.com

AUSTIN, Texas -- What will the music industry look like in 10 years for working musicians? How will they make money from their art? A panel devoted to the subject Thursday polled a few heavy hitters. Their answers:

Bertis Downs, R.E.M. manager: He sees a lot of little revenue streams, including webcasting and streaming royalties, publishing and licensing deals. Will they make up for shrinking income from recorded music sales? No one knows for sure, but the scale and expectations will be more modest, based on "little clicks that hopefully add up to a sustainable living."

Darius Van Arman, Jagjaguwar Records owner: "For labels, managers, publishers, touring agents it will be important to work together. The incentives point toward cooperation rather than antagonism ... (to create) a music-community biosphere." Otherwise, everyone's in trouble.

Edward Pierson, Seattle-based attorney:  Major labels trying to get artists to sign all-encompassing 360-deals that will give them a piece of touring, publishing and merchandising "will become tenuous" because labels are cutting staff and changing management too frequently. Publishers will play a larger role and expand into rights management. "Artists will rely increasingly on publishers to build a career."

greg@gregkot.com

AUSTIN, Texas -- Bob Geldof, the Irishman who brought the world Live Aid and the Boomtown Rats, was in a combative mood Thursday as he delivered the keynote address at the 25th annual South by Southwest Music Conference.

"I am loathe to make generalizations," he said, "but you seem exhausted." The remark brought a chuckle from a hall full of sleep-deprived conferencegoers, who have been going full tilt since Tuesday taking in bands, panels and no doubt copious quantities of barbecue and beer.

Geldof wasn't taking about hangovers so much as a lack of musical and cultural engagement with a world in crisis. The "you" he referred to is America, and it's letting him down. "Rock 'n' roll suggests change, abundant optimism, joy and hope," he said. "It is the classic American music ... but it may be over."

But, hey, a record 2000 bands are playing South by Southwest this week. All of them are pretty meaningless in Geldof's view, largely a collection of the "complacent" and "smug." (Try explaining that one to the band that spent its week's allowance on gas to drive 18 hours here in a cramped, stinky van with bad shock absorbers to play one 40-minute set for little or no compensation -- but I digress).

"Rock 'n' roll needs to be against something," he said. "It needs a context in which to function."

He invoked the greats who sparked revolution, the defiant raised, middle digit that was Little Richard, Elvis Presley, and later the Ramones and the Sex Pistols. He hears no such agitators today. "Where is the livid, vivid conversation with your constituency? I miss it."

He blamed the narcotizing effect of television, the "Glee Club-ization of music" and, of course, the Internet, which he described as "a wall of noise" filled with fake Facebook friends and impotent bloggers. This at a time of historic change, "when power ebbed from West to East," revolution rages in Egypt, Tunisia and Bahrain, and financiers are "bankrupting the world" without paying the consequences.

Geldof says he's not looking for explicit protest songs, but songs with the power of suggestion -- the Bob Dylan of "Like a Rolling Stone" rather than "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll." These songs can transform a society by articulating its unspoken desires and anxieties. "Music is the most powerful cultural tool invented in a dozen lifetimes," he said, a voice of individualism that can articulate a common good.

It was inspiring stuff, easily one of the most articulate and impassioned keynotes in the conference's history. But at the end I wanted to hand Geldof an iPod full of the music from today that he isn't hearing (though I have a suspicion he'd prefer CDs, if not vinyl). In demanding that music engage with society, and help us imagine our better selves, I would point him to the recent music of Janelle Monae and its impassioned depiction of "otherness," of the Roots and their description of how they got over, of Mavis Staples and her reassurance that "you are not alone."

That is just a small sliver of the "noise with intent" that Geldof demands. Perhaps the deeper issue is not that no one is making that type of music, but that much of it is being lost amid what SXSW executive Roland Swenson called "the trivial and the ephemeral" culture that is clogging media. The great life-affirming and potentially life-changing revolutionary music that Geldof seeks is being made. But without discerning voices to champion it, who will hear it? Certainly Geldof could use a little help in finding it.

greg@gregkot.com

AUSTIN, Texas -- What is a music conference, especially one as prestigious as the 25th annual South by Southwest, without big, steaming cauldrons of hype?

On Wednesday, many flocked to Stubb's, an outdoor venue with capacity of several thousand, to see James Blake, the U.K. crooner who combines sensitive, vibrato-tinged vocals with sparse, spacious production to create alluring electro-soul ballads. Though hardly an innovator, he brings a pop sensibility to a genre -- dubstep -- firmly grounded in club culture and the underground.

But his glitchy soul miniatures, largely created on a laptop and, as the artist himself has said, ideal for listening in solitude, didn't translate in the big outdoor space. Accompanied by a drummer and keyboardist, Blake brought a wounded earnestness to his performance. His delicate voice was occasionally distorted, and bass lines rumbled. But the music was largely static, basking in its own prettiness. I imagine this music would've sounded just fine in a more intimate space, so his handlers did him no favors by booking his first major North American showcase in a venue better suited to arena rock bands.

Blake was upstaged by the London quartet that preceded him, Yuck. The band owes plenty to '90s alternative rock, American style: the shambling melodies of Pavement, the guitar dissonance of Sonic Youth. But songs such as "Get Away" would sound good in any era, as Max Bloom's guitar played counterpoint melodies against Daniel Blumberg's vocals.

Another U.K. band, the Vaccines, delivered the kind of set that should be required by law at music festivals with 2,000 bands clamoring for attention: get in, get out, and roll over the audience before anyone figures out what hit them. There's a certain type of swagger peculiar to British bands, a no-nonsense, watch-out-world demeanor embodied by the Vaccines. Sometimes it's just all bluster, but in this case it was backed by big melodies and even bigger bass lines. A half-dozen songs came in a galvanizing 20-minute rush and then -- just like that -- it was over. No encore, none needed. Mission accomplished.

greg@gregkot.com

AUSTIN, Texas -- It started with Martin Atkins apologizing for using the "F" word more than 160 times in his recent book about surviving the music business and ended with the bespectacled punk-rock drummer tossing packages of blueberry muffins into the audience.

Nobody in the audience was all that fazed, however, an indication that desperate times call for desperate - or at least humorous -- measures.

Atkins -- who has accumulated thousands of horror stories about what not to do in the music business while pounding the drums for Public Image Ltd. and Pigface, among countless bands, and running his own Invisible label out of Chicago -- brought a maverick's perspective to the opening address at the 25th annual South by Southwest Music Conference on Tuesday.

Central to his advice was the notion that just about everything we think we know about how music and culture intersect with commerce is wrong, or at least needs to be rethought. He offered plainspoken advice, much of it gleaned from the near-fatal mistakes and accidental triumphs that have defined his own circuitous route through music the last 30 years. Even his old pal Johnny Lydon was not beyond a little mockery; the onetime punk singer showed up in a video snippet of a TV ad for a butter manufacturer, an example of what not to do if an artist hopes to retain a crucial measure of authenticity with fans who now are more involved in making or breaking bands than ever.