Nothing was going to stop Bun B’s late night show at Club Fuze off Austin’s 6th Street. Not the several visits from local fire officials — due to the audience being packed shoulder-to-shoulder and the mass of folks waiting outside to get in, which included rapper Tech 9’s crew — and especially not the fact that after a few songs, his mic started to give: “Come on man, these people came out here to help me represent for Pimp C, can’t we get the mic right!?”

The remaining half of legendary Port Arthur, Texas, rap crew UGK dedicated much of the show (with the requisite lighter and cellphone salutes) to his fallen rhyme partner, Pimp C, who died Dec. 4 in Hollywood, partly due to sipping sizzurp, it’s been reported. Bun majestically plowed through an extensive set that dug deep into the group’s classics, such as the drug game anthem “Pocket Full of Stones” and the Eazy-E-inspired “Front Back and Side to Side.” He also threw in some tracks from his “Trill” album, including “Get Throwed” and “Draped Up.”

The highlight of his set was when frequent UGK collaborator Dizzee Rascal joined him, lacing the set with his Cockney raps. That moment seemed most fitting for a SXSW audience. Toward the end of the show, Bun rapped both UGK parts when he performed the Grammy-nominated “Int’l Players Anthem (I Choose You).” He included a shout-out to soon-to-be-former New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer, because, well, as Bun said, “He chose.”

– Post and photos by Camilo Smith

It’s a lot like speed dating, this music portion of South by Southwest. The sets are very fast, they get right to the point, you take it in, then move to the next suitor. You see and hear a lot of new names, and even the familiar faces seem slightly different.

On Wednesday, I took a look at a dozen varied and exciting bands in less than 12 hours, including Quiet Company, the Shout Out Louds, Yacht, Bad Rackets, This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb, R.E.M., the Lemonheads and Ancestors.

Quickie reviews and lots of pictures after the jump.

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Daryl Hall knew how to groove with the crowd at his SXSW show Wednesday night. The angular haircuts and Duffy badges on the kids grooving to “Kiss on My List” might have been a surprise to some older fans who’d lined up to see the 61-year-old legend – but get used to it, ’80s nostalgiacs, because the Hall revival is in full effect. Not only are such younger artists as the Gym Class Heroes name-checking (and collaborating with) Hall & Oates; Hall himself, always the more artistically forceful of that pair, has entered the cyber age with his own monthly live performance Web cast, “Live From Daryl’s House.” And the supple-voiced soulman re-created the vibe of that show during his set at the Austin Convention Center, sponsored by DirecTV.

Fronting a small band that included his longtime bassist, T-Bone Wolk (who’ll also play with Daryl when yours truly conducts a live chat-with-music at SXSW on Saturday), Hall pulled out some real obscurities along with such faves as “Sara Smile.” He pulled out the sultry “Cab Driver” from his 2003 solo outing “Can’t Stop Dreaming” and “It’s Uncanny,” a sleek bit of Philly soul, from a 1970s Atlantic Records compilation. Hall, who’s working on a new solo album, relished every vamp and high note as he and the band stretched out as if they were, indeed, just hanging out at the singer-songwriter’s upstate New York retreat.

Hall even invited a friend over to jam. The singularly named Mutlu is a young scion of Philadelphia who’s working with Wolk on his upcoming Manhattan Records debut; Hall makes a guest appearance. Mutlu sat in for the last half of Hall’s set, adding his silky vocals to a reggae version of “Maneater” (according to Hall, that was the song’s original style), an original duet and an almost tropical take on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

Mutlu did himself proud, but let’s be honest – trying to stand out vocally when Hall’s in the room is like taking a spin on the dance floor next to Baryshnikov. Hall basked in the crowd’s fervent appreciation, losing himself in extended vocal improvisations and pretty much nailing every note. Next week, he told the crowd, KT Tunstall will be on “Live From Daryl’s House.” But for this show, he made this converted corner of Austin’s downtown exhibition hall his house – and we were all lucky to be invited in.

– Ann Powers

Photo of Daryl Hall before a Hollywood Bowl show last year by Justin Wilson.

It was the SXSW ticket of the night — especially for hipsters old enough to remember life before a Bush administration. R.E.M. made a glorious noise at Stubb’s Bar-B-Que, one with plenty of echoes of past hits and youthful defiance, fed by material from the band’s super-intentional return to form, “Accelerate.” The band’s hour and 25 minute set encompassed most of the potential hits from that fat-free album (out April 1), plus enough classics to keep R.E.M.’s more mature fans sighing in bliss.

Michael Stipe’s own delight fed the night’s party mood. He reminded the audience of how much we’ve lost since 9/11 (civil rights, economic stability, compassion and tolerance of difference), but he also urged everyone to use hope and activism to redeem that last two years of this decade.

“I’m sick to death of politicians telling me what I should fear,” he said before dedicating “Until the Day Is Done,” a new and very lovely meditation on the costs of the war on terror, to Heath Ledger, “a man who heard this song and loved it.”

Stipe got chattier as the set (which was being broadcast live on NPR) progressed and the band brought home one crackling pop smash after another. “Accelerate” is designed to reassert R.E.M.’s status as a great singles band, and Stipe, bassist Mike Mills and guitarist Peter Buck locked in on its strong hooks and riffs, making sure the new material stood up to old winners such as “Drive” and “Man on the Moon.”

Best was the new single “Supernatural Superserious,” which has that mix of sweetness and pungency that helped “Losing My Religion” (which the band didn’t play this time) and “Man on the Moon” (which they did) lift those prototypical college rockers out of America’s dorm rooms and into its common culture. Stipe sang his newest teenage anthem with offhand grace, while Buck unspooled its infectious guitar line over a classic, popping Mills bassline.

Such powerful ease informed the whole set. R.E.M. is celebrating itself these days — its survival (crucially supported, it must be noted, by those mighty “extra” players, drummer Bill Rieflin and guitarist Scott McCaughey), the sound it invented and has now renewed, the relevance of its message. The band’s appearance at SXSW felt like a regal return, though Stipe announced that he’d never been to the landmark Stubb’s before.

Stipe’s lyrics can still be cryptic — he explained that the dirge-like new “Houston” was inspired by comments Barbara Bush made regarding the relocation of Katrina victims to Texas, something you’d probably not guess from just hearing it — but he can still turn a few vague words into a quotable quote by focusing on the rhythms of language, and by enlisting that authoritative yet empathetic tone no other singer can imitate.

Stipe’s renewal was visible on his lit-up face; Buck showed him in his body. Always an aggressive player, Buck was particularly nimble, as he moved in sync with the slaps and seductions his guitar communicated. Mills still played to the youth vote, bopping around as he cooked up those soulful basslines and dreamy backup vocals.

Stipe can turn on the magnetism and commandeer the room (or, in this case, the Stubb’s backyard). But at SXSW, he allied firmly with the band to serve the songs, those tight little Pandora’s boxes full of mysteries and fire.

– Ann Powers

Photo of Michael Stipe at Stubbs by Jack Plunkett/AP

SXSW guest blogger Lyle Brooks is a born-and-raised Austinite who’s witnessed too many fests to count. Favorite South-by memories include seeing Johnny Cash perform and fighting with David Cross over tamales.

Central Austin — I awaken to find my neighbor EJ in our yard repairing, reconstructing and generally reviving dozens of castoff bicycles. Amid tube boxes strewn between two enormous oaks, he transforms the frames and parts into rows of working rides. EJ, a redheaded Bostonian in his late 20s, spends his workweek caring for troubled children at Helping Hands; this is seen in the combination of gentle hands and rapid progress.

“They weren’t going to get use otherwise,” he says. “Besides, these people don’t want to do South-by in cabs and buses.” It’s true: From as far away as Germany, festival fun-seekers, volunteers, and a drummer who “hates the van” bought, rented or simply borrowed this formerly immobile fleet.

Our hero’s inspiration followed last year’s affair, when his five cruisers were borrowed (or stolen) by out-of-towner friends and friends-of-friends; by summertime, he was taking all discarded cycle junk. Fortunately, our last cold snap concluded, the sun is out and nobody wants to be inside. His cross-eyed bulldog, Lily, suns herself, on her back, legs splayed. “Occasionally, she takes to chewing on a busted tube. Other than that, she’s great for morale.”

Watching happy riders pedal off south or east into the heart of SXSW, this is the first festival in years that EJ and I haven’t greeted with cynical hater-haze from the get-go. Moreover, it felt, at least here in our yard, like a playground where instead of immense lines and traffic, people were here for the ride. Badges and wristbands aside, these visitors bounded toward day parties and beyond with an unexpected energy, making EJ and I smile. The Schwinns and Giants may be lost or destroyed by Sunday, but that’s not our concern as we open a pair of fresh Lone Stars.

–Lyle Brooks

Everybody who knows me even a little knows I just love Steve Earle. The first time I saw him was in his Nashville outlaw days, when he dressed like a Hells Angel in black leather with a red bandana around his wrist, and sang songs about pot-growing moonshiner boys. I sought him out in concert countless times after that — making the girls in denim cut-offs dance at Midwestern festivals, spinning endless story songs in clubs along the California coast, even when he got pretty rough and rambling in the throes of drug addiction in the late 1980s. What started as a crush turned into deep respect, and that feeling I have with only a few artists: sympatico.

I was in the packed crowd at Steve’s comeback show at New York’s Bottom Line at the end of the 1990s, and watched every eye in that room get damp. Since then, he’s become more clear-headed, though no less fiery, as he’s settled into the role of “hard-core troubadour” — a Renaissance man who has a book of short stories, a play and years of impassioned anti-death penalty activism under his silver-black beard.

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Her name is Katie White. Not Stacey, not Jane, not “her” or any of that other stuff she rap-sings in the wonderfully addictive single “That’s Not My Name.” White is blond, stylish, and when she’s not rockin the mic, she straps on a guitar and fronts the Ting Tings, the critically acclaimed duo straight outta Salford, U.K.

Her dashing drummer, Jules De Martino, supplies backing vocals. Together, the Ting Tings have created a dynamic, fresh sound evoking ’80s hooks at the right moments, all of which earned them a rightful place on year-end Top 10 critics’ lists all over England in 2007.

Only problem is, unless you live in the U.K., you won’t (for now) be able to buy any Ting Tings off iTunes, including “That’s Not My Name.” (But if you make it after the jump, there might be something special awaiting you.)

Speaking of names, in a recent interview with NME — which recently praised the duo as being “by far the best pop band the UK has produced in years” — White explained that the band name comes from an actual person. “I used to work for a girl called Ting Ting. We didn’t really decide to be a band but everybody said they liked us so we decided to pick a name and Ting Ting was it. Then we Googled it and found out that it meant ‘the sound of innovation on an open mind’, so we just thought screw it let’s call us that!”

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Chicago’s CoCoComa has been knocking around for a couple of years, paying its dues with two singles, three split 7-inches and a passel of live performances. The group’s new full-length release on Memphis’ inestimable Goner Records builds on the rough and muddy garage sound they purveyed in their earlier releases, fine-tuning and refining it into a well-produced, full-blown rock ‘n’ roll assault that is as catchy as it is rowdy. With the longest cut clocking in at 3:09 and the shortest at 1:38, there’s not a second of wasted space on this pretense-free party platter. Plaintive, gutsy and original, CoCoComa’s raucous sound is crafted by husband and wife team Bill and Lisa Roe on drums and guitar, respectively, and Mike Fitzpatrick on bass and Farfisa organ. Songs like “Too Tired,” “Ain’t You Had Enough?” “Desperate Situation” and seven others evoke a buoyant atmosphere of despair and frustration that seeps into your ears and won’t let go. This is the best garage record of the year so far, along with Goner’s other recent release by the Carbonas, so get it while it’s hot.

For those going to SXSW, they’ll be playing at the Goner showcase (March 14) and the Parlor (March 15).

– Jason Gelt

Photo: Chris Anderson