Arriving at Austin airport, we step over the bodies of sleeping troubadours clutching their guitar cases in the fetal position. We can only imagine what twisted series of connecting flights has led them to choose the floor of the baggage claim to catch up on their sleep. Men with fedoras, suspicious facial hair, and ukeleles strapped to their back swarm around the turnstile, shuddering as their duct-taped roadcases are violently spat out of the chute. Despite the hardships of travel, there's a vibe of anticipation and comraderie in the air, a sense of something about to begin. That something is  the annual music industry shindig known as South by Southwest.

Having missed the deadline for press credentials and shown neither love nor sympathy from the powers that be, Arthur has decided to send us anyway. After all, we have a free place to stay. We don't come empty-handed; we're armed with several hundred copies of the current issue (No. 28, with Diamanda Galas on the cover) in a suitcase and we are determined to get them into the hands of the people. Without the coveted press badge, wristband or VIP neckbrace, we feel like trespassers. Not having been to SXSW since we were sprouts living here in the heyday of the ‘90s, before campaigns like "Keep Austin Weird" were necessary, we marvel at the new high-rise buildings and elaborate sponsorship of all events.

We head out into the surprisingly chilly air, having invited a stranded LA musician we found loitering outside baggage claim to join us for the day until her band arrives later that evening. It's not until we're all loaded up in the car and heading downtown when we realize that our guest is not who we thought she was and a case of mistaken identity has occurred. This being the mellow capital of the universe, we roll with it and head toward destination #1, that tasty shrine to the king himself, Chuy's Mexican restaurant. For those that do not know, Chuy's is the culmination of the kitschy aesthetic that so predominates Austin eating establishments. Not only does Elvis peer out from every square inch of wall space, but you can also scoop chips and salsa out of the trunk of a classic Cadillac. The waitresses are friendly and the food fills an empty part of your soul you didn't know you had.

 Day one of "South by" has us waiting in line to get into the Fader-Levi's party where we're greeted by a gang protesting Levi's manufacturing practices. We raise our fists in solidarity as the afternoon sun cooks us into jerky. Once inside we snatch up free waters just in time for K Records' Jeremy Jay (pictured below) to launch into a set of neo-romantic crooners about winter activities and hot chocolate, supported by his unexpectedly punchy band.

Also in the Fader line-up, The Kills kinda killed it with their amped-up chicken scratch lover's quarrel blues. What they lack in songwriting, VV and Hotel make up with on-stage electricity, which is impressive from a band that doesn't even look like they should be awake during daylight.

The Los Angeles-based "Clean Air Clear Stars" Art and Music for Global Harmony set up camp with Austin's Art Outside in the Enchanted Forest, a winding stretch of woods and riverbed decorated to look like the train carrying the set of the new Road Warrior movie had derailed. At the mouth of the entrance two dudes set up a drum set and keyboard face to face on top of some kind merchant booth where they proceeded to wail at each other as the entire structure threatened to topple. We didn't catch their names but there was a cardboard sign in front that said "glasses."

Proceeding through the forest we were a little puzzled by the incongruence of hippies with spray paint cans but we'll pass it off as overzealousness this time. We were watching New York's Young Lords swagger through their version of Exile on Main Street in a highly pastoral setting when a demonic gurgle summoned us to another corner of this strange marijuana-scented forest. This turned out to be Austin droneheads Headdress (pictured below) performing some kind of Crowley ritual involving three notes, two beards, one wah-wah pedal, and a sleeping dog.

After all this primitivism, we ended day one with what will surely be remembered as the most civilized event of the week, SXSW's first "new music" concert curated by minimalist composer Steve Reich which took place in the acoustically lovely St. David's Episcopal Church. The program consisted of work by Elena Kat-Chermin, John Adams, Elliot Carter, Michael Torke, as well as many of Reich's own syncopation-mad pieces for guitar, drums, marimba, wood blocks, bongos, and clarinet. Located just a block from 6th street, you could hear the heavy riffage resonating through downtown but it never broke the performer's steely concentration. As a gesture to the spirit of the festival, they even added spooky mood lights that alternated vibrant colors in sync with the music. Reich, a shadowy figure in the back corner of the room, may have even been at the controls.

Afterwards, as we peeled the parking ticket off our host's car and the chaos of the streets began to filter back into our consciousness, we realized it would be all earplugs from hereon out.

Molly Frances and Mark Frohman are the genius art directors of Arthur Magazine, as well as being major editorial contributors to the hippie rag. They will be filing daily reports from SXSW.