It’s supposed to hit 92 degrees in Austin today to remind us we’re in Texas. We head to the Smell/olFactory Records/Deathbomb Arc showcase at The Opera, a rustic conglomeration of vintage clothing shops and record stores. Our minds are blown by Oakland’s Nero’s Day at Disneyland (pictured), a one-man band that we can only describe as the Franz Lizst of thrash synthesis with a touch of Harlem Globetrotters. With two beat-to-hell samplers, “Nero” goes into an epileptic seizure, channeling the last 500 years of music into chopped fuzzy blasts, squeally stabs, and the occasional new rave thump. Hunched over the keys and bouncing to the micro-rythmic beats, he seems entirely in control of this sonic chaos. We hold our breath as he dribbles his keyboards so hard that they fly off their stands to be recaptured just before they slam to the ground, never missing a note. Also on the bill, LA’s Hard Place (pictured) kick out their lusty flourescent pop hits with a level of energy and precision that our sun-beaten bodies can only envy.

Time stands still at the JellyNYC garage, a four-level parking garage with multiple sponsor parties. With DJ stages in every corner we shuffle back and forth waiting for something to happen. After sundown Australia’s Cut Copy take the stage with their pleasant late-New Order dance groove. The alternation between being a rock band and a fist-pumping dj feels a little gimmicky to us but the crowd seems to like it.

On the East side at the Blender After Hours Party, we contemplate throwing ourselves onto broken glass in protest of the painfully misplaced band that has overstayed their welcome onstage. We imagine them to be what Godsmack would sound like if we had any idea what Godsmack sounded like. Luckily, Chicago’s Cool Kids (pictured) quickly take the stage, exorcising the creepy white man energy with funny glasses and a fun Da La Soul kind of vibe. Thank you Cool Kids. We get the call that No Age and Crystal Antlers are playing a secret show on the Lamar Pedestrian Bridge so we hightail it, once again missing Diplo’s headlining set.

We determine that at SXSW “secret” has a different meaning. Masses of the peg-legged and unwashed descend on the bridge from all directions. This is the largest group gathering we’ve seen beyond the 6th Street/Red River intersection. We weasel our way towards the source of the music for a photo op, finding ourselves dangerously close to checking the temperature of the Barton Springs river water below. Beer bottles start to fly and the bridge is bouncing beneath us. At 3am, our inflatable mattress sounds like a better deal than a trip to the emergency room.

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 are filing daily reports from SXSW.