The unusual suspects

At Slobberbone--and at Cowboys and Indians on Friday night, at Randy Newman and Iggy Pop at the New Orleans Klezmer All-Stars on Thursday, at the Fugees and Tommy Stinson's Perfect and Butch Hancock on Saturday--a few people heard and danced and understood. They stopped looking over their shoulders to see if anyone cool had walked into the room--well, cooler than the person they were talking to at the time, anyway--and stopped handing out cards long enough to let the music fill up the room and drown them underneath the current. Slobberbone was the best band at SXSW that night...well, at that minute, anyway, because no one thought for a second they should be anywhere else.

This is how South by Southwest ends: At 3 a.m. Sunday, Gary Louris and Golden Smog-Jayhawks bassist Marc Perlman are still talking about Bobby Patterson, how they're gonna get him a deal and not forget him. They're exhausted after doing an in-store performance and another at the conference trade show that day, and they're trying to find more free booze at the Spin magazine after-hours party in the Hyatt's Presidential Suite. They're reduced to drinking warm Beefeater gin from plastic cups, proof that the backstage pass doesn't work in real life.

The room is jammed with hundreds of people filing into the bathroom where only a few beers are being kept on ice. Musicians of all sorts are playing near the front, and it doesn't sound half bad--either that, or everything starts sounding good after 12 hours of drinking. Revered British pop-rock-folk songwriter Robyn Hitchcock, formerly of Soft Boys and critical acclaim, is holding court during this party because he is rock and roll's resident wise guy and a favorite around these parts during SXSW--and because he's a great awful drunk.

Hitchcock, who is by now slurring his words in an elegant way only Brits can manage, is introduced to Louris, who says hello and that the two men have met before. "We were on the same plane last year," Louris explains. "You were wearing a white suit and reading a book," he goes on, hoping to spark something behind those dull eyes. "I'm Gary Louris, from the Jayhawks."

Hitchcock pulls back, twists his face into a grimace. "Jerry Lewis? Your name is Jerry Lewis?" Free beer for everyone.