EDITOR'S NOTE: The Weekly Volcano is one of forty-some alt-press papers around the country to co-sponsor SXSW. Because of this, we get to send scribes to Austin, Tex. every March for the annual music festival orgy. This year Owen Taylor is our correspondent (or something). He submitted this letter to Volcano Editor Matt Driscoll earlier today.

Hey Driscoll, 

What fresh new hell is this you've sent me into? There's free booze and women everywhere, and I have a special little lanyard that gets me into damn near everything ... It's all being documented, simulcast, streamed, uploaded and imbibed. I'm cursing my mother's rapidly increasing aptitude at technological innovation. She will surely see something someday to officially disown me. Assume I will eventually blame you for this. 

This is a people watcher's wet dream. This is Graceland for the social networker, the awkward interactive debauchery of industry people and full time drunks, all politely convening to divvy up the rotting cheese of the music industry. Everything is sponsored, from the trashcans to the low-level sexual harassment and paralytic alcoholism. I've seen plenty of hands on asses, celebrities being retarded, and hordes of nervous, finicky bloggers obviously new to the game. You can see it a mile away at the registrant's tent, actually believing their complementary drink card is only good for one small beverage, and not all the vodka and Dorito's they can shove in their free tote bag.

It's muggy and gray. I've slept with the windows open in my clothes every night thus far, improving from van to couch to full-blown bed in only three days! They have a keg of High Life in the press lounge. You'll know where to find me. 

Yours,

O

Mr. Muthafuckin eXquire on the streets moving between one of his dozen showcases this year.

Danny Brown, rapper. (Not some crazed hobo wearing a sequin dress.)

Playing with fire.

Pickster One, Moombahton Stuntin

Olympia's own Black Top Demon rocking one of the several food truck corrals.