Dear Toronto, I’m sorry. It’s just not working out between us, because we’re just in different places in our lives. You’re covered in snow and I’ve moved on — to Texas, where the worst weather disaster I’ve witnessed is that once it was so cold after the sun went down that I thought about putting a sweater on. And I didn’t do it. Instead I watched still more awesome live music, and I don’t even feel guilty. I know, selfish prick. But I am what I am, and right now, what I am is wanting to be at South by Southwest (SXSW) all the time, forever. Sorry.

Mahjongg (Jelly NYC’s Texas Garage, 2pm): Having missed Chicago electro-rock sextet Mahjongg at their showcase proper the night before (though discovering City Center, Fred Thomas of Saturday Looks Good To Me’s melodic yet deliciously abrasive one-man sampler/effects project, was a happy accident), it was bittersweet to catch them the next day playing to almost noone. Their slinky, creative take on danceable rock with yell-along choruses deserves to be widely heard, far more so than most of their rightly-maligned genre. These guys know their way around their gear, and the dusty corners of the italo-disco and synth-pop sections of the record store, so that they avoid clichés — particularly their drummer(s), who really should be in James Murphy’s rolodex.

Motörhead (Stubb’s, 3pm): Seeing Lemmy perform is something you should do before you die. Or he dies, since at 63 the man’s voice at this point could be replaced by sandpaper being scraped over the grill of a microphone. How far behind can the body be? Actually, based on how hard he and his two charges rocked out, with furious versions of “Killed By Death”, “Just Cos You Got The Power” and — wait for it — “Ace Of Spades” (though “Overkill” was actually the last song played) slaying the surprisingly diverse crowd, Lemmy will probably live forever. Fingers crossed, anyway.

Saul Williams (Fader/Levi’s Fort, 5pm): Saul Williams mentioned at least three times that he only had 25 minutes to perform. I’ve never seen him before, but anyone who can maintain the level of intensity he brought to his Fader set is bound to have a dynamite full-length show. His Kelly green blazer and blue face paint might have seemed as gimmicky as his digital pay-what-you-can scheme (or even the concept behind his album The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Niggy Tardust), if his noisy and aggressive electro-glam-punk set, not to mention his apparently sincere cover of U2’s “Sunday Bloody Sunday”, hadn’t proved that he’s for real, maaan. A genuine surprise.

N.E.R.D. (Fader/Levi’s Fort, 9pm): After an excruciatingly long wait while banks of keyboards were assembled, probably the biggest non-baby-boomer celebrity at the festival came bounding out in front of a lusty crowd. Pharrell doesn’t wear a ton of bling or otherwise resemble a music industry figure who has Jay-Z on speed dial, but he’s not what you’d call selfless, and even though there are other people in the band, the set that followed was very much The Pharrell Show with Special Guests. Though he was generous in letting the expensive-sounding session players backing him up get their solo jones on over N.E.R.D.’s nu-metal Fishbone vibe, he also tended to monopolize the crowd’s attention even while the spotlight was on his band or his co-MC Shay. And while the band were plenty tight and got bodies moving, loud but undercooked songs like “Rock Star” and a new one with a chorus that went “All the girls in the line to the bathroom” wore out their welcome. There were hints of the genius that is The Neptunes, but for the most part N.E.R.D. is its own entity and not a uniquely compelling one at that.

Ponytail (Emo’s IV, 11pm): By this point line fatigue had set in, so it was over to the We Are Free label showcase to check two recommended acts and wait for a third to come along. Baltimore quartet Ponytail do the ecstatic-tribal thing fairly well, and they really do appear to enjoy it, especially chirpy singer Molly Siegel who added little more than the occasional yelp, dancing and moral support. It was arresting at times, but you sort of wish they’d lay off the whole play-everything-all-at-once thing that ‘odd bands’ tend towards. Or were they trying to cram an hour’s set into 25 minutes?

Indian Jewelry (Emo’s IV, 12pm): This collective clearly have a few talented members, but the fact that they’ve earned kudos for what is essentially low-grade, needlessly noisy Flowers of Romance-era PiL stretched out over 25 minutes seems more like proof that nepotism exists. Acid-damaged synth squiggles and drum loops can be fun, but we’ll hope Social Registry were tripping when they signed them.

Yeasayer (Emo’s IV, 1am): You could be forgiven for thinking them a jazz fusion band; bassist Ira Wolf Tuton has a formidable but trimmed moustache and plays a fretless electric bass — warning! Warning! — while guitarist/keyboardist Anand Wilder rarely rocks out with power chords, preferring winding trails of melody lines that snake over top of the songs. But if jazz fusion is an influence, they’ve obviously processed it along with ‘70s pop-style vocal harmony as well as various indie rock touchstones. The quartet played the songs from their celebrated All Hour Cymbals disc in total synchronicity, with precision but never lapsing into blandness. You can probably take your prog-loving dad to this, but you might have to get him stoned, and schooled on his Pavement, first.

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