But It Was Saturday Night. I Guess That Makes It All Right

Name drop alert, Volume MCLXIV:

Shortly after midnight on Saturday night/Sunday morning, I found myself in a van with Beth Orton, Martha Wainwright, Ed Harcourt, Romeo from the Magic Numbers, and two other musician types, en route to an address in suburban Austin. The house's owner had told Romeo to make himself at home even though she wouldn't be there for a while. After about 20 minutes, we arrived at what can only be called a mansion (or perhaps a McMansion, given that it was fairly new) filled with beautiful photos, Restoration Hardware vintage furnishings, a grand piano, a few bottles of Veuve Cliquot on ice, a grand piano, and a very chill 14-year-old boy, who was apparently accustomed to receiving his mother's musician guests. Before long, people were trading songs around the piano, passing guitars back and forth, drinking champagne, and having an incredibly mellow, beautiful, impromptu party that served as both climax and denouement to SXSW. The only bummer (I think) came when I played piano to accompany a group singalong to "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down." I should not play piano in front of people. It was the first time in a long time--maybe ever--that I felt completely outclassed in a roomful of singers. MW in particular was unbelievable. She laid waste to us all. Romeo and his sister were no slouches, either, but Martha was like a being of pure light when she sang. More people came later and the night became more raucous, but the first couple of hours were as magical as any I've spent. La la la.