AUSTIN, Texas (by Greg Barr) - Having spent four days in search of the best music that the 1,300 bands assembled at the South by Southwest music conference have to offer, it was kind of refreshing in a way that on my final night of heavy drinking late Saturday while tromping up and down Austin’s Sixth Street that some old-school punk bands were just what I needed to sober up from this extended musical hangover.

Earlier in the day, I saw a couple of bands that, putting it politely, sucked. Canada's Whitey Houston - consisting of a drummer and bassist - showed that they do not have even one tiny morsel of talent when compared to, say, the artfully noisy Canadian drum-bassist band, Death From Above 1979. I can see why Whitey Houston has a third member, a hot brunette in dual ponytails wearing an extremely short shirt and platform boots who plays maracas and smiles a lot. Unfortunately, even this nice distraction does not hide the fact that the music is crap.

But late that night, inside the grimy, dark Beerland club - now there's an appropriate name - several bands on San Francisco's Gearhead punk label were kicking ass and taking names. I was a gleeful, willing participant. Though Gitogito Hustler, the all-chick band from Japan, were merely passable, the set kicked way, way up several notches when Canadian punk band the Million Dollar Marxists (among my top five for best band name at SXSW) took to the stage.

Vocalist Luke Martin seemed on a mission to break stuff, as Limp Bizkit's Fred Durst once said. Martin swung from a microphone cord wrapped around a ceiling beam, tore down the wall-sized SXSW banner from behind the stage and wore it like a cape. He danced briefly with a hot chick in the front row, stuck his head up under the shirt of a photographer and then yanked my SXSW badge from around my neck and wore it for the rest of the show. He pretty much knocked over every mike stand on stage while repeatedly slamming his own mike to the ground. I'm presuming he gave the sound man a big tip.

As for the Ottawa band's actual music, well, it never really took a back seat to the histrionics. M$M's punk is definitely their father's punk. Today's horde of Warped Tour pop-punksters are really just shamateur emo bands that turn up a little louder, and few play punk like its heyday in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

Next up was Amsterdam band NRA, also old-school in its approach but also in years, considering the band has been around since 1989. With several Dutch fans in the audience, the band roared through its set and made repeated references to Holland's legal hash and marijuana bars. (Note to self: have secretary schedule fact-finding mission to Amsterdam this month).

Finally, after I wipe off more beer from my head spilled by overzealous fans, at the stroke of midnight it was time for the trio everyone came to see, Tokyo's Electric Eel Shock, which previewed tracks from its forthcoming CD, Beat Me.

Drummer Tomoharu Ito strode to the stage with Black Sabbath's Iron Man playing over the sound system, wearing only a strategically placed white sock over his own electric eel, as the band started playing along with the song and finished it off by themselves.

Ito performed, somehow, using two sticks in each hand held like chopsticks, and stood up repeatedly to flair his white sock around. The star of the show, tiny guitarist Aki Morimoto stood atop an extra speaker cabinet placed on stage so fans at the back could actually see him. He shredded through the usual punk chords while screaming out cheery sing-a-long ditties such as "Bastard," but pulled out Van Halen and Metallica style guitar solos at will whenever he felt the urge.

"You rike hairy metal?," Morimoto screamed out at one point. Take a wild guess at what the crowd, all of whom have thrust their hands in the air in the double-horn salute, yelled back.

From there, I rushed across the street to Room 710 just in time to see Richmond, Virginia beer-and-weed rockers Alabama Thunderpussy (not to be confused with Nashville Pussy, playing on the other side of town) start their set at the Relapse Records showcase, and I'm thinking, what’s with the nearly-naked drummer thing? ATP's tattooed drummer is wearing only a small black thong, but thankfully keeps his electric eel to himself. This band of hair farmers seriously rawks, despite the fact that vocalist Johnny Weills concedes that three days of partying at SXSW has taken its toll. "You motherfuckers have wore me out," he proclaims.

Finally, I find my car and drive about a mile to Momo's to catch the final few songs by another Canadian act, Winnipeg's The Waking Eyes, which at this point, I could use a pair of myself. I ordered another Dos Equis beer to see if that helps. These guys are pretty good too, and I'm impressed to see another young rock band that has decided it's OK not to sound like a carbon copy of every other Clear Channel-endorsed alt-rock band who whine about some girl and have all forgotten that guitar lead breaks exist. The Waking Eyes end the set with a cover of the Beatles' "Come Together," asking anyone in the crowd to join them on stage to sing. It's what SXSW is all about.