Although this is often forgotten amid the haze of Shiner Bock and BBQ grill fumes, the annual South By Southwest conference is supposed to be work. It is a business convention, after all (the music industry's biggest), on the surface hypothetically no different from networking conventions for medical supply salespeople, dental hygienists, or morticians. Business cards are exchanged, hands are shaken, backs are slapped, industry panels are attended, expense accounts are maxed out, etc. And at the same time, this weeklong whirlwind of conspicuously branded hipster soirees, open bars, and Texas-sized barbeque buffets isn't all that different from the mythical seven-day weekend known to frat boys the world over as "Spring Break" (or "Spriiing Breeeaaak!!!!"). But South By Southwest (or SXSW, as it is affectionately nicknamed by those too lazy to type out the whole thing) is different, because in the end, this much-hyped Texan pow-wow is really all about the music, man. At least to me, it is.

Imagine a rock 'n roll Xanadu where men with flowing Rapunzel tresses, their unspeakably manly bulges straining the seams of their nothing-left-to-the-imagination harlequin unitards, ride unicorns across cocaine-and-glitter-dusted fields as they strum flying-V guitars. Imagine if Andrew W.K. sang like Freddie Mercury on a helium-balloon binge. Imagine Van Halen had replaced Diamond David Lee Roth with the bastard lovechild of Scorpions frontman Klaus Meine and Skid Row pretty-boy Sebastian Bach instead of with Sammy Hagar or Gary Cherone. Or just imagine if Tenacious D weren't a joke band. Hell, imagine if Spinal Tap weren't a joke band.

Well, that was exactly the vibe when righteously reunited rockers the Darkness--who are currently touring the U.S., working on their long-delayed third album, and starring in a hilarious Samsung commercial--returned to their obvious spiritual home, Hollywood's Sunset Strip, this past Sunday to play the House Of Blues, riding up on their white swans with a magnum opus setlist of balls-to-the-wall, Def-Leppardian hair-metal that Rick Allen would probably give his other arm to play.

The original 'Some Girls' cover artFew Rolling Stones albums have held up as sonically, and still sound as gritty and urban and sexy and just downright cool, as their 1978 disco/punk/country/blues masterwork, Some Girls. (Seriously, is there anything as deliciously and decadently sleazy-sounding as Mick totally going OFF at the end of "Shattered," or Keef slurring his way though his bloozy rebel anthem "Before They Make Me Run"?) The album is finally getting a major reissue treatment this month, with a Super Deluxe boxed set that includes two CDs (one consisting of entirely unreleased tracks), a 7-inch vinyl single, a hardback book, a set of postcards, Helmut Newton prints, and a poster. And this is entirely appropriate repackaging for an album known for being as cool on the outside as it was on the inside, with one of the most celebrated and controversial covers of all time.