Photo by Jordan Graber

I was showing Houston to a couple of visitors in April and I found myself more proud of my city than I'd ever been. We were downtown and they saw Discovery Green under a vivid blue sky while every inch of the park was bursting with reds and pinks and green. There were people downtown, too, walking with dogs and children and lolling on lawns with lovers. We went to lunch at Niko Niko's, packed with people of all types, and took a trip to Central Market, where the billowing aisles of variety always stun newcomers. It made me proud to show off Houston, which I'd never felt before in all of my years of living here.

I felt the same pangs of pride this afternoon at Summer Fest. The hill was already crowded with thousands of people by early afternoon, there to watch another bang-up, sweaty set by the Wild Moccasins. Over at the Dos Equis stage, I was hypnotized along with a few hundred others as Sideshow Tramps did its signature Lady Vodka jam, dripping with sensual energy. The banners at the bottom of the stage were emblazoned with the face of The Most Interesting Man in the World, but I wondered if Tramps' front man Craig Kinsey might just beat out the swarthy old guy if put to the test. Women go wild in his swaggering, crowd-whipping presence, which is somehow part Bob Dylan, part Mick Jagger. And imagine the stories that hat of his could tell if it could speak. Sideshow Tramps is nothing short of a hometown treasure and Kinsey is the reason we can't look away.

Photo by Sara Cress: Craig Kinsey of Sideshow Tramps.

Tyagaraja, the next act on the Dos Equis stage, seems to have expanded his band and upgraded to a fancier incense to burn on the edge of the stage (it smelled nice, I'd like to buy some for my home.) Every show by the soul-rock singer is a fancy affair, with offerings and art and other enticements. Today's enticement was candy and fruit being lobbed from the stage at the audience. A peach rolled by my foot and the guy next to me shrugged and picked it up. It was weird. The set itself was a bit long on the psychedelia and long-windedness, short on what Tyagaraja does best: singing snappy soul-rock songs. Once the sitar came out, I was done. I've been transfixed at many a set by this guy, but today just wasn't one of them.

I caught just a few minutes of a set by music-festival veterans Miniature Tigers, a band from either Phoenix (says Wikipedia) or Brooklyn (says MySpace), who have been to CMJ and will be at Lollapalooza later this year. They're one of those bands at the start of their toil, relegated to the tiny 29-95 stage far from the main-stage action. But their toil will probably be worth it, because pretty harmonies and buoyant pop are bound to be loved. A tumble down the hill brought me to the Ra Ra Riot set on the main stage. I liked the band, thought it sounded cute and fun and Shins-y, but a little like Miniature Tigers.

After the Ra Ra Riot set, there was a bit of scheduling genius offered in the way of local speed-metal gods Golden Axe taking the stage to a sea of thousands. I can't say for sure that the band has never played to this many people, but I liked to imagine it hadn't and that Summer Fest made this awesome rock-out moment possible. It's possible that not everyone thought it was awesome -- I saw more than a few quizzical brows -- but it was awesome.

A shrill Kid Sister and her incessant shout-outs started the crowd dancing, Detroit Cobras sounded great but was essentially a lull as everyone waited -- drunk, high and impatient -- for the night's headliner, Girl Talk.

Photo by Jordan Graber: Partying with toilet paper during Girl Talk.

We all joked that set-up time for Girl Talk ought to be a breeze; plug in a laptop and go. But there was the requisite anticipation time, a time when teenagers (and people who probably look like teenagers to me because I'm so damn old now at 32) who seem to have no kind of sense at festivals and think that there's space in the dense sea of sweaty bodies. Space for their sweaty bodies. They kept weaving around us, in front of us, behind us, in an attempt to get closer to the stage to, I don't know, watch a guy with a laptop jump around to songs he didn't write.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying Girl Talk isn't entertaining. The spectacle of dozens of partiers on stage, the toilet-paper cannons, the balloons swung overhead, the concert lighting, the best riffs of all of your favorite songs past and present -- it's a hell of a fun party. I'm just saying that when I got outside of the scary mass of people near the front and out to a place where I could feel the cool breeze on my skin, I was much happier.

Photo by Sara Cress: The scene during Girl Talk.

I trekked back up the hill and sat far away from the stage as the party raged on. Tens of thousands of arms were flailing in the air and I knew the Free Press' work on this thing had been worth it. Who knows where all these kids are on those many slow nights when a touring band can't pack Walter's, but at least they came out tonight. I expect there will be even more tomorrow.