People-watching is a rewarding pastime in Austin. However, in 30 degree Texan heat, you often find yourself traipsing around town in a slumped, siesta-induced daze.
When an obese, middle-aged man, slathered in sweat, passes you on the street, it's generally nothing memorable. Unless, he is being led by a scampering ferret.

The plump 45-year-old came in to view on 6th Street. He had Harvey Weinstein’s lazy left eye. His lips held a snarl. He was wearing a pair of denim overalls, two sizes too small. He wore no shirt underneath, occasionally exposing his puffy nipples from behind the chafing denim braces. It was hard to distinguish whether his drooping moobs were lactating a brownish liquid, a crusty pus, or if it was dried blood from excessive abrading.

With his stumpy fingers, he clasped a six foot long, bright baby-blue leash, with a cinnamon and cream, dark-eyed ferret on the end. The mammal was a few feet in front of him, dashing from side to side, its nose buried to ground, only sporadically lifting its head to see if there were humans, or objects to avoid.

It's at this moment that you realise you have come to a complete stop on the path, to gawk at this creature, as it sniffs around your shoes. Seconds pass, then the rascal decides it would rather sniff the bottom base of the adjacent public rubbish bin rather than your Nike Cortez’s. It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of my scent, and that hurt.

@rockinfoed pic.twitter.com/P0IeMZFrvw

— Ed Murphy (@rockinfoed) March 13, 2018

As my eyes were glued to the floor, I hadn't noticed the ferret's 'Daddy' had also stopped in front of me. Big Pa leaned his damp face towards mine, and in his creepiest S-Town, John B. McLemore accent, gently whispered the panting words, "I bet you wish you could touch it."

I couldn't be 100 percent sure what 'it' was, but it didn't matter; my answer was going to be the same. No, to touching the scuttling fur-ball; no, to touching its blue leash; and no, to touching sweaty daddy. I grinned irrationally and hastily declined the invitation.

To which he assuredly replied, "I know you wanna."

Worryingly, Daddy may have sussed my turmoil before I did. It was unnerving to be read so easily. My poker face was disintegrating. Like so many Irish people, I’d refused without giving the offer proper consideration.

Though it quickly sank in that the childhood adage of 'not accepting gifts from strangers', was developed for situations precisely like this.

The Blind Suns ? #sxsw pic.twitter.com/UxyF0faUKR

— Ed Murphy (@rockinfoed) March 13, 2018

Meanwhile, if you want to experience the sexiest band of SXSW 2018, cast your gaze, and especially, your ears, no further than The Blind Suns. The Polish-French three piece dazzled a packed Hotel Vegas strange brew crowd during their bejeweled set.

Dorota Kuszewska & Romain Lejeune juggled singing duties and the band's pop-surf guitar-haze melodies.

Drummer, Jeremy Mondolfo, was the pillar for what turned out to be an outstanding showing. He seamlessly drove the group's rhythm, allowing the chemistry between the front two to flourish.

If it was Dorota's vocals that enticed you upstairs to the bedroom, it was Lejeune's lip-biting guitar solos that were the final seduction required to let yourself go.

Catch one of their multiple Austin shows while you can. SXSW gig details on the band's Facebook banner