In 2005 We Are Scientists used their first South by Southwest festival appearance to spawn their superstardom. Writer Sophia Varoumas gets to the bottom of how these guys have dealt with the fanfare, catered it to their interests in film, and why they've waved so long to major record labels.

Straight Edge.

It's a term that shouldn't be uncommon if you've kept up with the punk scene of the last 20+ years. Though its definition may leave you slightly boggled.

Here's a lesson you can marker up on the front of a blank CD. If you work hard enough and are willing to make a few gig-concessions, you can live as an unsigned musician in Philly. Just ask the guys from Up The Chain.

Even in the information age Iceland remains a curiosity to most Americans. This tiny island nation, sitting in the North Atlantic, roughly halfway between Great Britain and Greenland, is home to, at most, 330,000 inhabitants. Until the country's banking system collapsed a little over a year ago, we Americans knew very little about Iceland except the rumor that many of its adults believe in elves, that it supplies a large proportion of competitors to strong man competitions broadcast on ESPN, Björk, and Sigur Rós.

Up in the urban-rustic wilds of Fishtown, Rob Garcia and Sarah Everton - AKA Reading Rainbow - make some of Philadelphia's best-loved new music out of the basement studio of their cozy home.

When Boston quartet Mean Creek are asked what the best part of South by Southwest is, they promptly reply: "Cheap beer and cheap tacos."

Though it's not all about ingestion.

The first thing you hear when you pop in Bells Bells Bells' new album, A Ghost Could Live Here, is the heavy, reverbed fingerplucks of Kevin Fassett's (a fitting word might be...) axe, coming at you with the apathetic force of a horror villain.