SCHOOL'S IN SESSION INSPIRED BY THEIR ELDERS, THE KIDS AT THE SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST MUSIC FESTIVAL ARE ALL RIGHT.

Byline: Billy Altman Correspondent

The words came cascading out of Little Richard with signature sparkle - equal parts revivalist preacher and stand-up comic.

``The grass may look greener on the other side of the fence, but it's just as hard to cut!'' exclaimed the rock 'n' roll legend during his keynote comments on fame and fortune at the 2004 South by Southwest Music Festival and Conference held last week in Austin, Texas.

``Learn to count your money yourself,'' he cautioned a Convention Center crowd filled with aspiring performers, `` 'cause if you don't, someone's gonna count it for you, and soon there ain't gonna be nothin left to count.''

The 71-year-old Richard also had sound artistic advice for any of the more than 1,000 acts making the annual trek to Texas to showcase their talents at SXSW. ``Remember there's nothing new under the sun; you're just bringing out what's already there in your own way,'' said the man responsible for some of the earliest and, still, the most fiery rock 'n' roll ever created.

While the recording industry continues to grapple with the weight of corporate shuffling and file-sharing problems, the SXSW festival - in which more than 50 venues present on-the-hour sets by different performers from 8 p.m. until 2 a.m. for four straight nights (not counting numerous afternoon and/or after-hours mini-sets) - continues to soar on the strength of the indefatigable spirit and energy generated by live music.

Fittingly, in a year sporting an appearance by Little Richard (``I'm so old school the building wasn't even there yet''), SXSW '04 seemed to be about history: preserving it, respecting it and, yes, perhaps even making it.

Performers with resumes stretching back through each of the past five decades of rock, country, folk, blues and world music mingled on stage and off with young artists whose work more often than not displayed a healthy understanding that the best music exists in neither a vacuum nor a bubble. Continuity and community were unmistakable themes. Here's a sampling of some of the voices that came through the loudest and clearest:

Gary U.S. Bonds: Responsible for some of the greatest party records of all time (``New Orleans,'' ``Quarter to Three''), Bonds disappeared from the charts for 20 years before fan Bruce Springsteen - greatly influenced by Bonds' sound of sax and pounding drums - helped revive the r&b vocalist's career by penning and producing his 1982 hit, ``This Little Girl.''

That another 20 years has elapsed without another hit has done nothing to diminish the power or the infectiousness of Bonds' music: Previewing material from an upcoming new CD - titled, appropriately enough, ``Back in 20'' - his showstopper was, of all things, a searing rendition of his old friend Otis Redding's ``I've Got Dreams to Remember.'' School is out? School is in.

Jedd Hughes: You'd hardly think a 21-year-old hailing from a place called Quorn in southern Australia could help restore one's faith in country music, but singer-guitarist Hughes has enough Americana-obsessed energy to fuel a fleet of Qantas planes.

Transplanted to Nashville after studying in a Texas college bluegrass program (can't make this stuff up), Hughes got a break when Patty Loveless hired him as lead guitarist for her band in the ``Down From the Mountain'' tour.

With touchstones ranging from mainstreamer Vince Gill (his twangy-clean instrumental work) to alt-country MVP Buddy Miller (his rock-leaning songwriting), Hughes gets bonus points for a breakneck-paced version of Gram Parsons' ``Luxury Liner.''

Nellie McKay: Even younger than Hughes (she'll be 20 in April), McKay is from the other end of the musical universe - and maybe another planet.

Outfitted in retro-smart business attire, and coming on stage carrying a kitschier-than-thou Las Vegas handbag, this New York-based singer- songwriter spins out lyrics that read like Suzanne Vega after several gallons of Tom's Diner coffee - detached, mile-a-minute internal monologues about everything on a young urban girl's mind: lousy jobs (``Work Song''), one-sided relationships (``Won't U Please B Nice''), dependable companionship (``Dog Song'') and the endless search for a perfect soulmate (``Clonie''). Her piano playing is just as flighty: boogie woogie blues mixed with avant-garde jazz and Randy Newman ragtime. Let's just say she's dizzy, Gillespie.

The Thrills: Owing, one supposes, to several West Coast references on their debut album, ``So Much for the City,'' as well as their penchant for crafting songs with actual melodies and harmonies, it seems like everything written about this serious young Dublin group invokes comparisons to '60s L.A. folk-rock icons the Byrds.

To be honest, you'll hear more Byrds in, say, Blue Oyster Cult than in the Thrills - though what this quintet does have in common with both bands is a philosophy that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Watching the bassist and guitarist switching instruments midset, and hearing keyboardist Kevin Horan anchoring the sound, one picks up on the vibe of another classic outfit: the Band.

Carmen Consoli: It's nearly impossible to convey the visual impression imparted by this Sicilian singer-songwriter, but we'll try - especially since everything she sang was in Italian and we haven't the faintest idea what any of it was about.

No matter. Passionately strumming her flamenco-accented nylon-stringed acoustic guitar, the spaghetti straps of her dress slipping down over the dark-haired chanteuse's shoulders whenever she pogo'd (which was frequently), and backed by two statuesque blondes playing violin and cello as well as an electric guitarist, Consoli seemed to have emerged straight out of a Dario Argento film. Mesmerizing - and scary as hell.

The Por Vida Project: Befitting Austin's well-deserved reputation as one of the most musically diverse cities in the United States, it seemed somehow appropriate that our most memorable moment of SXSW '04 should come courtesy of the music of local hero Alejandro Escovedo.

Not that the onetime member of San Francisco's seminal '70s punk band the Nuns or the pioneering early '80s alt-country group Rank & File played a single note. Currently battling hepatitis C and ever-mounting medical bills, Escovedo's cause has been taken up by musical friends and colleagues, who have banded together for a string of benefit concerts throughout the country and are in the midst of recording a tribute album, ``Por Vida,'' to be released this summer.

A very fortunate few of us were treated to an intimate preview of this double CD, with live performances by an astounding array of artists that included power-popper Chris Stamey, punk stalwarts Jon Langford and Sally Timms of the Mekons, rockabilly filly Rosie Flores and ex-Velvet Undergrounder John Cale.

All offered a song of Escovedo's and a song of their own, none more gripping than longtime musical phantom Bob Neuwirth.

Bob Dylan's former sidekick brought the small audience to pin-drop silence, first with Escovedo's haunting ballad, ``Rosalie,'' and then with ``The Call'' - a song he dedicated to its subject, Kris Kristofferson, who just happened to be on hand. Watching a smiling Kristofferson knowingly nod his head as the lyrics sailed by, one remembered it was Neuwirth who was responsible for turning Janis Joplin on to ``Me and Bobby McGee'' all those years ago.

It was a formidable little piece of history from the very heart of SXSW.

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Little Richard tells aspiring musicians at the South by Southwest Music Festival to keep their eye on the monkey.