Gillian Welch must have read our earlier post about Friday's redheads, Patty Griffin and Jenny Lewis. She and partner David Rawlings took the theme and ran with it in their cowboy boots. First there was "Red Clay Halo," from their touchstone album Time (The Revelator), and later there was "Knuckleball Catcher," a new song about Red Sox pitchers and the men behind the plate who've got only "one job to do."

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Sharon Jones, with a little help from a new friend (Dawn Jones-Garcia)

The best fan-participation moment came during Sharon Jones’ set, when not one but two different random slobs got onstage to dance with the funky soul siren’s set. The first guy was a bearded, burly dude who came out from backstage and busted some impressive moves, not a bit intimidated by the powerful Miss Jones. A couple songs later, she called up a guy in khaki shorts and glasses who looked like he was interrupted from his hacky sack game and who got down on his knees and totally hammed it up. I later overheard the bearded guy swearing to somebody in the media tent that he hadn’t been a plant. Click here for more...

Foo Fighters (Dawn Jones-Garcia)

I want to like the Foo Fighters, I really do. Since Nirvana, Dave Grohl has always come off as a really likeable guy for a rock megastar with a gift for catchy hooks and big rock choruses. But about a half hour was all I needed before the Foos’ songs started running together, and the band’s flying hair and rock poses started to look like watching a few friends play Rock Band on the easy setting. Click here for more...

The Foo Fighters performed Sunday night at ACL. (Dawn Jones-Garcia)

Don't miss our slideshow of select shots from our entire photo team -- but to delve a little deeper in to ACL's last day, check out more work by the classically trained Dawn Jones-Garcia here after the jump.

The Raconteurs performed Sunday night at ACL. (Dawn Jones-Garcia)

Look for plenty more ACL coverage trickling in here this morning, as we continue posting photos and show recaps from the big finish at Zilker Park. More of the Raconteurs after the jump, and shots from other shows coming soon. Read more here.

It's one thing to get a band tattoo. It's quite another to appropriate as your own makeshift family crest.

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The closest the MySpace generation will get to its own Bruce Springsteen is Tom Gabel, lead singer/guitarist of Gainesville’s Against Me! And if by any chance you aren’t swayed by the comparisons to the Boss, then he and his band could also be the Clash, circa Give Em Enough Rope. It’s working class rock and roll for the kids who make your morning coffee and build your fences.

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Erykah Badu (Dawn Jones-Garcia)

With all apologies to Beck and Sharon Jones, nobody I’ve seen has completely owned the crowd from beginning to end the way Erykah Badu did yesterday afternoon, from the raucous applause that greeted her as she slowly and confidently strode on stage during the funky soul of “New Amerykah” to closing burner “Honey.” Click here for more...

The Black Keys performed Saturday night at ACL. (Mark C. Austin)

Fogerty, Roky Erickson, Beck and more... photos after the jump.

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The Octopus Project (Dawn Jones-Garcia)

Austin-based electronic rockers The Octopus Project took the stage Sunday at ACL.More scenes from their show here.

As this guy can tell you, by the third day, it's all about staying cool. (Dawn Jones-Garcia)

As the final hours of ACL tick away, we salute all those still standing. It's been a hot mess of a festival, and those in it for the long haul had to get creative if they could to keep cool, and keep conscious. In extreme situations like this, when your mind goes, the results can be terrifying. Read more here.

What do you know? I'm feeling much more civilized, and all it took was a brief trip to the VIP Grove to see how the other half lives. The festival's sponsors and other honored guests - as in people willing to shell out about 600 clams on top of the $170 three-day ACL pass - are privy to all sorts of amenities: free food from tony Austin restaraunts, full bar, Internet lounge, mini-spa including masseuse, free cowboy hat from Blackstone wine merchants and about half the trees in Zilker Park. Guess $600 buys a lot of shade.

The only drawback is that it's kind of hard to see any music when you're schmoozing with the high rollers - who are dressed an awful lot like everyone else here - unless you're happy witih whoever's on the nearby Dell stage. Against Me! was during my little sojurn, and the new Clash didn't disappoint. (My old boss, Austin Chronicle publisher Nick Barbaro and his wife Susan Moffat, were about to go watch the Floridian politico-punks, taking care to make sure son Zeke didn't spy them rocking out.)

I think I'll stick with my little media wristband; over the weekend it's been no big deal to look up from the laptop and see Sharon Jones or Scott Biram walk by. Still, I think I may go back later for that massage. - Chris Gray

Running on fumes, I'm pretty sure I've started hallucinating. I keep looking for tomorrow's schedule and can't seem to find it anywhere. Surely it has nothing to do with the Butthole Surfers scorched-earth reunion show at Stubb's - they closed with "The Shah Sleeps In Lee Harvey's Grave"; next month's Meridian show is going to be a corker - Austin's smokin' Lost Soul Revue at Club de Ville, or this afterparty at a house across from Stubb's where members of Heartless Bastards, the Black Keys, the Kills, Spoon and a bunch of people who work for C3 Presents engaged each other in a spirited game of Last Man Standing. It was a draw.

Christ.

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Remember when we had a beach in Galveston? That was awesome.

Man, just take 'em off. All my repressed junior high football jock tendencies (fantasies?) started coming back and I wanted to steal his lunch money.

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Drive-By Truckers: Early voting suggests this is the set to beat. The afternoon's first layer of grime was damn near inviting on opener "That Man I Shot," from their most recent, Brighter Than Creation's Dark. But we weren't sure about Patterson Hood's preacher-man monologue on "18 Wheels of Love." Someone said he could have used an editor. Another was much harsher, calling for a censor to flat-out silence his hillbilly talk.

Man Man: David Byrne's group wore white for fashion and interpretive-dance reasons. These face-painted warriors wore white because that's what was issued at the loony bin they're on the loose from. Any notion that they're not musicians -- just kids in a romper room, banging on gongs -- can be dispelled with a viewing of their Pitchfork.tv "Daytripping" session, wherein they clang bottles and set off firecrackers to conjure their radical Rabbit Habbits album.

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