Down on the corner
We came to Mercy Lounge for last Wednesday's not-so-secret John Fogerty appearance at the AMA Festival expecting a mere 45-minute set of country covers and maybe a classic or two. Instead, what we got was a near two-hour onslaught of pure rock 'n' roll, played at the highest standard. Immediately upon stepping foot into the club, we could tell this "special surprise guest" appearance by the legendary Creedence Clearwater Revival frontman would be no casual affair: Fogerty and his crew had brought in their own P.A., monitors, consoles and microphones—basically the entire front-of-house and backline setup they would normally use for a 6,000-capacity theater. We were also told that he and his stellar backing band—which would include the likes of Buddy Miller, fiddle savant James Mallory and legendary session drummer Kenny Aronoff—spent three hours sound checking earlier in the afternoon. We couldn't help but feel humbled and giddy to be there.

While most artists who associate themselves with the term "Americana" make us curse the day Ryan Adams was born, a guaranteed Fogerty appearance made it worth sitting through one band (The Rustlanders) that sounded like The Black Crowes, as followed by another (Band of Heathens) that sounded even more like The Black Crowes. Which we guess is totally cool if you like The Black Crowes. Judging by the number of bottle-blonde cougars and dudes who looked like Johnny-Drama-meets-Jesus-Christ we saw, it seemed there were plenty of folks in the house who were ready to shake their money makers.

By the time Fogerty hit the stage, the room was beyond critical mass, and the excitement level shot through the roof as we were collectively bowled over by the 64-year-old Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee's sheer star power. For many in the room, just having been there would've been enough, but the thrill was lost on no one. Immediately, hundreds of AARP members started losing their shit. Shirts came un-tucked, Dockers came off, air guitars came out and hands clapped feverishly off-time. It was quite the Social Security sock-hop.

Currently, Fogerty is promoting his newest release, The Blue Ridge Rangers Rides Again, which—like his 1973 solo debut—is a collection of country and rockabilly covers. Among the Rides Again tracks were glittering versions of John Prine's "Paradise" and Ricky Nelson's "Garden Party," and foot-stompin' takes on The Everly Brothers' "When Will I Be Loved" and Gene Simmons'—not to be confused with the guy in KISS—"Haunted House." Fogerty and his band played each with relentless spirit and heart-warming musical appreciation—which was fitting, considering that Fogerty is the 2009 recipient of an AMA Lifetime Achievement Award for his own work.

And then there were the Creedence classics: "Born on the Bayou," "Down on the Corner," "Who'll Stop the Rain," "Have You Ever Seen the Rain," and a closing epic trifecta of "Bad Moon Rising," "Fortunate Son" and "Proud Mary" that BROUGHT. THE. MOTHER. FUCKING. HOUSE. DOWN. There simply wasn't a bland moment in the set. He played 20 songs, and none of them were George W. Bush's fave "Centerfield." We were blown away. Blown away by his band—who slayed on every song—and by the man himself. Throughout the night, Fogerty's joy was palpable. "I am in hog heaven right now," he claimed midway through the set. His voice sounded as if not a day had passed since Green River was cut, and each of his blistering guitar solos was a balls-out show-stopper. For any lover of rock 'n' roll, it was simply overwhelming to hear such indelible classics played so well and so joyously in such close proximity.

To say John Fogerty and his band are a hard act to follow would be an understatement of epic proportions, so it wasn't even fair to The Dexateens. They took it in stride, though, and came out swinging with all the barroom fury of roadhouse brawl. Their music is more Southern AC/DC than it is Americana, and, consistent with that distinction, they were oppressively loud. Closing out the night were Those Darlins, whose brash pop-abilly was well received by an audience who had finally begun to come back down to earth after an ecstatic, once-in-a-lifetime rock 'n' roll experience.

House music (almost) all night long
An entire storybook capturing the current state of our local indie rock scene could have been written last night. Featuring 10 acts—eight of them local—William Tyler's final house show was quite the way to end an era of epic rock 'n' roll hospitality. The Spin arrived around 6 p.m. to find that we'd only missed Kelli Shay Hix's set and that there were still nine bands to go. Among them were JEFF the Brotherhood, Tim Chad and Sherry, Turbo Fruits, Caitlin Rose and—of course—Nashville's mighty kings of artistic credibility, Lambchop.

It's amazing to realize that seeing the band play at a house party has become an occurrence that we now meet with a feeling of relative normalcy. Kurt Wagner even said (jokingly) that playing house parties is "pretty much all we do now." Frankly, we're still reeling from the tour de force of funk, folk and beauty that Wagner & Co. displayed. Sticking to up-tempo selections, the band—with an eight-man lineup, of course including Tyler himself—kept us dancing to drummer Scott Martin's ceaseless eighth-note grooves, reminding us that they are, indeed, the Kool & the Gang of pensive indie rock. The set was both transcendent and euphoric, catapulting us into an alternate ether-reality.

Given the number of bands slated to perform, there were two "stages"—one upstairs, and another downstairs—for this little Tyler-roo. The first band to play upstairs was Air Waves, a Brooklyn trio whose poppy, no-frills take on K Records-style twee-indie was a pleasant surprise and welcome addition to an already-stellar lineup.

After a rainy cigarette break and short bro-down with various characters of the local indie elite—a cycle that would repeat itself after each set—we made our way back downstairs for Wooden Wand, a Murfreesboro supergroup of sorts who. Featuring Bingham Barnes, James Robbins and ace drummer Tyler Coppage, they reminded us that it was still Americana week here in Music City. (Wooden Wand sounds way too much like The Gun Club to ever be welcomed to the festival, though.)

Now back upstairs for the Spin's 9,892nd Caitlin Rose show. We could hear her sing the fabulous "Sinful Wishing Well" a million times and it still wouldn't be enough. Fittingly, at the end of the massive sing-along for "There's an Answer in One of These Bottles," we collectively realized that the keg was tapped. Fucking drag.

It's comforting to know that there are some things in life that you can always count on. Like death, taxes and the sun setting in the west, you can't have a house show in Nashville without including something from the Wes Traylor oeuvre. So—par for the course—his newest ensemble, Natural Child, were up next. As always, their brand of big-hooked brash punk got all the kids pogoing to their hearts content—causing a scene that made us feel like we were in Smashing Pumpkins' "1979" video.

If Maroon 5 made us want to dance, instead of use a shotgun to repaint our bedroom walls with bits of our own brains, they'd be called Tim Chad and Sherry. The band raised the party vibe to a fevered pitch with enough smooth jamz and white neo-soul to give us multiples worthy of a Meg Ryan coffee shop scene. All before whipping us into a frenzy with their take on Ike and Tina's version of "Proud Mary"—making for the song's second Spin appearance this week.

We then stumbled back downstairs for the other NYC band on the bill—The Beets. While they were not the same band as the fictional rock group on Nickelodeon, they were fairly animated. Snotty and energetic, they played some of the best Dead Milkmen and Vaselines knock-offs we've heard in a good while.

Heading into our seventh straight hour of brain-splitting alcohol imbibing, lung-gouging nicotine consumption and ear-splitting rock 'n' roll, we were more than ready to keep it going with the night's penultimate band, Turbo Fruits—who played inside a giant cloud of ganja smoke. Featuring a hybrid lineup of current drummer Matt Hearn and former bassist Wes Traylor—in for the indisposed Dave McCowen—the Fruits' savage assault of volume proved too much for the neighbors. The fact that nine (!) bands managed to make it through their sets before the cops showed up is simply amazing. And on a Sunday night to boot.

Risking threat of a citation, Willy T made the executive decision to keep the festivities rolling, and JEFF the Brotherhood proceeded to rock against authoritarian adversity. Their set was nothing short of what we've come to expect from a JEFF show—youthful pandemonium and uninhibited fraternal rocking. The experience has only gotten better since the band decided to start writing and performing pop songs. They made it through about six of them before the 5-0 returned to read our gracious host the riot act. We took overhearing the cops asking Tyler if this was his parents' house as our cue to leave. We were told that a citation was not issued and that Daniel Pujol did the cops a kindness by giving them a jump, after the flashing lights drained their battery. Killer party!

Have you picked out a hooded druid robe to wear to this week's Sunn O))) show yet? We've got a few extras. Email thespin@nashvillescene.com.