A 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 bum bum crash! … Among Nashville’s fine springtime traditions — balmy nights, front-porch day drinking and double-digit gas bills — is singer-songwriter, modern lover and proto-punk cornerstone Jonathan Richman’s annual two-night stand at The 5 Spot. By all accounts it’s an all-night, alcohol-fueled, rip-roarin’ hullabaloo of cult followers loosing fists and feet while speak-singing along to off-kilter folk-pop ditties about ice cream, insects, dinosaurs, Egyptian reggae, cuttin’ up rugs in lesbian bars, Keith Richards, Massachusetts and — if we’re lucky — Pablo Picasso. It’s kinda the boozed-up bohemian manchild’s version of a Raffi show, or so I hear. For some incidental reason or another, I’ve managed to miss this happening every year — but not this time. And since I don’t wanna be alone in feeling like a Rocky Horror Picture Show virgin at a midnight screening, I beg that the rest of you first-timers come join me, and that the rest of you faithful return.