Swedish delight

PETER BJORN AND JOHN were everything we expected: peppy, European and quite dapper. Well, we guess there was one thing amiss: there was no John—he was back home in Sweden and replaced, more than adequately, on the drums by a mop-topped man in a black-and-white diamond-printed sweater vest. (Uh, the dark-haired, Swedish Stephen Malkmus? Swoon.) Despite the switcheroo, PB&J churned out their sprightly, complex pop and even mixed it up with some creative arrangements, like the stripped-down sing-along take on “Amsterdam.” The crowd was enthusiastic, if a little thin, even for a Wednesday night at City Hall. (Note to bands: you can’t play 1,200-person venues in this town on one single.) There was a group of particularly rowdy, shirtless and buff PB&J acolytes up front, hopping and yelling along with the words. When it came time for that one big single, the reaction was less huge ovation and more, “Well, here it comes.” “Young Folks” remains an almost perfect pop song—too bad we spent the whole time trying to figure out if the whistling was real or not. It wasn’t. On the last run-through, the faking stopped and the whistling continued. It was like Ashlee Simpson on purpose. We had no problem with the canned whistling—that shit is hard—but we did feel a little bit uncomfortable about the ruse. Still, the PB&J boys were so charming and energetic—we remarked more than once that we felt like we were watching The Wonders in That Thing You Do—that the whole night exceeded our expectations. Tunes that on record swim in sadness or just plain mid-tempo pleasantry were seriously rocked up, and we hate that phrase. The encore included “Objects of My Affection” (but more rocked up) as well as “Up Against the Wall” (again, rocked up.) We saw bass-playing Bjorn get fondled by some superfans, and on the closer, the band summoned some 30 crowd members to party-dance onstage. It was a grand old time, about which Bjorn remarked to the crowd: “We love this shithole.”

Scenester sauna

Friday night, a line of people willing to brave an especially muggy night wrapped itself around the Rock Block, all for the chance to see one man sing a few tunes—DANIEL JOHNSTON. A hefty number of fans were turned away, but those lucky enough to make it inside the sold-out show at Exit/In were treated to a short set by the mid-state’s most dependable band, Southern indie-rockers GLOSSARY. Up next was THE MATTOID, who began his set with a hilarious rendition of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” while largely exploring the linguistic possibilities of the word “fuck” during subsequent songs. After a good amount of time, the band seemed poised to relinquish the stage, but instead insisted on a couple of “encores” by asking twice if the crowd wanted to hear one more song, then playing before the chants of “Daniel Johnston” could gain traction. Whether The Mattoid was allotted an hour opening slot or hijacking the stage, we couldn’t be sure, but finally, the man of the night appeared, a little lighter than the most recent pictures we’ve seen of him, and visibly shaky. Still, rather than gawk at a man whose every weakness has been publicized through song and film, most audience members expressed a genuine fondness for the guy. The first three songs featured Johnston alone with an electric guitar, and reading lyrics from a music stand, met with intermittent yelps of “We love you, Daniel!” and massive waves of applause. Afterward, Johnston sang along to an accompanying guitarist, performing some of his best-known songs—“Grievances,” “Walking the Cow” and “Silly Love.” After a brief intermission, Johnston returned with The Mattoid, and the disjointed approach of each proved a solid match. The night closed with the somber “True Love Will Find You in the End.” After a long wait, the crowd was informed that Mr. Johnston probably wasn’t going to be able to return to the stage—instead, the night ended with a shirtless guy in the front row leading a sing-along to “What the World Needs Now Is Love.”

Thrilling and enlightening

Williamsburg musician/raconteur/performance artist/dynamo VIC THRILL brought his CIRCUS OF ENLIGHTENMENT to town Saturday night, and it was the most un-Nashville evening we’ve experienced in a long time. Accompanied by his cohort BAM I AM (who used a keytar to trigger video images on three screens), Thrill managed the impossible—he got a Nashville crowd to unfold their arms and move, play percussion, shout into the mic…to be, in a word, spontaneous. Given a little prodding, we can actually cut loose! Who knew? Thrill assaulted his guitar, tapped on his laptop, sang and jumped around in the crowd (in an outfit that would have made WKRP in Cincinnati’s Herb Tarlek proud), intermittently spinning yarns from his storied past. Our favorite recollection was a 15-minute monologue about life at Brooklyn’s Right Bank Café, where “as long as you can prove that you have a serious problem with alcohol, you’ll be accepted as one of the family,” or something like that. At one point, CMT Insider host KATIE COOK wowed the audience with a fire-swallowing act. (Cook’s husband MARC PISAPIA was playing drums behind Thrill.) The Spin even got into the act, when one of our own was recruited to play guitar with the rest of the band while Thrill twiddled knob and dials, manipulating the live performance with all sorts of twisted effects. A few staid Nashville music types standing outside the venue (a building adjacent to Alex the Great recording studio) were overheard grumbling about how it was a little too “conceptual” for them—sure, Vic Thrill won’t have any cuts on the next Faith Hill record, but we’ll take this over a Bluebird “Shhhh!”-fest any day of the week.

All the girls in their summer dresses

Local Honey’s outdoor shows have been the easiest destination all summer—roll up to 12 South, park like a champ anywhere down Linden, amble on up to the backyard and man a position. Saturday night was a hot one, so none of the bands that night really shook, rattled or rolled. We caught a little bit of leprechaun tribute band EL RICK HAUN, but we can’t say we understand the deal with their strummy Irish folk. Don’t they usually just play on St. Patrick’s Day? Hey, even legends gotta eat. Then TURBO FRUITS brought the spazzy charms of bassist TURBO MAX, and singer/guitarist JONAS STEIN channeled every stoned-out filthy-chic frontman we can recall. But the most riveting spectacle award went to baby-faced pistol JOHN EATHERLY, whose badass drumming raised the temp a good 10 degrees that night. Then EUREKA GOLD closed it out with an amiable set of folky pop-rock, but the Fruits’ glammy stomp is a hard shake to follow, and it seems Eureka Gold are still a better band on record at this stage in the game. All said, it was a classic Saturday night in Nashville, and by that we mean we really shouldn’t have had that whiskey.

Too cool for free drinks? Then don’t come to the Nashville Cream One-Year Anniversary Bash on Sat. Aug. 25 at Mercy Lounge. Instead, spit some venom at thespin@nashvillescene.com.