Cannery Row seemed like a smart home base for Friday night, so we resigned ourselves to hopping back and forth between the Lounge and the Ballroom. While waiting for the Cannery spectacle to kick off, we caught The Kopecky Family Band upstairs. They’ve got the shambolic ensemble thing going on — plenty of musicianship and instrument-swapping with an aesthetic something like a Southern-framed Broken Social Scene. Not that we’re willing to say they’re as good as Broken Social Scene or anything.
Downstairs, locals Tallest Trees were showing the Yeasayer crowd — which, bit by bit, eventually filled out to probably about two-thirds capacity — that Nashvillians can do eclectic psychedelic electro-folk, too. We drifted back to Mercy for some of The Non-Commissioned Officers, who — thanks to a never-ending series of lineup shuffles — are slowly morphing from a band full of dudes we know into a band full of other dudes we know. Still sounding tight, however.
In the Cannery, it swiftly grew apparent that Washed Out’s sound-check was going to take longer than it would take for local mobile vendors Pizza Buds’ ovens to warm up. So we skipped out to grab a slice, excited about the prospect of seeing Washed Out with a back-up band (Small Black fulfills those duties) rather than rollin’ solo. Turns out dudes played an insanely brief set — allegedly something like five songs in 20 minutes. Lame. Yeasayer, however, sounded as tight and rhythmically entrancing as ever. Their vocal harmonies on tunes like “O.N.E.” are what kept us interested, despite the most frat-heavy crowd we saw all weekend — who told these fist-pumping, shirtless bros about worldbeat-inspired psychedelic pop? Anyhow, Yeasayer had honeycombs-made-of-PVC-lookin’ stage design and a back-loaded set, but we’d say they earned their allegedly insanely expensive guarantee based on “Ambling Alp” alone.
There was a reportedly hopping after-hours party going down a few blocks over at The Zombie Shop — if drunken text messages and the crumpled fliers we later discovered in our pockets and on our phones are any indication — but we camped out at Mercy for the remainder of the evening, content to let our buzz die down before refueling for the final day of NBN festivities. Best we can recall, Javelin was somewhat unimpressive — an elecro'd-out verson of "Frère Jacques"? Really?? — and How I Became the Bomb kicked out all the old standards to a fatigued but still party-ready crowd.