One night in the winter of 1994, a group of talented kids drawn to the Midstate by MTSU’s recording-industry program played at Exit/In. It was one of their first live performances, but it impressed visiting suits from Zoo Records, a BMG imprint that released breakthrough records for Matthew Sweet and Tool. A deal was signed, and one of the great legends of non-country music in Nashville took flight. If you’re one of the few unfamiliar with the rest of Self’s story, the rise and fall of Murfreesboro indie label Spongebath Records and the slew of other top-shelf local musicians involved, feel free to
inform yourself. Though Self reunions happen only when the stars align — times like Sunday night, which marked the 20th anniversary of their signing and a special reissue of their debut record, Subliminal Plastic Motives — The Spin would soon find out the warm and fuzzy glow of nostalgia wasn’t really necessary to make one such show worth our while.
When we rolled up half an hour after doors opened, we shouldn’t have been surprised to find a line still extending halfway down the block. Declining a complimentary GooGoo Cluster, we slipped past a merch line that extended well out into the crowd, a length it would maintain through most of the show. Opener Montessori Dads lived up to their name, with Self bassist Mac Burrus pulling double duty in a fake mustache. The quartet pumped out '90s-vintage power pop, competently played though their idea of edgy seems to be playing in a minor key. Frontman Lance Paine confirmed that they’re not out to set the world on fire; they’ve only played three shows in their one-year career, two of which were opening gigs for Self, but their joie de vivre proved infectious as the room continued to fill.
After a beer break, Glossary delivered their first full-band set at home since an injury forced drummer Eric Giles off the throne last year. Frontman Joey Kneiser lead off with his customary greeting: “Hello, beautiful people! We are Glossary, from Murfreesboro, Tennessee.” Though Giles is the only member who still calls Bucket City home, it was a nice reminder of where at least half of the crowd — the half we recognized, anyway — learned about what a music scene can be, forging a sentiment and a set of skills that have directly impacted the scene Nashville enjoys damn near every night of the week. Though the group was mostly business on Sunday, they turned in a solid set of earthy rock ‘n’ soul with a Southern accent, distilled from all kinds of American music and balanced firmly on Kneiser’s stellar songs.
A short changeover followed, while several Murfreesboro faces we had missed in the audience appeared onstage as crew. The lights dimmed, and the prodigal sons of Self strutted into position, singing along to a karaoke recording of Prince and entreating us to “party like it’s 1995.” Keyboardist Chris James, drummer Jason Rawlings, bassman Mac Burrus and Self mastermind Matt Mahaffey locked into their time-honored roles.
With Fluid Ounces’ Brian Rogers taking over on guitar for Matt’s late brother Mike, the quintet spent the next hour tearing through SPM top to tail with the energy of high schoolers on the big stage for the first time. Rather than trying to recreate the massive layers of New Jack Swing harmonies on the record, Mahaffey relied on the crowd, who hung on every word — even following him when he flubbed the lyrics to “Cannon.” That goof aside, the group’s skills were on full display, jumping nimbly between grungy alt-rock and uptempo jazz for “Marathon Shirt,” weaving heavy machinery riffs and airy pop into “So Low,” and so on until they simply ran out of album.
Though the members’ busy lives mean that most Self material counts as rarely heard, the encore offered plenty of deep cuts, including a heartily cheered “Joy, the Mechanical Boy” and a handful from the 1997 online-only freebie Self Feels Like Breakin’ Shit. The obligatory “Trunk Fulla Amps” ended with a highly local-centric shout-out: “I got a trunk fulla amps like Glossary, mothafucka.” When it was all over, we stood dazed until our photog asked us if we could confirm or deny the presence of Rick Springfield. Not in the mood for a showdown over Jesse’s girl, we decided to peace out, though not before we noticed Mastodon’s Brent Hinds hanging out by the bar.
