MONDAY, SEPT. 17:
I love Sweden. It’s the land that gave us Greta Garbo, Björn Borg, and the Nobel Prize. Things that make me bristle, however, are their IKEA meatballs, lesbian pro golfers, and a litany of pop bands. Suffice it to say that I wasn’t all perky-ears-and-nipples when in 2002, Nic Harcourt on Morning Becomes Pretentious began drooling over the airwaves about yet another Swedish band. Liver, puhleeez. Then a crush put “Up Against The Wall” (from PB&J’s Writer’s Block LP) on a mix with the intention of serenading me into submission. I became his reluctant chattel slave as soon as I heard the masochistic lyrics: “You slap just like a wake-up call / the bruises on the face don’t bother me at all.” Sigh. Fast forward a few weeks ago when I beheld the Wiltern Theater marquee: my trio of Swedish meatballs! I walked in to see a backdrop on stage simply reading: PETER BJORN AND JOHN BACKDROP in Helvetica font. An ambient stripped-down sans-vocals Young Folks was piped over the PAs as the KCRW nerds quietly sipped their Chimays. Lo-fi bassist Björn swayed quietly to the notes, while Kojak-bald Peter bounced up and down as if he were performing on a trampoline. It’s profoundly disappointing when bands take liberties during a live performance, singing their songs in unrecognizable elocutions. I want those songs to sound just as they do on the album that I’ve played incessantly, so no on the self-absorbed operatic a capella version! But PB&J hit a home run with über-crisp delivery. Every song was an indie anthem of earnest feelings, feelings, and more feelings. It was simply out of the park. (SL)