Photos by Steve Cross.

We might as well get it over with and just take a paragraph here at the beginning to talk about how fucking pretty Old 97’s frontman Rhett Miller is. The shaggy-haired crooner is movie star handsome. Tigerbeat cute. And his boyish charm somehow made the cheer-sex he was having with myriad members of the audience less than sketchy—he would lean back, let his eyes go all bedroom, and then casually strike his signature mini-windmills on his guitar. We weren’t the only ones who were impressed: A random (male) East Nashville barfly and recent Old 97’s convert remarked to us, “I don’t normally say this, but the lead singer is hot!”

Faust Be Damned: Dustin Allen talks to James Jackson Toth about his new album, Waiting in Vain, Wooden Wands, metal and producer Steve Fisk. (Playing Monday, 28th at Grimey's.)

Temporarily Unavailable: Shunned from many of the area's traditional venues, Big Nurse and their label of misfits have helped form the bedrock of the current incarnation of the underground house-show circuit. (Playing Sunday, 27th at Springwater w/Social Junk and Taiwan Deth & Monday, 28th at House House in Murfreesboro.)

Cut and Paste: "If people saw the space I recorded in, they would laugh," admits local singer-songwriter Kyle Andrews. (Playing an album release show Saturday, 26th at 12th & Porter.)

All Drunk and Bored: Apologies to All We Seabees, from our 'Boro Bureau.

In The Spin: Medeski Martin and Wood, Nels Cline, Hootie, How I Became the Bomb, Southern Girls Rock 'n' Roll Camp, your stylist's mom and more.

Is it just me or does Joel J. Dahl look like he could be a character out of The Chronicles of Narnia? A kind, fun-loving creature, of course.

SPIN.com's Peter Gaston sat down with vocalist/guitarist Joel Dahl and bassist Keith Lowen of indie-pop eccentrics De Novo Dahl; watch video of Peter catching up with the duo about noxious costume smells, the pros and cons of being signed to a metal label, and a certain dance-rock band whose mothers aren't too happy with them. (Link.)

1. As we speak, even though we are not speaking, The Most Awesome Nashville Rock Song data is being crunched by a supercomputer (running Leopard) that's cooled by liquid nitrogen and housed in a lair under the sea inside a volcano. (All I'll say at the moment is that early returns show a strong anti-drum machine bias.)

2. It's been a while since Local Honey played host to a rock show, but Caitlin Rose will be joined there by And the Relatives and The Countrymusic this Saturday, 26th, at 6 p.m. Get there early and buy a dress or a floor-length dashiki. (Hint: Local Honey is not on Dickerson Pike.)

3. And, in case you missed it, the new, slightly more electronic-leaning WOTT mix went up the other day. (It does not seem overly biased against drum machines. Or robot narrators.)

Yesterday, I watched my new most-favorite-athlete-in-the-world hang with the big boys as he mashed his way up Alp d'Huez, the most legendary of the Tour de France's many climbs. Overcome with emotion and anxiety, I said, out loud, "Come on, David!"

Oops. You see, my most recent sporting-world obsession is named Christian Vande Velde. Not David Vandervelde. Christian is a domestique-turned-star for upstart American team Garmin-Chipotle (I know, tragic name). He is not a guitar-slinging indie rocker who recently moved to Nashville.

And my point is? Well, I don't really know. But I do know that I never thought I would cheer for two Vanderveldes in the course of one short week. David opens for Grizzly Bear on July 31 at Mercy Lounge. Christian, meanwhile, sits in sixth place going into Saturday's essential time trial.

Boys and girls, you may have noticed that this here blog has a new look. It's also true that the main Scene website has been resurfaced, so check it out, and give the new music section a go while you're at it. Or just click on a day like, say, this Friday, and check out the new music listings.

Nashville's really stepping up to cater to the independent artist these days, with a new company called Songness launching a website in September to help DIYers determine who their fans are. It says the program "attempts to predict how users will rate a song" and "compares individual users with categories of users that appear to influence their music choices and generates recommendations."

For artists, it's a virtual focus group. They upload songs, fans rate them, and the artist is sent feedback to help them understand to what extent they've written a "hit."

For fans, it's a music recommendation tool. At first I thought it sounded a bit like Pandora, whose music analysts isolate the DNA of songs and link them to similar ones. Then when you type in, say, The Pixies, you'll get a Pixies song or two, and then a few bands who "sound like" The Pixies.

But then I came across the listener page, and it turns out Songness uses something called Zaztrax to predict "how you'll rate every song in our database, based on recommendations from people like you."

The Critics' Picks section of this week's Scene print edition lists The Spencer Garn Quartet as playing this Friday at The Basement. We received word late yesterday that they are no longer on the bill, but the paper had already gone to press. Sorry for the inconvenience, and please spread the word.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the chance to chat with Old 97's bassist Murry Hammond. It was a huge thrill, as I'm a longtime fan (especially of the early stuff—"Hitchhike to Rhome" was the name of my college radio show) and he was a pure pleasure to converse with. Gotta love that lazy Texas drawl.

Hammond was surprisingly candid about frontman Rhett Miller's not-so-successful solo ambitions and also took some time to talk about life in a band that has members scattered to the four winds, how L.A. is similar to Nashville and why you shouldn't miss their live show tonight at Mercy Lounge. Check out the short version here, or the very long version after the jump.

The print edition of the Scene's Critics' Picks section accidentally listed this show for tomorrow night. Well, it's tonight. Tuesday. July 22. At The End.

THE BETA MACKS W/THE XYZ AFFAIR Like Electric Light Orchestra scored by Queen while The New Pornographers look on, Brooklyn quartet XYZ Affair bring a dramatic flair to their gilded melodies. Frontman Alex Feder’s fluttering tenor and mannered delivery recall New Pornos’ Carl Newman, particularly when the backing harmonies swell. The band’s educationally themed debut full-length, A Few More Published Studies, matches its baroque pop style with lyrical richness, and the slightly precious air is leavened by chewy, propulsive rhythms. Local headliners The Beta Macks honor their obsolete namesake with a sound hailing from another era. Channeling the dark, gothic strain of new wave, synth fills drown singer/keyboardist Bill McGuire’s narcotized croon, while distorted guitar echoes through the background. 9 p.m. at The End —CHRIS PARKER

Also tonight, The Dirtbombs open for Spiritualized.

THE DIRTBOMBS Despite valiant attempts to broaden our horizons and listen without predjudice to everything that comes across our desks, we have to say most of it is underwhelming to the nth degree. That’s probably because we haven’t been able to get the fiery soul-punk of We Have You Surrounded, the latest LP from Detroit Rock City’s The Dirtbombs, out of our head or off our turntable. The dual-drummered quintet lay down some of the fiercest party grooves known to man—the kind that make speed limits and slow dances into incomprehensible concepts. This is music for reckless driving and tossing glass bottles from rooftops while singing at the top of your lungs—a perfect complement to the pill-popping space-gospel of Spiritualized. Put on your dancing shoes and prepare to have your mind blown. 8 p.m. at City Hall —SEAN L. MALONEY

First things first: I can't stand 50 Cent. I thought his first single, '98s "How To Rob," was great and everything he's done since has been somewhere between lukewarm diarrhea and a steaming pile of shit. I just never got into the whole "I got shot 9 times, that makes me a great rapper" crap. A person's ability to rap doesn't have anything to do with their ability to retain lead. And rhyming "wanksta" with "gangsta" is the most retarded shit E-V-E-R.

On the other hand, I really love Young Buck, mostly because he's local, unrepentantly thuggish and he'll start shit with just about anyone—Lil Wayne, Dj Khaled, your mom—anyone. Plus he'll do stuff like this:

House House, your current go-to on the Murfreesboro house party circuit for awesome shows and impromptu art-gallery browsing, is canceling all upcoming shows because they're sick of shit getting broken. Yes, house-show venues come and go in the 'Boro, and another one always rears its shit-stained-toilet head, so don't lose hope or anything. There'll always be another couch you can piss, then sleep on.

From their MySpace:

So, the door got broken again. So, I'm done. Its been fun, but I'm tired of taking care of this house, i.e. trash, glass, trash, dumbasses. This is not an official end of shows, but for now, I'm not booking anyone else and I'm cancelling all shows 'til me and Rob figure out what we want to do. So... Casa De Juan, is the other house in Murfreesboro, so go there if you're inquiring about booking. See ya.

All photos by Keegan Hamilton and Nick Lucchesi.

This weekend, Pitchfork put on its annual manifestation of the indie-rock zeitgeist for three long days on Chicago’s near west side. Between 41 artists on three stages and a whole lot of mud, blood and beer, we managed to catch some of it. Our 473-mile drive prevented us from seeing most of Friday night’s opening festivities, but allowed us time to see Public Enemy play It’ll Take a Nation of a Million to Hold Us Back. At least, that’s what Flava Flav kept calling it. Of course, the record is called It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, but perhaps Flav felt this historic performance was a good time for some titular revisionism.

From a Scene reader:

Mark, I've been a wildly enthusiastic fan for over a quarter century. Your work is surpassingly intelligent and artistic, and it includes some of the greatest guitar solos in rock history. After viewing your concert at Ryman last Tuesday, I remain completely puzzled. Did you not realize that the sound levels were inhumanly high, virtually deafening? Now, I can make allowances for large venues (and I have, as I had my eardrums literally blasted during two of your appearances in Vancouver) But this was Ryman! A medium sized venue with great acoustics!!

Why would an artist who creates emotion through the power of his beautifully crystalline, intricate playing and wonderfully melodic chording choose to distort the sound and place his entire audience on the verge of auditory pain? What a wasted opportunity! What I heard was horribly distorted, except for a few moments of acoustic bliss near the end. I came to hear Mark Knopfler, and instead I heard a massively distorted facsimile.

Sure, I suffered through it. Seeing you live was great. And, you were in top form. Please consider your fans, and DROP THE VOLUME! We want to hear YOU!

Jim Steiger
Brentwood, TN

Those of us who couldn’t rustle up the scratch to make it to Pitchfork still managed to have our thirst for some kitschy indie tunes slaked with a much-anticipated performance from How I Became the Bomb Friday night. When we entered The Basement, we were delighted to see its newest addition—a brand new bar at the front of the venue. While it’s cash-only, it still beats the hell out of having to fight your way through the seething masses each time you want a fresh PBR. Well done, Grimey. Well done.