“Relax,” Alex Ebert told the crowd Tuesday night at the El Rey Theatre. “Just relax.”

A simple enough entreaty. The barefoot and bare-chested Ebert and his 12-member ensemble, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros, were playing hippie hymns fit for a 1960s love-in, but the capacity crowd was demanding and edgy, almost fit for Chicago during the 1968 Democratic National Convention. It was as if the Born Too Late Generation were fighting for limited seats on a time machine bound for the Age of Aquarius.

• ||| Photo gallery by Laurie Scavo

Tips for your next hippie gathering: 1) Check your testosterone at the door; 2) Respect your fellow concert-goer’s personal space; 3) Don’t chatter through the opening act, especially when it is a 25-member choir of gowned women; 4) Don’t shout coarsely at the lead singer; 5) Keep your “bro wear” (polo shirts with designer logos, ballcaps worn sideways) to a minimum; 6) Tip your bartender.

That said, the Big Love exuded by Ebert, partner-in-song Jade Castrinos and the rest of the band carried the evening. The adulation bestowed upon the Magnetic Zeros, who less than a year ago were an underground phenomenon, was palpable — and even bankable: Somebody threw cash onstage (which Ebert tossed back to the masses).

The soulful folk songs on the band’s debut, “Up From Below,” are paeans to harmony with the power to be a hedge against a madding world, but the charged atmosphere of the El Rey made them seem larger than life. “40 Day Dream” and “Carries On” fairly levitated the crowd; “Home” induced smiles all around with its call-and-response chemistry between Ebert and Castrinos; tunes like “Desert Song” turned the main floor into a popcorn popper of arms and bodies. Ebert forayed into the crowd to sing one number, and an encore featured a just-winging-it version of a  song that the frontman said guitarist Nico Aglietti “had just written,” as well as a couple’s onstage marriage proposal.

Coming as it did at the end of a long tour, Tuesday’s headlining show must have felt like a milestone, and at times Ebert — the former frontman of dance-rockers Ima Robot who has now segued to music that feels more organic — seemed overwhelmed by the reception. “It’s a dream,” he told the crowd. “Thank you so much.”

Frank Fairfield, and then the 25-member LA Ladies Choir (which featured a lot of voices from the L.A. indie scene) opened, with Joe McCord (father of Magnetic Zero Orpheo McCord) performing a brief mime sketch prior to the headliners.

||| Live: Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros perform Sunday at the Abbot Kinney Festival in Venice and Oct. 3 at the Manimal Vinyl Festival at Pappy & Harriet’s in Pioneertown.

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[Friend of Buzz Bands Doug Kresse was on hand at Spaceland on Saturday night and passed along this account:]

By Doug Kresse
Not even a power outage a half-hour into his set could sap the energy and heart from 81-year-old country music legend Charlie Louvin on Saturday night at Spaceland. With a backing cast of local musicians and guest turns from the likes of Lucinda Williams, Louvin carried on in the dimness of emergency lights and delivered a heartfelt set rich in the art of storytelling.

After sets by Frank Fairfield and local treasure Mike Stinson and his band (who would become Louvin’s backup band), Louvin took the stage in front of a packed house about 11:15 p.m. Plenty of fellow musicians populated the crowd, including Chris Isaak. With occasional turns from guest vocalists, Louvin sang a lot of his great gospel hits, and classics like “I Don’t Love You Anymore.”

Then, around 11:45, the lights flickered and everything went black inside the club. Emergency backup lights kicked on, and the Spaceland crew scrambled to keep the show on the road (somehow the sound system was not affected). Working with little light, Charlie and the band shifted to working without the reliance of the sheet music.  At one point, bassist Rob Douglas attempted to scan the sheet music, trying to get the chords down, but Louvin just told Douglas not to worry. He helped the bassist and Stinson along, and the set went on in conditions that may have rattled many musicians — but not these.

Later, Louvin welcomed Lucinda Williams on the stage to sing with him. But one of the things I’ll remember most were the stories Charlie told between songs.  He connected with the audience, recounting a life of great memories.  One was the time — long ago — that he and a band had just finished a long set, were packing up to go home, then saw some miners, just getting off their shift, who suggested it’d be wise to play some more. Louvin honored their request. He also told of the times when club patrons who talked during a set and disrupted it (not an uncommon occurrence in Eastside environs) were “carried out.” His anecdotes spanned several decades.

It’s clear Charlie Louvin has created a rich history of music — and added to it with Saturday’s show. In the midst of what to him was a minor inconvenience, he showed true class.

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