Tired Cardigans wind down tour before subdued L.A. crowd

By Kristin Fiore

Daily Bruin Senior Staff

It's hard to be charming on three hours' sleep. But singer Nina Persson and the Cardigans managed to pull it off for a second night at El Rey Theater on Friday -- one of their last stops on a grueling tour they began as a cult favorite but ended as a hit act with a Top 40 album.

Persson is Courtney Love's worst nightmare. She's beautiful, demure, talented and stands to make a small fortune for it. While the rock world has had its fill of bombastic blond bombshells, Persson has something that sets her and the Cardigans apart from Love and Madonna: a little class.

The classy El Rey Theater was the perfect venue for the band, with its plush velvet carpets and walls and rows of chandeliers. The sold-out show was packed to the rafters. Even Ozzy Ozbourne showed up to hear the band do its slowed-down, loungey renditions of "Sabbath Bloody Sabbath" and "Iron Man," which they did. "Iron Man" actually opened the show with a mellow, enchanting vibe that would last throughout.

The band split the set well between old and new, peppy and woozy material. They jumped right into other new songs, though, following "Iron Man" with the best from "First Band on the Moon," "Your New Cuckoo" and "Never Recover." Of course, they saved "Lovefool" for later. By that time Persson was more playful and began to yell, "I know that you need me!" ("Lovefool") and "I'm not in love with you -- ha ha ha!" (from "Hey! Get Out of My Way").

Persson cooed and slinked around the stage, hands on her hips. Her voice was worn out from a long day of radio appearances and various publicity nightmares, and though she gave 100 percent, she was often a bit off-key for the first half of the set. Though her pipes never regained the flirtatious softness they exude on the albums, she was on track and even belting after a few numbers.

The airy, laid-back feel of the band's music gave it a break: The performers weren't expected to tear apart the stage or light their guitars on fire. Still, they noted the toll the tour had taken, dedicating "Sick and Tired" to themselves: "It's the end of a tour; we're tired, people." But no one told guitarist Peter Svensson, who jumped and swirled like Pete Townshend.

The crowd was equally sedated, though it was hard to tell if the cause was the music, the venue or its temporary inability to sell alcohol. Whatever the case, the people loudly applauded and cheered, clearly having a clean-cut, polite, '50s-style good time, but they didn't mosh or even dance too much during the faster songs. (For those who balk at the idea of moshing to the Cardigans, remember that this is the '90s. Put 2,000 kids in a room together and they'll mosh to Frank Sinatra.)

Those who didn't attend the show can skip this paragraph. But for those who did: Shame on you! You saw one of the most danceable bands on the planet, and you stood there like you'd never seen Swedes before! Some of us were busy scribbling notes or dodging industry egomaniacs. What the hell was your excuse? Sheesh. You should all have taken a hint from Papas Fritas, the cool opening band. They were at the front of the crowd, hopping around and waving their arms like Fred Schneider of the B-52s. And they didn't even pay to get in!

Surprisingly, the song that seemed to bring the audience out of its stupor was "Carnival," the "Lovefool" of their previous album. People cheered and even dared to move their posteriors a bit, but it was too late. That song closed the set, and the encore only had one fast one -- the band's first hit from 1994, "Rise and Shine."

"Here's an old song from the days of 'Emmerdale' (their debut)," Persson said of the song, a favorite with older fans. She got into this one more than any other, playing air guitar and basking in the rare appearance of bright stage lights. This was the also apparent favorite of Papas Fritas, God love 'em. They were in the corner doing "the swim."

The final tune brought the evening to a quiet end. "Great Divide" is the most beautiful song on the new album, but it also borders on lethargic. That and the fact that it's buried at the back of the album made it an unlikely candidate for a closing number, but it was a welcome surprise.

Persson then issued another round of polite and slightly accent-ridden thank-yous and left the stage. The rest of the band, however, wanted a more dramatic exit and gave itself a drum roll. The Cardigans have named themselves well. They're retro but ever-new, comfortable but hip and maybe even sexy. And anyone who tries them on for size will find they never take them off.

Mercury Records

Despite their U.S. success, the Cardigans try to keep their feet on the ground.