Monsters of Folk might seem like an inappropriate moniker for indie darlings Jim James, M. Ward, Conor Oberst, and Oberst collaborator Mike Mogis.

The supergroup kicks off its self-titled debut with a number that might fit more comfortably in the genre of Christian R&B pop: “Sometimes it’s so hard to believe in/But God, I know you have your reasons,” sing James, Ward, and Oberst on “Dear God (sincerely M.O.F.)”

But childlike faith gives way to adolescent rebellion on “Baby Boomer,” teachable strife on “Man Named Truth,” and finally cheerful optimism on “The Sandman, the Brakeman, and Me.”

Throughout, Ward’s steady whisper more or less splits the difference between Oberst’s quavering warble and James’s empyreal crooning—a good blend for three guys with such distinct voices.

The music separates more easily: M. Ward’s fetish for old-timey surf pop rises to the surface on “Whole Lotta Losin’,” while Oberst’s existential, image-dense writing is put front and center on “Temazcal” and “Map of the World,” and James puts on a mellow buzz with “Goodway” and “Magic Marker.”

Lyrically, the album is about becoming OK with the world and yourself. “No split hair’s gonna get me down,” pledges Oberst. “Make way, for whatever will be will be,” advises Ward. “There’s something sweet waiting in the center/Taste and see,” says James, as the others respond in perfect harmony, picking easily at their guitars as Mogis (whose role is mainly track-mixing and strategic Dobro deployment ) pats a benevolent backbeat. The band illustrates this journey toward acceptance in Crayola, and helpfully offers that the trip requires little more than a few joints and a full tank of gas.

I’ve heard the Name Game play out in many contexts, but at a concert—between the drummer and some guy standing ten rows into the audience—was a new one. “Do you know Rebecca Callahan*?” shouted a tall kid in a white Polo. “She was, like, two grades ahead…”

“Rebecca, oh, yeah,” replied Fleet Foxes drummer J. Tillman.

This, one supposes, is the fate of stage banter at a show when the drummer admits he grew up in a nearby suburb (Rockville) and is pressed upon to kill time between every song while the lead singer re-tunes his 12-string guitar and the rest of the band hangs out in unhelpful silence. But that was the sort of casual vibe Fleet Foxes brought to the 9:30 Club on Wednesday, breaking down the distance between the band and the sold-out audience in such a way that it felt less like a crowded concert hall than the living room of a buddy who makes you pay $9 for a Guinness. Other topics of band-audience banter included the menu at Rockville pastry shop The Fractured Prune, frontman Robin Pecknold’s bad haircut (hidden beneath a red knit hat, which he refused to remove), and whether Tillman more closely resembled Jesus Christ, Charles Manson, or Rob Zombie.

The singing, though, was the show’s real fascination. The band’s post-Beach Boys, fjord-folk sound (which has finally given a cappella nerds and hipsters something to talk about with each other) relies heavily on dynamic three- and four-part harmonies, with subtle moving lines within them. It’s a slippery weapon to wield, and proper use requires absolute precision. But from the opener—the a cappella “Sun Giant” leading into “Sun It Rises”—through the epics “Mykonos” and “Blue Ridge Mountains,” the Foxes were tuned to each other far more consistently than Pecknold’s 12-string. This was especially impressive given that it was their opening show of the tour, and the tea-swilling Pecknold, as he put it, already felt “like dying.”

M. Ward, who played the following night, actually sounded like he might be dying—although that’s just an incident of his naturally laryngitic voice. No matter for Ward, whose mission seemed to be keeping old styles alive. The Hoarse Whisperer deployed his definitive rasp in service of what sounded like a blend of throwback blues melodies, surfer rhythms, and country-folk instrumentation (an alchemy that is rendered all too generic by the “indie” distinction that is often foisted upon him). Ward hinted at these influences all night—particularly on songs like “Big Boat,” an uptempo 12-bar that could have been lifted directly from the ‘50s pop charts—before sending the crowd into a full-fledged fit of twisting and hand-jiving with a cover of Chuck Berry’s “Roll Over Beethoven.”

On both nights I only caught the tail end of the opening acts, but my impressions were that Espers—who played pleasant baroque despite the considerable handicap of being comatose—was all substance and no style; Ledroit Park natives Chain & the Gang—who dressed in striped prison jumpsuits and played one interminable, mostly spoken-word “song” for the last 15 minutes of its set—was all style and little substance. (But bear in mind, these were only superficial impressions.)

*not her real name.

Photo courtesy of www.jeremycharles.com.

• M. Ward, Chain & the Gang. 9:30 club. $25. All ages.
• Deanna Bogart & Tom Principato Band. Birchmere. $25.
• Shortstack, Lorelei, The Moderate. Black Cat. $10. All ages.
• The Charm Offensive, Lanterns, Drunken Banshees, Free Electric State. The Red & The Black. $8. +21.
• The Method, Ramzy, The Frustrations, Justin Trawick. Rock and Roll Hotel. $10. All ages.
• Sunsets with a Soundtrack: The U.S. Army Band Downrange. West Steps U.S. Capitol. Free.
• The Blue Planet Live w/ NSO. Filene Center at Wolf Trap. $20-$48.
• Deep Sang. Cafe Saint Ex.

Saturday

• Old Bridge Festival w/ Future Islands, BLDGS, Laughing Man, Hume, etc. 1256 Old Bridge Rd., Amissville, Va. $10.
• Xavier Rudd, Jeremy Fisher. 9:30 club. $20. All ages.
• The Ruins, 12.0. Bangkok Blues. Call for price.
• Gato Barbieri. Birchmere. $45.
• Run For Cover! Fort Reno Benefit Show. Black Cat. $10. All ages.
• Sean Walsh & the National Reserve, David Schultz & the Skyline, Carlos I’m Pregnant. Comet Ping Pong.
• The U-Liners perform “Happy Birthday Jerry Garcia Tribute.” IOTA Club and Café. $12. +21.
• So Damn Thirsty, Pain!, The Buried, One Slack Mind, Disclosure, Anchors Aweigh. Jaxx. $10/$12. All ages.
• Dream Theater, Zappa Plays Zappa, Queensryche, Bigelf, Scale the Summit. Merriweather Post Pavilion. $30–$45.
• The Veils, Foreign Born, Faces on Film. Rock and Roll Hotel. $12. All ages.
• Keelhaul, The Wayward, Jefferson Plane Crash, Within The Lich Gate, Athens. Velvet Lounge. $8. +18.
• NSO: “Broadway ROCKS!” Filene Center at Wolf Trap. $20-$48.
• DJ Will Eastman. Cafe Saint Ex.

Sunday

• Jazmine Sullivan. 9:30 club. $20. All ages.
• Blues Jam w/ the Idle Americans, Todd Tongdee w/ special guest Ted Lewand. Bangkok Blues. Call for price.
• Midian, Reni Lane. DC9. $8. +18.
• Kashgar, Leyna. Velvet Lounge. $7. +21.
• Daryl Hall & John Oates. Filene Center at Wolf Trap. $25–$42.
• DJ Eskimo. Cafe Saint Ex.

M. Ward photo by Wendy Peyton, via MySpace.

She & Him: “Please Please Let Me Get What I Want”
Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward, who perform together as She & Him, take a swipe at the most frequently covered of all Smiths songs for the soundtrack to Deschanel’s new movie (500) Days of Summer. As those covers go, this is a pretty traditional rendering, with heaps of reverb and a gazillion overdubbed acoustic guitars. But Deschanel delivers the vocal with the requisite amount of melancholy and the cover holds its own just fine alongside The Deftones version.

Wu Tang Clan ft. Raekwon, Sean Price, and Cormega: “Radian Jewels”
It certainly sounds like Wu-Tang–synths strings, minimalist beats, Raekwon–but apparently “Radiant Jewels” and Chamber Music, the Rza produced record it comes from, is not a new Wu-Tang Clan record. Instead, according to a particularly confusing press release, it’s just a record featuring new music made with participation from every member of the group and a live backing band that emulates the classic Wu-Tang sound. So maybe it’s better than a “real” Wu-Tang record? Go figure.

Gareth Williams: “Anger of Fire”
Gareth Williams’ role in This Heat, the experimental/post-punk band in which he performed during the early ’80s, seemed somewhat subversive. While his band mates, drummer Charles Hayward and guitarist Charles Bullen, were traditionally skilled musicians, Williams approached things from a more naive and unschooled perspective. He mashed on a bizarrely tuned keyboard, played back tape collages, and fueled the group’s more abstract and unpredictable moments. But “Anger of Fire,” written years after Williams had departed from This Heat, is surprisingly tuneful. Built on two acoustic guitar chords and a reggae-inspired rhythm, it suggest that Williams, who passed away in ‘01, certainly had more in his head than noise.

Brooklyn-based trio Vivian Girls opened the show, throwing most of the crowd for a loop–the love-child-band of the Jesus and Mary Chain and the Shangri-Las is an interesting tour mate for a vintage Americana act. But after charming the crowd with awkward between-song banter (would “Obummer” or “Obomber” make a better New York Post headline?) people of the pews loosened up and went along for the shoegaze/surf punk ride.

But when Ward took center stage, acoustic guitar in hand, harmonica in mouth, the crowd tightened up, listened up and sat rapt as he played a few songs before addressing them, thanking them for being there. When he did, they exploded until Ward’s restless digits returned to their strings and frets, wasting little time on monologue and polite conversation.

Instead, Ward looked at his fans, scanned the synagogue, and made all eyes who stared back feel his haunting cover of David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance” like no album version ever could. So too with a more lilting than shuffling “Fuel For Fire.” Ward seemed as invested in his D.C. fans as they were in him.

Ward played fan favorites from all four albums of his pre-Deschanel duo days, the most audience-appreciated being “Chinese Translation,” “Poison Cup” and concert-closer “Magic Trick” from his 2006 album Post-War. But compositions from Ward’s recent release Hold Time held their own among the favorites, and in comparison Ward played them with all the fervor of a gifted musician somewhat bored with playing the same old songs from his past tours. “Never Had Nobody Like You,” the reinvigorated Buddy Holly tune, “Rave On,” and “Fisher of Men” (which Ward, beaming at the crowd, seemed most pleased to play) were as well received as the “classics,” even if the applause followed the song instead of kicked it off.

Of course, Ward’s prolific plucking shone in a requisite cover from his personal guitar hero, John Fahey. And of course, fans had to peel themselves off the floor, after the encore, before exiting Sixth & I. But quite surprisingly, for such realizations are most always so, Ward solidified himself on stage Saturday night as this generation’s folk-guitar icon.