Sunday night I had the pleasure of hearing HEM a melancholy Brooklyn-based Americana group with some roots in Georgia and Michigan. Download their mp3s and then buy the EP (as the girl at the counter called it). And then thank Decatur-based Paste for telling the world about them.

Among the band members was the snarky black-haired girl you wish you didn’t want. She was sporting a brand new, skinnier than God sting bass that her parents financed for her. (They were sitting in the front row). Lead guitar was handled by the guitar nerd you wish you were and are glad you aren’t. All but one of the songs were written by the silent Dan Messe, who was looking forward to getting back to the hotel, where his wife and infant child were waiting. Lead vocals were by Charlie Brown’s little red-headed girl, somewhere in between Natalie Merchant, Allison Krauss and Sarah Maclaughlan.

This was my first time at Smith’s Olde Bar. Probably the best club for live music I’ve seen because of one reason: a semi-circle of curtains around the stage. And they move. And it didn’t even matter that they ran out of Sweetwater. (The tap, that is. They started bringing me bottles.)

I didn’t miss the percussion until I listened to the CD on the ride home. But I did miss the strings, especially the viola. I played viola growing up. Violas are cool. So are viola players. If they’d just given me a week or two to prepare, I could have carried the viola load for them. Oh well.

Among the things I learned:

• If your singer doesn’t have an Appalachian accent, you can do anything you want with a slide guitar and dobro.
• Sunburst dreadnaught guitar. I want.
• What I thought was the the wonderfully fine line between pleasantly buzzed and slightly drunk is actually a trip wire.
• Cuckoo. She’s a pretty bird. And she warbles as she flies.
• Heaven is listening to HEM mostly drunk, but it ends too, too soon.