I'm one of those music fans who tends to stick toward the grittier and more experimental end of the rock spectrum. Mention the words “cute,” “twee,” or “precious” and I’ll likely write off an act, or listen to an album for the sake of trying something new…and then subsequently send them in the direction of my recycle bin. So for those listeners out there who share my musical leanings, take note: writing off Jens Lekman would be a grievous error.

Everything about the Swedish pop singer is cute, from the embroidered white linen shirts and dresses worn by the band to the blissful smile that appeared on his face when the violinists began their solo on “I Saw Her in the Anti-War Demonstration.” The band even had a few moments of choreographed dancing, including a display of spreading their “wings” that would’ve rivaled any kindergartener pretending to be an airplane. It’s not every day I hear a grown man (with his girlfriend present) yelling, “You’re so cute!” to another man, but somehow this seemed warranted. The eight Swedes on stage had immersed the Black Cat audience into their adorable world, and everyone in the packed house was completely enthralled.

Part of Lekman’s charm is that his sentiments all seem genuine. He wasn’t above buttering up the audience, saying that everyone seemed so young here (although at age 26, he’s hardly an old man,) and that the people singing, at least in the front row, should keep doing so. Still, the smiles seemed authentic and the joy, heartfelt.

Similarly, songs like the heartbreaking “Shirin,” about his hairdresser, and the hilarious “A Postcard to Nina” (along with the accompanying story) showed that he wasn’t stuck on one emotion…or one sound. Lekman can change his tone from hushed to urgent, sometimes mid-song, as with “Nina.” He can evoke a sense of loneliness (as with the older “Cold Swedish Winter”) as easily as he can something you'll want to sing and dance along to.

When the audience exploded into uproarious applause, Lekman actually had to re-enter the stage and say that he couldn’t do another encore because it was the most beautiful version of that song that he’d ever heard, and that he’d hate to ruin the moment with more songs. Instead he introduced his friend Viktor Sjöberg, who provided an electronic soundtrack that ranged from sleepy to dance-y as the Black Cat crowd exited, hoping that Lekman would make good on his promise to play more tunes in the street, or in a nearby park. Not bad for a first impression.

Photo by Valerie Paschall