It was the question on everyone’s mind that night at Philadelphia’s cramped Fire bar: Is Okkervil River really that good, or is the Mendoza Line just that bad?

The members of the Mendoza Line seemed to be in good spirits as they tossed back the dregs of their beers and mounted the stage. The band—whose name is a baseball term connoting a mediocre batting performance—was definitely toeing that line. The alternating vocals of Timothy Bracy, Peter Hoffman and Shannon McArdle were off-key, and the band had problems keeping time. Although McArdle’s voice was more or less inaudible as she competed against her bandmates and amped-up instruments, she reeled her manic bandmates back to reality as the set spun out of control.

Call it sincere elation or bona fide drunkenness, Mendoza couldn’t complete a single song without some misstep, even fumbling with the keyboard at one point and admitting, “We haven’t quite figured it out yet.” McArdle smacked her tambourine against her hand and stared intently at Hoffman and Bracy while they sang. Hoffman seemed self-assured as he strummed his guitar, and Bracy twitched while delivering his twangy melodies in a wry Dylan/Tweedy tenor, grinning from ear to ear in his intoxicated revelry.

“What Ever Happened To You?” was a rare instance when McArdle and Hoffman’s harmonies were in sync, producing a striking and cheerful breakup song. “We’re All In This Alone,” another standout in an otherwise unremarkable set, found the group grooving and dancing around the stage in spite of the song’s sober lyrics. The Mendoza Line’s performance was erratic at best—full of discordant, unruly songs. Before exiting the stage, the band promised the next act, Okkervil River, wouldn’t disappoint. Compared to what the Mendoza Line had just delivered, disappointment would’ve been virtually impossible.

After Will Sheff—Okkervil lead singer/guitarist—offered up some impromptu banter about the group’s adopted hometown of Austin, Texas, (Sheff counted all-day martini drinking among its primary attractions), the band launched into a sure-footed rendition of “Maine Island Lovers,” a leisurely account of illicit love from the group’s latest album, Down The River Of Golden Dreams. Jonathan Meiburg, after mastering the very same keyboard that had frustrated the amateurish Mendoza Line, constructed a wall of sonic fuzz with the help of bassist Zachary Thomas. Drummer Seth Warren used a spare snare-drum to round out the melancholy ambience evoked by the bittersweet lyrics and music. Meiburg played with abandon on “Red,” looking not unlike Schroeder from the Peanuts comic strip, throwing his head back to the ceiling, mouthing the lyrics in the air and pounding on the keyboard gleefully. Sheff’s voice, suggestive of Neutral Milk Hotel’s Jeff Mangum, slid from ferocious to serene in the span of seconds. And despite the sinister nature of “Westfall,” a chilling account of murder, the sorrow was tempered by Thomas’ fragile mandolin strumming and Sheff’s raw intonations. Unlike the Mendoza Line, Okkervil’s performance was polished and convincing.

Bill Ricchini, South Philly’s own bedroom troubadour, was in the opening slot at the Fire. He was backed by a three-piece band, most notably, his trumpeter, Nate Slabaugh, who was responsible for filling out Ricchini’s folk-pop numbers. Ricchini, whose songwriting and orchestration have often been compared by music critics to the Beach Boys, Elliott Smith and Nick Drake, kept his arrangements spare and effective, relying on his trumpeter to give the songs a warm and intimate feel. Pairing Ricchini’s delicate guitar strumming with Slabaugh’s smooth trumpet, they created a cross between Belle & Sebastian (“Dying To See You” was highly reminiscent of anything on If You’re Feeling Sinister) and a boozy lounge act. Toward the end of his set, Ricchini shed his blazer and whispered seductively into his mic, “We’re going to slow this one down—this one’s for the ladies,” then finished up with a couple of tunes resembling Burt Bacharach ballads.