The atmosphere at the knitting circle held before folk singer Christine Lavin's concert on March 6 had all the familiarity of an extended family celebration. Middle-aged women sat on couches knitting, needlepointing or crocheting while young children ran around and played games. At the center of the action was Lavin herself, working a sparkly strand of yarn into an afghan and chatting with fans who approached her to introduce themselves. Before she left to warm up for her concert, Lavin handed out CDs as prizes to her industrious companions. "It's okay to knit during the show, because that's what I'd be doing if I didn't have to play guitar," Lavin told them. At least one audience member took her up on that offer.

When she appeared on stage Lavin had changed out of the white cable-knit sweater she wore before the show into a black lacy top with long sleeves. She joked that the outfit made her look like an ex-nun but that since turning 50 she no longer felt self-conscious about her appearance. The audience laughed appreciatively-it seemed most of them could relate.

Lavin was quite congenial throughout the show, giggling at her own jokes and beaming when the audience shared her amusement. She also has a talent for the dramatic eye-roll and broadcasted her sarcasm to the back rows of Slosberg whenever she sang about Republicans, such as in the song "What Was I Thinking?"

Lavin gave her listeners a friendly impression and made a point of including them in her performance. Several times she called for the house lights to be brought up so she could find out who in the audience was celebrating a birthday or how many people had seen her play before. For her song "Sometimes A Mother Really Does Know Best," she incorporated the names of a real-life mother and daughter sitting in the audience and asked the audience to vote on how the song should end. Toward the end of the show, she invited men from the audience onto the stage to doo-wop in the background while she sang about "Sensitive New Age Men."

Lavin has performed her original folk songs since the 1970s, and her audience on Friday night consisted mainly of loyal fans who were quite easy to entertain. She earned hysterical laughter for her song "Psychic Powers," which did little more than set a familiar math trick to music. "H.L. Mencken" consisted of a list of quotes by the eponymous author punctuated by an occasional chorus.

A slogan on her poster reads, "I don't make this stuff up, I just make it rhyme." Indeed, Lavin introduced many of her songs by citing an article she had read in some magazine, claiming, "This was a folk song waiting to be written." The results of her news habit range from "Reader's Digest," the lighthearted opener about a poll that found New Yorkers to be the most polite people in the world, to the solemn "Hooked on Violence," which cited the statistic that over one million Americans have been killed by guns since 1968.

Songs that didn't showcase Lavin's knowledge of the news generally veered toward the "don't you hate it when ." variety. She sang about wearing the wrong outfit, trying new things to please a man and writing songs she was unable to sing.

Lavin also introduced guest Jonathan Edwards, folk singer best known for his 1971 hit single "Sunshine." Edwards played two of his lesser-known songs to enthusiastic applause before returning in the second act to play "Sunshine."

The highlight of the evening came toward the end of the show, when Lavin called down Neil Elliott, whom she identified as "the oldest Cracker Jack seller at Fenway Park." Elliott and a co-worker, both attired in the yellow shirt and baseball cap typical of their profession, were joined onstage by a volunteer audience member, identified only as "Skip," who claimed a strong knowledge of Red Sox trivia. Lavin then orchestrated a contest to determine who among the three could answer the most questions about the team's history. Boston Globe journalist Alex Beam was on hand to read the questions, and Edwards returned to the stage to keep score. Skip won by a landslide.

"I'm wondering if you've even been in the stadium," Beam joked to the vendors, who only managed to answer a couple questions.

"Ask me about peanuts," replied one. The pair then proceeded with their own crowd-pleaser, tossing bags of peanuts to those who knew how much the snacks typically cost at Fenway and how many are sold on Opening Day.

Unwilling to be upstaged, Lavin returned at the end, putting on an elaborate baton-twirling show that involved glow-in-the-dark batons that she tossed to the audience. For the audience of longtime listeners assembled in Slosberg, the freebies were well-received souvenirs of an unusual concert by the veteran performer.