Tag Archives: Wilco

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Wilco in the Rain

September 26th, 2011

Wilco – Rumsey Playfield – September 23, 2011


A poncho-clad crowd braved the pouring rain as esteemed Chicago band Wilco played the second of two sold-out shows at Rumsey Playfield in Central Park on Friday night. Leading up to the release of The Whole Love, the band treated the crowd to a mix of songs new and old, with numbers like “Passenger Side,” dating way back to their 1995 debut album, A.M., and favorites from all the years between.

As the rain waxed and waned throughout the night (but mostly waxed), frontman Jeff Tweedy declared, “You guys are kind of nuts,” and voiced his appreciation that not only was the crowd standing in the rain, but standing in the rain listening to “a bunch of new songs.” Of course the spirited crowd hardly minded the new material, heartily welcoming songs like “Art of Almost,” which demonstrated the band’s stellar musicianship with skittering rhythms and spare electronic elements, and “Born Alone,” quite possibly the poppy-est song to contain the lyric “I was born to die alone.” On the other side of the spectrum, new songs “Dawned on Me” and “Whole Love” harkened back to the group’s alt-country roots, and the gentle finger picking of “Black Moon,” augmented by slide guitar, provided a sweet interlude for some romantic swaying beneath umbrellas.

Throughout the set, songs from Wilco’s 2002 hit album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, were very well represented, with the band playing renditions of “Heavy Metal Drummer,” “Poor Places,” “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart,” “I’m The Man Who Loves You” and sentimental favorite “Jesus, Etc.” As the show wound to an end, the crowd was still hungry for more, leading Tweedy to instruct: “We’ll be back. Now go get dry.” —Alena Kastin

Photos courtesy of Gregg Greenwood | www.gregggreenwood.com

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Wilco Hits a Home Run

April 5th, 2010

Wilco – The Wellmont Theatre – April 3, 2010

(Photo: Autumn de Wilde)

(Photo: Autumn de Wilde)

Baseball season, the great American pastime, started this weekend. Rock and roll, that other American pastime, was also in full effect this weekend as Wilco came to The Wellmont Theatre for nine innings of killer music and raucous fun. One of their shows is the live-music equivalent of heading to the ballpark with a combination of heavy hitters, attention to the fundamentals and utter consistency. Is there a more consistent live show out there? Opening Saturday night with “Ashes of American Flags,” drummer Glenn Kotche got things going with a pounding beat that paved the way for a solid lineup. The first four batters set the tone for the game, and the band, with their fine-tuned show, delivered, following up “Ashes” with “Wilco (The Song),” “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart” and a dark, tense version of “Bull Black Nova.”

Jeff Tweedy was his normal self, riffing between songs all night on New Jersey and the “Boo-yah!” that someone shouted early on. Nels Cline was electric on guitar, packing more explosive firepower into four-minute songs than would seem possible. Midway through the marathon set, after smacking “Impossible Germany” and “Poor Places” out of the park, Wilco moved to a semi-acoustic mode. The lights dimmed and the sold-out rock palace became a cozy, intimate theater again. An acoustic “Spiders (Kidsmoke)” was an interesting twist, pulling the lyrics to the forefront of the usually jam-techno vibe.

Back to full electric, the perfectly calibrated arc of the Wilco show continued, highlighting almost every album from the catalog, every mood and style in their arsenal and likely most of the requests the packed crowd could have wanted. Another night, another perfect game from Tweedy and the boys—but no lingering, because they’ve got something like 161 more of them to play. —A. Stein

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Better Late Than Never: A ’Roo with a View

July 10th, 2009

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Eddie Bruiser is a menace. As our RV neared Bonnaroo on Thursday afternoon, an already-sweaty Eddie incessantly urged me to ingest something I’d ordinarily otherwise never consider. (He claimed it was Aboriginal, but with its string of vowels and two sets of double g’s—one of them, strangely, silent—it was unpronounceable.) Sensing my reluctance, he said, “Come on, think of me as Pops Staples, and ‘I’ll Take You There.’” But despite my affinity for the Staple Singers’ soulful sounds, I was pretty sure blindly following Eddie’s lead would end disastrously, with me in a ditch or, worse, prison. And, yet, for some strange reason, like Alice before me, I decided to see what was down that rabbit hole. We didn’t sleep for days, but we sure did see a lot of music. —R. Zizmor

Photos courtesy of Chris Reddish