WAVE GOODBYE TO PRIDE

By: B

Now that the dust has cleared and your headache has subsided, it’s time to ‘fess up: your love for music has officially become a sickness. Your antics at the latest Wilco concert have dropped you into an entirely new class of society. You are now a fanatic, a groupie, an obsessed lunatic who has shunned the social norms you used to happily follow.

The show in which you discarded all credibility as an adult took place at the Orpheum Theatre in Minneapolis, MN. You were with some of your best pals in the world, and had been looking forward to the concert for so long. This band is your personal Beatles, a spectacular, multitalented group that amazes you with every album release. The brightest quality shown by Wilco is their versatility. You could create a mixed disc of Wilco ballads that’d cause you to cry yourself into the fetal position, yet you could just as easily generate a mix that move even the lamest of parties onto the dance floor.

Besides greatness, you didn’t know what to expect from the Wilco concert.

It quickly became evident to everyone in the building that this was a special night. Wilco’s beefier six-man lineup made for an impressive sound. Rather than succumb to the predictable artistic indulgences often seen in mature, critically-acclaimed bands (see: Radiohead, Ryan Adams), Wilco clearly arrived in Minneapolis ready to perform for their fans, rather than simply in front of them. You were right to feel this was a special performance. You were wrong, however, to throw away any shred of dignity you had gained in your young life.

Wilco started the show with “At Least That’s What You Said,” the opener from their newest disc A Ghost is Born. It’s a sonic heart attack, starring heavy, pounding drums and unrestrained guitar licks keeping the pace. With their new six-person lineup, this was the perfect opener. And you let everyone around you know that, didn’t you? Didn’t you lean over to the folks in front of you, sticking your face right next to their ears and predict how amazing this show was going to be? You didn’t even know them.

And didn’t you repeatedly slap your friends on the back and predict a great night? It was unnecessary since they also love Wilco, and they were sitting right next to you. Why wouldn’t you let others come to their own conclusions? Did you not notice their eye-rolling and annoyed head nods? You need help.

You officially went over the cliff of respectability when you heard the first chords of “Hummingbird,” the most radio-friendly track off A Ghost Is Born. It is quickly climbing up the ranks in your internal “favorite Wilco songs” list constantly running through your head. You were the only person standing up in your section, a jumping, beaming lunatic amongst level-headed adults who know better. You clapped your hands above your head and threw your head back and squeezed your eyes shut and absolutely screamed the chorus. Alone.

You know now that all your friends were staring at you, right? Glancing at each other and rolling their eyes at your behavior? At the time you felt sorry for the squares too timid to get up and show their appreciation, but now you wish you were one of them. Oh, to be an adult with a firm handle on his emotions – for you, this is but a dream.

When you stepped out to head to the bathroom, you ran. You flew by the security guards and bartenders and folks in conversation, their bodies a blur. You cursed yourself as you heard “Theologians” threw the curtains and the walls, and you promised yourself you weren’t going to miss another song. You didn’t even wash your hands.

You continued to stand throughout the show, one of the few brave (read: jerk) fans willing to make such an overt commitment. You claimed in the middle of the show that this was your favorite concert of all time, and inside your head you convinced yourself this was the best night of your life. Alcohol does strange things to people, but with you, it’s the music that clouds your judgment. If you were a woman, you’d have removed your top. As you reluctantly think back to that night, you bow your head in shame.

It was during the second encore that you decided to leave your friends behind to venture toward the stage. You were all alone now, still squeezing your eyes shut and belting out the lyrics. When Tweedy told the crowd that “Bush needs to go,” you almost started crying with happiness.

Beyond the superior musicianship displayed at the show, the setlist was perfect. Wilco played most of their latest disc, including a lively, sing-along version of “The Late Greats.” They played the best half-dozen tracks off earlier discs Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Summerteeth and Being There. Wilco also brought out older fan favorites such as “Passenger Side” and “Candy Floss,” the latter almost bringing you to your knees in enjoyment. All in all, a fantastic show, and you shamelessly let everyone within earshot know it.

Normal people exit the theatre with the people they arrived with. They slowly make their way to the exits, often wandering to a nearby bar to hash out the show, to pick favorites and shoot the shit before heading home for the night. You? You ditched your pals and instead decided to plead with numerous security guards to let you backstage for an interview (using your measly website as justification), though you know full well you’d have acted like a caged beast had you been allowed to meet the band.

After a half hour, you quit trying to weasel your way backstage and dejectedly headed for your car. The night was effectively over, but the dried sweat on your shirt and aching larynx proved you got your money’s worth.

The next morning, your first feeling is of regret. Regret for acting like a childish imbecile. Regret for behaving like this was your first concert, because you’re typically proud of your concert etiquette. And when you got into your car and turned your key in the ignition, the absolute maxed-out volume of “I’m Always In Love” in the car stereo shook the ground and shot daggers of pain behind your eyes. But for a second, just a split-second as you frantically tried to turn down the volume, you briefly understood why you acted the way you did.

POP RATING: 8.5

CRITICAL RATING: 9.5

B'S RATING: 9.5

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