if I had a mountain

A fairly early morning followed the Berkeley shows as we set out for Reno, our second stop on this Wilco run. We didn't make the best time, thanks to a detour through wine country that was absolutely worth the diversion. I wouldn't have changed a thing, on either side of the border.

Wilco, Grand Sierra Theatre, September 23, 2012: When I first told my cousin I was headed to this show, she asked if Wilco was playing a casino. I read between the lines -- we all know who plays casinos, right? Never mind that Wilco already graced at least one gambling den a few years back, and it turned out to be a totally unique gig on several counts. Also, we all know the music industry has changed over the last couple of decades. Today's casino gig isn't necessarily your parents' casino gig.



Of course, I can crow about it now because the Reno gig was a hoot overall, but I shared my cousin's apprehension at first. My concerns had more to do with the venue. Early photos revealed a setup more suited to, say, Steve and Eydie than to the bands I see in little clubs. Also, who goes to shows in Reno?

Even after we entered the room, questions lingered. Most of the dozen-odd people in front of us in line opted to grab a booth so that the elongated GA floor looked ever more expansive as a handful of us staked out our spots. The room eventually filled up, but to add to the strange sensation, Jonathan Richman and Tommy Larkin's equipment was set unnervingly close to the edge of the stage. I think maybe two inches separated us from Tommy's kit. Thankfully, Wilco's gear sat several yards away, though not far enough to discourage interlopers under the influence (more on that later).



I'm not sure if I've gone over this before, so forgive me if I'm repeating myself (and playing the pedant card too hard), but Wilco tends to roll out a certain set whenever the band visits a new town. For these first visits, they usually favor the newest album, add in tracks from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, slot in the nightly staples (these days, "Impossible Germany"; on the West Coast, often "California Stars"), then mix it up with album cuts and whatever else strikes their fancy.

This formula held in Reno, with a bunch of YHF tunes, but surprisingly, Wilco opted for a couple of AM tracks as well: the underrated "Should've Been in Love" (a popular request on Wilcoworld, apparently) and the no-brainer "Casino Queen." The other unexpected flavor to the setlist was the reliance on Wilco's artsier tunes. As it was Sunday, the set opened with "One Sunday Morning," followed by "Poor Places" and "Art of Almost." In the second encore, we'd get "Via Chicago," which sent the fanboys directly to my left into paroxysm of joy (even if they or one of their friends claimed ignorance on "California Stars").

You could argue that loud/soft/chaos/control mix is the foundation of Wilco's works, but trust me, I've heard a lot more straightforward sets in bigger towns. Kudos to the band for pulling it off in a tertiary market!

Jeff had a couple of amusing exchanges with the audience. For one, he conducted an informal poll asking who'd attended Wilco's earlier appearance in Reno, in support of Sheryl Crow. By Jeff's rough count, about seven people could claim the distinction. On a related note, Jeff asked how many people were actually from Reno. The response was bigger, but not particularly overwhelming. Doing their part, the audience gave back with tons of enthusiasm and a chant of "eight more songs," a bizarrely specific number. I can't report if the math worked out, but I think they were in the same ballpark as the printed setlist. It all added up to a loose, rocking show -- the kind I dream of as I'm covering miles upon miles between venues.

By the end of the evening, Jeff said something to the affect that Nevadans are the best. As a Californian, I was OK with that. I already know where to find the greatest audience of all. Hell, I tip my hat to Reno too.

Two notes before I conclude this post: Toward the end of Jonathan Richman's set, a woman barged in next to us, taking advantage of the far too relaxed fellow who didn't guard his spot at the front of the stage. She stayed for the rest of Wilco's set, during which she occasionally interjected, "We love you, Jeff Tweedy!" It became pretty evident that she was tweaked out, but I was still surprised when she jumped onstage between the main set and the encore to try to grab the set list. The security crew was somewhat slow on the uptake, though they managed to bring her back to the pit. In the process, I lost a bet.

Finally, that left turn we took toward wine country led us to the Bouchon Bakery. If only every Sunday morning looked like this.

See also:
» the lovely way the sunshine bends
» where the blacktop cracks

the lovely way the sunshine bends

The wait between shows wasn't supposed to be this long, but stuff happens. I mean, there was one gig in Portland back in July, but it didn't feel like blog material. Anyway, I can promise at least a few updates coming up, starting with -- for better or worse -- familiar names.

Wilco, Greek Theatre, September 21-22, 2012: As stated ad nauseum in this blog, there's only one reason I'll go to the Greek Theatre these days, but that didn't mean I necessarily looked forward to these shows. Fortunately, I'm happy to say I was completely wrong, as there's so much more to a concert than stage height and proximity to my apartment. In short, Wilco put on a great two-night stand, adding up to fantastic weekend all around.

Let's hit the tangibles first. As this was Wilco's only multishow appearance in any city on this touring run, the Berkeley audience got a varied setlist that included tracks heard less often, including "Laminated Cat," "Wishful Thinking," and "Company in My Back," to name a few. The track list alone would've made this set of gigs a highlight in any touring year, but there was so much more.

Early in the first night, "Sunken Treasure" jumped out at me. Of course, it's a staple of Wilco's set, but longtime observers may have noticed the band's ongoing tinkering with one of its more seminal tracks. I honestly think you could write a whole 33 1/3 book on this song alone. A number of years ago, I recall a loping, jazzy treatment; you could practically hear the song breathe as it progressed. This time, the band seemed to take the opposite tack, with a tauter, more menacing approach that reminded me strongly of the desperation I heard when I first listened to the song.

I've heard most Wilco songs more than any human being needs to, so I can't claim ignorance or lack of exposure to the band's catalog. For whatever reason, however, two more titles hit me in a way that are so obvious I shouldn't bother typing out my thoughts -- but I will!

The first was "Say You Miss Me," which I've always loved, but my ears finally registered the Rolling Stones influence. Maybe it was the electric guitar? Anyway, it drove home the wistfulness, as if I needed another reason to totally dig that song.

It happened once more toward the end of the second night with "Kicking Television." Yeah, the tune's roots hide in plain view, but dammit, even the desiccated husk of Iggy and Co. would have to smile at this volcanic rendition. You could feel that lowdown guitar/drum/bass rumble all the way to your core.

The other highlights of the show are a little harder to quantify; all I can really say is that the two-night span felt like a big celebration. Jeff was in a great mood, bringing his guitar tech out for a joke referencing his son Spencer's appearance at the Greek a few years back, cracking the obligatory marijuana jokes, and unbuttoning Josh's shirt when the tech at first resisted the move for his customary cameo on "Hoodoo Voodoo."

However, a better indication of the mutual appreciation flowing between the audience and the band had to be the sheer number of singalongs. Not surprising, we kicked in with "Shot in the Arm" and "Hummingbird," but even Jeff noted our stronger than usual contributions on the latter. I don't think any of us could've predicted that Jeff would hand over the entire first verse of "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" to the fans -- who came through beautifully, if I say so myself. You might've foreseen the collective effort on "Misunderstood," but that doesn't take away from the simple fact that probably thousands of fans were united in roaring out verse after verse of their angst in rock form.

Jeff registered a couple of sassy comments about the uneven ticket sales over the two nights. Though the second night felt full enough, the first evening drew a sparser crowd. The head count felt respectable to me, especially considering the faithful had already turned out for the band's extended visit earlier this year. But in case you had any suspicions Jeff was joshing us, he gushed over the Bay Area fans, calling us the best audience anywhere and crediting us with inventing the rock crowd. He even noted our knowledge of "deep album cuts," a sure sign of dedication. It wasn't the first time he's shared these sentiments, but it never gets old to these local ears.

Cibo Matto opened for Wilco the first night, and Jonathan Richman took the mantle the second night. On both nights, the respective opener's fans made themselves known. Cibo Matto probably held the edge with Wilco fans, as every single Wilco band member joined Cibo Matto during their set, including Jeff lending vocals to "Sugar Water." Jonathan Richman reprised his opener role with Wilco, as he did in 2001. By the end of the evening, Jeff cited Jonathan as one of the dozen most important American musicians of all time, alongside the likes of Little Richard and Woody Guthrie (he didn't flesh out all 12).

Music aside, this tour also became an excuse to visit a few of California's finer bakeries, and we kicked off the carbo loading with one of the best in the country: Tartine. You don't need to know my complete lack of restraint at my first sighting ever of the fable Tartine croissants (the hazards of being a late, lazy riser who lives on the other side of town). All you need to know is that two croissants -- and the banana cream pie, I suppose -- are but a fraction of the final order.



See also:
» can't find the time to write my mind
» i've run out of metaphors
» tired of being exposed to the cold

we both pretend we don't know why

I'm not going to lie -- the concert schedule is pretty light for a couple of months unless I go out of my way to hit a gig that holds more than a passing interest (it could happen). But hey, who wants to spend the summer reading other people's concert stories? For now, here's what happened when Justin Townes Earle came to town.

Justin Townes Earle, Great American Music Hall, June 29, 2012: Water, water everywhere/Nor any drop to drink. How do you get turned on to music these days? Honestly, I haven't listened to radio regularly for at least 10 years, and the din from streaming sites, music blogs, free downloads, torrents, and so on has rendered me deaf to promotional opportunities. Typically, friends are better resources, but not if they're simply spouting trends willy-nilly or parroting the latest names to drop. I need considered suggestions from pals who've taken into account what they know of my personal preferences -- is that too much to ask?

Ultimately, live music has to be the hook, and in that regard, I still depend on two forms of media: podcasts and TV performances. Occasionally, they intersect with certain artists, which is how Justin Townes Earle's music finally landed on my ears. It's about time too.

Obviously, Justin Townes Earle has been around for a while, touring with some of my favorite artists and playing Hardly Strictly Bluegrass more than once. I suspect I've never tuned into him partly because I never really sparked to his father (apart from his excellent work with Kidney Now), but in retrospect, it was almost inevitable, considering the Chicago connection, as well as that relatively underproduced singer-songwriter vibe I tend to prefer these days.

I wasn't sure what to expect from this show, but I was pleased to see Justin open with a solo set, namechecking both his grandfather (in the intro) and John Henry (in the song). Over the course of the evening, Justin would take two more solo turns: once in the middle of the evening and again right before the encore, though his band provided strong backing too. The rhythm section was as steady as can be, while the maestro on guitar elevated several already sterling compositions.

Throughout the evening, Justin readily mentioned and paid tribute to his influences, from Woody Guthrie to Lightning Hopkins to his mom and his dad. He made no secret of his strained history with his father, but in an evening filled with origin tales and wry explications, he had only the kindest words for his mother. In fact, he saved his biggest compliment of the night for her when he prefaced a cover song by explaining he first heard it at his mother's table. The tune: The Replacements' "Can't Hardly Wait."

I was easily in over my head at this gig, knowing mostly the new songs, but the voices around me told me there was a reason the show had sold out. They sang along to his older tunes and yelled out loving encouragement during the quieter moments -- just kidding, that was drunken heckling! It wasn't the most respectful audience I've seen at the Great American, but judging by Justin's tales, he was used to much rowdier in his career. I'd like to think we must've sounded pretty sweet to his ears.