Concert Review: Wilco at the Fillmore Miami Beach, March 22
Photo by John Hood Wilco performing live at the Fillmore Miami Beach.
The Fillmore Miami Beach
Monday, March 22, 2010
Better Than: Having to travel all the Way to Chicago's Vic Theater.
Call me a fogy if you want -- a lightweight, a wimp. Yes, Wilco staged at The Fillmore Gleason last night, and yes, I left at intermission. And I know damn well that more than a few folks in the sold-out crowd would take serious issue with my departure.
Forget the fact that this was Wilco's first ever Miami appearance, the first North American date on their new tour, and the first time the band has ever executed "An Evening With..." Forget that they vowed to play three hours and most likely did just that if not more. This was Wilco, man. And I walked out.
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Guns N' Roses: Not In This Lifetime Tour
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Lionel Richie: All The Hits With Very Special Guest Mariah Carey
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But not before I was wowed to a point that I thought a perfect end to a sublime evening.
Let me explain:
The night began as almost all of my best nights at The Fillmore Gleason have begun, and that was in the photo pit, with nothing between me and the band but my misgivings. This being Wilco, there were none. And I got to enjoy the full effect of having a couple thousand plus fans to my back and a powerhouse band before me.
It's a heady place to be alright -- privileged too. And I tend to savor
every minute. The front line of worshipers, who arrived earliest, nabbed
choice positions, and showed nothing if not utter devotion. And the
band itself, which is unquestionably one of the most fan-friendly acts
ever to grace that fabled stage.
If I and the cat standing behind
me are not mistaken, Wilco opened with "Wilco (The Song)." Already a
rollicking number, live Wilco stretched their namesake song to a frenzy
of electric thrash and churn. And then they did likewise but more so
with "Bull Black Nova," Nels Cline's guitar leading an attack of melodic
dissonance that threatened to bring down the wall of sound.
doubled from last year's Wilco (The Album), Wilco the band then
flashed back to 2007's Sky Blue Sky for the endearingly haunting
"You Are My Face." Again the electric charged harder than the recording,
only this time Pat Sansone and Jeff Tweedy got in on the thrashing as
In fact, Wilco has the most potent three-guitar charge
since Lynyrd Skynyrd initially graced arenas. Sure, they've taken a page
from Sonic Youth's playbook. But they've also shredded it, and then
placed the pieces back together into a design wholly their own.
not try to pretend to know all the other songs Wilco played before they
broke for intermission. But I do recall "I'll Fight" and "One Wing" and
"At Least That's What You Said" and a version of "Deeper Down" that was
as subtle as a shadow and a version of "A Shot in the Arm" that
literally exploded in the last four bars.
Then it happened, my
perfect end to a sublime evening. The song is called "Handshake Drugs."
It's a sing-song riot of color and narrative. And it evokes a part of my
old life that I can still sometimes summon at will. Not always fondly,
mind you. But it's there, lurking in the deep recesses of a very shady
If you've ever lived in a big city -- to me this reeks of
New York, though it could very well be Chicago or Miami -- and gone
downtown to cop, then you know the nearly out-of-body experience it can
be. There's the thrill of hunt; the fear of getting beat; the giddy of
anticipation. If your quest was driven by need, compound that
exponentially; then triple it again. It's a dangerous business, and for
all its deathly pallor, there's no way you can not feel completely alive
while you're conducting it. Hell, you have no choice really; if you're
not aware at every moment, you just may lose your life.
Wilco tells it is just the way it is, and the way it was for me lo those
many moons ago. It brought me back; it revved me up; and it reached the
very marrow of my being. And if you wanna take issue with that, have at
it, because I for one would not have wanted to end the evening any
Personal Bias: I use to live on the 42nd floor
of Marina Towers, the twin cylindrical buildings on the cover of Wilco's
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
Random Detail: There was enough
working class hip in the house to make it look like Chicago had come to
By the Way: If you feel like telling me (or the
world) what came about after intermission of last night's kickass show,
the Comments are open.
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