JEFF TWEEDY, THE ABBEY PUB, CHICAGO
It is truly amazing what a single musician can do with just a voice and guitar, the emotional magic that is somehow found anew, then stirred and shared. Last night, Tweedy was sheer brilliance. Scraggily, but majestically, he strode upon the stage decorated with seven (seven?) acoustic guitars to chose from, at the intimate Abbey Pub here in Chicago, and proceeded to perform a 90 minute show of music so soulful, so nuanced, so engaging. I'd say without shame that this was the most satisfying evening of music for me in over 7 years, possibly ever, if that wasn't such a trite sort of thing to say.
Terms like "best" and "most" and "ever" are useful to a point with live music, but the fact is that within the last 24 hours, there were probably, I dunno, 537 concerts around the globe that offered audiences the same sort of timeless resonance that Tweedy evoked tonight. That is taking nothing away from anyone, of course, but it is rather to recognize that music belongs to everyone, no exceptions. I gladly evangelize for Tweedy's music, but I'm also wise to the reality that scarcity isn't an issue when it comes to music. It is rather something of abundance, fortunately.
I'm pretty new to the whole Tweedy/Wilco thing, I admit. I've only been a fan for two years, and only familiar with Wilco's last three albums. I find Wilco to be the most unique band on the planet. They preserve key aspects of music from folk/western, classic rock, jamband, experimental/art rock, and punk genres thru a voice that negates the wind remainder in order to broadcast on a frequency all their own. This being Tweedy's adopted hometown, in front of an packed-house audience, many of whom have obviously followed his career closely and for many years, the stage was just waiting for him to provide the connective musical tissue that bound everyone present, to re-create as extension of collective consciousness into musical form that which so luridly captivates, as well as rewards close listening with our entire bodies awake.
Music, when authentic and good, renews the spirit (the breath-force), vibrates the body, and allows the intellect to flow unencumbered in a curious mystery as if in a focused meditation. That is a general statement that can be applied to any kind of music performed by anyone from anywhere. Music is the animated edge between time and timelessness, between our Original Tone, struck before we were born, and the tones-over-rhythm that is our everyday life in the world.
Yet it rings so true as I wind down from this show, at the intimate Abbey Pub (capacity maybe 300), just a short walk from my Logan Square house, just as my brother took off to drive up to our father's house in Milwaukee where he's staying for the next several days before returning to LA. Neither of us could stop talking about just how amazing of a solo performer Tweedy is. We knew only about 25% of the songs; Tweedy pulled from a catalog I'm not entirely familiar with (perhaps old Wilco or even Uncle Tupelo).
But he is such a crafty storyteller, during as well as inbetween songs, with lyrical sentiments I think are pretty easily accessed. There just isn't any bullshit. And, man, that cat knows how to play the guitar with restraint, without needless flourishes except when appropriate to support the lyrics. It is clear that Tweedy first crafts the lyrics, and only then the musical accompaniment, which is exactly how it ought be done.
Wilco is getting more and more popular, and a quick check of their website shows that many of Tweedy's solo shows are already sold out. It was something to hear the entire crowd, more than a few times, sing along with Tweedy through entire songs. During a stripped down "Heavy Metal Drummer", the crowd even supplied the high-pitched "ooh-ah" background vocals during the chorus. Several times during the show, he asked what songs we'd all like to sing along to. He is wise to recognize the collaboration between performer and audience that is fundamental to any renewal via live music.
Given that I no longer do the big rock shows (arena or ampitheatre) like I did in my teens and twenties, and that my energy or free time is at such a premium being a daddy, husband, and composer/artist with a full-time day job at an ad agency, the whole evening was just the perfect speed, at the right time in my life, when I would be most intrigued by the prospect of live Tweedy, given that he fronts my favorite rock band.
How often do ya get to absorb an evening of live music in that sort of situation? It is happened a couple times here in Chicago, I'll say (seeing Califone, Ambulance Ltd., Matt Heimovitz, all at Shubas). And it happened again tonight with Tweedy. Lucky me, I suppose.
Music, when it is right, leaves a permanent imprint that forever ties tones to a moment, as a memory, always yours, always there to renew your breath, your spirit, when you remember and then re-create it. No other art, I think, quite penetrates to the soul of the moment as music can. Music stitches time with space and soul. It is a celebration of communal vibration. It is people. Together. Deeply. Vulnurably. And joyously.
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