If Wilco’s show on Saturday night revealed anything about the well-established, much-revered band, it’s that there are plenty of people willing to bow down at the altar of Jeff Tweedy.
It was new-age church meets tent revival as elaborate lighting gave way to the crowd’s ecstatic shouts, and when the band left the stage after two-and-a-half hours, it was clear that the Durham Performing Arts Center had been moved by Wilco’s rock ‘n’ roll gospel.
The juxtaposition of rowdy rock and religious experience was manifested in the intricate lighting. Rods of light that resembled candelabras lined the stage, flashing and fading to the band’s varying tempos.
CONCERT REVIEW
Wilco
Durham Performing Arts Center
Saturday
Dive verdict: 4 of 5 stars
It sometimes grew overwhelming — bright panels would illuminate the crowd for a few seconds, then switch suddenly with the smash of a cymbal. These frenzied shifts in light vacillated between distracting and effective, especially when they forced the audience’s attention to different parts of the stage.
While the complex lighting was a large component of Wilco’s performance, the music remained the primary focus. “Impossible Germany” and “At Least That’s What You Said” were crowd favorites, inciting rousing sing-alongs.
Despite a false start at the beginning of “Hate It Here,” the mellifluous sound of Tweedy’s voice carried through the venue, as pristine as a studio recording, and the band’s instrumentation never faltered. The group’s last song, a cover of Big Star’s “Thank You Friends” dedicated to the late Alex Chilton, demonstrated its fluidity, melding numerous instruments into a seamless whole.
But most intriguing was Tweedy’s interaction with the crowd. The singer paused between songs to give away gift certificates to Lantern and Piedmont, and answered a few of the many shouts from the crowd.
When he spied a man in one of the front rows wearing a shirt on which his image was pictured, the musician pulled him onstage and said, “That shirt really scared me — come here. Can you turn that shirt inside out? Wow, that is hideous. I am one ugly man.”
This sense of self-deprecation reappeared later. After the band finished an older track, Tweedy remarked, “That’s a song from back when our records had edge.”
And this “edge” came to the forefront during the band’s performance of “Via Chicago.” Tweedy’s earnest vocals flowed from the stage to the fans, velvety until the sudden interruption of thrashing drums. This was the singular instance in which Wilco broke from its approachable brand of twangy pop, giving the crowd a glimpse of its occasional alternative leanings.
The real fervor of Wilco’s relationship with its fans reached its head with “Jesus, Etc.” As the band played the opening chords, Tweedy stepped away from the microphone for a full-fledged audience sing-along. Fans from the back corners of the mezzanine to the front row sang every word until Tweedy resumed his position at the microphone toward the end of the song.
It’s this sense of near-religious devotion that characterizes the band’s relationship with its fans. The entire show was peppered with shouts that could easily have been mistaken for exaltations, and the dedication with which many audience members knew the band’s lyrics felt like rock ‘n’ roll martyrdom.
The show had the requisite flaws — occasionally imperfect lighting, a forgivable false start — but in Wilco’s rock ‘n’ roll temple, the band’s music transcends these minor issues.
Contact the Diversions Editor at dive@unc.edu.
