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Wilco heard while you're out and about

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Yesterday Wilco played in my hometown Madrid...although I could not attend this time. Here is a (unedited, sorry) Google translation of their sold-out gig. Original Spanish chronicle in https://www.el

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21 hours ago, chisoxjtrain said:

Also Impossible Germany and a scene that plays Spiders in its entirety (really great scene too). 

Watched the first two episodes so far. VC in the first, haven't heard any more Wilco yet. I agree, excellent series. The chef was my favorite character in Shameless. Definitely give this a strong recommendation, even without Wilco in the soundtrack. 

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Yesterday Wilco played in my hometown Madrid...although I could not attend this time. Here is a (unedited, sorry) Google translation of their sold-out gig. Original Spanish chronicle in https://www.elmundo.es/cultura/musica/2022/06/28/62bac20421efa0d94b8b45ca.html


Surrendered to Wilco

The Chicago band, which presents a new album, uncorked its powers in a dazzling concert. A master class that, departing from the country, married to Gram Parsons with Television


Jeff Tweedy metabolized the pandemic by writing dozens of songs. Every day he sent a model to his cronies. When they were over fifty they got together again in their home studio in Chicago. Playing live, as they hadn't done since 2006, with instruments sizzling together, they recorded Cruel Country. A majestic and melancholic album, which takes them back to the roots sounds before any krautrock experiments, to the days of A.M., their stringy debut, and even to Uncle Tupelo, Tweedy's previous group, pioneers of the so-called alt-country. After several decades rejecting the label, and in the year of the twentieth anniversary of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, that abrasive ode to the disoriented post-9/11 USA, Wilco unashamedly assumed his country streak, his debts to Merle Haggard and Buck Owens, stripped of mannerisms. A drunken trip of spectral woodwind arrangements, ululating lap steel solos and tepid folk gallops. A somber album that smells of infinite spaces, lunar deserts and frontier cities, and now presented live. Yesterday they landed in the Botanical Gardens of Madrid, ready to die or kill.


They put the accent on their new creature, but the director was far from a museum trip through the chests of tradition. Neither in the studio nor on stage are they capable of putting on the bracelets of supposed codes. Far from accumulating clichés, they bring to their field the most canonical genres, subverted while they put the magnifying glass on the contradictions of a turbulent, fascinating, fierce country. The United States, for so many admirable reasons, at times schizophrenic, polarized into schismatic factions, violent and welcoming, disparate and free, stained with blood but also the object of justified adoration for millions of refugees from hunger, is the object of open-hearted scrutiny that does not hide love or make up the horror. Erected as supreme chroniclers of his and his own, incandescent wonders like I am my Mother or Cruel country fell, skilfully combined with classics of the caliber of Impossible Germany, Vía Chicago, War on war, Jesus, etc. or California stars

Favored by a sound of many and glittering carats, fluffy by the return of guitarist Nels Cline, who missed several of the previous concerts due to covid, Wilco displayed with overwhelming naturalness a repertoire that was at times intimate and sometimes violent, with occasional psychedelic broadsides. that put the counterpoint to his sweetest polaroids. All commanded by a Tweedy with an incisive voice, while the band enjoyed themselves and the public broke their hands.

Immense Wilco, always restless and always resounding, ironic without abusing, deep without taking themselves too seriously, playful with a cause, imperial at the controls of their instruments but far from sterile virtuosity, attentive to unfold songs full of questions, that comfort and question . Between The Band and the most lyrical John Lennon, between pop frivolity and the glorious vice for storytelling, indebted to Gram Parsons and the Dylan of the Basement tapes, but also to the Velvet, Wilco are the custodians and innovators of a scorching legacy . I'm still alive in your hands.

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