Thursday, September 23, 2004

I Fell In Love With A Drummer
hmm... actually, I did, but that's a story that may never actually materialize in this medium, sorry. Nope, probably not.

What I am talking about, however, is Wilco. Yes, friends, it was glorious-- and I think I love Wilco's drummer, Glenn Kotche. Most days, I'm lucky if I can keep a beat on my steering wheel without swerving into the other lane. Any man who can play the drums and the xylophone simultaneously has my vote for hottest man on earth. Seriously, kids. So. Hot.

The concert was pretty packed. A friend struggled from the front of the crowd to meet me at the entrance gate. Being of the shorter variety of homosapien, the further I got into the crowd, the less I could actually see. Therefore, after a dismal attempt to wend our way back through the masses toward the stage, my friend and I decided to hang around toward the middle-back and actually have a little breathing room above and around us, while still being able to hear the concert well. Unfortunately, no one informed the drunk girl in front of us about a little thing called "personal space." She would literally lean back onto us even though she and her friends hoarded a luxurious amount of air and ground for themselves. Eventually I just pushed her off. They left shortly after that.

Then there were the girls behind us that were yelling over the music to have a conversation (the girls/guys in front of us did this, too). What I wanted to do was suggest to them that they'd have to yell less if they moved further away from the music. What I did was cover my ear closest to them with my hand and try as hard as I could to focus on each individual instrument along with the entire entity of sound they produced. After that, they quieted down, either due to their own personal increased focus on the music or perhaps my little hint (which wasn't an attempt at hinting, really, but an attempt to let them continue talking without ruining my experience). The only other distraction were the jailbait, who somehow got into the 18+ concert, bopping around in front of us, but at least they were thoroughly engrossed with and enjoying the concert themselves.

Distractions aside, the performance, as expected, left me astonished and amazed. The music swelled and rippled through the graveled parking lot, up my roots and into my stems, imposing its varying tempos into my willingly pursuant pulse. It all too easily overthrew my natural rhythms, beckoning my heart and mind into an adulterous fling of melodic proportions. Mesmerized by the influx and interchange of instrumental tones and textures, my eyelids grew heavy, though my teeth sunk into my fleshy lips, the corners of my mouth released in upturned ecstasy and my heals sunk deep into the ground to counter my soaring soul. Mixed in with the deep, sensual waves of sound floated bright, crisp levity both in verse and discourse, a sort of respite from the riptide that constitutes a majority the band's very aura. After two encores the band finally fled the stage for good, leaving those of us behind to mourn uprooting from our spots no longer fearing floating away in a gust of elation due to the deflation created by the inevitable end of an inspirational evening.