A seven thousand kilo US grand tour??? Are they fuckin' nuts? HGH makes you stoopid, as proven in the latest mega-bust. Extreme tall biking. Snake is pissed at Floyd. Rose Bowl ridazz are pissed too. Laser engraved ostrich eggs, really. Cog heads. Ultralight folder. viva.
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Wilco, Roger
Pedaled the Jonny in freewheel mode to The Greek under oppressive heat. Still the best way to and fro any show in Los. Wilco under a waning moon, astounding as it should be as it has been before. At the Aronson Ford or scat solo in small clubs this band has it's chops down every time we've seen'm. Each song jazzed up with impromptu fills, sustained riffs informed by dark magic through double runs of the bridge. Tweedy reserved, singing not speaking much. Saving voice vs soto voce. Different show to those in need of the usual comedy perhaps. Nels Cline providing the local boy comes home angle, again and without any doubt he'd kill it. The man might well be the finest experimental guitarist of our generations here vamping in a tight as trousers six piece rock outfit. In that construct unleashed Nels is a destroyer. Kotche the drummer is profound, jazzhand trickery, altering every nuance of even old numbers dusted off while maintaining a thundering backclap stomp for the boys to swing along with. We've seen him use live crickets as an instrument during a sublime solo set, the man has time. For some real jazz trickery, check out Eddie Harris here in these two clips.
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