OK, first thing’s first – here’s our podcast for this week, where we discuss Saturday night’s Wilco show here in Madison, and review the album “Teen Dream” from the band Beach House.[audio:http://media.libsyn.com/media/willsband/Beach_House.mp3]
Or download directly here.
The Wilco show was at the Overture Center, the fancy arts center here in Madison that went from “cultural center” to “taxpayer boondoggle” with breakneck speed. But it’s good to see them booking shows that sell out – they seem to be turning the place around by offering more high-demand artists. Anyway:
We thought we got downtown in time to have dinner at Cooper’s, the new place on Capitol square. But naturally, it was packed, with an hour wait. People inside were jammed up against the window. As we stood outside to plan our next move, I got a call that I saw was from an old fraternity buddy of mine. We were still haggling on where to go eat, so I hit “ignore” on the phone, and saw that he left a message. I put the phone back in my pocket, and felt it buzz again. It was him again, so again, I hit “ignore.” Again, he left a voice mail. (I checked the voice mails, and it cut in and out, so I couldn’t tell what he wanted.)
Of course, two minutes later, I feel a tap on my shoulder – and it’s him. He was a foot away from me, but inside and pressed up against the glass. He was trying to call me to get me to turn around, where he was watching me ignore his calls. Awesome. I told him I really was going to call him back, but I think he wasn’t buying it. So my bad, Pete.
After dinner, I split off and met some friends at Paul’s Club for a couple pre-show drinks. While lounging on the couches there, we met some wildly entertaining gay dudes who were down from the Twin Cities for some kind of bar crawl. They were a riot – so I slipped some money to my neighbor to go buy them some drinks. Of course, she announces to them that it was me that purchased their stoli and cranberries. So one guy complimented me on my Doc Martens – which I thought he was being sarcastic. (I’m a little touchy ever since a girl at a concert a couple months ago called me “90’s Guy” – and she didn’t mean it as a compliment. I was so mad, I threw my beeper at her.)
So this guy playfully told me I was cute – which I thought was awesome – I don’t get many compliments, so why not take the ones I can get, right? But then later, I found out he said the same thing about another guy that was in our group. And in a weird way, I kind of got mad – I thought I WAS THE SPECIAL ONE. I felt like I had been cheated on. Anyway.
We got to the show, and bought the child proof sippy cups of beer they make you use at the Overture center. It didn’t take long for us to realize that we were sitting in front of the world’s biggest Wilco fan. He knew every word to every song and was singing them at the top of his lungs. Finally, I got up the nerve (a couple sippy cups later) to turn around and ask him to stop. I said “I’m sure you’re a wonderful singer, but I didn’t pay $40 to hear you sing.” He then reached toward me, stuck up his fingers and gave me the “talk to the hand” dismissive wave. And I’d like to say there was more to it, but that was about it. I shook my head and rolled my eyes, and went back to focusing on the show. Oddly, he disappeared a few songs later.
All in all, a good night out for the old folks. Nothing a few Advil and about four Eggo Waffles couldn’t cure.