Wilco Rarely Skips In Its Ryman Groove

Few evening can beat a 25-song Saturday night with Wilco, espechttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifially at the Ryman with Nick Lowe opening and knowing how it almost didn't happen.

You can't hesitate with tickets to the Ryman. With a band like Wilco, you stake a claim early or accept not attending. I did just that back in August, when I had no inkling about their next record. After the last album, I didn't want to get burned again (their 2009 Cinci performance gave some life to those songs, but it quickly faded). But they turned out a gem, and the tickets were long sold out.

Enter some friends with some highly placed friends. Two weeks before, four tickets in row Q of the main floor came through. As a beggar, I chose not to complain about the difference between floor and balcony seats

Wilco took a bold step by opening with Sunday Morning, a gentle 12-minute epic full of sad, personal lyrics about a bitter father-son relationship. They bounced right back to The Whole Love. Released just five days earlier, the new album's songs dominated the main set. Numbers such as Red Right Lung and I Might feel effortless. On the third album with this lineup, Wilco felt more comfortable than ever in its own skin, even on fractured songs like the Art of Almost.

The older tracks were a stranger bunch. Immediately after Sunday Morning, they launched into One Wing and Bull Black Nova, two false starts from the lackluster Wilco (The Album). They continued their streak of playing Shot in the Arm at shows I attended; nothing else from Summerteeth surfaced.

Wilco rarely follows the same pattern with its encores - sometimes, they extend out to two or three returns to the stage. They went for one big encore Saturday night, eight songs spanning their career and that of their opener. The highlight of the encore came when Nick Lowe returned to join Wilco for 36 Inches High from Jesus of Cool and a duet with Tweedy on I Love My Label, which Wilco covered to announce its new own label.

Regrettably we missed all but four songs of Nick Lowe's opening set, but what a quartet he unleashed. Solo and acoustic, Lowe eased through Cruel to Be Kind and "a song by an old friend," Elvis Costello's Alison. he closed Rockpile standard When I Write the Book and The Beast in Me, his contribution to former father-in law Johnny Cash's American Recordings.

If anything felt off, it was Tweedy's banter. He seemed disengaged and aside from mocking someone with a demand that they play Lexington - to which he responded that they play everywhere, and planned to play Antarctica in 2013 - most of it felt tossed off. But I wouldn't have wanted to talk to that audience either. It was almost entertaining watching people try to hooter and holler above the white noise of songs like Poor Places.

For an album-oriented band, Wilco never struggles to bump early tracks against its noisier output in a set list. Nothing shocked more than the inclusion of two A.M. tracks, Shouldn't Be Ashamed and Boxful of Letters. Being There went ignored until they tore into Monday and Outtasight (Outta Mind), the encore's closers. By pummeling their way through that duo, they proved they can still blaze through early staples without a hitch.