Wilco Will Love You Baby

I bought tickets to see Wilco while in Georgia. It was one of those situations where I just needed something to lift me, something to put on the horizon. I bought two tickets, thinking I’d invite a friend. 

Something deep was yearning for Wilco. I’d been feeling it for months now, checking their tour dates on and off. Then I saw it: a show in London, August 20. I had no idea where I’d be at that time, and the tickets were a little expensive, but I saw that show and something in me started surging. I pulled the trigger.

Wilco is my all-time favorite band. I’ve seen them five times now, four more times than any other band. Every year, without fail, they are my “Most Listened To” on Spotify. Every single year.  

That’s because Wilco isn’t just a band for me. They mean something deeper, a time in my life when I transformed from one person into another. Ever since, they’ve been my comfort, my place to return to, which is why I can listen to their songs over and over and never tire of them. 

In Georgia, I wasn’t craving Wilco specifically, I was craving home, yet without the stress of going back to the US. I just needed relief, a recharge, something real, like one solid home-cooked meal. And for me, that was Wilco.

I invited two different people and neither could make it. I wasn’t disappointed, though. Actually, it got me a little excited. This would be my first concert going alone. I’d have no one to tend to, no one to check in with. My favorite thought was, I can go to the bathroom as I please, and just drift around. 

I arrived in London August 15. I enjoyed those days thoroughly: I went to a wonderful photo exhibition, ate well, and walked the Thames regularly. The weather was autumnal and perfect. Yet it felt like I was just killing time before the concert.

And finally, it came.

The day of, I woke up and it felt like the first day of school. I popped out of bed, It’s Wilco Day. All day I was giddy, maybe too giddy, reminding myself that this level of excitement is rarely ever satisfied. 

The day crawled. I wrote and putzed, then finished my lessons and closed my computer.

I had my dinner. I put on my fancy shirt. Then, about thirty minutes before I was set to leave, something shifted. Suddenly, I felt alone. Worse, I felt like a loser. Who goes to a concert alone? 

I tried some journaling. It worked for ten minutes, then the relief wore off. Rationally, I knew this wasn’t a big deal. People go to concerts alone all the time. And actually, if I were at the show, and I met a guy who traveled across the world to see this band, I’d think he was the coolest dude ever. Yet for me, in my own eyes, I couldn’t see it that way.

The truth is, I wanted to go with someone. I only got excited about going alone once I knew I had to.

I took the bus there, and I was feeling low. Then I started thinking about my fears of hair loss (my hair had started thinning lately, ugh), which triggered fears of what could possibly be causing it, and so on. Things got darker and darker. 

And then I arrived. 

WILCO.

Seeing those letters on the front billboard of that theater, seeing the charming Brits in their Wilco t-shirts — one, a group of eight young lads, the new generation, wearing matching T’s that said Wilko, posing for a picture — and I lit up. I was god damn motherfucking giddy. 

I was beaming as I walked through security, showing my ticket. I beamed as I walked in the door.

Then came the show, and I rocked my freaking face off.

Months of tension, of no sex, all of it — anxiety, loneliness, you name it — dripped off me on that dance floor. As soon as that first song came on, Handshake Drugs, I was feeling it, people: the lone dancing maniac in a crowd of stiff Brits.

I didn’t take a single video. I knew just about every song, every chord, and sang each at the top of my lungs. I was covered in sweat. And best of all, I never needed to look over and make sure the other person was enjoying themselves. I was in my own world. My Wilco world.

One guy was bobbing along, right in front of me. We ended up standing next to each other. After the last song, I’m the Man Who Loves You, he turned to me and said: “Mate, I thought I loved Wilco, but you are on another level.”