Photos by David Harris
The Wilco frontman had to fend off adversaries from the crowd.
“You seem uneducated,” shouted an audience member at Jeff Tweedy in response to the light roasting he’d just given another fan for declaring their love for him.
“It’s started already,” the singer had sighed, clearly no stranger to mid-set professions of love from fans. “Do you really think I need any more encouragement?”
The audience collectively shifted in their seats, cringing at the pointed outburst labelling the Wilco frontman “uneducated” while a bewildered Tweedy tried to get the show back on track.
“This crowd is very strange,” he would later muse after fielding an hour and a half of comments from fans ranging from unsolicited song requests to “have you gotten down to Wilsons Promontory yet?”. Having fronted stages for the majority of his life, Tweedy met each aside with cutting wit – never missing a beat.
Perhaps it’s his inviting nature which some perceive as an invitation to attempt to converse with him while he’s onstage. Between his recently released, utterly candid memoir Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back) and the endearingly personal and resonant nature of his lyrics, it’s easy to feel like you know the man. Hell, it’s as if we’ve all been Jeff Tweedy at some point in our lives.
Mere moments earlier, Jen Cloher had coaxed us in with tales of her childhood alter-ego Jon – a BMX-riding androgynous gamer who fell in with the private school boys, until they realised he was actually a she – and perhaps some had grown too comfortable during the friendly familiarity of this interaction.
Where Cloher led the crowd through a light-hearted set comprising a handful of acoustic tracks, ‘Regional Echo’, ‘Sensory Memory’, ‘Fear is Like a Forest’ and ‘Strong Woman’, Tweedy’s tone was more brooding and sombre – initially, at least.
Touching on the ‘90s with ‘Via Chicago’ and ‘I’m Always In Love’, the 2000s with ‘Jesus, Etc.’ and ‘Impossible Germany’ and the ‘10s with ‘Some Birds’ and ‘Bombs Above’, the cosy theatre was warm with a sense of nostalgia as Tweedy fingerpicked his way through decades of material.
After encouraging the crowd to harmonise with him during the chorus of ‘Noah’s Flood’, Tweedy asked what we’d like to sing next. After being battered by a gauntlet of titles he settled on ‘California Stars’ and an all-in choral rendition of the track soon floated through the room.
Standing centre stage, dressed in all black and wielding nothing but an acoustic guitar and a lifetime worth of songs, Tweedy’s musicianship was the focal point of the evening. Whether he was producing his rasp-tinged falsetto as he sang of love squandered and time gone by or evoking laughs with ridiculously indulgent guitar solos, it was impossible to refuse his charm.
Despite the many cases of audience faux pas between songs, the room fell so silent while he played that you could hear the occasional shutter of photographers’ cameras as their owners crept around the dark peripheries of the room.
As if the world had stopped turning while he played, an hour and a half passed in what seemed like both an instant and an eternity and Tweedy bade the crowd farewell. Walking outside, the rain had cleared and the fresh feeling that only comes with a passed storm or a truly enchanting experience hung on the cool Melbourne air as the audience members each scuttled home, likely to drop the needle on newly purchased vinyls in a bid to savour the evening.
Highlight: Tweedy’s banter.
Lowlight: Everyone yelling unsolicited comments.
Crowd Favourite: ‘California Stars’.
