Opener cum Tweedy band guitarist Liam Kazar sounds and looks like a cross between Bob Dylan and Malcolm Gladwell. That’s kind of a joke that gets less funny immediately and less true as the night goes on and you see his face better from under more lights and different angles.
His lovely parlour guitar has had a recent fret dressing, yielding zero buzz and an unprecedented shine. That is no joke. Neither are his songs.
His new album Pilot Light comes out at the end of the month, with the lovely “Didn’t I” coming out on Wednesday.
Liam wants to fill some time while he tunes back to standard and so he asks if Montreal supports the Blue Jays. Sheesh, as Norm MacDonald once said, “no need to divide the audience so early.”
Checking out the tour photos, my wife wondered aloud, “who’s Jeff’s son?” and I was like… “those guys.” When I pointed out Spencer and Sammy, she said, “not him?” I said, “no, not Liam.” Then we both agreed that Kazar could be, or should be. And hearing him in person, well, he certainly shares a musical DNA. Maybe he gets injections. Some families are born, some are chosen, I guess.
The intermission songs piped into the venue have been impeccably chosen. No doubt they are different show to show; it doesn’t feel overly curated. “Lake Shore Drive” enters my ears and winds its way into my heart, like I’ve been given permission to enjoy it unironically.
It reminds me of Jeff Tweedy’s recent (meaning since Covid, because time is bending strangely since then) open-lettered mea culpa on looking down his nose on certain songs and tastes. Let’s not gatekeep ourselves, after all.
On my way to the show tonight, I seriously considered getting a Bristol board and scrawling “play ‘Family Trips with the Meyers Brothers Theme!’” knowing full well if I held it up it would block multiple people’s view and that Jeff does not remember his contribution to the podcast at all. That said, I’ll let you know I thought it because it’s the perfect example of someone having such a great voice they could read the phone book and it would be, as we say today, content.
But I had missed the store, and dang it—replaying the podcast opening theme song that Jeff barely recalls recording has ruined it for me. I have musically portmanteaued (sic) Family Trips with Meyers Brothers into “800-588-2300 Empire!” A problem shared is a problem halved, and so if three people read this piece, I think the problem can then become manageable.
The very young band file behind Tweedy onto the stage. It’s only noticeable because if Wilco were joining him onstage, well, they look the same age, so you don’t even think of it. His band make him look like the very cool old guy in the group that has the best backstory and air of detachment.
Second song “Betrayed” throws the curve you should see coming but you don’t. It’s so head-bobbingly good that when it ends too fast and with a bad key change and a purposeful betrayal of notes—perfection.
“One Tiny Flower” oscillates between creational beauty and creational freakout, and the whole place is in a trance. Like little bulbs with our hands in our pockets, our heads rise to the sunshine of the soft harmonies. With every return to the chorus, more of us burst our faces through the dirt and feel the beautiful sun.
A friend had texted wondering if any of the Wilco classics get played. I responded I can’t even be mad if he doesn’t. We shall see.
“No one stands a chance getting caught up in the past.” What a line! And juxtaposed with his sons beside him playing hard and being so dang into it, Jeff Tweedy is winning at life. He is not living in the past. He does not need to.
Case in point: I can honestly report to my friend that I did not hear one single Wilco song. And I have a pretty good recollection of that catalogue. Anyone notice that he actually did and want to shame me? I welcome it—hit us up in the comments.
“Low Key” still slaps, and the band of friends and family all add to the lush joy with incredibly tasteful playing and perfect harmonies. It does not sound as good when you catch it on YouTube later, trust me. See it in person.
This is my second time seeing Jeff Tweedy here at the Beanfield without Wilco. I can honestly say, whether he’s got a band behind him singing probably better live harmonies than the rest in Wilco (no offence to anyone at all) or it’s just him singularly strumming like he’s the most popular café troubadour on earth, it’s worth every single penny to see it and hear it and feel it.
I would also note, unfortunately, his audience here in the city I love is kind of mixed between cool and extremely dumb. To the point I’m wondering, who are these people? (Seinfeld) Who are these people who shout out non sequiturs or “Stairway to Heaven!” and make Jeff visibly cringe three times a show both times I’ve seen him? Who are these people!? Not even “PLAY Stairway to Heaven!” You can’t just scream “Stairway to Heaven!” and he’ll know what you want. It isn’t “Freebird.” Anyway.
Jeff Tweedy 8/10 would see again.
Review – Mike Rogers
Photos – Rose Arouch
