Recap Wilco at Overture Hall

For much of its 16-year existence, the words “Wilco” and “stability” hardly ever ended up in the same sentence. But this Wilco—the outfit that visited the Overture Center For The Arts on Saturday—has been intact for five years and three albums. And you get the feeling that the mix of personalities in the band has finally reached equilibrium with the mix of moods swirling in Jeff Tweedy’s skull. For better or worse, Sky Blue Sky and Wilco (The Album) exude serenity. While fans will continue arguing over the merits of these records, the live prowess of the current lineup of dudes backing up Tweedy cannot be denied. This version of Wilco is simply the most reliable working rock band we have today.

“Reliable” might not be the most thrilling adjective that you can pin on a band, but for Wilco it definitely seems like the highest compliment there is. In “Wilco (The Song),” which opened Saturday’s show, Tweedy promises that Wilco will be there when nobody else can, when the roads are rough, and when you’re exposed to the cold. No wonder Wilco gets saddled with the pejorative “dad rock” label—this band literally wants to muss up your hair and head out back for a catch.

Per usual for Wilco shows of late, Saturday’s performance leaned heavily on Wilco’s last three albums, particularly Wilco (The Album), which took up nearly a fourth of the set. But the most potent in-concert highlights—aside from a cover of Buffalo Springfield’s suite-like “Broken Arrow,” which fit well with the mellow meanderings of the Wilco (The Album) material—were culled from 2004’s A Ghost Is Born, Tweedy’s disquieting “addiction record.” Adding a pinch of salt to a set dominated by many of Wilco’s most laidback and straightforward songs, the cataclysmic “At Least That’s What You Said” hasn’t lost its power as a devastating portrait of domestic discord, slowly melting in a wash of flailing guitars and frayed emotions.

After Tweedy, who drolly asked at one point if the mayor was in the house after the mayor of Duluth checked them out the night before—you just blew a major political opportunity, Dave Cieslewicz—the most important and visible member of Wilco is clearly Nels Cline, whose spastic bursts of kinetic six-string brilliance were once again dazzling throughout the night. Not only can the man play unlike anybody else on the planet, but he’s also a mesmerizing showman, shadowboxing with his amplifier while strangling his guitar to death on “Bull Black Nova.” It was almost too wild for the somewhat uptight Overture Center, which positioned a small army of ushers at every entry point into the theater. But it gave Wilco a little rock ‘n’ roll oomph on an otherwise gentle, sit-down kind of night.

The turnout for opener Califone was disappointing—at least half of the floor seats were empty for most of the set—but the experimental indie-folk band still moved and captivated those who were smart enough to show up early. Drawing mostly from last year’s All My Friends Are Funeral Singers, Califone moved from gutbucket country blues to surging arena rock, sometimes in the space of a single song, like on the exhilarating “Funeral Singers,” which might have been the single most memorable performance of the night. Don’t miss these guys the next time they’re in town, Madison.