Friday, October 14, at Thomas Wolfe Auditorium in Asheville, North Carolina...ROSE HILL DRIVE!!!

So we went to Asheville Friday night. Jack shit was happening at Duracell, so the site manager let me leave at 3:00, which meant that Chauntelle and I were able to meet up at home instead of on the road, which would have sucked must profoundly.

We met up at home about 5:30, then were in transit by 6 PM. We stopped off for a fantastic meal at this little place we know of, where they prepare the most interesting roast beef sandwiches. You arrive at the restaurant to discover that they have alraedy prepared the roast beef sandwiches for you, and have been warming them under very hot light bulbs called "heat lamps". Once you purchase your sammy, you have your choice of sauces with which to adorn the meat. (I like the regular barbecue sauce meself, though sometimes I might go wack-crazy and try out the "wild" Horsey sauce. Chauntelle, I think, prefers no sauce on her sammiches, which is in keeping with her minimalist ethos of sandwich construction.) Also, you can purchase packets of delicious triangular potato "cakes" to accompany your meaty repast.

Anyway, we ate at Arby's.

Zipped on up to Asheville, then on in to downtown. In the almost 4 months that we'd been in South Carolina, not once had we visited Asheville. Sure, we'd passed by it a couple of times on our way west, and I had worked south of Asheville for a couple of weeks, but we'd not been downtown in probably 2 years. And we'd never been downtown in Asheville on a Friday night.

The place was teeming. I really think Asheville must have one of the most vibrant and interesting downtowns of any city its size. Certainly, it gives lots of larger towns a run for their money.

We parked, walked up through crowds of the patchouli-scented to the civic center and on into the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium. Found our seats, then watched the other concert-goers make their way in. A curious mix of folks, lots of representatives of Asheville's various granola communities, but also some oldsters like us mixed in. I guess that's how Wilco skews- kinda all over the place.

The opening act came on. Three kids who, when they appeared on the stage and began tinkering with the instruments, I first took for roadies, began to play a raucous old-skool tune. It was music that, if you were to try to define the kinds of tunes that most of the audience was expecting to hear, would be the exact opposite of those kinds of tunes. It. Was. Really. Loud. But I kind of liked it. Sure, I mostly hated it, but I really admired that these three long-haired kids were playing super-loud rock music. Sorry, not rock music- RAWK music. I just kept thinking that Dewey from "School Of Rock" would have loved these guys.

After Rose Hill Drive left the stage and the ringing in our ears began to diminish, Jeff Tweedy and the other members of Wilco whose names I just plain don't know came on out. I am utterly embarrassed to admit that I can't quite remember what song they opened with. I'm pretty sure it was "At Least That's What You Said", which is the first song on their last album. Then they played some other songs off A Ghost Is Born, then some songs from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, some from Summerteeth, sound effects and skreechy noises from the last two albums duly reproduced on stage by a multitasking guy who looked a lot like Beck but wasn't Beck. They played some older songs, including one from Mermaid Avenue. At some point in the show, Jeff Tweedy noticed that some fans close to the stage had brought their very young little girl, so he stopped the show to talk to her. He asked her whether her parents were aware that Wilco's music is "adult-oriented". Then, he asked her what song she wanted to hear. She indicated that she wanted to hear "Hummingbird", and he told her that they would play it for her. But not yet.

When the band got to the song, "Hummingbird", Tweedy waded out into the crowd, Bono-like, and sang to the little girl. Toward the end of the song, he was holding the child while he sang. I am an old, dried up cynic whose dreams have been mostly crushed, but seeing Jeff Tweedy sing to the tiny little girl made me feel like maybe things would work out after all for everyone, everywhere. I felt just like how I imagine the Grinch must have felt when he heard that magical Who-ville song at the end of that Christmas cartoon. You know, that one with the talking snowman who saves Christmas with the help of a gruff but good-hearted giant and a band of jolly ice-skating elephants. Wait. It's possible that was a dream I had one time after eating too much Chex Mix. Anyway, I was touched. Jeff is a dad himself, so even though he's a rock'n'roller, he's a big softie too. Which I like.

All in all, a very good show. It was about halfway through before I realized that I could have recorded the whole thing with my Dell DJ. I would have burned a CD for you, Rachel. Sorry.

I think it was, like, 2 encores. It was loud and very good. Jeff Tweedy was in fine voice, and the band was very tight. I saw a middle-aged woman smoking pot openly. It was, in a word, magical.

And then, when the show was over and we were back in Chauntelle's car, the vehicle started freaking out and the Service Engine Soon light came on. The car stalled a couple of times, then made it back to Greenville without incident. We took it for an oil change on Saturday, then drove on into downtown, where it began to act very strangely, sputtering and lurching, barely making it up hills, then seeming to improve, then getting bad again, then worse. Which is why I will be staying home for at least part of tomorrow while we make a trip to CarMax to find out what the heck is wrong. Luckily, we're under warranty, and our bank accounts are pretty solid right now, so we're not much worried. All will be well.

I'll be back in Lancaster once we've worked out the car issue, then in Belmont on Thursday and Friday. (I talked my way out of the Saturday meetings. Thank the maker.)

Very much looking forward to seeing the other Hardins next weekend. I have about a thousand thibgs planned for us to do, most of which we won't do, but it doesn't matter. I'm just proud to show my family around our new hometown.