Sunday night's show marked the final evening of Noise Pop proper--only Monday night's conclusion to the Jazz fest portion remained. It also saw one of the biggest crowds of the fest pack into the Double Door for a glimpse of the man who seemed to be their idol, Wilco's Jeff Tweedy.

So we have crowds plus exhaustion plus frequent presence of clueless assholes eager to hear Tweedy whip out the hits--that's a recipe for mental disaster. It didn't make for a happy lil' rockcrit, that's for sure. I even missed the first opener, Rebecca Gates, because I was watching The X-Files, which I believe makes me a bad writer but still an okay person.

The Aluminum Group

God bless the Aluminum Group. In spite of an inattentive crowd and a rising tension from the beginning of their set--the sort of vibe that screams, "Get the fuck off the stage--we're here because we love someone else"--they still played a great forty minutes of their melancholy electric pop music.

Joined by a piano player, a bassist, a lead guitar player and a drummer pounding on synthetic skins, brothers Frank and John Navin focused mainly on dreamy, low-tempo numbers. They were augmented admirably by their band, especially on piano; her gentle chords were simple, moving and elegant. Many of the tunes also ended with extended instrumental improvs, during which the band would ride the rising and ebbing flow of intensity like a wave.

The set's highlight had to be their rendition of a song requested by Tweedy, "Chocolates," the kind of bittersweet romantic pop number that could easily give you emotional cavities if you're not careful. In the able hands of the Navins, though, it's just tender enough to stay delicious. Here's hoping the Aluminum Group finds a more appreciative and attentive audience as soon as possible--they deserve it. --MS

Jeff Tweedy and Jim O'Rourke

Though slight polite attention was paid to the Aluminum Group, it was clear that the crowd had given up their Sunday night rest to see what would stem from this enticing collaboration. It was also clear that a few of the assembled throng expected Tweedy to toss down his acoustic guitar at some point, kick Jim O'Rourke's ass, invite all the Wilcoites in attendance onstage and crank out "Casino Queen" about fifty times in a row. Especially that guy who screamed like a madman every time the sound from the stage grew quiet enough for him to annoy everyone in the house. Whatta asshole.

It's likely that those fans able to concentrate were intrigued by the set, which seemed to build songs spontaneously out of equal parts guitar, rhythm and noise. When the moment had ended, the songs would simply fall apart--often they'd fall apart during the songs as well. Not in an unorganized or embarassing sense, but more like a pile of blocks that had been knocked down by a precocious child, only to be quickly reassembled by the cresting tide of the music.

The set did tend more toward the accessible than the avant-garde, with the only odd touches being occasional blasts of accompanying noise that O'Rourke would coax from a contraption to his right. ("Jim is playing an online game of Battleship," Tweedy quipped at one point as O'Rourke fiddled with his machines.) Both singers took turns on lead vocals, and of the two, O'Rourke brought the more edgy playing to the table, at times building the sonic wall to an ear-shattering intensity. The set ended on such a violent note; even the most noise-weary fans in attendance were shielding their ears from tones that seemed more suited to dog whistles than musical accompaniment.

This collaboration was the kind of musical meeting of the minds that Noise Pop seems to be constructed from--exciting opportunities explored by top creative forces in music. Though it was occasionally tedious--you get two guys with guitars on a stage together on a Sunday night and there's bound to be some pointless noodling--the set opened eyes to the possibility inherent in even the most simple combos. If nothing else, that's what fests like this should be about--the possibilities in pop music, the kind of stuff that's easily crushed under the oppressive boot of the mainstream. --MS