Last Sunday, I was sitting in DAR Constitution Hall waiting for Wilco to come on stage.
I’ve actually lost count of the number of times I’ve seen Wilco perform. But this was the first time I saw them play “Sunken Treasure.” Or at least, it was the first time since last spring when I lapsed into a funk so deep that the only music I could stand to listen to for a solid month was Being There. For a while, I could only listen to the first disk, but then for a time I could only listen to “Sunken Treasure” on repeat.
But there is no sunken treasure
Rumored to be
Wrapped inside my ribs
In a sea black with ink
I don’t know if this kind of thing happens to other people. I don’t know what other people mean when they say they feel alone.