Sipping on a PBR, I am lit by dim bulbs lining the Hargray Capitol Theatre’s lavish proscenium. A crowd clad in a rusted rainbow of plaid button-downs, trucker hats, and Levis bustles about, most with their own cheap can in tow. There is a glow on the wood panels—dark tan—and the blood red accents make their way to each face on the floor. It is quickly clear that these lights are not the only sources brightening the sold out space in Macon, though. An immense warmth projecting from the stage slows every conversation present. A man strumming his electric Collings I-35 is singing stories atop the black stage. He croons, “Home is where the heart aches. My home is where the milk shakes hands with the bourbon.” Security has to quiet visitors in the lobby and the area just outside to preserve the integrity of the show for the mood of the night is intimacy.

Alexander Buckley Meek, performing under the shortened moniker Buck Meek, shakes his head behind the microphone making his voice like a wave, surging and retreating in volume. His jumps to falsetto are effortless yodels. Six-stringed shucks and plucks are powerful punctuators. “Exit 7 Roses” and “Joe by the Book” are seamlessly merged into one song, and I feel like a criminal not setting my beer down to clap after every ballad. All the hoots and applause are more than deserved. I tell my friend at the end of the set I don’t remember the last time I heard three chords sound that good.

Before I have time to admire the setting any longer, however, a familiar voice commandeers Meek’s former position. Instantly the crowd recognizes the opening lines of “Via Chicago” and begin singing along. The way Jeff Tweedy invites his audience into every song is something I have never witnessed before tonight. His grace and ease onstage are pure magic. The presentation is simple, calm, heartwarming, engaging. There are many moments of back and forth between the crowd and Tweedy, practically full conversations ranging from his wife’s “tackle box of medical marijuana” to the story of Noah’s Ark. I look around at them perfectly happy and entirely involved which in turn makes me feel the same.

Wilco’s mastermind pulls most of his material from his latest solo release, WARM, and even previews some new singles off his LP WARMER, coming out later this year. Death is sown within Tweedy’s lyrics, yet there is a melancholic hope in these songs that lifts up the crowd. Wilco has been a shining beacon in a thick fog for me ever since I first heard them on my dad’s iPod in middle school. I can sense the other attendees know a similar truth.

We find such great comfort in Tweedy’s work that there is a roar for an encore. To celebrate the twentieth anniversary of Summerteeth‘s release, Mr. Tweedy plays “I’m Always in Love” as many try to whistle the synth hook. That’s followed by “A Shot in the Arm” as the same people belt “bloodier than blood!” The audience calls for a second encore, and though it is sadly unanswered, the leftover joy in the atmosphere is nearly tangible. Even as I exit the theater, I cannot shake the content feeling in my heart, as a stomach might have after a five-star meal. What a lovely surprise that I should find myself singing with Jeff Tweedy on a Saturday night in Macon.