RESEMBLING a band borne out of garage rehearsals in Seattle rather than Nashville, Wilco's first visit to Ireland will most certainly not be their last. In short, they were brilliant.

Most of Wilco used to be in a US country/punk band called Uncle Tupelo, an excellent outfit that split up when main man, Jeff Tweedy, grew weary of the overwhelming positive response from critics and discerning public alike. From that band's creative ashes grew Wilco. Tweedy is still very much at the helm and he hunches over the mechanically unsound on stage microphone every inch the leader his fellow band, members apparently symbiotically in tune with his movements, looks, and growls. If drummer Ken Croorier, guitarist Jay Bennet bassist John Stirratt, and pedal steel/guitar player Max Johnston, don't share a similar sense of animal grace, then that's only because the stage probably wasn't big enough.

Most of the songs are taken from the band's superb new album, Being There, which sees Wilco challenging the preconceptions of what it means to be a country band in the latter half of the 1990s. Part subtle, part thunderous, they take the 1970s rock'n'roll lurchings of The Rolling Stones, the 90s despair of grunge, and more than just the 50s spirit of The Louvin Brothers, and wrap it up into an aural fireball. Then they throw that fireball into your face.