Disregarding Jeff Tweedy for a moment, one way of mapping the diverse influences of Wilco is by having a look at the side projects of the various members. So on the one side, you have the fairly mild-mannered and conventional chamber pop produced by John Stirratt and Pat Sansone in The Autumn Defense. Then, on the other, you’re confronted by the fairly bewildering array of avant-garde jams disseminated by Nels Cline. And then there’s the drummer Glenn Kotche, both solo and as one half of On Fillmore. I think Kotche came to Tweedy’s attention thanks to his involvement with Jim O’Rourke, and On Fillmore’s other member, the bassist Darin Gray, is/was a regular part of O’Rourke’s gifted entourage during the latter’s frantically busy period around the turn of the century. “Extended Vacation” is, I think, the fourth On Fillmore album, though I must admit I can only recall hearing the last one, “Sleeps With Fishes”. “Extended Vacation” is not what you might first imagine; maybe some post-post-rock manoeuvres, with some improvisational flash here and there. Instead, it consists of a bunch of ineffably delicate instrumentals that locate the experimental impetus within Martin Denny’s exotica and run with it, allbeit at a very easygoing pace. These seven tracks are predominantly vibes-driven and recorded with a beautiful clarity and crispness, though that doesn’t make the discreet rustling instruments – apart from Gray’s upright bass – any more identifiable in the main. Like Denny, “Extended Vacation” seems to try and conjure up an ethereal, unreal, idealised jungle soundtrack, fitted out with an array of bird sounds – some maybe field recordings, some provided by Dede Sampaio, a Brazilian jazz percussionist. It’s immensely beguiling, pretty much following through on the possibilities suggested by Stereolab, The High Llamas and a good few Chicago bands in the mid ‘90s when they sought to tease out the avant-garde potential of records – like Denny’s – which had long been relegated to the category of kitsch. Part of the charm and effectiveness of “Extended Vacation” is how Kotche and Gray subtly add more radical textures into the melting pot: the vigorously edited horn voluntaries and marching band drums that clatter into the finale of “Daydreaming So Early”, for instance. All of these sonic adjustments remain fairly mellow in effect, however, until the latter part of the title track, when a cranky, tinny, feedbacking instrument barrels in, completely at odds with the prevailing feel. It’s interesting (what is that sound? A shahi baaja, maybe, like the one used by the Flower/Corsano Duo? I’m stumped), though there’s an argument that such a perverse obligation to disrupt the mood isn’t totally necessary.

The last time I wrote about Mountains, the sole comment I received at the bottom of the blog read, “No offense dude, but that review was kind of useless” – a warning maybe, not to try it again. And a fair point, probably, but whatever. Last week a new album arrived from Mountains that confirms the duo as one of the best kosmische/deep listening groups operating in the states right now. There’s a glimpse of this on “Map Table”, the Mountains track we included on the “Seeing For Miles” comp that came free with the current issue of Uncut (thanks again for all the kind words about that, by the way). But “Etching” showcases their strengths much better, being a rippling, micro-detailed but expansive single piece which lasts around 38 minutes. Apparently, “Etching” originally surfaced, in a slightly different form, as a limited edition CDR sold at gigs. The press release claims, also, that it’s a live recording, though closer reading reveals it’s not a gig performance (though many of their subsequent gigs were apparently based on this model), but a piece recorded “in Brendon's studio. The whole recording is in real time with no overdubs.” In other words, I guess it’s a studio jam, but one that unravels at such a composed and meditative pace that you’d be hard-pressed, as silvery acoustic guitar lines thread a path through the general enveloping hum, to identify it as such. Instead, “Etching” feels a lot like a culmination of what Mountains were shooting for on “Choral” from earlier this year. Consequently, a lot of the references I wheeled out last time are still relevant; Cluster’s “Sowiesoso”, Popol Vuh; contemporaries like White Rainbow (who has a new one on Kranky I should write about, actually) and Arp. This time, though, the drift is definitely towards ambience, and so you could also see them as fellow travellers of this (necessarily) nebulous new school of new age thing which seems to be coalescing around people like James Ferraro. And as it gracefully, stealthily reaches some pretty elevated, ecstatic peaks, “Etching” also reminds me of one of my favourite records in this vein, Growing’s “Soul Of The Rainbow And The Harmony Of Light”. The sort of record that seems to be ideal background music, but has an insidious presence that gradually looms into the foreground and becomes unignorable – significantly powerful, even – as it progresses. Must be amazing live, I think.

When The Duke & The King made their UK debut at London’s Bush Hall in May, I seem to remember there being at certain points up to about nine people on stage, including on at least one number four people playing guitars, someone on keyboards, a couple of backing singers and, of course, Simone Felice, late of The Felice Brothers, and his new musical partner Robert “Chicken” Burke on vocals. The evening also included a lot of instrument-swapping, principally between Simone and Burke, who took turns at the drum stool. This was only The Duke & The King’s second show, and good as it often was, there were a lot of early nerves, although by the end the house was duly rocking. You still had the feeling, however, that this was still very early days for the band. After a decent spell on the road, you could only imagine they would be even more fearsomely good. And this was pretty much the message I got from several Uncut readers who’d caught their recent dates, all of them pretty mind-blowing from all accounts, especially their turn at the End Of The Road festival. What I hadn’t realised from this reader correspondence was that the line-up I saw in May had been so dramatically revised. They appear at the Garage for Club Uncut, whittled down to a four piece. The guitarists, keyboard player and bassist who’d appeared at Bush Hall have all gone. Burke is on bass and vocals. Nowell “The Deacon” Haskins continues to supply extraordinary gospel vocal counterpoints and now also drums. Simone is still stage centre, on guitar and vocals, and to his left is newcomer, the sensational Simi Stone, on fiddle and additional vocals. Her striking voice adds an even more testifying flavour to the group’s sound, which in its new incarnation is both simpler and more dynamic, their four-part harmonies a sheer wonder. The set is drawn principally from debut album, Nothing Gold Can Stay, with notably luminous versions of “If You Ever Get Famous”, “The Morning I Get To Hell”, “Union Street” and “Suzanne”, with Burke taking the lead vocal. They raid the Felice Brothers songbook for two songs – “Don’t Wake The Scarecrow” and a rowdy “Radio Song”, which ends in some mayhem, with Stone’s flamboyant fiddle swirling through the mix as deliriously as anything Scarlett Rivera played on the Rolling Thunder Tour. At the Bush Hall, they’d done a great cover of The Beatles’ “Don’t Let Me Down” that’s no longer part of their set. Instead, it’s been replaced by something even more spectacular – a truly stunning version of Neil Young’s “Helpless”, Stone’s fiddle here a thing of mournful beauty, Felice and Burke’s twin harmonies framed by the soulful exclamations of Stone and Haskins, the whole thing quite breathtaking. As is the closing “One More American Song”, four voices, one acoustic guitar and five or six minutes of sombre perfection. Willard Grant Conspiracy, whose line-up can sometimes be counted in double figures, are also stripped down to a four piece tonight, with WGC mainstay Robert Fisher joined by a trio that includes guitarist Paul Tasker and vocalist Iona MacDonald from Doghouse Roses. The conversational intimacy of what they play is in many respects as the evening unfolds increasingly ill-served by the Garage’s reputation for rowdiness, the din from the large bar area clearly vexing the many reverent fans gathered at the front of the stage. Their exasperation turns to angry impatience as the noise behind them increases, people around me now getting quite agitated and yelling at the people at the back to shut up, which of course only adds to the general din, which seems somewhat counter-productive. The Friday night coke-heads in the bar are clearly not as interested in listening to the band as they are to each other and are loudly indifferent to the prim demands to button up and pipe down. As if Uncut is somehow to blame for this general insensibility, I am now asked repeatedly by indignant fans to write an editorial at the earliest opportunity about people talking at gigs. Blimey. With the world in global recession, wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, woe everywhere you look and the price of decent weed, you’d think there’d be other things to get so het-up about. Not that I’m unsympathetic, the racket is as irritating as fuck. And I’m not sure why anyone would want to shell out up to 20 quid for a ticket for a band they don’t especially want to see and pay nearly four quid for a pint of lager when they could as easily have met in a local pub where the drinks are cheaper and you don’t have to pay to get in. But if these people are indeed prepared to pay that kind of money, what can you do? Make everyone take a vow of silence, impose a gagging order of some kind, or make talking, texting and chatting on mobiles punishable in some way? Whatever, I’d say there are quite a few folk here who won’t be going back to the Garage again, whoever’s playing. Anyway, amid all this commotion, tonight’s incarnation of WGC, when they can be heard, play many noble things, sublime versions among them of “Ghost Of The Girl In A Well”, “Soft Hand” and a dolorously gloomy “Fare Thee Well”.