Three songs into Wire’s set my friend turned to me, pointed at Bruce Gilbert, and asked, “Is he a senior citizen?” Gilbert isn’t fat or crippled, just gray with osteoporosis. His guitar sounded like abrasive death. It was great. Colin Newman held the mic as if he were singing karaoke and pranced around while strumming his headless wedge guitar. He doesn’t slouch; he’s just kind of fat. His voice sounded like 1978. It was great. And despite the fact that they didn’t play a single song from Ideal Copy or Manscape (we screamed “Children of Groceries!” every five seconds to no avail), Wire were great. We had to settle for a couple from Pink Flag. Oh well.