Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged 'wilco'

January 7, 2010

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“You Never Know” – Wilco
(Words/music: Jeff Tweedy, available on Wilco (The Album), Nonesuch 2009)

My feelings about the first line in “You Never Know” mirror my feelings about Wilco (The Album) as a whole. “Come on children / you’re acting like children” sits frustratingly close to a somewhat satisfying play on words, but the repetition of “children” feels a little lazy. Tweedy fixes the line the second time around (to “come on kids / you’re acting like children”), but it strikes me as uncharacteristically clumsy. It’s not enough to derail “You Never Know” nor enough to prevent it from being my current favorite song on that album, but I’m not completely comfortable with it. Likewise, Wilco (The Album) features a number of fine moments yet it never took hold of me the way that every other Wilco album did this past decade. I can’t pinpoint the reason why precisely – it’s not bad, but it never really grew on me as a whole.

That being said, “You Never Know” recovers quickly and effortlessly from this lyrical flub. Behind honky-tonk piano, gently gnarled lead guitar, and fluffy harmonies, “You Never Know” captures the joy of seeing the current Wilco lineup play live. Wilco throws out the kitchen sink, tossing in different guitar tones (including what must be a George Harrison homage), different keyboard sounds, and different styles of backing vocals (harmonizing, wordless ooohs, etc). Rather than sound chaotic or troubled, the song stays light and bouncy, making all of these different sounds feel like small sonic celebrations. This is a departure from the songwriter who once tried to recreate the sound of a migraine on record, and it’s infinitely more enjoyable for the listeners. By the time the harmonies hit, I’ve taken Tweedy’s advice and don’t let the opening line get in the way of enjoying such a nimble, bouncy tune.

More on Wilco: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

December 16, 2009

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“Misunderstood” – Wilco
(Words/music: Jeff Tweedy and Peter Laughner, available on Being There, Reprise 1996)

When we start to frame this decade in music, particularly after we have some distance from it, Wilco’s narrative will be one that will represent the decade in many ways. At the turn of the century, Wilco was a quirky band caught between the “power pop” and “alt-country” genre sections at the local record store. By the end of the decade, the record store is on its last legs and Wilco stands as widely respected, alternative “powerhouse” teetering on the mainstream. In the years between, Wilco was the underdog screwed over by major label restructuring, the phoenix reborn as a mix of experimentalism and traditionalism, a band struck with personal and interpersonal strife, and a growing reputation as a live juggernaut. While it’s a bit of a generalization, Jeff Tweedy went from virtual obscurity to cult worship to voice of the indie establishment. This, of course, is only the tip of the iceberg, as Wilco lends itself to a discussion of the changing technology in the music industry (form streaming Yankee Hotel Foxtrot without a label contract to all of the bonus materials offered with each record and DVD), the gentrification of indie rock, and the formation of a new blueprint for success outside of the mainstream.

All of this to say that the past decade will ultimately be known as the decade that Wilco got weird and got popular. Like most thumbnail sketches, it’s reductionist logic, but in this case it’s neglecting a significant part of the band’s catalog. Wilco’s “weirdness,” for lack of a better word, goes through 1999’s subtly dark Summerteeth and (at least) back to “Misunderstood.” On Being There, an album that generally stays close to its country and blues-rock roots, “Misunderstood” provides a strange introduction. The guitars sound watery at times, gnarled at other points, and fuzzed out when neither of those descriptors fit. Amidst this haze of guitar, Jeff Tweedy sits at the center of it. With all the chaos around him, Tweedy alternates between G and D chords, quotes an obscure Midwestern punk band, and tosses off lyrics of suburban frustration, paranoia, and existential angst. Five years later, Tweedy would be lauded for an album full of weird sounds, tales of broken communication, and a darkly melodic streak. However, in 1996, “Misunderstood” was the first harbinger, both of Tweedy’s potential as songwriter and of the internal demons that nearly silenced his pen. In 2009, after their most straightforward record since, well, Being There, it’s easy to peg Tweedy and his band as complacent, but hearing the way Tweedy still barks out the final line in “Misunderstood,” especially when he hangs on “nothing” like a broken record, that the same creative mind that brought the spotlight in the early part of the decade was always there. If nothing else, tracing Wilco’s past only suggests that many turns remain in their path before Tweedy becomes entirely understood. I’m excited to see what story he writes this decade.

More on Wilco: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

August 22, 2009

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“Where Will You Go?” – The Minus 5
(Words/music: Scott McCaughey, available on Down with Wilco, Yep Roc 2003)

Over the past decade, Wilco evolved from a critical underdog into a full-on rock juggernaut. Still, while audiences at Wilco shows swelled in the past year, some fans started to long for their earlier, alt-country roots. Yes, it’s hard to see that same band in the one routinely playing nine minute guitar epics, but Wilco have routinely worked in several different genres. Their 1999 album Summerteeth encapsulated the band’s classic pop tendencies, melting down their folk, country, rock, and pop roots all into a well-orchestrated batch of songs. These were the sort of songs Scott McCaughey writes in both the Young Fresh Fellows and the Minus 5 – songs that lean heavily on power-pop melodies often with a wry lyrical twist in them. McCaughey collaborates with a different set of musicians on each Minus 5 album, and Wilco’s contribution on Down with Wilco seems like the perfect fit for all parties involved. Wilco, stuck in that well-documented limbo between getting dropped by Reprise and landing on Nonesuch during Down with Wilco’s recording, could keep busy in the studio while McCaughey gained a backing band capable of a wide range of sonic textures.

“Where Will You Go?” would be a good song without Wilco’s help, but it’s percussionist Glenn Kotche who brings this song to another level for me. Specifically, I love the marimba line that follows the guitars like its shadow. It gives the song a unique feel and adds another melodic line that stays just enough out of the limelight. Additionally, the non-melodic percussion suits the song perfectly too, as he integrates shakers and sleigh bells in with his traditional drum kit. These are subtle differences, but they make each section of the song just different enough to take notice. Most importantly, Kotche knows the difference between putting his skills to use and eclipsing the song’s best elements. All of his work serves McCaughey’s song well, leaving the melody and backing harmonies alone in the spotlight. It’s these subtle additions – Kotche’s percussion, the distinctively snarling guitars, and the quick changes in dynamics – that helps to maximize McCaughey’s pop sensibilities.

More on The Minus 5: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

June 15, 2009

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“Venus Stopped the Train (Rough Mix)” – Jay Bennett and Edward Burch
(Words/music: Jay Bennett and Jeff Tweedy, original version available on The Palace at 4 A.M., Undertow Music 2002, rough mix courtesy of Captains Dead)

Jay Bennett’s untimely passing a few weeks ago led many of us back to some of the early Wilco records. Many remember Bennett soely as Tweedy’s antagonist in the I Am Trying to Break Your Heart documentary, but he helped write and arrange many of the songs on the first four Wilco albums (as well as the Mermaid Avenue collaborations with Billy Bragg). When Bennett and Wilco split, he took some of his songs with him. His first album after the split, a record with collaborator Edward Burch, featured three songs from this time period – Summerteeth’s “My Darling” and two from the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot sessions – a song called “Shaking Sugar” (alternately known as “Alone”) and “Venus Stopped the Train.” The Yankee Hotel Foxtrot Demos (available via Owl and Bear’s amazing Wilco Archive) for two reasons. It was really fascinating to see how some of these songs changed from the demo process to the final product, but I was even more excited to hear nearly an album’s worth of songs that didn’t make the record. Perhaps I’m biased as a Wilco fan, but some of these songs were terrific. While some appeared later on, either as free downloads, bonus tracks, or live performances, “Venus Stopped the Train” never emerged. My friend Mike counts this among one of his greatest musical disappointments – that he’ll never hear Wilco play this song, and I understand why.

Bennett and Burch’s recording on The Palace at 4 A.M. contains more layers (Bennett must have had Yankee Hotel Foxtrot still in his system) and features Bennett’s deeper voice. However, I recently came across the “rough mixes” to The Palace at 4 A.M., including a version of “Venus Stopped the Train” that essentially sounds like the Wilco demo with Bennett’s vocals replacing Tweedy’s. The demo recording (both Wilco’s and Bennett’s) creates a lonely, somber feeling. When arranged for piano and voice with minimum accompaniment, the broken communication between the narrator and his subject stands out. Even the storm sound at the beginning of the song makes it feel depressed. Thematically, “Venus Stopped the Train” fits in with Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’s collection of songs about the breakdown (and eventual rebuilding) of interpersonal communication. However, it’s too fragile musically to have withstood the sonic manipulations the rest of the album withstood. Bennett and Burch’s released version still does the song justice, but it loses the subtle melancholy beneath its denser arrangement. Instead, and somewhat reluctantly, “Venus Stopped the Train” belongs as a lost relic buried in the attic. It might not fit into one of Wilco’s setlists (what would Nels Cline do during this?), but it’s a treasured gem from the band’s past and one that Wilco fans should celebrate. Personally, it’s one that will make me fondly remember Bennett’s contributions to the band’s early days.

More on Jay Bennett and Edward Burch: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

May 25, 2009

“Misunderstood (Live on VH-1’s Hard Rock Live)” - Wilco (via shukowinz) (via Stereogum)

I’m so bummed out to hear about Jay Bennett passing away. He was a hell of a musician, by most accounts a hell of a guy, and more than likely screwed over excessively by the Wilco documentary. Sure, he probably needed to leave the band (and was, if nothing else, equally at fault), but he was haunted by the film for the rest of his life.

In that sense, “Misunderstood” might be the perfect song to send out to him tonight.

TAGGED UNDER: wilco | jay bennett | in memorium |

March 27, 2009

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“Summerteeth” – Jeff Tweedy
(Words/music: Jeff Tweedy, available on Sunken Treasure: Live in the Pacific Northwest DVD, Nonesuch 2006)

MTV Unplugged was both a blessing and a curse. The series offered the opportunity to see artists reinterpret their songs (or, in some cases, songs the band holds near and dear). When done well, the format puts the focus on the core of the songs by stripping away the layers of excessive instrumentation, additional flourishes, or studio tricks, leaving just the basics – lyrics, chords, melody, etc. Unplugged’s curse is that it created the fallacy that acoustic versions of songs are inherently better than electric versions. Sure, some songs lend themselves well to this type of treatment, but some songs are made by the studio performance. Imagine the Who’s “Baba O’Riley” without Pete Townshend’s laboriously edited tape loop, or The Cars’ “Moving in Stereo” without the panning effect that gives ~~Ric Ocasek~~ Benjamin Orr that creepy, haunting sound. The acoustic fallacy also neglects entire genres of music that can’t be replicated on an acoustic guitar.

That being said, sometimes the re-imagining of a song gives the original new life. Take the title track from Wilco’s Summerteeth. It was always a song that I liked but never loved (perhaps in part due to its place late on the album). However, I kept gravitating to the version from Jeff Tweedy’s live solo DVD. Tweedy doesn’t change the song drastically in his version (which isn’t terribly complex to begin with), but for the first time I focused on some of the subtleties in the song. In particular, I love the imagery in the first line and the way that Tweedy’s voice lifts during the last verse and chorus. I also love the way that the crowd sings the background parts near the end of the song. On the record, I love the twinkling piano and the flawless harmonies, but Tweedy’s solo performance focused my attention to the core of the composition, revealing it as a carefully crafted pop gem.

While Tweedy is content to share the spotlight with his bandmates (listen to a live version of “Impossible Germany” if you need further explanation), he assumes the spotlight as a singer-songwriter with remarkable ease. His solo shows (which I will see in person tonight for the first time!) put his wit, musicianship, and most importantly – his songs into the spotlight. While there are a bunch of hilarious moments on the solo DVD that capture Tweedy as an engagingly funny personality, this performance of “Summerteeth” shows Tweedy as both a gifted singer and a gifted songwriter.

More on Jeff Tweedy: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

March 19, 2009

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“Laminated Cat” – Loose Fur
(Words: Jeff Tweedy, Music: Loose Fur, available on Loose Fur, Drag City 2003)

I’m always fascinated by the way that songs change over time, whether through a rebirth through someone else’s interpretation or through the natural evolution from its humble beginnings to a final, recorded project. In the case of “Laminated Cat,” the song lives a double life, existing in the Wilco world as “Not for the Season.” While Jeff Tweedy recorded this version, dubbed “Laminated Cat” for some strange reason, with Jim O’Rourke and future Wilco percussionist Glenn Kotche in 2000, the trio’s collaboration sat on the shelf until 2003. In the meantime, “Not for the Season” appeared on the leaked demos for the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot album as a straightforward rocker (to be fair, I don’t know when these demos were recorded and if they predate the Loose Fur record). “Not for the Season” was my introduction to Wilco as an incendiary live band, as they opened their show in Providence the day after Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’s release. By this point, “Not for the Season” sounded a lot like “Laminated Cat,” as the arrangement stretched out with feedback and guitar loops.

Still, despite a shared melody and lyrics, these feel like two different songs, and it’s difficult to declare one as the “superior” version. Some days, the demo version feels right. On those days, “Not for the Season” feels right as a song that captures the band’s transition from Summerteeth’s focused pop to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’s rougher experimentation. Other days, the stretched out drone in “Laminated Cat” captures Tweedy’s song about detachment and feeling out of place. The hum of the guitars and the repetitive nature (like the seasons) make it seem shorter than its seven minute running length. Still, the final tipping point towards the Loose Fur version is Kotche’s drumming. At some moments, Kotche plays rhythms complex enough that his parts sound like two or three percussionists working together. In a song where the guitars build atmosphere rather than create melody, Kotche’s drumming stands out as a featured player. He feeds into the looping feel of the song yet constantly embellishes, making his loops build on prior beats. It’s a fascinating both through a close listen (well, a close listen to the drums at least) or as background music, letting the song slide into your subconscious only to crave hearing it again later.

More on Loose Fur: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

January 22, 2009

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“Amphetamine” – Rocket from the Tombs
(Words/music: Peter Laughner, available on The Day the Earth Met the Rocket from the Tombs, Smog Veil 2002)

As previously mentioned in Some Songs Considered, I’ve had some wonderful experiences as a college radio DJ. I met a lot of awesome people and learned about a tremendous amount of music both old and new. Being a DJ was one of the most valuable experiences I had in college – it builds public speaking skills (or at least providing a bridge into public speaking by having an audience but not having to physically see it), breeds humility (when you go two hours without a phone call), and introduces many of us to the value and impact of alternative media (to this day, half of my presets in my car are local college stations). Yes, there were many nights (and, more recently, mornings) when the songs I played were my only company, but on many occasions people called to ask for a new song or say hi. Others were less conventional – I got asked for directions once, received a 10 minute lecture about how I should see the director’s cut of Donnie Darko, and maybe my favorite one of all time (paraphrased) – “I love your show – me and my cats listen all the time!”

My favorite calls, for obvious reasons, were the people that wanted to talk music. Most of the time, it would be some jubilant local resident calling to find out the current song. We’d chat for a few minutes about the song, what it sounded like, and whether the rest of the album was as good (or, in some cases, better). Usually, because of the DJ-listener arrangement, I was the one giving the advise and would occasionally receive tips on new things when they were something I didn’t own or something the station didn’t have. One time, while playing a live version of Wilco’s “Misunderstood,” a man called me up and told me how “Misunderstood” quoted a verse from a song called “Amphetamine.” I had seen the liner notes that gave credit to another song, but never really thought too much about it. We talked about Wilco a little bit, and my listener told me how Rocket From the Tombs’ members went on to form Pere Ubu and The Dead Boys (whose “Sonic Reducer” will appear here soon), and soon afterward, I hunted down “Amphetamine.”

It makes sense after listening to “Amphetamine” why Jeff Tweedy would borrow the opening lines of the song to use in his own composition. Written by guitarist Peter Laughner before his death in 1977, “Amphetamine” focuses on the same sort of suburban restlessness and frustration experienced in “Misunderstood.” The verses ring with melancholic guitar lines intermingling with the storyline. Appropriately, Laughner almost joined Television before his death, and “Amphetamine” sounds like a Television song played at a slower pace. Laughner clearly had songwriting chops too, as “Amphetamine” adeptly moves from the slower ballad-like verses into a more frenetic chorus (oh, listen to those drums!), mimicking the “hurry up and wait” feel of the song. Like suburban life (or, following the title’s nod, a speed rush), there’s highs and lows, but the highs come too quick (and, as the chorus suggests, are solitary parties) and the lows tend to stretch too far. While many others in the late 70s turned this suburban angst into three chord thrashes, Laughner approached the subject with a tinge of sadness and reservation, not to mention a hell of an ear for melody.

More on Rocket from the Tombs: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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