Take I
By: Kayceman
“Are you under the impression this isn't your life/ Do you dabble in depression?/ Is someone twisting a knife in your back/ Are you being attacked?/ Oh this is a fact that you need to know/ Wilco will love you."
It's crazy how divisive this opening line (and the whole first track “Wilco (the song") from the Chicago sextet's seventh full-length, Wilco (The Album) (arriving June 30 on Nonesuch), has seemingly become. Many Wilco fans (our second reviewer included - see below) have been rubbed wrong by this, claiming it cheesy, lame and egotistical. Me? I freakin' love it. I love the way the first thing you hear is Nels Cline's guitar riding over the beat and Tweedy comes in with the whole “Wilco will love you" sentiment. To me, this is a very sincere, heartfelt “thank you" to fans. Clearly this is a statement from the band - the crux of the album if you will - it is called “Wilco (the song)" from Wilco (The Album). Maybe it doesn't work for some, but from where this longtime fan stands, this is Wilco reaching a hand out, reminding us that music really can make things better. This is their offering in hard times. And maybe best of all, it's serious without taking itself too seriously. They mean it - they really do love you - but they also want you to laugh along with them.
Wilco (The Album) picks up the conversation exactly where Sky Blue Sky (the last release) dropped off. The writing, the arc of the album, and the way all the varied Wilco textures (swirling guitars, delicate acoustics, layers of electronics, inspired percussion all built upon air-tight song structures and lyrics) are mixed, this album could have only come after Sky Blue Sky. But, while moving forward they've also looked back, incorporating a bit more of the studio wizardry, teeth-bearing bite and dusty country grit of their past. It's not that they've really evolved so much here, they are just boiling down all the ingredients of Wilco's 15 year history into a confident, compelling batch of songs.
This is unquestionably the most technically accomplished lineup of the band (did I mention Nels Cline?) and as Tweedy and company have grown a bit older, they seem happier than ever - and it comes through on The Album. But that doesn't mean these are all happy pop songs (although some of those do appear - notably the lovely ballad with Feist “You And I"). In fact, the album's best song, “Bull Black Nova," is one of the darkest, heaviest songs they've created. Buzzing with intense staccato keys and Cline's impossible guitar angles, “Bull Black Nova" is the cousin to A Ghost Is Born's “Spider's (Kidsmoke)," only here Tweedy sings of blood in his hair, on the sofa, in the sink, on the car - the shit is everywhere and Nels Cline makes you feel it.
Both the barrelhouse piano rocker “You Never Know" and the massive sing-along “Sunny Feeling" feature big choruses and huge hooks, while the sad lament on the State of the Union, “Country Disappear," and the delicate finger-picking on “Solitaire" reveal the contemplative side of the band.
This album ends the same way as Sky Blue Sky, with “Everlasting" serving the role that “On and On" did. Only as Tweedy again considers our ultimate fate, this time the song swells with an orchestra of emotions (and instruments), punctuated by Cline's ever-inventive guitar-talk.
At the end of the day, it's all opinion. I totally dig this album, Daniel doesn't (see below), but there's a strong argument to be made that none of that matters, because like 'em or hate 'em, old fan or new, indifferent or passionate, Tweedy just wants you to know it's all gonna be okay. Don't worry, Wilco will love you.
Take II
By: Daniel Alleva
I can't lie - there's something about Wilco (The Album) that really rubs me the wrong way right from the get-go. In all likelihood, I probably would have overlooked the fact that the first track on the Chicago sextet's seventh release is called “Wilco (The Song)" if the lyrics to the chorus werent actually, “WilcoWilcoWilco will love you." No, that's not a joke. Your eyes (or ears) did not deceive you. That's really the chorus - officially propelling Wilco into the “what the fuck?" realm with this doozie of an opening track. Prior to its release, the PR pitch for Wilco (The Album) was that the band had “kept it simple" this time around. But after a few spins, one could project that “kept it simple" could really be misconstrued as “ran out of ideas."
Now, to be fair, Wilco coming up dry at the well of inspiration was practically inevitable. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot will go down in the record books as a slice of pure genius, and the two releases that followed - A Ghost is Born and Sky, Blue, Sky - were no slouches either. One can even argue that Wilco has continuously over-achieved since 1997's Being There. But with Wilco (The Album), I get the mental image of Jeff Tweedy and company standing around the water cooler, scratching their heads, wondering just what the hell to do next. Because it's not like Wilco (The Album) doesn't try to engage the listener - you can say what you like about them, but you can never accuse Wilco of not being earnest. But just how shall I put this so that it actually means something to somebody? Well, have you ever drunk a glass of flat soda before? That's kind of what listening to Wilco (The Album) is like. Could it quench your thirst? Possibly. Will it leave you thirsty for something else? Without question.
Part of the problem is that throughout most of the album, the tempo is seemingly on life-support. It takes five songs just to hear something you can tap your toe to - the best example being the first single, “You Never Know" (which, coincidentally, sounds an awful lot like Tom Petty's “Jammin' Me"). But all things considered, I'm not suggesting that Wilco return to their Stonesy “Outta Mind, Outta Site" days, not at all. But even still, drummer Glenn Kotche seems practically lost on Wilco (The Album), almost bored even. It's as if he's saying to Tweedy through his playing, “C'mon, man, give me something back here!" This by no means should be overlooked as Red Flag #1 - especially considering that Kotche is a vibrant musician, and has been the key factor to Wilco elevating their game ever since Tweedy decided (rightfully so) that the band needed to break the shackles of the “alt-country" tag. But perhaps even worse than Kotche's malaise, guitarist Nels Cline is drastically under-utilized to the album's severe detriment. Part of what made Sky, Blue, Sky so rich and lavish was Cline's meaty, jazzy lead work - all of which is virtually absent on Wilco (The Album).
A lot of what is featured on Wilco (The Album) shouldn't necessarily be considered bad songwriting; it's just that from a larger perspective, it's rather bland when compared to Wilco's entire body of work. With many of the tracks on the album, you can cite a similar idea worked out on a previous Wilco album that yielded much better results. For instance, “Deeper Down" isn't a bad song, per se, but “Hell is Chrome" from A Ghost is Born is way more interesting. In fact, not many of the 11 songs on the album really leave much of an imprint at all - with the exception of “Bull Black Nova," where bassist John Stirratt loops under the verses through the horror-show shrill of squawking guitar and keys, while Tweedy sings about a man who just murdered his girlfriend. A tad morbid? Sure. But is it interesting? You betcha, and it's worth noting, because ultimately Wilco (The Album)'s downfall is that it fails to present enough solid ideas to keep the listener continuously interested for 45 minutes.
