Wilco have been hailed and tarred with so many tags it's hard to keep up, or even to believe they refer to the same band. Dad-rock, Country Rock, Alt Country, Alt Rock, the American Radiohead, Adult Contemporary, Experimental Rock, and, of course, Americana... are just some of the multitude of monikers and misnomers thrown at the Chicagoan outfit. However, Jeff Tweedy's latest excursion with Wilco sees him perfecting his own twisted brand of what he calls "cinematic American country music." Reigning in their experimental tendencies in the manner 2009's glorious, Wilco (The Album).
They are, however, still capable of moments of innovation on new LP, The Whole Love. Most notably on opener "The Art Of Almost", a seven minute epic of near Paranoid Androidian proportions. Although this is at odds with the rest of the album, which sees the band consolidating on past successes, rather than seeking out new sonic terrain. I think, even at their most experimental, Wilco have always been relatively conventional, I mean, at its root Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was a pop album, albeit one with a few unpredictable chord changes and a bit of static round the edges. Ditto A Ghost Is Born minus a few ill advised krauty weirdy bits. So I feel accusations of mellowing or "Dad Rock" are misplaced. They've always been conservative to an extent. And all the better for it, embracing a style of songwriting that guitarist Nels Cline refers to as Tweedy's "innate classicism" which is more indebted to Big Star and The Beatles than the likes of Neu!.
Lead single, "I Might", is an uncharacteristically and deceptively upbeat offering, bopping along at breakneck speed constantly teetering on the edge of implosion. Lyrically, the song sees Tweedy at his most caustic and cryptic threatening infantile arson in the mock reassuring chorus - "it's alright, you won't set the kids on fire, oh, but I might". The simple bass led, catchy hook covers the disturbing lyrics with a superficial gloss. See, "your snow-cone and it's piss and blood", for evidence of Tweedy defiantly not mellowing with age. If this is dad rock then it's a dad sticking two fingers up at the school run and cracking open a bottle of bourbon before strapping on his Gibson Les Paul.
However, it's by no means all bile and venom; as befits all Wilco's best work there is a dynamic. Beautiful songs in with the brutal ones. The album is very much inkeeping with its two predecessors, the post-therapy Tweedy albums, in presenting a maturer, though not jaded, sounding outfit. Black Moon is a case in point, as melancholy as its title implies, all shiny lap steel and intricate atmospherics. Quintessential Wilco. Elsewhere, lovesongs are rife, such as 'Open Mind', with its soulfulness reminiscent of 'You and I' from Wilco The Album. It's easy listening in the best possible sense. Indeed, as a whole the album is gloriously polished having been tended to by the formidable ears of longtime rock mastering maestro Bob Ludwig (Jimi Hendrix, Rolling Stones and, er, Mumford & Sons). It sounds like a 'studio album', but not overproduced, just refined.
Lyrically, Tweedy is at his most intimate, and as already noted, there are a large proportion of love songs. As its title suggests the album is about love. "We love love", Tweedy declared in a recent interview, and the album's name is a pun on the detective slang for a complete confession - to give up "the whole love." This becomes a metaphor for complete honesty and devotion in relationships throughout, with a tenderness and contentedness often present. Gone are the self lacerating obtuse lyrical freak outs a la 'Radio Cure.' Instead we see Tweedy finding "a fix for the fits, come listen to this" on the lovely 'Rising Red Lung'. Illustrating the almost palpable joy that this troupe of seasoned professionals seem to glean from simply playing. These 'fits', could also be symbolic of the wilder elements of Wilco's sound, here they are toned down. Laid to rest along with Tweedy's fragile mental state.
Tweedy said recently that maturing to him meant "learning to deal with ambiguity", and album closer, the epic, 'One Sunday Morning' sees the fruition of this idea. Instead of lamenting the death of a friend's father, and the pointlessness of life etc, Tweedy takes a philosophical view of the loss, celebrating the fact that a son can be free of his father's suffering and that his father is no longer scared of the hell to which he was sure he was consigned. It is a celebration of love in spite of death. The ambiguity of life, if not embraced, is accepted readily.
Though perhaps my favourite moment on the album, and the one most illustrative of their awesome three pronged guitar attack (Sansone, Tweedy & Cline) is the title track . A strong upbeat melody is layered around a variety of licking guitar lines, with a fantastic falsetto chorus. An earnest love song rendered in a triumphantly uncheesy, or self conscious way. Wilco, both musically and personally seem in a good place.
And as a result, the album is a more pleasant listen than the likes of YHF or A Ghost.., but less invigorating. I'm not sure yet how the album ranks in the ice capped mountain range that is their back catalogue but the more I listen the better it gets, songs previously reluctant to reveal their charm, build into favourites over time. Even the most upbeat poppy moments have a subtlety which characterises all Tweedy's compositions. Another fine addition to the work of a remarkable, and remarkably consistent songwriter, who finally seems to have settled on a line up, and a sound, that he's happy with.
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