Summer love

Wilco's Jeff Tweedy establishes himself as a great artist

by David Ritchie

By now, the story is pretty well known. Jeff Tweedy was a founding member of Uncle Tupelo, an influential (and often revered) country-rock band from the early '90s. Since their break-up, though, Tweedy's tried to lose that baggage; and it's finally fair to say that the progression he's made (rather than the music he did then) is what makes him a great artist. No matter the quality of the early material, if you want to progress, you have to push forward. No one called out a request for "Kind of Blue" to the aging Miles Davis, and the Beatles certainly moved beyond "I Want To Hold Your Hand." Wormtown favorites ? & the Mysterians come to mind -- okay, it was a great song, but they had the sense to drop out of sight for 30 years to create a fanatical demand for it.

For those unfamiliar with the story (and we'll make this quick): three guys in Belleville, Illinois, got together about 10 years ago and formed Uncle Tupelo. Jay Farrar played guitar, Jeff Tweedy bass, and Mike Heidorn drums. The music they played was rooted in the garage rock they'd played in the '80s, but it was also rooted in country. Much like Gram Parsons and the Byrds had done on Sweethearts of the Rodeo, Uncle Tupelo seamlessly integrated traditional country into their punk-infused sound. Their first album in 1990, No Depression, was named for a Carter Family song. The rest is history. Four albums later, they had a "movement" and then a magazine named after them. No Depression was originally the name of the Uncle Tupelo discussion board on America Online. Now it's a bi-monthly magazine devoted to alternative country. Farrar left the band suddenly in the spring of '94, and the remaining members by that time (Tweedy, drummer Ken Coomer, bassist John Stirratt, and multi-instrumentalist Max Johnston) landed on their feet as Wilco.

After two albums of progressively less-Tupelo-sounding material, Tweedy has involved himself in side-projects that have been more country-rock than Wilco's work. (The group Golden Smog is made up of Tweedy with members of the Jayhawks and Soul Asylum. And Wilco recently collaborated with Billy Bragg on the Grammy-nominated Mermaid Avenue, putting new music to forgotten Woody Guthrie lyrics.) But the new CD, Summerteeth, is a radical departure. And the question Tweedy's been implicitly or explicitly asking ever since they broke up is, "Why bring up Uncle Tupelo at all?" That's what the individual Beatles kept asking for years, but in Tweedy's case, it makes more sense. Unlike McCartney, the interesting thing about Tweedy is watching his evolution since the break-up.

Whatever Farrar and Tweedy were thinking in 1990, they accomplished something then that Wilco (who appear at Pearl Street this Monday) are still doing: they're creating music that sounds fresh to jaded ears. In their heyday, Uncle Tupelo were the answer for people who'd grown tired of "alternative music" that was not really an alternative to anything. (No matter what you called it, grunge had become the mainstream.) A key person who took up the Uncle Tupelo flag was critic and grunge survivor Grant Alden in Seattle, now the coeditor of the magazine No Depression. As he saw it, punk rock was growing tiresome. In 1996, speaking to an audience at the South-by-Southwest music conference, he characterized punk (which was principally about the refrain) as being in its commercial ascendancy and its creative decline. "It seems to me that the natural reaction to that is gonna be songs which, once again, are more lyric-driven. And . . . you're better able to say something in country music which is of interest to the graying ex-punks like me than you are to get me to listen to the new Rancid record."

That was a few years ago. Since then, Jeff Tweedy has done everything he could to distance himself from the genre called alternative country. His first step was to glare at interviewers who wanted to discuss Uncle Tupelo. Still, many of the songs on Wilco's 1995 debut, A.M., would've been right at home on an Uncle Tupelo record, so the critics kept writing about it anyway. Then came the 1997 double-CD, Being There, which contained several all-out assaults that couldn't be mistaken for country. But still, there was Max Johnston's contribution on dobro, fiddle, mandolin, and banjo -- instruments more associated with country than rock or pop.

Now Johnston has left to join the more country-oriented Freakwater, and Summerteeth finds him replaced by Jay Bennett on piano, Farfisa, and other vintage keyboards, with absolutely no references to country music. Except for Tweedy's distinctively hoarse vocals, it sounds nothing like Uncle Tupelo, but it's still full of his great songs. And while Alden continues to edit No Depression, Wilco have, thankfully, made no such limiting declarations about what they will be. No matter how their sound changes though, Alden's comments from years ago still apply: Tweedy's songs are lyric-driven and fresh.

What the lyrics say is another matter. Tweedy's become more poetic and moody. There are no narratives like "Box Full of Letters" or "Passenger Side" as from A.M. But this is 1999, and Summerteeth is what 1999 sounds like to Wilco. It's immediately familiar from the opening chords of the first song, "Can't Stand It." There's nothing particularly earth-shattering about it. But it's a refreshing take on the familiar sounds of popular music's past; and it's one of the best pop records to come along in ages. Whether quoting from the Carter Family or from Brian Wilson, Tweedy wears his influences on his sleeve.

Though most of the references are more general than specific, some songs sound like absolute tributes -- "My Darling" to John Lennon and "I'm Always in Love" to Brian Wilson. The Wilson comparison is especially appropriate when you think of the lyrics. The best Beach Boys tunes ("In My Room," for instance) may sound like happy pop songs, but the lyrics are dark and heart wrenching. Practically every song on Summerteeth is about unfulfilled or abandoned love. "A Shot in the Arm," contains an almost Vangelis-like keyboard (it's much better than that comparison sounds): "The ashtray says/You were up all night/When you went to bed/With your darkest mind/You changed/You've changed/What you once were isn't what/You want to be anymore." With all the darkness of the reading, the songs are as bright and poppy as the best Pet Sounds cut.

On tour, Wilco play very little from the Uncle Tupelo days ("New Madrid" being the notable exception). They'll concentrate on songs from the new CD, though they'll undoubtedly play a few Guthrie tunes from Mermaid Avenue. There's nothing much new to say in music, but in that respect Tweedy's career has been pretty consistent. He borrows liberally from everything that came before (including the Farfisa organ from pioneers like ? & the Mysterians), and he creates something fresh out of it. I don't know if Tweedy's more of a genius than Link Wray, but at least he's not still playing the same song. And, if that's blasphemy, then so be it. Summerteeth is good stuff, and it's just the beginning.

Wilco appear at 8:30 p.m. on April 19 at Pearl Street, in Northampton. Tickets are $15. Call (413) 584-0610.