If Wilco had been holding out on us, they sure have a hard way of showing it.
The progressively progressive Chicagoans have been the the indie rock critics BFF and cool brand to promote since before you could hype the Internet. Forming in 1994 out of the remnants of equally revered alt-country forefathers Uncle Tupelo, Jeff Tweedy and a revolving cast of characters have created year defining albums of straight away roots rock [
Being There (1996)], experimental folk [
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)] and explorations in noise [
A Ghost is Born (2004)].
The Whole Love stands up to its meticulously curated predecessors with assorted genre bending maneuvers and lithe form shifts but it's not till eleven songs in when the title track demurely coos Wilco's intentions that they "...hope I'll know when to show you my.....whole love". No time like the present, right?
The contorted drumming of "The Art of Almost" opens the album, rattling almost Radiohead-esque towards a wash in orchestration as fellow Wilco founder John Striatt's bass oozes around the cracks of Tweedy's grasp eluding lyrics. Guitarist Nels Cline defines the second half of the seven minute plus opener as his scratchy guitar scrapes through the mix before exploding into an all out psych jam freak out. This seems to carry on a tradition of ambitious album openers, from "Misunderstood" (6:28), to "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" (6:58), to "At Least That's What You Said " (5:30).
"I Might" lets the dust settle a bit with upbeat carnival keys, where the lyrical non-sensicalities matter less than the swagger that Jeff Tweedy can still own, "Dad-rock" label notwithstanding.
Twinkling, lens flared regret blurs swaying oohs and ahhs with squinting-into-the-sun in "Sunloathe" followed up nicely by the retrospective experience of love punchy "Dawned on Me", where Tweedy claims he will "start / to begin / at the end", in the never ending do loop of falling in love.
"Black Moon", "Open Mind" and "Capitol City" do monotone folk ballad, modest country inflection, and bouncy pop, respectively, and nicely round out a middle highlighted by the beach sirens lulling call of "
Born Alone, a song that makes you feel good about being "born / to die / alone".
"Standing O" captures the same energy as hitting the open highway with "Monday" on the car stereo. "Rising Red Lung" is "as intimate as a kiss / over the phone", typifying a lot of the lyrical content Tweedy offers, on detached love and loneliness.
"One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley's Boyfriend)" closes out
The Whole Love with Tweedy's best writing about a father and a god, and how a son can never have more than one of each at a time. A modestly twanging melody repeating with each verse and a wind chime piano acquiesces to sound digressions, not at all unlike the meandering beauty of
Time Out of Mind era Dylan.
Wilco make me depressed in just the right way. With bits of noise that sound like everything from robot gargle to fuzzed out satellite communications, the sound debris of their slightly fucked up take on traditional rock, country, and pop warp the familiar into the uncomfortable, but in a way that makes depression feel like happiness. No love would be whole without the beautiful and the ugly; or as Wilco play it - the beautiful ugliness and the ugly beauty. With
The Whole Love, Wilco sound settled in the discomfort, and content with the love they've created.
Further Listening:
Check out a super cool stop motion video of Wilco performing at the Ryman Auditorium in
Nashville, TN soundtracked with "Art of Almost", shot and edited by Richie Wireman
here.
Addendum: Bonus Tracks
The deluxe issue includes a couple of really fun extras including a cover of Nick Lowe's "I Love My Label". With Wilco's well documented spat with Reprise circa 2002 and the recent formation of their
own label, dBpm, the cheeky soul had me smiling into my headphones, from the emphatic "Oh Yes", to Tweedy ironically nodding to Cline to "play the blues".
"Message From Mid-Bar" is a bonus that really feels like you got something for nothing. Would have made the final album cut in my tracklist.
"Speak Into The Rose": A secret agent mariachi guitar band plays shoot-em up with an electronic police squad.
