The new Wilco album is so good (I know, I'm so predictable, but, hey, I gotta be me). I've gotten used to turning on Wilco to rock out, in a certain sort of way, but this is a return to the beautiful, contemplative mode ("California Stars," anyone? except not quite as innocently sanguine, though perhaps that's because post-rehab Jeff Tweedy is writing the lyrics, not Woody Guthrie). And once again (I know, I know), he says it exactly as it is, at least for me, these days: it's hard, it's sad, but there is love and beauty, and therefore hope, at least maybe. There's a little bit of the Romantic in all of us, or, at least, in me and Jeff.
(I'm not quite sure why, but this album makes me think of Leonard Cohen and Lucinda Williams and a few moments of Simon and Garfunkel when they're great, and there's a guitar riff that's so familiar, but I just can't grasp it.)
(Oh my goodness, Wilco dolls!)
(Well, I'm obviously not a Pitchfork guy. Ouch. But, hey, I love American Beauty!)
(OK, Jon Pareles makes me feel better. Oh no! Jon Pareles is making me feel better!)
(Now I feel the need to restore my cred by listing all the hip music I'm listening to, except that I'm not. But this is the other band I'm into this week, and I bet you've never even heard of them, so there!)
2 comments:
Sorry to disappoint. "Spring Rain" was one my favorite songs in high school. But I'll grant you 20-year-old cred.
I just heard "What Light" on the radio, and thought, "This sounds kind of Dead-y." Which is fine with me!
Also, I like how, for Pitchfork, "dad-rock" is such a horrifying term.
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