Joshua Green

Been There

Wilco's Jeff Tweedy talks about losing his alt-country baggage

Wilco front man Jeff Tweedy has been an alternative music icon for the better part of a decade, and while he may downplay his “rock star” status, he’s equally dismissive of the “alt-country” tag that’s stubbornly stuck with him since his days as leader of the pioneering cult band Uncle Tupelo.

Wilco’s new album ought to rectify any misunderstandings. A striking departure from the band’s most recent effort (the Woody Guthrie tribute/Billy Bragg collaboration “Mermaid Avenue”), “Summer Teeth” swaps vintage guitars for vintage keyboards and glows with classic pop influences from Brian Wilson (“Candyfloss”) to John Lennon (“My Darling”). Standouts like “I’m Always in Love” and “Nothing’severgonnastandinmyway (again)” sound tailored for the glory days of AM radio, with whimsical choruses and sunny keyboard riffs.

Like many of the notable tracks from Wilco’s last album,
“Being There” (1996), much of the newer material has a comfortable, timeless feel but still challenges the listener. In sharp contrast to the quaint, wistful Guthrie-penned songs on “Mermaid Avenue,” the raw, emotional lyrics of “Summer Teeth” subvert otherwise innocuous tunes. Tweedy’s stark words are frequently offset by the bouncy melodies that seem to come so naturally to him. Elsewhere, his darker themes are amplified and unadorned. On “Via Chicago,” he builds a troubled, unsettling mood, which then cracks and dissolves into chaos and distortion.

With a Grammy nomination for “Mermaid Avenue,” another successful album with alt-country supergroup Golden Smog and now “Summer
Teeth,” Tweedy is in the midst of a winning streak he might want to think about taking to Vegas. But for now, he’s staying put in Chicago, where he spoke with Salon after a recent record store performance.

After three years of essentially being away from Wilco with Golden Smog and Woody Guthrie, is it nice to be making your own music for your own band again?

I don’t really feel like we’ve ever gotten away from Wilco. We’ve been pretty busy the whole time. It’s nice to have a new record out; I’ll definitely say that.

“Summer Teeth” seems like a pretty big departure for the band.

I think it’s different than any other record we’ve ever made, but I don’t think it’s startling. The band’s just growing. I’d lean toward it being an illogical progression.

You’ve said that you felt you hadn’t lived up to your end of
the bargain on this record, that you apologized to the band after the record was completed. What did you mean?

I just felt like the lyrics, when I listened to them, I thought they
were going to be taken as really, really personal. That undermines a
certain amount of the band concept.

But they didn’t accept your apology?

They wouldn’t have any of it.

Have you since come around to their way of thinking?

Yeah. I’m proud of the job I did, but I don’t know if I’d ever say
they’re damned good lyrics. They feel real good to sing. They’re
accurate.

You had to know that lines like “I dreamed about killing you again last night and it felt all right to me” from “Via Chicago” would raise some eyebrows.

It raised an eyebrow for me. It’s just something that came out
subconsciously, just singing melodies, singing the first words that come
into your head, kind of free association. And it was like, “Wow, I’ve
got to hang onto that one.” It felt honest and close to something real.

Are you ever uncomfortable with what you had written?

All the time, always. That’s a good thing.

Were you emboldened by the critical success of “Being There”?

No, I think we were emboldened by the fact that we felt really good
about it, even without the critical attention. We knew when we were done
with it that it was going to lead to something even better because we’d
learned how to do some things in the studio that we’d never done, and we
were excited about the collaborative spirit of the band. We were
emboldened by that and a lot of successful touring.

We’re more driven by internal things, I really have to say. I know that [critical acclaim] has been an impact, and every step I’ve ever taken musically has been rewarded somewhat critically. I feel really lucky about that. Uncle Tupelo seemed to be a critic’s type band, and Wilco has kind of continued that. But every time we kind of prepare ourselves for it being … well, an unmitigated disaster. We were pretty certain with “Being There” that critics would hate it because it was a double record and it was a sprawling mess. We knew that. But it didn’t pan out that way. This one is a concentrated mess.

One of the defining sounds of this record is the vintage keyboards and the pop references to Brian Wilson, John Lennon. Whose inspiration was that?

Everybody in the band was really into those sounds. All year long,
everybody in the band, especially Jay [Bennett], had been buying a lot
of keyboards because we used a lot on “Being There.” That was the most
satisfying element of “Being There” to us. So we just kept trying to
find more good stuff and wound up with a pretty good collection of
weird, esoteric keyboards that we wanted to use. Now we’ve got to figure
out how to take them on the road.

By dropping most of the country twang from your music on “Summer
Teeth,” you risk alienating a lot of fans. Was that ever a concern?

No, I don’t think so. I just figure that the people who like music will be open-minded and like the band if we make a good record. If it’s something they don’t like then I don’t expect them to buy it. But I don’t think it’s right to try and make a record that will make one group of people happy if it won’t make us happy. We just tried to make the record we wanted to listen to.

I was thinking specifically of the No Depression purists who are kind of militantly pro-twang, you know what I mean?

I really have no concern for them. It’s great that they have plenty of music to like. I think it’s interesting that they still talk about us. It’s like something for them to talk about that this band continues to let them down. I think there are a certain group of people that are
really purist about it, but somehow they can’t find it in their hearts
to just let us alone and get on with their lives.

With this album it seems like you’ve distanced yourself from your Uncle Tupelo days so much that any comparison would really be unfounded, and I know you don’t like them …

No, I don’t. I understand why people are compelled to do it. All that
really matters is that we’ve been able to shake it, and with every record be true to what we feel like doing and not cater to it. As long as we don’t feel like we’re carrying that baggage around, I don’t care that it comes up all the time. And it still does.

One more thing — what’s a summer tooth?

It was just a phrase that we thought fit the record. It’s hard to name something these days without there being a direct connotation that
immediately comes to mind.

Is there?

Actually, yeah, there is. “Summer Teeth” comes from a bad joke. Like
“I’ve got summer teeth — some are, some aren’t.”

Huh?

See, it’s not even funny. You say, “I’ve got summer teeth.” The other
person says, “What do you mean?” And you’re like, “Well, some are teeth,
some aren’t.” There you go.

Seven deadly sins: Beer, babes and beatings

What the college admissions brochure doesn't tell you about your freshman year

Freshman orientation is the most orchestrated event a student experiences until graduation. Some students arrive to cheerfully decorated dorm rooms or planned activities that foster a sense of collegiate identity. Others are treated to group outings designed to forge lasting friendships and heartwarming memories.

My friend Alex Shapiro was beaten, garroted and urinated on by way of welcome to his upstate New York liberal arts school.

His isn’t an uncommon freshman experience — unless you’re looking for it in a college guide. Despite the horror stories intermittently reported by the media, fraternity hazing is still one of the hush-hush issues that can quickly ruin a freshman’s year, yet rarely warrants so much as a mention from those whose business it is to prepare freshmen for the “college experience.”

In their zeal to do so, administrators have developed orientation programs devoted to such hyperpolitical campus issues as multiculturalism, date rape and honor codes — programs that exude a commercialized goodwill in a way that suggests there isn’t an issue that can’t be painlessly resolved through a workshop or a fireside chat. Curiously, though, the psychological and physical dangers of fraternity life often go widely ignored.

My own college was no different, nor the hazing less terrifying. As at most schools, there was a rumor that trumped all others — of a pledging endgame called “Ookie Cookie” in which fraternity hopefuls masturbated onto a cookie. The last one to finish faced a grueling ultimatum: eat the cookie or face instant excommunication.

To be sure, the thought of such a meal caused me more angst than four years of exams combined. But so did the thought of four years on the collegiate periphery; the prospect of being cut off from campus involvement because I had failed to pledge was too awful to seriously consider.

My roommate and I stayed up all night debating the merits of rushing. We’d quickly become best friends but shared typical apprehensions about college life outside the Greek system. Where would we live? How would we get into parties? Perhaps most important, how would we meet women? No answers presented themselves, so we rushed. It was the last time my life at that school held any sense of possibility.

As for many insecure freshmen, the attractions of fraternity life made the decision to pledge irresistible to me. The smooth confidence so many older “brothers” exhibited offered me a glimpse of who I might
become, and the “Animal House” bacchanalia of fraternity life promised a dangerous adult fun. But once I made this decision, I began to see that the pressures that accompanied it were more than some people could take. Several classmates turned to hard-core drug use in response to not being accepted. I vividly remember only two things from my freshman year: the night a dorm mate died suddenly of a blood disease and the night my roommate received a bid and I didn’t.

There was an unspoken acknowledgment that he and I were suddenly and permanently members of two very different groups. Hanging out became uncomfortable, and we began to avoid each other as much as possible.

Yet as roommates we were for a year irrevocably joined. During that time I watched with mounting unease as my roommate was delivered in the early morning hours — sometimes bleeding, often covered in vomit or mud and always piss drunk, as was, I suppose, the point. In these drunken, late-night hazes, he would unwittingly break the fraternity’s vow of silence and reveal what his brothers were putting him through as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

What emerged were tales of male monsters, men you’d expect to find only in a Neil LaBute film. Some stories were of relatively harmless acts. Pledges, for instance, weren’t allowed to vomit anywhere but into their own shirts. But others were mind-bogglingly abusive, forced sexual acts that would make Bill and Monica blanch.

It was the worst year of my life. Soon afterward I transferred to a school without a Greek system. Nonfraternity life proved more varied and compelling than my freshman mind had grasped. But I never would have found it at my first school, where the de facto caste system and my own imagined exile would have prevented me from trying anything new ever again.

I never spoke to my roommate again, though we were just 45 minutes apart. I imagine by our senior year that both of us would have recognized the foolishness of the wedge suddenly driven into our friendship. I never got to ask him if it was worth it. Other friends like Alex tell me it wasn’t.

I still harbor a lingering resentment, not because I wasn’t accepted but because no one explained to me the consequences of involvement. I watched the process again this week at a different school, as freshmen, eager to belong, stumbled between rush parties.

Me, I prefer my cookies with milk.

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