A Ghost Is Born
So Wilco’s releasing a new album in June, A Ghost Is Born, and since they’re one of the few bands that realizes the Internet is a tool that allows them to increase interest in their music, they’ve again decided to stream the entire CD on their web site, Wilcoworld, in the weeks leading up to the CD’s release.

Wilco had a tough act to follow with their last album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, which in my (and many other’s) opinion is certainly their best effort to date, and for me is one of the best albums that I own, both on CD and vinyl. I consider it to be by far the best CD of the last 5-10 years. Completely original, beautiful, and transcendent. It approaches the level of Astral Weeks, which is pretty much the highest praise I can give.

So, although it’s a little disappointing, I certainly don’t think any less of the band for the fact that A Ghost Is Born doesn’t quite meet the standards of YHF. It is still, however, a sublime album, despite the sound of Wilco regressing.

Each listen gets more interesting, no doubt due to the news that Jeff Tweedy, who let’s be honest here, really is Wilco – despite the incredible talent of the rest of the band – has entered rehab for an addiction to prescription painkillers. After hearing about that, the tone of the album made a lot more sense. A Ghost Is Born is the voice of a man struggling, aware that he’s crumbling under the weight of his own terrible and pathetic creation.

A Ghost Is Born sounds like an Edward Hopper painting. There, I said it. Most people find Hopper’s art desolate, depressing. Schizos like myself, however, find comfort in his paintings, and the idea that they seem depressing and lonely never crossed their mind until a girlfriend mentioned it, subconsciously revealing she was having doubts about the relationship and would soon end it. This album evokes the same moods, musically.

Tweedy tries to be happy and uplifting, and most tracks start off positively. But the moment never lasts, and the darker, raw side seeps in after a minute or two. Several songs end hauntingly in a din of feedback and distortion and noise.

But he’s still one of the best lyricists out there. He may not be Jay Z, comparing himself to Michael Schumacher, but lines like “I attack with love, pure bug beauty/ I curl my lips and crawl up to you” certainly humble me.

But what’s really the point here? I’m still trying to figure that out, and maybe it’s something that will never allow itself to be figured out, though it’ll tempt me to try each time I listen. Was he crying out for help, or letting those around him know he was falling apart so they wouldn’t be hurt by the debris, or reveling in his sorrow and addiction?

Maybe I was expecting too much in looking for yet another progression in Wilco’s sound, as they had previously from A.M. to Being There to Summerteeth to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. So much of this album sounds like previous material. “At Least That’s What You Said”, “Spiders (Kidsmoke)”, and “The Late Greats” wouldn’t feel out of place on Summerteeth or Being There. “Theologians”, which contains the album title lyric, seems to be on this album only because there hasn’t been a Golden Smog CD in a while. “Hell Is Chrome” channels Gram Parsons. “Muzzle of Bees” reminds me of Led Zeppelin III. “Hummingbird” could have been written by Ben Folds, before it devolves into an homage to the Faces, with the violin riff from “Come On Eileen” (almost). “I’m A Wheel” sounds like Wilco doing late era Pearl Jam doing The Fastbacks, a nugget of low-fi new wave country punk.

“Spiders (Kidsmoke)” clocks in at over ten minutes. It’s the musical equivalent of Grady Tripp’s book in Wonder Boys. They made no choices and the song just goes on and on far past when it should end, though it’s an admirable audition for the next Pete Townshend rock opera. “Less Than You Think” sprawls even further, more than fifteen minutes long, most of which is excruciating feedback. It made me think, “what the fuck?” on the first few listens, but in the context of Tweedy’s addictions, and his struggle with debilitating migraine headaches that necessitated the meds in the first place (and provided one of the more memorable scenes in the Wilco documentary I Am Trying To Break Your Heart when he pukes his guts out in a recording studio bathroom stall), I’ve got to believe this is his way of showing us what his migraines sound like. It’s a challenge to the listener – you really want to know where my music comes from, then suffer a little bit like I do every day.

But it all pays off with “Company In My Back”. This track alone is worth the price of admission. If I ever find a woman as beautiful as the guitar riff in the bridge of this song, I will die a very happy man.

A Ghost Is Born is certainly not a breakthrough record. But I believe that the band knows this, and that’s why they’re streaming the entire CD on their web site, to prepare recent converts, to prevent people from feeling cheated and let down when they drop 16 bucks on something they weren’t expecting. If someone wants to get to know Wilco, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot or Summerteeth are much better places to start.

This album is the record Wilco had no choice but to make right now. This album is the band’s most challenging, infuriating, and difficult. But put in the real world context of a struggle with drug addiction, this album may well be Wilco’s most interesting.

- posted by Liebs @ 10:00 AM