Artist:Bobby Osborne (feat. Alison Brown, Stuart Duncan, Trey Hensley, Sierra Hull, Tim O’Brien & Todd Phillips) Hometown: Hyden, Kentucky Song: “White Line Fever” Release Date: March 26, 2021 Label: Compass Records
In Their Words: “When I first heard ‘White Line Fever’ it was a ballad-type song. When Alison discussed it with me, she said she wanted to do it in a bluegrass style. It’s a great song, and I enjoyed recording this version for Compass Records. I hope everyone also enjoys ‘White Line Fever’!” — Bobby Osborne
“On his birthday last year, I asked Bobby if he thought it would be fun to record a version of ‘White Line Fever’ which he was totally up for doing. The song was a hit for Merle Haggard who cut it in late 1960s with a mid-tempo country feel, but it always seemed to me that it would make a great bluegrass song. As Garry West (co-producer) and I started working on the re-arrangement we felt like it was missing a second verse, so we asked Jeff Tweedy if he would be up for writing some lyrics to tell the story of Bobby’s 60-plus year career on the road. He came up with the perfect handful of lines with nods to Bobby’s Kentucky roots and Ohio ties. We got some of our favorite bluegrass collaborators to cut the song (Stuart Duncan – fiddle, Sierra Hull – mandolin, Trey Hensley – guitar and harmony vocals, Todd Phillips – bass, Tim O’Brien – harmony vocals, with me on banjo) and, once we heard Bobby’s incomparable vocal in the track, it was hard to believe the song hadn’t been a bluegrass standard all along.” — Alison Brown
Michaela Anne put a lot on the line to make her new record, Desert Dove. Working for the first time with producers Sam Outlaw and Kelly Winrich, the self-funded album was recorded in San Clemente, California. With many of the songs written either on the West Coast or in the Southwest, the pervasive theme of manifesting her own destiny resounds.
All of the songs pull from a mixture of her own life (potentially even her past lives), characters she’s met in real life, and some of whom she’s envisioned in her imagination. We sat down with Michaela Anne to discuss everything from her inspirations, to her transient childhood as the daughter of a submarine captain, to the anticipation of releasing this very personal new material.
BGS: Can you talk about growing up on the move? Were you playing music and writing back then?
Michaela Anne: I started playing piano when I was about 5. I wrote a few songs right away, instrumental piano pieces and the first one I wrote was called “When Daddy Comes Home.” So from the very beginning, it has always been a sad longing feeling, because I missed my dad when he was out to sea. Then we moved a year later and every time we moved there would be a transition period of, “OK, hurry up and find a music teacher!”
I wasn’t writing. I didn’t write any more songs until I was 17, when my grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer. That was the first time I wrote a song with lyrics. Then the second time I wrote a song with lyrics was when I moved to college. So everything for me, and I’m actually just realizing this, has all been a result of something that was sad. A sad experience or a longing for.
Do you find there is a transient parallel in touring at all?
Oh yeah. It is different because you live in one place but you miss out on a lot of stuff. It is hard to keep friendships together when you’re gone for a month and then you come home and you’re tired and you don’t really feel like going out. How do you stay in people’s lives when you are missing the big events? That feeling of not really being a part of friend circles because you are missing out, that’s been my entire life. This deep FOMO. It isn’t a fear of missing out. I actually miss out a lot.
What led you to record this album in California? When you were writing it, did you know you’d be making the record there?
I didn’t, which is interesting to me because multiple songs mention California. The West Coast, in general, has always had a nostalgic, warm, romantic feeling to me. It’s funny. I’ve never thought I would move back to the West Coast because I feel like I want to keep it as a magical reprieve. So I wrote some songs out there and for some reason, it kept coming up.
I also wrote a bunch of songs in Arizona. So the Southwest, paired with the West, infiltrated my songwriting. But that wasn’t part of the plan when I was writing the songs. I’d toured a bunch with Sam Outlaw and he’d said in passing that he wanted to produce my next record. I blew it off as a joke and thought it was funny.
Then I started considering it when I was really figuring out how to make a new record. I entertained a few different producers and Sam brought in Kelly Winrich, who is from this band called Delta Spirit and he has this more indie rock background. He doesn’t really come from the more country world, which I really wanted.
It just kind of all organically came together. Kelly is from San Clemente and his parents built out their basement into a studio. I went out there for two days to do a trial run to see what it would be like. I’d also never worked with two producers at the same time and didn’t know if that would make things more complicated.
Had they worked together before?
They had. They had worked on one of Sam’s early records together and they were longtime friends. I felt like I was very cautious before I made a decision but it all went really well. Then we hired a bunch of LA-based musicians with the addition of my friend Kristin Weber, who is from here in Nashville. She flew out and did strings and background vocals.
It happened naturally and it was really amazing to record in a beautiful setting but be really focused. I didn’t have to deal with the day-to-day living of making sure my cats are fed and making sure my house is clean and all that stuff. It was an ideal setting, for sure.
Was there a fleeing from Nashville to California to make the record?
I don’t know, maybe a little bit. I feel like I might be one of those people who has a love-hate relationship with wherever I am. I felt this way about New York and I now feel this way about Nashville — that I see the good and the bad. I think when you are surrounded by a lot of people pursuing similar career paths and when everyone around you is about music, it can feel like a bubble, and I think it is not healthy to live in that bubble.
It’s important to remember that there is such a diverse, large world out there of different careers, different pursuits, different passions. I’m really inspired looking around and seeing so many people figuring it out and being creative but it also can trigger insecurities of, “Oh my gosh, everyone is doing this. Why do we need my voice? What do I have to contribute and how am I saying what I’m saying and how is it different or alike with somebody else?”
That can be really distracting. So getting away from it is helpful. To just be creating your work and not be thinking about it in terms of who else is doing what and where you fit in with all of it. That can be poisonous.
How do you typically write lyrics? Does the melody follow or lead that process?
I usually come up with a melody first. I’m never someone who is just writing lyrics. I’m not a poet. I think in melodies and the words come with it. Then I have to consciously go back once I have a melodic structure and think about where I want to get to with it.
I was comforted when I read Jeff Tweedy’s memoir that he just released. He said that the way that he writes songs is that he mumbles a lot and crafts the song while mumbling gibberish. It was the first time I’d heard of a songwriter doing that and it makes me feel so much better. I’ve considered it a weakness. Like I’m just writing based on what sound feels good in my mouth and not looking at it as a piece of literature. I felt very seen when I heard that Jeff Tweedy does that.
The character in “Desert Dove” seems like one that you know a lot about.
I’m always saying I feel like I could write a novel about that song. It is so many different people to me. I see myself in that character in many ways. I met this woman years ago at Pappy and Harriet’s who was a stripper. Her name was Madeline and she was wearing a white dress that was off her shoulder.
She was this beautiful charismatic woman who I was really drawn to in that one evening’s conversation and then from there it expands to all these other women characters that I’ve read about or learned about from talking to friends. This book Soiled Dove is an historical account of different real-life women who were prostitutes or madames in the Wild West.
It’s like a lifetime of research. How long did it take you to actually write it?
That song came out so fast. I was in Arizona in Cave Creek on a little writing retreat. I knew I had this song about a Wild West prostitute in me for years for some reason. When I was really young, I went to a spiritual healer who told me I was a prostitute in a past life. Maybe that gives you a little glimpse of the complexities of my upbringing.
I was raised in a very traditional family home. That my dad was a nuclear submarine captain but my parents were very interested in lots of different spiritualities and dynamics. When I was back at the apartment I was staying at, I was making a sandwich and I opened my mouth and the first line of the song came out. I think I finished it within a day or two.
Your characters have dimensions of the good, the bad, and the ugly. They feel honest, particularly in “Somebody New.” I read that someone told you once that women shouldn’t be the perpetrator in songs or be in a guilty position. Did that advice ever inform your writing or is it informing your writing now as an act of rebellion from that advice?
I feel like with so many songs there are a few different narratives. Especially in the country world, and this is a huge generalization, but the idea that the woman is the one that gets cheated on but she’s the one that has to then be vengeful. Or like the sad, sullen songs that are like, “I was wronged and as the narrator, I’m the innocent victim in this.”
I just feel like no situation is actually that clear cut. I feel like we have a role in every single situation we find ourselves in. I think it is hard to portray that in a three-to-four-minute song because you’re telling this very complex story of, “I’m really hurt but also I did something that hurt you.” I think that’s real life. How do I portray these very human characteristics? I create these characters, but you know, I’m in every one of those.
Artist:Kacy & Clayton Hometown: Wood Mountain, Saskatchewan Album:Carrying On (produced by Jeff Tweedy and recorded by Tom Schick.) Release Date: October 4, 2019 Label: New West Records
In Their Words: “Jeff and Tom have taught us a lasting lesson on what’s important and not important when making music. I can recall moments when their suggestions caused me to feel panicky and vulnerable, but I can see now that they were encouraging us to let go of unnecessary fixations. And those moments have all ended up being my favourite parts of the two records we’ve made with them. It’s easy to cling to your own ideas out of insecurity but trusting someone else’s judgment can allow you to be very free.” — Clayton Linthicum
“Making this record felt purposeful. The songs came together nicely and we integrated them into our live set with Mike Silverman and Andy Beisel leading up to recording. Returning at The Loft in Chicago seemed like, ‘Hey guys! We’re back again and we’ve been practicing so let’s make a better record now.’ It was three or four days and the whole thing was tracked and marked with a B. Working with Jeff Tweedy has been a mystical and Midwestern experience for Clayton, Mike, Andy and I. He shies away from seeming authoritative and that style of leadership has strongly resonated with us.” — Kacy Anderson
Artist:Tow’rs Hometown: Flagstaff, Arizona New Album:New Nostalgia
Which artist has influenced you the most … and how?
Kyle Miller: There have been so many artists I have placed on the altar of my adoration over the years. One seemed to keep rising above all the rest as I kept reflecting. Without a doubt, Jeff Tweedy has sat the longest on the above-mentioned altar. My first interaction with Wilco was my freshman year of college. A friend with extremely pretentious taste in music drove me around in his Subaru Outback blasting Sky Blue Sky. To be honest I didn’t get it at first. I didn’t even like it. I remember I bought it and had it in my car because I felt that as someone who enjoyed music I better damn well like Wilco, haha.
The years went on and Tow’rs started to become more of a realized job for me in my life. My wife and I had two kids all the while juggling our music career and family life on and off the road (as we continue to do). On our first tour my manager Paul was driving and was listening to Sky Blue Sky. I can remember being so blown away by the record in a way that I hadn’t before. The timing of it was perfect and it became mine. Since then, give or take five years ago, I’ve studied Jeff and his work. I’ve listened to him talk about family and music, process, mental health and band dynamics. All the while taking notes and applying it to our band and my own life.
Wilco and Jeff’s solo stuff has become a weekly part of my listening experience, but in a deeper way he has been a voice that I look to for advice. While writing our record New Nostalgia I listened to Jeff’s memoir Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back). I found a sense of peace while writing because of that memoir that I have always wanted permission to have, but didn’t know if I could. The way Jeff talked about the way he interacts with his work set me free and gave me permission for whatever reason to explore and not be sad when I was writing. As a result I think we wrote the best record we’ve ever made. I’m grateful for his vulnerability and I hope in my own way to share myself as he does.
What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?
My favorite memory on stage was in Bryan, Texas a few years ago. We were opening for a band called Seryn. The room was sold out and I was so nervous waiting backstage I thought I was gonna throw up. When we took the stage the crowd was so kind and inviting. Throughout the show I could at times hear them singing our songs more than I could hear myself in the monitor. There was electricity in the air that felt like we were all one.
On our last song I had a string break right before a really important drop on the song. The band saw it break and kept playing the build to the drop while I switched guitars. I stripped my guitar off and grabbed my spare and plugged it in as fast as I could and came in on the one of the drop with the band. The crowd lost their minds and my guitar sounded terrible the rest of the song. Everybody was laughing and clapping.
It reminded me not to take myself so serious. I think that moment was my fave because I struggled so hard to not beat myself up about shows the first couple years we toured. I’ve searched to find that tension that what we do is important to an extent, but that when I take myself too seriously I suck to be around. I’m also not convinced it makes me better to self-deprecate in that way. What we get to do is so fun and I hold it with open hands because I know it’s not for forever. I treasure those moments where you remember the absurdity and gratefulness and hard work all in the same space.
What was the first moment that you knew you wanted to be a musician?
I played violin and piano starting at around 5. There was never a year I had during elementary, middle and high school where I wasn’t learning music in some way. Looking back, the moment I felt I took ownership over my own journey in that was when my grandpa took me to see the Phoenix Symphony when I was 10. I remember we had balcony seats at the symphony hall and my grandpa took each step really careful getting up the stairs. We sat in our seats and listened to the symphony start to tune. My grandpa sat back in his seat and closed his eyes until the symphony started.
Once they started he put his hands up and puppeted the conductor and the music took over his body. You could see his face wincing and his toothpick on the corner of his mouth dancing around. I couldn’t stop staring at him. It was like watching a group of people laugh at a joke you don’t get. You want to understand it so bad. It was the first time I realized music had this involuntary effect on people who need it and let it in. It sent me down the songwriter’s path on how to capture that in a way that could accompany people in their life and mine like the symphony did and still does for my grandpa.
Which elements of nature do you spend the most time with and how do those impact your work?
I try to get out trail running in the pine trees every week here in Flagstaff. Especially while I am in a season of writing for a record. I had heard a story a while back about “runners high” which is essentially this endorphin rush you get from dipping into certain parts of your body’s energy only accessible through intense aerobic exercise. There were these stories of crazy mental clarity after running that I tried to use as a tool while writing. And it totally worked… maybe it was just a placebo, but either way it worked.
I would go out on the mesa next to our house (which, fun fact, is where they discovered Pluto) in the middle of the forest and run and stop when I got an idea, as well as sit down and “ride the high” when I got home in the studio. We live at seven thousand feet with amazing views, mountains, and everything that comes with that terrain. We also get four seasons here so you’re always aware how fast time is moving because nature is postmarking it. I feel like nature, specifically the forest, has influenced my writing more than anything.
What other art forms — literature, film, dance, painting, etc — inform your music?
I’ve tried to create a discipline around reading both poetry and literature in my life. I watched that documentary a while back Jiro Dreams of Sushi and he had a line in it about how he gives his employees the best sushi, the same kind they try and serve their customers. He said that’s because he doesn’t believe you can make good sushi without knowing what it tastes like. Pretty simple and obvious, but I’ve tried to apply reading other people’s work I respect into my life for the same reason.
How can I be a good poet if I don’t read good poetry? I recognize this is subjective to an extent. Lately, I’ve been enamored with Steinbeck as well as Leif Enger from a literary standpoint. The poets who have most informed me have been Dickinson, Rilke and Wendell Berry. I’ve also really enjoyed Abraham Heschel’s words and meditations. There’s something about finding a poem or book that scoops a truth out of you that you’ve always tried to find the words for, but couldn’t. I think that moment is why I keep writing.
Artist: Kacy & Clayton Hometown: Rural Saskatchewan Song: “The Forty-Ninth Parallel” Album:Carrying On (produced by Jeff Tweedy) Release Date: October 4th, 2019 Label: New West Records
In Their Words: “‘The Forty-Ninth Parallel’ video was filmed in Regina, Saskatchewan, and it shouldn’t be hard to tell. Filmmaking treasure, Sunny Adams, has created somewhat of a young woman’s ‘Experience Regina’ demonstration video. There are off-putting moments throughout involving a Bud Light Lime hat, a very faint farmer’s tan, and a couple of total Sasky party machines. The song itself is a Gen Z’s attempt at a fable. The moral is skewed but there still is one if you’re looking. Watching a truck rip donuts to our song has been an unexpected highlight of my life and I hope others may enjoy it too.” — Kacy Anderson
This year, as we revisit the albums that resonated with each of us, we may not find a tidy, overarching message. However, the diversity herein — of style, content, aesthetic, format, genre, perspective, and background — demonstrates that our strength as a musical community, or zoomed-out even further, simply as humans, indeed comes from our differences. To us, these 10 albums are testaments to the beauty, inspiration, and perseverance we found in 2018.
Rayland Baxter, Wide Awake His career-launching musical epiphanies happened on a retreat in Israel some years ago, so Rayland Baxter’s decision to isolate himself in a contemplative space to write Wide Awake had precedent. The venue this time was an abandoned rubber band factory in rural Kentucky where a friend was installing a new recording studio. In that quiet, Baxter wrote songs about the noisy world beyond the cornfields, with perspective on its tenderness and absurdity. Later in the studio, his posse set the deft verses to enveloping, neo-psychedelic, Americana rock. Social commentary doesn’t have to plod, as the Beatles proved, and Baxter is farming similar terrain with vibrant melodies, saucy beats and a voice that’s entirely his own. – Craig Havighurst
The Dead Tongues, Unsung Passage I didn’t expect The Dead Tongues (aka Ryan Gustafson, guitarist for Hiss Golden Messenger and Phil Cook) to be my most-listened-to record of the year. But Unsung Passage is an album I find myself returning to again and again. The ten songs form a sort of travelogue for Gustafson, and you can hear the influences and rhythms of other cultures drifting throughout. It’s the rare record that’s both comforting and complex. –Amy Reitnouer Jacobs
Del McCoury Band, Del McCoury Still Sings Bluegrass Named after his debut record, which was released fifty years prior, Del McCoury Still SingsBluegrass seems like a painfully obvious, on the nose title for a record, but upon deeper inspection we realize that, because the album was built on his signature ear for songs and his unfaltering trust in his own taste, it is an immediately digestible statement of McCoury’s worldview. At this point in his long, diverse, uniquely successful career, most listeners would give Del a bluegrass authenticity “hall pass,” letting the more innovative, less bluegrass-normative moments herein by without a blink, but Del, from the outset, avoids letting himself fall into that paradigm. He chooses songs because, well, he likes them, and he doesn’t concern himself with what is or isn’t bluegrass, he just creates music that he enjoys to make with people he enjoys making it with. It’s a simple approach that may border on simplistic, but the result is a resoundingly bluegrass album that doesn’t concern itself with the validity of that genre designation at all. Which, after all, is bluegrass to a T. — Justin Hiltner
Jason Eady, I Travel On A fixture on the Texas touring scene, Jason Eady offered his most satisfying album yet with I Travel On. First off, he enlisted Rob Ickes and Trey Hensley for these sessions, giving the project a bluegrass groove with plenty of cool Dobro licks and guitar runs. Second, Eady wrote from the perspective of a man with some miles on him – the album title isn’t a coincidence, after all. His expressive country baritone is made for slice-of-life story songs like “Calaveras County” and “She Had to Run.” At other times, Eady looks inward, drawing on themes like mortality, gratitude and contentment. I Travel On may not be the most obvious album for a road trip but it’s certainly a worthwhile one. – Craig Shelburne
Erin Rae, Putting on Airs Her velvety, maternal vocals and the subtle, understated alt-folk production vibes of Erin Rae’s Putting on Airs might initially disguise the millennial-reckoning being wrought through these songs and their topics; from top to bottom Rae’s brand, her musical identity, defies comparisons with any one era of music making and songwriting. Her talent oozes through her writing, her melodic hooks, and her musical and rhetorical fascinations, which together in this song sequence feel like they epitomize a microcosm that contains all of our generation’s — and this particular historical moment’s — angst, but without feeling simply capitalistic, opportunistic, or “on trend.” Instead, her viewpoint is decidedly personal, giving us a window into her own individual reckonings — with her own identity, with mental health, with family relationships, with being a young southerner in this modern era; the list is potentially endless, determined only by each listener’s willingness to curl up inside these songs and reckon along with Rae. Which is the recommended Putting on Airs listening strategy espoused by this writer. — Justin Hiltner
High Fidelity, Hills And Home It’s in the nature of bluegrass to forever be casting backward looks at the giants of the music’s early years; nothing wrong with that, but when those who do it get aggressive about how they’re playing “real” bluegrass, well, that’s another story. High Fidelity’s eyes are firmly fixed on the musical past, but they’re also a modern, mixed-gender band who aren’t afraid to let their music do the talking — and what it says is that there’s a lot more variety, not to mention pure joy, in the under-appreciated gems of old than you might think. – Jon Weisberger
Angelique Kidjo, Remain in Light It’s not simply a remake of the Talking Heads’ 1980 landmark, but a stunning reimagining by the visionary Benin-born artist Kidjo. She doesn’t merely repatriate (er, rematriate) the African influences that fueled TH’s revolutionary stream-of-consciousness masterpiece — which opened the door for many to discover the wealth of those inspirations — she considers and explores the worlds that have emerged in African music in the time since, all brought together via her singular talents and sensibilities. Remain in Light was arguably the album of the year for ’80, and so it may be again for ’18. – Steve Hochman
John Prine, The Tree of Forgiveness No album this year brought me as much pure joy as John Prine’s latest. His first collection of new material in over a decade —which is way too long — The Tree of Forgiveness shows him in fine form, tossing out clever phrases and humorous asides that add to, rather than distract from, the low-level sadness thrumming through these songs. From the Buddy Holly bop of “I Have Met My Love Today” to the percolating existentialism of “Lonesome Friends of Science,” from the rapscallion reminiscences of “Egg & Daughter Nite, Lincoln, Nebraska, 1967 (Crazy Bone)” to the almost unbearable heartache of “Summer’s End,” every line and every word sounds purposeful and poignant, culminating with “When I Get to Heaven.” Prine sings about nine-mile-long cigarettes and bars filled with everyone you’ve ever loved, and it’s one of the most inviting visions of the afterlife set to tape. I hope he’ll save me a barstool. – Stephen Deusner
Jeff Tweedy, WARM The album lives up to its name. Following last year’s quieter Together at Last project, Tweedy now hearkens back to his country punk roots from Uncle Tupelo, and makes a perfect accompaniment to his must-read autobiography, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back). The new music reminds of his strength as a master songwriter and his place as one of the most tender and raw performers of a generation. It might have almost slid under the radar with its release at the end of November, but it definitely belongs on our year-end list. — Chris Jacobs
Marlon Williams, Make Way for Love Mere seconds into hearing Marlon Williams croon the opening greeting of his song “Hello Miss Lonesome” in 2016, I knew I’d found a euphoric talent. After poring over his debut Dark Child, my greedy ears immediately wanted more, and this year finally brought that much-awaited second helping. On Make Way for Love, Williams moves away from the rootsy Americana that defined his first album, and leans into darker, baroque explorations that nod to Scott Walker and Roy Orbison in equal measure. Exploring heartbreak — from the puerile but pacing “Party Boy,” to the seething “I Know a Jeweller,” to the pitious “Love is a Terrible Thing”— Williams dips into the jagged crevices that naturally appear when the heart cracks wide open. – Amanda Wicks
Artist: The Harmed Brothers Hometown: We’re from all over, but based out of Portland, Oregon. Latest Album: The Harmed Brothers Personal Nicknames (or Rejected Band Names): The Spicy Boi’zzz Ray Vietti: Donnie, The Cayenne Kid Alex Salcido: Baby Gorgeous, Sal Pal, Horchata Matt McClure: Mickey, Habenero Caballero Ryan Land: Randy, Black Pepper (fresh ground) Tyler Giles: Giles Giles, Milky Pete Milky Pete and Horchata keep us kewl
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If you could go back (or forward) to live in any decade, when would you choose? Ray: The ’50s Alex: The ’80s Matt: 1690s Ryan: 1820s Tyler: The ’70s
Who would be your dream co-writer?
Tom Petty, Ryan Adams, Jeff Tweedy
If a song started playing every time you entered the room, what would you want it to be? Ray: “Silly Love Songs” — Wings Alex: “Let’s Get It On” — Marvin Gaye Matt: “Break Stuff” — Limp Bizkit Ryan: “Crimson and Clover” — Tommy James and the Shondells Tyler: “Set ‘Em Up Joe” — Vern Gosdin
Wilco, schmilco. If you haven’t said it, someone has: When a group possesses that lethal combination of storied tenure, critical acclaim, and annoying nicknames (take "Kings of Dad Rock," for example) then they're bound to draw as many people who want to reduce them to nothing more than a product of years of overblown, indie-fed hype as die-hard fans. One of the best ways Wilco has found to deal with this phenomenon is to simply be in on the joke — this time, by actually naming their forthcoming album Schmilco and decking out the cover with a wickedly funny cartoon wherein an actual dad uses his own finger to help power a record player, becoming, quite literally, a purveyor of Rock by Dad.
While Wilco's last LP, Star Wars, veered well into their own unique catalogue of dissonant melodies, a newly released song from Schmilco, "If I Ever Was a Child," is driven by a much simpler strum. With Jeff Tweedy's voice on soft echo, it's a quieter, even gently twangy incarnation of the Chicago band — almost as if it were a stripped-down, acoustic version of something off of 2002's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, full of twisted, melancholy metaphors that few are better at conjuring. "Cry like a windowpane," sings Tweedy in a playful yet tearful turn of phrase. There's no sturdy narrative here, just a pondering over what could have been or once was, showing that they're as equally good at being beautifully simple as they are at being beautifully complex. Wilco doesn't need to prove themselves to anybody — and what the hell is Dad Rock, anyway? — but taking things back to the basics is one surefire way to do it. Dad Rock, Schmad Rock.
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