Jeff Tweedy is the frontman of alt-country group Wilco. I had the privilege of seeing Wilco at Pori Jazz a few years ago here in Finland. The group almost never comes this far north, but the Finnish summer did not relent even for them. It was barely 10 degrees outside and occasional rain guaranteed that unprepared festival goers were regretting showing up. I made my way to the front of the stage barely ten minutes before the band walked on. After a few songs, a rainbow broke out over the festival area and Tweedy made a joke about singing sad songs in the rain. Overall, it's one of my favorite concert experiences.
Now, Tweedy has written an autobiographical novel and complemented it with a companion album, Warm. For the Wilco fan, this is as good or even better than the band releasing a new album. Tweedy has always been the emotional center of the group and in Let's Go he recounts his life all the way from his childhood to the present day. Wilco, however, is not your average rock band. They've always been closer to a jam band than The Rolling Stones and this shows in Tweedy's light touch with the pen on both album and book.
Let's Go is really funny. I was chuckling mid-sentence several times, to the annoyance of my wife, who was trying to nap next to me. Tweedy has an off-handed way of writing that is in stark contrast to his songs, which can be musically complex and lyrically inscrutable. Early days Wilco was known for setting the bar extremely high in the recording studio, but Tweedy has since matured and loosened up and this is in full effect in his writing. He transcribes conversations between him and his wife into parts of the book, which - coming from someone else - could appear half-baked. Here, however, these passages are some of the most entertaining and heartening in the whole book.
Tweedy may not be the most trustworthy source for everything, though. He subscribes to radical honesty and describes his comfort level with being vulnerable a "superpower", but some passages raise questions about wilful forgetfulness. Tweedy coolly fired original drummer Ken Coomer via phone after stumbling on Glenn Kotche. He admits to his mistake in handling the incident, but devotes less than a paragraph to it. The same goes to his falling outs with fellow band members and Jays Farrar and Bennett. The way he tells it, neither was his fault and both men abandoned the band due to their own demons. But it's hard not to imagine the other side of the argument.
In contrast, Tweedy is painstakingly open about his opioid addiction. He stole morphine from his wife's ailing mother. He disguised his addiction behind migraines, which he did really have, and hid the truth from his wife, who found out only once an acquaintance, who was more familiar with opioid misuse, pointed out that her man was a junkie. Incredibly, all of this can be heard on the album A Ghost is Born, which was recorded during the worst part of Tweedy's addiction. His voice is uncharacteristically bland and forgettable and the songs lack the charm of Summerteeth or the quirks of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. It's impossible to listen to the album now without hearing Tweedy's addiction in each song and he admits as much. Spiders (Kidsmoke) was recorded in just two takes, because that was all Tweedy could get the energy for.
Tweedy outlines his life after recovering from addiction in a way that lends additional context to the music he has recorded since. Many of his albums after A Ghost is Born have received less critical acclaim, but the truth is that they were not meant to. Tweedy has consciously lowered the bar for his musical output to focus more on his family. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot may have been the global experimental breakthrough, but Sky Blue Sky (and the song Sunday Morning) are unforgettable pop epics. They mark another turn in a musical career that has spanned over three decades.
Now, Tweedy has written an autobiographical novel and complemented it with a companion album, Warm. For the Wilco fan, this is as good or even better than the band releasing a new album. Tweedy has always been the emotional center of the group and in Let's Go he recounts his life all the way from his childhood to the present day. Wilco, however, is not your average rock band. They've always been closer to a jam band than The Rolling Stones and this shows in Tweedy's light touch with the pen on both album and book.
Let's Go is really funny. I was chuckling mid-sentence several times, to the annoyance of my wife, who was trying to nap next to me. Tweedy has an off-handed way of writing that is in stark contrast to his songs, which can be musically complex and lyrically inscrutable. Early days Wilco was known for setting the bar extremely high in the recording studio, but Tweedy has since matured and loosened up and this is in full effect in his writing. He transcribes conversations between him and his wife into parts of the book, which - coming from someone else - could appear half-baked. Here, however, these passages are some of the most entertaining and heartening in the whole book.
Tweedy may not be the most trustworthy source for everything, though. He subscribes to radical honesty and describes his comfort level with being vulnerable a "superpower", but some passages raise questions about wilful forgetfulness. Tweedy coolly fired original drummer Ken Coomer via phone after stumbling on Glenn Kotche. He admits to his mistake in handling the incident, but devotes less than a paragraph to it. The same goes to his falling outs with fellow band members and Jays Farrar and Bennett. The way he tells it, neither was his fault and both men abandoned the band due to their own demons. But it's hard not to imagine the other side of the argument.
In contrast, Tweedy is painstakingly open about his opioid addiction. He stole morphine from his wife's ailing mother. He disguised his addiction behind migraines, which he did really have, and hid the truth from his wife, who found out only once an acquaintance, who was more familiar with opioid misuse, pointed out that her man was a junkie. Incredibly, all of this can be heard on the album A Ghost is Born, which was recorded during the worst part of Tweedy's addiction. His voice is uncharacteristically bland and forgettable and the songs lack the charm of Summerteeth or the quirks of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. It's impossible to listen to the album now without hearing Tweedy's addiction in each song and he admits as much. Spiders (Kidsmoke) was recorded in just two takes, because that was all Tweedy could get the energy for.
Tweedy outlines his life after recovering from addiction in a way that lends additional context to the music he has recorded since. Many of his albums after A Ghost is Born have received less critical acclaim, but the truth is that they were not meant to. Tweedy has consciously lowered the bar for his musical output to focus more on his family. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot may have been the global experimental breakthrough, but Sky Blue Sky (and the song Sunday Morning) are unforgettable pop epics. They mark another turn in a musical career that has spanned over three decades.