A critic once noted that Wilco is "always thinking they're weirder than they actually are." And if you're wondering why more than two million listeners have fallen in love with them, that's as accurate a read as any.
Their most celebrated album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, might be subsumed by static and noise, but beneath the maelstrom are relatively simple songs about communication breakdown. Beyond its schizoid motorik jam and 12-minute migraine simulation, the lion's share of A Ghost is Born is swoony and melodic.
Even at the most extreme end of their critically acclaimed deconstructionism, Wilco can't help but remain fundamentally listenable and accessible. (OK, the delightfully bizarre "Common Sense" might push that envelope.)
Part of this is due to Wilco being a band of musical wizards — guitarists Nels Cline and Pat Sansone, bassist John Stirratt, keyboardist Mikael Jorgensen, and drummer Glenn Kotche can gracefully toggle from sweet and sophisticated to white-knucklingly chaotic at the drop of a hat. But the core, of course, is Jeff Tweedy's emotionally and psychologically incisive songwriting and prickly-pear voice.
Time (and sinus surgery) has imbued Tweedy's once-nasal pipes with luxurious new dimensions; his one-liners puncture deeper than ever. (Here's a good one from their next record: "Everything can shine/ Even the devil sometimes."
That line's from "Ambulance," a gem from Wilco's upcoming album, Cruel Country — out May 27. Their first double album since 1996's Being There, the 21-song collection is pitched as being a whole-chested embrace of a genre tag critics pigeonholed them with early on. (Hint: it's in the title.)
And the sound of lead single "Falling Apart (Right Now)" — as well as track names like "Country Song Upside-Down," "Sad Kind of Way" and "The Plains" might conjure this hyper-eclectic band donning Nudie Suits and committing themselves to one thing.
Spoiler alert: there's barely any country in it at all. In fact, it's often more far-out and psychedelic than its one sheet suggests. which proves this almost three-decade-old band remains agile with curveballs, fake-outs and fresh twists. Perhaps Cruel Country represents a reversal: For once, Wilco proved to be weirder than their self-projection.
To ring in the impending release of Cruel Country, here are 28 past songs to help beginners get into Wilco — one for every year they've graced the universe.
"I Must Be High" (A.M.)
Debut album, opening song, first take, first-ever performance by Wilco: what better place to start?
"Box Full of Letters" (A.M.)
Much of A.M. feels like an offshoot of their twangy mother band, Uncle Tupelo — naturally so, because all of that band, pointedly excepting co-leader Jay Farrar, made it into Wilco's first lineup. "Box Full of Letters" is a highlight for its distinctive tint of '70s power pop, like Big Star.
"Misunderstood" (Being There)
Lashings of tom-toms and feedback give way to one of the finest small-town underdog anthems of the '90s, climaxing with Tweedy's hollered "I'd like to thank you all for nothing / Nothing! / Nothing!" (The live version from Kicking Television contains 35 "nothings.")
"What's the World Got in Store" (Being There)
The band's Rubber Soul to a degree, Being There was a giant leap into sophistication and stylistic diversity — and far from their last. This is a low-key highlight among many, hung on aching banjo.
"Sunken Treasure" (Being There)
Tweedy eventually developed a straighter, Travis-picked variation of "Sunken Treasure" live. But there's something to be said about the more languid approach on Being There — this "Treasure" is a hangdog masterpiece.
"She's a Jar" (Summerteeth)
"There wasn't really a band, just two guys losing their minds in the studio," then-drummer Ken Coomer once said of Summerteeth, helmed by Tweedy and his then-foil, the late Jay Bennett. The result was sunshine pop with fangs: in the elegant "She's a Jar," the line alluding to domestic abuse still shocks.
"A Shot in the Arm" (Summerteeth)
Wilco's been pointedly opening post-lockdown shows with this tune, but there's way more to it than that easy joke. Not only was it a quantum leap from Americana into radiant pop, but every line is perfect — from "the ashtray says you've been up all night" to the "C/sea/D/sea" rhyme to the quietly harrowing "bloodier than blood" section.
"Via Chicago" (Summerteeth)
The band's ultimate hometown ode is just three cowboy chords, a dreamt murder scene. a waterfall of exquisite verses, and a torrent of noise like two planets colliding. Arguably the most tactile yet inscrutable line: "Crawling is screw faster lash."
"My Darling" (Summerteeth)
Lest you think Summerteeth can be pigeonholed as the Beach Boys gone bloodthirsty, "My Darling," a bedtime song from parent to child, exudes tender, uncomplicated affection.
"I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot)
How does Wilco nail that nexus between outré and open-hearted? "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" is a case study: beneath the dadaist lyrics and between-nine-radio-stations production is a melody and progression that couldn't be simpler.
"Jesus, Etc." (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot)
Many Wilco fans consider this the time-capsule song for a reason: Pitchfork nailed it 20 years ago when they deemed it "sad, celestial and lovely." (Today, you can hear its influence in Japanese Breakfast's "Kokomo, IN" — which Tweedy covered.)
Read More: Meet The First-Time GRAMMY Nominee: Japanese Breakfast's Michelle Zauner On Self-Actualization, Grieving In Public And Her Nominations For Jubilee At The 2022 GRAMMY Awards
"Ashes of American Flags" (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot)
This windswept, devastated ballad acts as something of a centerpiece to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. "I know I would die if I could come back new," Tweedy confesses in the chorus — and the instrumentation all but drops out, leaving spectral howls in its wake.
"Reservations" (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot)
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is an album of garbled and obfuscated transmissions — it doesn't contain elements of the mysterioso Conet Project for nothing. But at the end, Wilco cuts through the haze with "Reservations," an arresting song of naked vulnerability.
Listen on decent headphones in the dark, and you’ll never forget it: aside from the Beatles' "A Day in the Life," it's hard to think of another song that decays like this.
"At Least That's What You Said" (A Ghost is Born)
Praise be to Tweedy, the undersung lead guitarist: before Nels Cline joined in 2004, Tweedy snarled Wilco songs with angular clusters of notes. And at the end of the raw-nerved opener to Wilco's most tormented record, Tweedy throws down with a "musical transcription" of a panic attack.
"Hummingbird" (A Ghost is Born)
The paranoid chemical fog of A Ghost is Born gives way to a sunburst: "Hummingbird" is a bouncy piano shuffle — and bittersweet story song — reminiscent of Randy Newman or '67 Beatles.
"Handshake Drugs" (A Ghost is Born)
A circuitous Möbius strip of vagueries about bad habits and burning daylight, "Handshake Drugs" is the kind of tune you grasp instinctually rather than literally — and you won’t want it to end.
"Wishful Thinking" (A Ghost is Born)
The essence of A Ghost is Born is jagged edges juxtaposed with gossamer moments — and "Wishful Thinking" is delicate, sensual and probing.
"Impossible Germany" (Sky Blue Sky)
In the 15 years after Sky Blue Sky was hit with unfair "dad-rock" characterizations, Wilco has made their critics eat crow with night after night of spectacular, inventive Nels Cline solos on "Impossible Germany." The pejorative implies clichéd blues licks with pinch harmonics; rather, this is the next evolutionary step from Television.
"Side With the Seeds" (Sky Blue Sky)
Ditto on the Tom Verlaine tip, with one of Tweedy's finest-ever vocal performances and a flabbergasting solo. Most prescient line for today: "You and I will be undefeated/ By agreeing to disagree."
"Wilco (The Song)" (Wilco [The Album])
Wilco's sorta-self-titled kicks off with this barrelling theme song, more of a cheeky commercial for the band than anything deeper. But it not only works, it endures — if you feel oppressed or repressed or downright down in the dumps, you have at least six friends in your corner.
"You Never Know" (Wilco [The Album])
"I know it sounds like someone else's song/ From a long time ago,” Tweedy sang in an old deep cut from Being There. In the best way possible, that applies to "You Never Know," a jubilant rip of George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord" with an irresistible, kiss-off chorus. Among other things, Wilco excel at making the old brilliantly new.
"Art of Almost" (The Whole Love)
After the somewhat divisive Sky Blue Sky and Wilco (The Album), Wilco offered some prickly, experimental moments on The Whole Love. Opener "Art of Almost" sets the bar high, offering almost everything there is to love about left-field Wilco in seven minutes — with distinct fingerprints from all six band members.
"One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley's Boyfriend)" (The Whole Love)
Also bookending The Whole Love is an astonishing first for the band: a 12-minute, autumnal, cyclical meditation on the fraught relationship between a father and son.
"Taste the Ceiling" (Star Wars)
Surprise-released for free, the zippy, concise, sometimes sarcastic Star Wars was a breath of fresh air for Wilco. Gems abound, but the breezy "Taste the Ceiling" is worth highlighting for its effortlessness — you get the sense it just fell out of Tweedy's voice and hands.
"Magnetized" (Star Wars)
A less-discussed aspect of Star Wars is its occasionally morose lyrics, hinting at relationship discord. The thrumming, tick-tocking "Magnetized" provides resolution at the end: "I sleep underneath a picture that I keep of you next to me/ I realize we're magnetized."
"If I Ever Was a Child" (Schmilco)
This subtle highlight of Wilco's creepiest, most casual album shows how they don't need to erupt into guitar histrionics — or even toss out a particularly spicy line — to stun you.
"Before Us" (Ode to Joy)
Hushed and shellshocked, Ode to Joy was a deeply personal response to political hysteria, blowing on the remaining embers of brotherhood and decency.
"Alone with the people who have come before us," Tweedy and company intone over a death-march by Kotche, sounding haunted by time and ancestry.
"Love is Everywhere (Beware)" (Ode to Joy)
"I was thinking a lot about how to maintain hope right now, how to not feel guilty for having joy in my life," Tweedy told Uncut amid the horrors of the late 2010s. "How do you deal with having personal feelings when you know something very destructive is going on and there are real people being hurt every day in awful ways?"
Tweedy explains how in "Love is Everywhere (Beware)," a song about holding onto what's important without growing complacent, insulated or blasé. "Sadness wants me/ Further away from the scene," he sings.
This line seems to sum up Tweedy's and Wilco's vital art, which was weathered addiction and loss and interband strife to create one of the most intrepid, elusive and poignant songbooks in American music. To quote a famous artist important to Tweedy and his loved ones: beware of darkness.