There's a telling line on The Joke Explained, a song from Wilco's surprise-released ninth album Star Wars, wherein Jeff Tweedy (doing his best Lou Reed), exclaims "I climbed back into the yolk". Whether or not that's a reference to 2004's A Ghost is Born (and it's sparse cover featuring an egg) isn't up to me to decide, but Star Wars does put me in mind of that record more than perhaps any other in their discography. This is mostly because, as thrilling as that record is, there are parts of it that seemed difficult for difficult's sake. Example: Spiders (Kidsmoke), as revered as the song is, pins the listener down for nearly eleven minutes with its droning rhythm and slashing anti-solos. The tune has its merits, but I doubt it's a go-to Wilco jam for even their most forgiving fans. More to the point, Spiders reveals plenty of noise but skimps on the tension that would make that noise so much sweeter.
Charging out of the gate with a 90-second, jagged instrumental before settling into a discordant groove, Star Wars feels much the same way as Spiders by times; there are a lot of quirks and fits on this record, but very little in the way of catharsis. That said, Wilco are no fresh-faced kids trying to make inroads, and they've been churning out fantastic songs for two decades now. The difference is, the attempted return to edginess hurts as many of the songs as it helps here. More... is a fine, slightly off-kilter tune that has sounds thrown at it to the point of assaulting the song's core. Ditto second-half highlight Where Do I Begin, an affectionate and sparse song that they just can't help but unleash a wave of discordant guitars and backmasked drums for the majority of its final minute.
Don't get me wrong, these songs aren't ruined by the approach, they'd just sound better with a little creative restraint. Take Random Name Generator, a sprightly tune whose buzzing riffs and whirling effects are fully in line with the song's momentum. Or Cold Slope, which rides a hazy groove into a slacker acid trip on its chorus. They're both songs that benefit from their abrasions rather than having to endure them, and they stick out in the noisy crowd because of it.
The two songs that are allowed to speak for themselves speak volumes; Taste the Ceiling buries its odd sounds in the background and ends up sounds like a song that was cut from Summerteeth for seeming too cheery (er, that's a compliment). Then, there's Magnetized, a beautiful album closer that carries the record's most obviously Beatles-inspired performance. The lyrics are strange and sweet, the tune packing a confident, nuanced groove.
I fear the descriptions I've given undersell the album, and I want to reiterate that this isn't some kind of noise-for-the-sake-of-noise mess; it's just that, once the shock of the surprise and the initial rush of hearing Wilco really rock out again after a few somewhat timid, tentative records wears off, the tunes don't always hold up to closer inspection. That said, it's a quick listen (at just under 34 minutes, it's not only Wilco's shortest album but shorter than either half of double album Being There), the tunes are mostly solid and enjoyable, and there are no Spiders-sized excursions in weirdness to bog things down. It's a compact blast of experimental rock that houses a few extraordinary moments and assuages any concerns of the band settling down as they enter their third decade.
July 16, 2015 • dBpm/Anti-
Highlights Random Name Generator • Cold Slope • Taste the Ceiling
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