Saturday, July 24, 2004

Wilco - I like them.  I don't care if you do.  The critics are split on A Ghost is Born. That doesn't bother me - hang the critics.  It's entertaining, though, to see the reasons why people hate Wilco and the new record.  One by-now infamous slagging in Slate, for example, suggested that Wilco is really a band that has always had pop aspirations.  They're not really anything definable - neither fish nor flesh, says the arrogant reviewer, although he uses the Italian for additional one-of-the-common-folk effect.  Bizarrely, he suggests that the crowds that love the Minutemen or Hootie and the Blowfish would both hate Wilco for sounding too much like the other crowd's bag. I don't think I've ever seen a reviewer - or anyone, really - who said that an album didn't work because the Hootie/Blowfish crowd wouldn't dig it.  Also, for the record, Tweedy is half a genius waiting for his partner, a Difford waiting for his Tilbrook, or maybe a Trilby O'Ferrall looking for his Svengali. The article is titled "What's so Great About Wilco?" The reviewer identifies in the first 100 words that he doesn't really like Wilco.  What the hell's wrong with Slate?  They remind me of a local alt-rag, the Stranger, that is hopelessly contrarian for its own sake.  Everyone likes the new movie, they hate it.  Everyone likes the new library, they think it sucks.  Anyway, it's a bad piece with a bad premise, to wit:  Wilco is bad because they're not easily defined.  Other reviews that take on the new album (instead of the whole band's existence) can't decide what's good or bad.  One review will proclaim that the rockout ending of At Least That's What You Said is bewildering, an abrupt "violent syncopation of instruments."  Another declares it as a "bristling, spastic, majestically wigged-out guitar solo" with joy.  No one can explain what's going on, and so no one can decide whether it's good or bad.  The Hives - they're doing retro-Stones rock.  Good.  Beyonce - ghetto fabulous Tina Turner. Or something.  But what the hell is Wilco up to?  I said before that Wilco's music is best appreciated alone.  I like Wilco because of how it affects me.  It's brooding, scary, haunting music.  The lyrics are sometimes personal, sometimes not, but the music, man, the music is what matters.  Music should evoke emotion from the listener.  Joy - Copland's "Hoedown," Basement Jaxx' "Do Your Thing."  Righteous anger - Bob Mould's "Black Sheets of Rain," Bob Dylan's "Masters of War."  Albums should make you feel something.   And so music reviews to me are fascinating, but ultimately useless.  Too often, the writing is a search for categorization, or an attempt to describe in words what can't be described.  How do you explain in words why "Wanna Be Startin' Something" works?  Or "Me and a Gun?"  What matters is whether you like it, not whether Spin or Rolling Stone or CMJ liked it.  I like music that I like, and I don't like music that I don't.  And that's the way it is. 9:04:41 PM    comment []

© Copyright 2004 Tom Vasquez. Last update: 7/29/04; 9:06:52 PM. This theme is based on the SoundWaves (blue) Manila theme.