Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
In late 1998, Wilco agreed to allow Reprise Records as a "once and once only" thing to take the song 'Can't Stand It' off their album 'Summerteeth' and attempt to make it radio-friendly.
It was to be a good-faith gesture towards Reprise who had otherwise granted Wilco artistic freedom on the 'Summerteeth' project (and 'Mermaid Avenue' and 'Being There').
The song was re-mixed, portions of the song were cut-- and bells were added.
The song was a flop.
Reprise refused to release 'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot', believing it wouldn't have success, and then fired Wilco.
The rest is, as they say, rock history.
Wilco (the Album) will open with Wilco (the song), described "as hooky and catchy a number as they've done in a long, long time".
I say it's the bells.
They're back. But Tweedy and Gang no doubt made their own call this go around. And even though no man is an island in and of itself, it begs for an explanation. Here's what I came up with:
1. A coincidental shot at one more catchy, radio-friendly single?
2. Ever the tricksters, its a playful, inside joke?
3. The middle finger to Reprise and all other Wilco-doubters?
4. Tweedy's hubris determined to make a hit using those goddamn bells?
5. In a mystically poetic, rock 'n roll twist, perhaps the bells were for Jay Bennet.
6. And then also, since we bothered to ask, for me and thee--Tweedy and the whole gang.
7. All of the above?
***Now after first listen, album officially in hand (and morning traffic jams proving good for something), the discussion with mortality seems to continue as an underlying theme throughout the album. Or if not mortality, the question of, "what it means to live."
Tweedy is one of the great song writer's of our time, and with Wilco (The Album) he writes an addendum to the great American story, projecting some synthesized and hard fought perspective regarding the deeper questions of life.
And while it isn't the sound, but rather the tone that makes this Wilco album distinct-- I find it innerly peaceful but not naive. Joyous at times--like Summer again on the landing, but instead of being kids, this time, you've got kids-- with the layers all that implies.
I admit I've covered some terrain with my Wilco albums. It almost puts a strain on my relationship with some of their music. (When you hear the song that got you through, you can't help being a little Pavlonian-- the eyes watering, instead of the teeth.)
And yet, we know from power-lifting, that when you work through the strain, you become stronger. And when a song comes your way like "Country Disappeared", which does for foreclosure what "War On War" does for death-- you realize Wilco has helped you do more than just carry your weight. They've helped give meaning.
Wilco (The Album) reminds us we always have "a lyrical shoulder to cry on", while presenting an album like a dappled early-summer afternoon in Illinois-- barbecue on the wind, a thematic transcendent synthesis of albums past. Strong in fundamentals, searching to rekindle buried, good things, perhaps thought lost.
