About half a year ago a film called Avatar was released, and it was hyped as a revolutionary technical marvel that would change filmmaking forever. Well, for all I know about film technology, maybe it did, but it seems the general consensus for that film was its technical achievements far outweighed its creative aspects (besides, I still haven't noticed a revolutionary change in other 3-D blockbuster films, most of them are still sucking pretty hard). I agreed with this consensus at the time; while the script was certainly formulaic and reminiscent of other scripts, and the characters stock and manipulative, I thought the story was adequate enough to keep the viewer interested in some fantastic visuals.
Now, another super-hyped movie has been released this year, Christopher Nolan's Inception. I always liked Nolan's work, and to date I don't think he's made a bad film yet (the closest he came to that was Batman Begins, which I still thought was pretty good, and a step in the right direction for the Batman franchise). I thought The Dark Knight was awesome about as much as the next guy did. I went crazy over Memento's clever script as much as my other peers probably did before coming to film school. And the more I thought about it, the more I really liked The Prestige, a rather underrated effort. Nolan's past work, combined with an impressive trailer, a premise that blurs the line between dream and reality, and some pretty cool marketing posters (Leonardo Dicaprio, the extractor! Ellen Page, the architect! Cillian Murphy, the mark! Michael Caine, the cameo!) made me pretty much convinced that Inception was sure to impress.
And then... my friends saw it. Enter ridiculous hyperbole, comparisons to certain classic films of the early 1940's directed by Orson Welles, overuse of that reprehensible adjective... epic (shudder), and fierce exhortations demanding I go to my nearest theater and see the film, emphasizing the speed at which I arrive at said theater (I'm sorry, but I'm only going to run not walk to a theater if the guy behind me has a machete and is wearing footy pajamas). As far as I'm concerned, any work of art made past the eighties (maybe nineties) being compared to something established as an undisputed classic makes me suspicious. And when three or more people I know use the word epic to describe something... well, the less said about that the better. Forgive me, but I hate these kinds of comparisons. It's just as bad in music journalism as well. When I'm reading a review and the reviewer mentions the best since Beatles or Bob Dylan or Brian Wilson, my eyes roll out of my head. Such blatant hyperbole is just lazy criticism brought about by lack of experience. No, the latest Animal Collective album is not the best thing since Sgt. Pepper's, especially since you've been comparing their earlier records to Eno's later, duller ambient efforts, so shut up.
Not that this kind of response is necessarily a bad thing in itself, though. It happens all the time. A great film or album or what have you is released, and it creates an immediate emotional response first. When this dissipates, the left brain rationalizes the right brain's earlier response. Thus, yesterday's Avatar becomes today's Dances with Smurfs. I'm no better, it even happens to me, way up here in my snooty art-snob ivory tower. I remember when I thought Kill Bill was one of the best films I had ever seen, and I couldn't wait to write my own action script where the hard-boiled protagonist kills off a series of different, colorful antagonists before dispatching the big cheese at the end. Nowadays I hate that movie something fierce. To me this seems like a necessary process. It helps people understand that they can still love their favorite films while realizing at the same time that they're not perfect. It also keeps the world from turning into a place where people go up to each other and say “Oh man, I just saw Event Horizon, it was so epic!” (shudder).
So I went to see Inception, ready to be impressed but bringing a healthy skepticism along with me. Now, let me get one thing out of the way first. Inception is fantastic. Not just a great summer action flick, but a great film period. Perhaps worthy of some Academy attention, certainly in the acting and technical departments, especially considering The Dark Knight and Avatar. I'm still debating whether this or Toy Story 3 is the best of the year so far, it's very close. Riveting, heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping, action-packed. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll cheer. Name the stupid movie trailer cliché, it most likely applies to this film. Call the seat factory and demand a refund, you're only going to use the edge of yours.
But is it perfect? A masterpiece? Revolutionary, even? Absolutely not. The best film ever made? Well, maybe the best heist film ever made, but otherwise no. I brought up Avatar earlier because, while both films were similarly released with a lot of hype, to me Inception seems to be a yang to Avatar's yin. This film was a effects-driven blockbuster that, unlike Avatar, had a unique script while almost failing to dazzle visually as promised. If we're going to use Nolan's earlier work as a point of comparison, I'd say it's just as good as The Prestige. Is that a compliment or an insult? Like the open-ended conclusion to Inception, I'm going to leave that to the reader to decide.
First, let's talk about some of the things Inception does right:
1. As I said before, Inception might be the most creative heist film ever made. I mean it. Seriously, the premise is fantastic. While the “last job” trope of heist films and “dream invasion” plots that blur reality and fantasy are nothing new in themselves, they work together really well here. The security of information is a common theme in action and suspense films lately, and its frightening here that even in one's own head people's secrets are no longer safe, or that people can plant foreign ideas into someone's mind without any knowledge. If a man approaches you and asks you for your secrets, warning you that an extractor might steal them, how do you know if he isn't an extractor himself?
2. For the most part, the action set pieces are well done and truly suspenseful (except one, which I'll get to later). It's hard enough for some action films to create even one suspenseful scene, this one creates four at the same time. I was floored when I realized that during the scene where Leonardo DiCaprio's character, Cobb, is trying to convince Fischer, played by Cillian Murphy, to cooperate with him, it could go under at any minute because at the same time, those same characters are in another dream where people are shooting at them in a moving van. That is just amazing. And thank you, Mr. Nolan, for not releasing it in shoddy after-the-fact 3-D. I only bothered to see Avatar in 3-D because it was supposedly necessary for the experience. I firmly believe that if a film isn't going to be stunning in plain old 2-D it's not worth watching at all.
3. Not only is there effective action, but the story is very well-written and the characters well-acted. For the most part, Leo is doing the same role as he has been doing lately in Departed, Blood Diamond, Shutter Island, etc. Who cares? It's a good role, and he does it great all over again here. The supporting cast is good as well. Ellen Page, as Ariadne, dispenses with the irritating Juno snarkiness and does a fine job playing a new recruit to the team. As her character learns about the complex rules of the world of Inception, so do we. As she becomes concerned for Cobb's anxieties over his dead wife, and over the possible risks these anxieties create for the job, so do we. There's also one character, Eames, played by Tom Hardy, who's just great. As the master of disguise who manipulates the target's subconscious to get the information he needs, this character is suave, cool, and gets all the best lines in the movie. If you see him in a scene and you're not smiling, you must not be physically able to smile. And Joseph Gordon-Levitt looks great in a sharp suit.
4. There's also a poignant emotional core to the story as well. While Fischer is the sort of functional antagonist of the film, being the mark the team has to perform the inception on, Cillian Murphy makes this character likable and relatable. He almost becomes an unofficial member of the team by the end of the film. As the story progresses, it becomes apparent that there are real consequences for breaking into Fischer's mind and convincing him to dissolve his dying father's company. The more the characters realize this, the more sympathetic they become to the dilemma with his father, making Fischer's arc emotional and satisfying.
Additionally, while romantic elements in action films seem tacked on and superfluous at worst, here the subplot between Cobb and his dead wife, Moll (played by Marion Cotillard) gives the film its heart. Without Cotillard, the film would have been merely a well-directed suspenseful heist film. With her character, Inception is something really special. Cobb's relationship with Moll, and his determination to get home and see his kids, is what made me care about him. And the scene where Moll kills herself is one of the most heartbreaking scenes I've seen in a while, especially when you learn why she did it later on. If you don't agree with me, you simply don't have a heart. I'll probably fight you over it too.
5. You've seen the cliché before. “Oh no, the bad guys are coming. Quick, kiss me so they won't notice us!” It's stupid, it makes no sense that people wouldn't notice two other people doing probably the most conspicuous act possible, it comes up all the time in good movies as well as bad. It'll never go away. Well, this film has perhaps the very best parody of the cliché I've ever seen. I won't ruin it for you, you have to see it yourself.
So a pretty great flick, right? Now onto what I disliked (and hated) about the film:
1. Say, wait a minute. Aren't these scenes supposed to be taking place in, well, you know, dreams? I've got to say, these people have real boring dreams. If we're going to compare this film to others in terms of surrealness, then right off the bat David Lynch has this guy beat. He's leagues beyond Nolan in terms of dream-oriented cinema. I still think there hasn't been a more frightening film made than Eraserhead (well, maybe Tetsuo: Iron Man), and it's not a horror film. And Mulholland Drive is still the best dream movie to date. It's scary, funny, sexy, ugly, wild and gentle all at the same time. Hell, I still think it's the best film ever made, but that's just my very biased opinion.
So Lynch is the king dreams, the candy-colored clown they call the Sandman. I suppose they can't all be Lynch, because then they'd all be perfect. Even still, I can think of quite a few films that take place within a dream-state, or deal with blurred reality, that are much more creative than some of the sets in Inception, even ones not nearly well-written or directed. Here goes. Un Chien Andalou. Dark City. Videodrome. Naked Lunch. Barton Fink. Vertigo. Vanilla Sky. The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus. 12 Monkeys. The Matrix. A Scanner Darkly. Total Recall. On that note, let's go with pretty much any film based on a Phillip K. Dick-penned book (and why hasn't Hollywood adapted Ubik, anyway?). Psychonauts. The Cell. Uh... An American Werewolf in London (still the most absurd and out-of-place nightmare scene involving zombie Nazis shooting up a family in their house, and still great). The Adventures of Shark Boy and Lava Girl in 3-D, for fuck's sake.
Now let's compare these movies to Inception. The early scenes showed some promise. The “dream within a dream” sequence is novel in the beginning, and there are some nice M.C. Escher-vomit set pieces that pop in from time to time. The big teaser in the trailers with Ariadne making the city fold over itself pays off in a big way. But it was disappointing to me that these things don't happen very often in the other dream sequences. The first big set piece is a city shootout. Granted a freight train bowls over some cars in the middle of the road at one point, but still not so fantastic. Certainly suspenseful, but dreamlike? Not really. This tends to be the norm throughout the rest of the film.
I'm not saying that all the scenes have to play out like Tim Burton's acid-induced night terrors. I've had some pretty mundane, subtly weird dreams before, where my surroundings seem recognizable until something... strange happens. I think the most effective scene with this approach was the hotel/corporate espionage scene in the middle of the film. It looks like a normal hotel, but different. Too clean, too nice, weird. And sometimes things from the first dream affect the other. The building quakes, tips over, makes people float in the air, creating an opportunity for a great zero-gravity fight scene with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's also interesting seeing Cobb slyly convincing Fischer to cooperate with him, given that in the first dream he spent the whole time extorting him. But most of the time I was just disappointed that I was promised dreams and got people shooting each other in Range Rovers. This isn't Ronin, goddamn it, it's some dude's dream!
The other thing is, these dreams seem real. They operate on the same rules as real life. The film never takes into account that dreams sometimes do weird, unexpected shit (well, unless you count Moll invading the dreams from time to time, but this is just Cobb's interference, and the original dreamer still doesn't create anything stranger). It doesn't matter how nice a cityside cafe looks in a dream, sooner or later someone's going to swallow his own head and fart superglue while playing the national anthem on a xylophone (or something to that effect).
Now, there is a scene that sort of hints at this possibility, but it's underdeveloped. A character struggles to shoot a enemy stooge, and Eames (awesomely, I might add) dispatches him with a grenade launcher, telling the character to “dream bigger.” This is a funny little bit, but it got me thinking. Why don't they do this more often? Why don't they just dream up bazookas and helicopters and tanks and shit and just mow everyone down? Is the mark in charge of his own dream, or do the extractors get to manipulate it as well? It seemed like a missed opportunity.
2. Alright. I'm going to attempt a bit of inception. I'm going to plant an idea in your mind. You might not like it, but deep down you'll know it's true. With time, you'll come around and agree with me. Ready? Here goes:
The snow chase scene. Sucked. Balls.
I repeat. The snow chase scene, sucked balls. As in the snow chase scene opened its mouth, imbibed a set of two human male testicles encased in a scrotal sack, and gave suck like a newborn infant child.
Seriously, this was a terrible set piece. Talk about lackluster dreams, this was easily the worst. The set would have been dull for a Bond flick, let alone a representation of Fischer's deepest subconscious secrets. Additionally, there was some atrocious editing. One of the things I hated about Batman Begins was the absurdly fast editing and jerky handheld photography that hid the poorly-choreographed fights. When Batman fought Ra's al Ghul on the train it should have been the most exciting scene, and it was a cluttered mess. I was glad to see that Nolan warmed up to clarity in action when he made The Dark Knight, so it was a huge disappointment that the snow chase scene in Inception was pretty much Cobb Begins.
All the characters, Cobb's team as well as the bad guys, wear white camouflage, so it's impossible to tell who's who (until someone gets shot or knocked off a snowmobile, and then I guess you can assume it's a bad guy). The characters ski around the stronghold for what seems like ten minutes, doing nothing but shoot people. Bad guys appear, get shot. Repeat as needed. I couldn't tell where anyone was going, why they were going wherever it was they were going, and the worst part is when it's all over, Cobb and Ariadne simply walk up to the stronghold. Why did the others go through all that if they could so easily approach it? It's filler in the worst sense, and it's a shame because the other set pieces are so well done. At least it only lasts a fraction of the time and doesn't spoil the rest of the film.
3. The ending. Yes, I'm talking about the ending now. If you've seen the movie, read on. If you haven't and you've read this far, still thinking for some reason that I care about the sanctity of spoilers, go fuck yourself.
So this film is yet another that posits at its conclusion that maybe, just maybe, the things you saw weren't what they seemed. I think we can all agree that we hate the endings where a character wakes up and realizes it was all a dream (although The Wizard of Oz wasn't so bad, I guess). For my money, an even cheaper way to end a movie is to say “it was all a dream... or was it?” Let's take a look at a pretty well known example of such a film, Total Recall. This film posits the idea that Arnold's character is either:
a) actually in an overblown, lame action film on Mars with three-boobed ladies, or
b) is imagining he is in an overblown, lame action film on Mars with three-boobed ladies.
Which one do you think is real? Who cares? It's like asking someone "AIDS or cancer?" It's cheap pop-philosophy tacked on to a dumb action flick with a three-boobed lady to make the viewer think it's something more than a dumb action flick with a three-boobed lady. With a slight film like Total Recall, such a conceit is merely annoying, a curiosity. On the other hand, I think the last two seconds of Inception are disastrous, and very nearly destroy all the good will created in the previous two-and-a-half hours of screentime.
Remember what I said about Cobb, and his relationship with Moll, and how I cared about him as a character? I meant it. This film had me at hello. I cared about Cobb. I felt terrible for the guy, I wanted him to catch a break. I wanted him to get over his wife and succeed so he could see his kids. I wanted him to win. Now listen carefully. Any writer will tell you that one of the most difficult things one can do is write a character that elicits an audience's sympathy. Hell, I'm a writer, I'll tell you right now. Trust me, it's hard. Maybe half the films that are released every year, even decent ones, fail to do this. Even fewer achieve this effectively. Inception did it for me in spades.
So like I said, I wanted him to win. Let me tell you what I didn't want. I did not want to think about the possibility that Cobb's success at the end might be a great big illusion. I did not want someone to tell me yes, Cobb gets to see his kids... or does he? That's exactly what this film does. It achieves brilliantly what most can never hope to do, it gives the viewer a great character for you to care about, it shows him a wild ride as the character desperately struggles to achieves its goals, it finally shows the character overcoming impossible odds, it shows the character getting rewarded for his efforts... and then it slaps the viewer in the face.
Now I like me a good trick ending from time to time. Take Being John Malkovich. This was another heady, surreal film, it had a variety of characters with varying likability. People's fortunes went up and down on a whim, until the end when the main character, who kind of turns into a real bastard, gets tricked in the end. It's effective because he's so sympathetic in the beginning of the film, and even though he's hit the bottom in the end you feel bad for him because he meant well earlier on. Inception is not a film like Being John Malkovich. Every single character is likable, and the audience is encouraged to root for them. The twist at the end of Malkovich is expected based on the crazy logic of the film's world and quixotic characters. The trick at the end of Inception is just that, a tacked-on trick to make the audience thing "hey, aren't I clever?", a trick that the characters truly don't deserve. How do I deal with it? Well, it's open-ended, so I just tend to believe that Cobb's children are real. Basically, if you're a decent human being, you believe Cobb is in reality. If you're an pessimistic bastard, you believe otherwise.
So in closing, Inception is definitely worth checking out. Sooner or later though, someone will plant an idea in your head. Once before you had wholeheartedly believed that the film was a modern classic, a masterpiece. Never, not since Casablanca, or The Jazz Singer, or The Great Train Robbery, or Birth of a Nation, or Battleship Potemkin, or Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat, or whoever the hell the guy was who invented silver-halide emulsion, has there been a more important advance in the art of filmmaking. But somewhere you'll get the strange inkling of an idea that maybe it wasn't so great, maybe it's actually underwhelming and quotidian. The three-tiered action scenes fail to excite when they left you riveted before. The characters who seemed real and relatable are now hollow and boring to you. You leave your Special Edition Blu-Ray on the shelf for weeks, or even months. And then you pick it back up again and give it another go. Finally, when the credits roll, you forget about all the ridiculous hype of months ago and realize that it was nothing more than just a truly fantastic piece of filmmaking.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Wilco (The Article)
As I am beginning to write this, I currently hate the band Wilco. Later on I may change my mind. But now, I can comfortably say that I never quite liked the ubiquitous, much-revered indie alt-country band, despite the many times I have tried. Here's a partial list of how come:
1. I find them boring. In much the same way I order a soft vanilla cone when I don't know what I really want at an ice cream stand, I would only ever want to listen to Wilco's lazy, meandering indie rock if there were no other bands who could play something that instantly gets me tapping my toes, humming along, then lifts me up in the air into the seventh circle of musical listening pleasure and makes me wish I were in a band myself, if only I were better at the guitar and had friends who also wanted such a thing. Let's say, for example, Ween. The only problem is, I've got plenty of good music, be it Ween or anyone else, readily available. So Wilco never really grew on me. What's the big deal? This is:
2. Their critical reputation. I subscribed to Rolling Stone for a while, since I was about a sophomore in high school until maybe three years ago or so, and every time Jeff Tweedy ever so much as walked into a studio and sighed pensively into a microphone while wisping his fwoopy dyed-black hair around I would hear nothing but the highest praises for them, the kind of journalistic idol-worship RS usually reserved for such acts as Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen or U2 (Dylan I could understand, but Bruce was pretty aggravating to slog though as well. Whatever my beef with Wilco is, at least they never capitalized on the September 11th attacks. And U2 is a whole other story). Their album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was touted as the best album of the year by this magazine, not at the end of the year, but when the album was released. It was so good that no other album released within the year could possibly top it. I heard this album a few years later, and it more or less sounded like any of their other albums to me, hardly worth the platitudes I had been exposed to.
3. “Wilco (The Song).” Seriously, who names a song after themselves? Oh man, get ready for the killer chorus... “Wilco.” What do you do when you go to a Wilco show and you want to hear that song? “Hey Wilco, play Wilco! I mean, uh, Wilco, the song, you know, from that album Wilco the album!” You have to be a lot more concise than that when you yell stuff out at a show.
To sum up, I think they're a bland indie-rock band with critical accolades that I don't think they deserve. In much the same way that I judge the Dave Matthews Band a great deal by the kinds of fans they have (although I also grew up with the radio constantly overplaying their hit songs, which is a significant reason why I hate them. But that's another story), you could, if you had an interest in a pale, mousy, smart-looking young woman with black hair and horn-rimmed glasses, approach said young woman and tell her you like Wilco. Not only will she almost definitely also like Wilco, this common interest alone will suffice enough for her to at least give you the time of day no matter how repugnant you may be otherwise. What's more, if you can play “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart” for her on an acoustic guitar, she will probably have sex with you. You don't believe me? Go and see Funny People. Not only is it a solid Apatow flick, but the very same thing happens to Seth Rogen's character (well, not quite the guitar-playing thing, which consequently makes it tougher for him to eventually bed her). And his character is a fat douchey stand-up comedian. That's right, unattractive, unfunny by the nature and limitations of his chosen profession, and he gets much Wilco pussy.
So I've spent much of my current years of popular music-appreciating not appreciating this band, and making fun of many of my friends who do. One of my friends is such a fan of Wilco. He challenged me to listen to Sky Blue Sky, and I listened to about three songs in my car before giving up. I told him the next day that Wilco should be classified as a driving hazard, since the album almost put me to sleep at the wheel. You see, stuff like that. To be fair, though, I never really gave them a thorough listen (I could also say that I also never really thoroughly listened to Ween the first time either, and it would be true, because I instantly loved them when I first heard them and I never stopped. But that's another story).
Which brings me to this article. I also tried to get this friend of mine into Ween and he ended up dismissing them in much the same way that I did for Wilco. How absurd, I thought at first, how could anyone not appreciate the hilarious, genre-bending virtuoso stylings of the brothers Gener and Deaner? It boggles the very mind, it does. I told him that if he gave them a fair listen, I am absolutely sure he would change his mind. Then I got to thinking. Had I been wrong about Wilco? Have I been merely knee-jerk dismissing a truly fantastic band? All those millions of skinny, pale, mousy, trendy fans can't all be wrong, can they? Well, let's find out. My friend and I have agreed to engage in a battle of the “W” bands, if you will. Each of us will fill up one audio CD worth of songs of our choosing from each of our favorite bands. Each of us have to listen to the other person's compilation thoroughly, from start to finish, and we have to record what we honestly think of them. While the Ween write-up is coming, here's what I think of what is the best of Wilco, in the order that he arranged them:
Obama Intro: This is a little sound bite of Barack Obama, who I am assuming was still a senator at the time, introducing the band at a show at his (and the band's) hometown, Chicago. “They've got gold records, they've won Grammys,” says Obama. I'm not sure if either the fact that Obama likes Wilco or that they've won Grammys is supposed to impress me, or both. All I can say is, you know who else has won Grammys? Milli Vanilli.
Kicking Television: This is an eponymous track from a live album in Chicago, I'm assuming from the same show that Obama announced in the previous track. Not bad, actually. It's rockin' so far. Some raucous guitar-driven stuff that reminds me of the better Modest Mouse... Okay, the bit where Tweedy snarls “I'm serious” made me snicker a little bit. And the very unconvincing yell immediately following it, the kind that makes you cringe even when Paul McCartney does it on “Hey Jude.” And “Hey Jude” is a great song. And, of course, Paul McCartney is a fucking Beatle, so he can do whatever he wants. Anyway. Still rockin, but not sure what I think about the atonal piano in the background. What the hell? Did he just say “I'm working on my abs?” Hm. It looks like there's not going to be much more lyrical depth to this thing after the first chorus. Sorry man, but the words are pretty dumb here. While I can hardly say that I never listen to anything except the most exquisitely written lyrics, I can say that good stupid songs are good because they're fun to listen to. No matter your opinion of the band, I don't think anyone can deny that Wilco is sorely lacking in a sense of humor. Which isn't a problem in itself, but it's disastrous when a band such as them try to do a song like this. It sounds like he had pretty cool music written down, but couldn't come up with any words to put it to, so he scribbled down a few things that vaguely pertain to the vacuousness of consumer life. I think? “I'm kicking/ masturbation” he says later in the song. While I can't vouch for his habits with literal auto-eroticism, it looks like there's plenty of musical wanking in full effect here. Which is a shame, because if there were some real lyrics and a solid melody, this could be an awesome song.
I'm the Man Who Loves You: This is a perfectly safe, competent song, which is a complement and a criticism all at once. It's got okay words, a nice little melody, an okay chorus, but it doesn't really build, and it's not particularly catchy. I wouldn't mind hearing this song while walking into an Old Navy, which the song sounds as though I have before. But this is hardly worth the constant platitudes I keep hearing about them, especially since this is a track coming off of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. You know, that revolutionary album of the year. As for specifics, I do dig the trumpet parts at the end, but whoever the lead guitarist is in the band is pretty aggravating in this song, especially in the beginning. Congratulations, sir, you know how to bend one note through some fuzzy distortion. Try bending some other ones now.
Let's Not Get Carried Away: The first words here are “I've got a million things that I'd rather do/ Than to play rock and roll for you.” I'm going to go ahead and not bother with the obvious anti-Wilco jokes I could come up with at this line. Aside from that, this is the first song I could kind of get into. A slow, bluesy rock song, with fuzzy guitar and some honky-tonk organs in the background. I'm not quite sold yet, but not bad. Let's hear some other good ones...
Wait. Nevermind. Drum solo. Automatic lame. But the rest of the song was quite good.
I'm a Wheel: This song, as well as the previous, to an extent, are the first good songs from the list which indicate to me a sense of adventurousness that distinguishes them from other bands and gives the very least amount of merit to their journalistic reputation. In other words, this is a good rock song with some other cool stuff happening in it. The power chords that start the beginning of the song get me right into it, and there are little flourishes throughout that keep it from being a boring rock song. Still, not quite as catchy as I would like. Not the best thing I've heard, but good enough for me to not resent having to listen to the rest of this list. If this song were on an album with a bunch of truly stellar songs, it would grow on me eventually.
Side With the Seeds: A Wilco song that doesn't plateau? Stop the presses. I was a bit wary of the soul-ballad beginning of this song, but as soon as they started jamming it became okay. Not irritatingly jammy like Dave Matthews or Phish, but more like My Morning Jacket (which anyone who likes Wilco should check out, by the way). Again, if this were on an album full of other awesome songs, I would eventually learn to like this one a lot. For now, it's not bad.
Theologians: I keep throwing the word catchy around, but this is the closest song I've heard that I could even remotely classify as such, with a hummable melody and what have you. Again, not bad, but the lyrics here are pretty stupid as well. Want to hear some of Jeff Tweedy's scathing criticisms of organized religion? “Theologians, they don't know nothing/ about my soul.” And check out this poetic gem: “I'm an ocean/ this emotion/ slow motion.” Hm... what rhymes with ocean?
Shake it Off: I like this little melody they've got going on here, but Tweedy's voice sounds like he can't keep up. And the song itself had better change up pretty soon, an entire song of this is going to be pretty dull... Oh good. Here it is. As much as I derided Sky Blue Sky, I've been enjoying the selections from that album more than I have from any of the others. They must not have been part of the first three I listened to in my car that one time.
I Am Trying to Break Your Heart: I recognize this as one as the few songs I remember when I first tried to get into Wilco, and I remember being fairly unimpressed at the time. This song was off that album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, but this is a live version. As I can recall, the only difference between this version and the studio recording is that there's a lot more slow keyboard droning and messing around in the beginning. To its credit, this version picks up the pace a bit more as it goes on, but it's still a fairly uninteresting folksy ballad. Oh, and there's my friend doing that unnecessary atonal piano thing. Thank you sir. Now look what you've done, the song's about to end and you've got everyone wanking around. I'll tell you what, when I want to hear screeching feedback I'll put on Metal Machine Music.
Via Chicago: I've noticed that anytime these guys slow down, it's never quite as interesting as their faster, rocking stuff. I think this song is what I meant when I called them boring and anemic.
Oh wait, that's what this song needed, more noise and noodling. What a bunch of assholes.
You Are My Face: A gentle beginning, with some nice harmonization. Not boringly slow like the last two songs, but good. And it goes somewhere later on. Another solid song from Sky Blue Sky.
Feed of Man: Ah yes, this is off the collaboration with Billy Bragg. I remember one of my professors playing the class a song from this album, a song about Walt Whitman. I remember liking that one very much, but then again, apart from the song Whitman is also one of my favorite authors. This song is good as well. It's raucous and bluesy, and Billy Bragg is singing some Subterranean Homesick Blues-style fast talking words. Not only is this by far the best song on the list, it sounds like no other Wilco song I've heard so far. I'm not sure I'd go out and get any of the other Wilco albums after this, but I'm strongly considering getting this one.
Outtasite (Outta Mind): This is from Being There, when Wilco was just the other alt-country band that formed apart from Son Volt when Uncle Tupelo split up, before they became The Most Important Indie Rock Band Ever. This song then, is so-so alt-country at that. Nothing great.
A Shot in the Arm: I liked this one. It was okay in the beginning, but the middle pumped me up when Tweedy repeated “Baby all I need is a shot in the arm” over and over.This and the Billy Bragg song are my favorites. Apparently, however, this is the exception to the rule on this album (Summer Teeth), since it begins with the same dull song Wilco always records on every album:
Can't Stand It.
Misunderstood: Remember what I said about Being There? And remember what I said about slower-paced Wilco songs? Take a wild guess as to what I think about this song.
At Least That's What You Said: Zzzzzzzzzzz... Huh? Oh, sorry about that, I must have dozed off and forgot that I was writing a Wilco article. I'm assuming the rest of the band is noticing that their fans are falling asleep at the beginning of this song, since they've now resorted to banging one note on each of their instruments over and over again. Oh, and now here's some more meandering jamming. You know, I've never realized how bad some solo guitarists can be sometimes. Whoever this guy is, I swear his only tricks are either bending one note over and over, or maybe mixing it up by playing two over and over. Now, I do enjoy certain bands with bad lead guitarists, but to the best of my knowledge they don't spend nearly all of their time making the jamming portions the focal point of their songs.
Impossible Germany: I remember this song as one of the first three tracks from Sky Blue Sky I listened to in my car. I also remember thinking that this was a phenomenally idiotic title for a song. My opinion in that regard so far has not changed. And now I suddenly remember why I thought that this makes people fall asleep at the wheel. Most of the Sky Blue Sky stuff here was not bad, but this one still is. Thank goodness my previous intuitions were not all wrong.
Ashes of American Flags: “Gee, I wish I could like the Wallflowers, but they're just so rowdy. Is there a band out there that's a bit easier to listen to?” Hm. About three minutes have passed in a six minute song and it's winding down, who's willing to bet me that the band won't spend the latter half playing a boring solo? Ha! Bingo. Some reader out there hypothetically owes me twenty dollars.
So there you have it. Is my opinion of Wilco drastically changed? Well, not really. But although most of my criticisms still stand, I am now willing to concede that they're not terrible. I do like a few of their songs, and I can at least understand why others might like their music. The one thing I am wary about, however, is consistency in my opinions. With all of the criticisms I may have leveled against Wilco, I am sure that anyone could look into my collection and perhaps say the same sorts of things about any other band I might like. But here's the thing. When I listen to a certain band, I expect a certain thing or a few things done well, and I like a band when the band delivers on such a thing. Technically accomplished, satirical renderings of different genres of music with psychedelic lyrics and juvenile humor? Ween. Bizarre, jazzy music with raspy vocals and odd lyrics? Tom Waits. Decadent lyrics with fuzzy, distorted guitars and sunny Beach Boys melodies? The Jesus and Mary Chain. Quirky Baroque pop with whimsical, narrative-driven lyrics? Earlier Of Montreal (which is why I stopped liking them after Kevin Barnes wrote synth-pop songs, got rid of the catchy melodies and started talking about his goddamned feelings).You get the idea.
But Wilco? I'm not sure there's particularly anything that stands out in many of the Wilco songs I've heard so far. Even the good or acceptable ones sound a little same-y. They start out fairly bland and don't progress much, they lack hooks, as well as a sense of humor, they rely on aimless jams to conclude their songs, neither member of the band is all that technically accomplished, and Jeff Tweedy's voice is rather flat. And as for the critical acclaim thing, one could say, “But Garrett, all the music publications fawn over a band like Radiohead, and you like them.” You would be right. But Radiohead deserves it. No one has or ever will record a song that sounds like “Paranoid Android” alone. On the other hand, though, who am I to criticize this band? They do, after all, have gold records and Grammys. They're obviously making more money and having more sex than I am, so they must be doing something right. If it works for them, and if other people don't mind listening to it once in a while, good for them I guess.
I guess the only thing I resent about all this is that it's all going to show up on my last.fm page. If anyone takes a look at it, they might think that I actually listen to Wilco.
1. I find them boring. In much the same way I order a soft vanilla cone when I don't know what I really want at an ice cream stand, I would only ever want to listen to Wilco's lazy, meandering indie rock if there were no other bands who could play something that instantly gets me tapping my toes, humming along, then lifts me up in the air into the seventh circle of musical listening pleasure and makes me wish I were in a band myself, if only I were better at the guitar and had friends who also wanted such a thing. Let's say, for example, Ween. The only problem is, I've got plenty of good music, be it Ween or anyone else, readily available. So Wilco never really grew on me. What's the big deal? This is:
2. Their critical reputation. I subscribed to Rolling Stone for a while, since I was about a sophomore in high school until maybe three years ago or so, and every time Jeff Tweedy ever so much as walked into a studio and sighed pensively into a microphone while wisping his fwoopy dyed-black hair around I would hear nothing but the highest praises for them, the kind of journalistic idol-worship RS usually reserved for such acts as Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen or U2 (Dylan I could understand, but Bruce was pretty aggravating to slog though as well. Whatever my beef with Wilco is, at least they never capitalized on the September 11th attacks. And U2 is a whole other story). Their album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was touted as the best album of the year by this magazine, not at the end of the year, but when the album was released. It was so good that no other album released within the year could possibly top it. I heard this album a few years later, and it more or less sounded like any of their other albums to me, hardly worth the platitudes I had been exposed to.
3. “Wilco (The Song).” Seriously, who names a song after themselves? Oh man, get ready for the killer chorus... “Wilco.” What do you do when you go to a Wilco show and you want to hear that song? “Hey Wilco, play Wilco! I mean, uh, Wilco, the song, you know, from that album Wilco the album!” You have to be a lot more concise than that when you yell stuff out at a show.
To sum up, I think they're a bland indie-rock band with critical accolades that I don't think they deserve. In much the same way that I judge the Dave Matthews Band a great deal by the kinds of fans they have (although I also grew up with the radio constantly overplaying their hit songs, which is a significant reason why I hate them. But that's another story), you could, if you had an interest in a pale, mousy, smart-looking young woman with black hair and horn-rimmed glasses, approach said young woman and tell her you like Wilco. Not only will she almost definitely also like Wilco, this common interest alone will suffice enough for her to at least give you the time of day no matter how repugnant you may be otherwise. What's more, if you can play “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart” for her on an acoustic guitar, she will probably have sex with you. You don't believe me? Go and see Funny People. Not only is it a solid Apatow flick, but the very same thing happens to Seth Rogen's character (well, not quite the guitar-playing thing, which consequently makes it tougher for him to eventually bed her). And his character is a fat douchey stand-up comedian. That's right, unattractive, unfunny by the nature and limitations of his chosen profession, and he gets much Wilco pussy.
So I've spent much of my current years of popular music-appreciating not appreciating this band, and making fun of many of my friends who do. One of my friends is such a fan of Wilco. He challenged me to listen to Sky Blue Sky, and I listened to about three songs in my car before giving up. I told him the next day that Wilco should be classified as a driving hazard, since the album almost put me to sleep at the wheel. You see, stuff like that. To be fair, though, I never really gave them a thorough listen (I could also say that I also never really thoroughly listened to Ween the first time either, and it would be true, because I instantly loved them when I first heard them and I never stopped. But that's another story).
Which brings me to this article. I also tried to get this friend of mine into Ween and he ended up dismissing them in much the same way that I did for Wilco. How absurd, I thought at first, how could anyone not appreciate the hilarious, genre-bending virtuoso stylings of the brothers Gener and Deaner? It boggles the very mind, it does. I told him that if he gave them a fair listen, I am absolutely sure he would change his mind. Then I got to thinking. Had I been wrong about Wilco? Have I been merely knee-jerk dismissing a truly fantastic band? All those millions of skinny, pale, mousy, trendy fans can't all be wrong, can they? Well, let's find out. My friend and I have agreed to engage in a battle of the “W” bands, if you will. Each of us will fill up one audio CD worth of songs of our choosing from each of our favorite bands. Each of us have to listen to the other person's compilation thoroughly, from start to finish, and we have to record what we honestly think of them. While the Ween write-up is coming, here's what I think of what is the best of Wilco, in the order that he arranged them:
Obama Intro: This is a little sound bite of Barack Obama, who I am assuming was still a senator at the time, introducing the band at a show at his (and the band's) hometown, Chicago. “They've got gold records, they've won Grammys,” says Obama. I'm not sure if either the fact that Obama likes Wilco or that they've won Grammys is supposed to impress me, or both. All I can say is, you know who else has won Grammys? Milli Vanilli.
Kicking Television: This is an eponymous track from a live album in Chicago, I'm assuming from the same show that Obama announced in the previous track. Not bad, actually. It's rockin' so far. Some raucous guitar-driven stuff that reminds me of the better Modest Mouse... Okay, the bit where Tweedy snarls “I'm serious” made me snicker a little bit. And the very unconvincing yell immediately following it, the kind that makes you cringe even when Paul McCartney does it on “Hey Jude.” And “Hey Jude” is a great song. And, of course, Paul McCartney is a fucking Beatle, so he can do whatever he wants. Anyway. Still rockin, but not sure what I think about the atonal piano in the background. What the hell? Did he just say “I'm working on my abs?” Hm. It looks like there's not going to be much more lyrical depth to this thing after the first chorus. Sorry man, but the words are pretty dumb here. While I can hardly say that I never listen to anything except the most exquisitely written lyrics, I can say that good stupid songs are good because they're fun to listen to. No matter your opinion of the band, I don't think anyone can deny that Wilco is sorely lacking in a sense of humor. Which isn't a problem in itself, but it's disastrous when a band such as them try to do a song like this. It sounds like he had pretty cool music written down, but couldn't come up with any words to put it to, so he scribbled down a few things that vaguely pertain to the vacuousness of consumer life. I think? “I'm kicking/ masturbation” he says later in the song. While I can't vouch for his habits with literal auto-eroticism, it looks like there's plenty of musical wanking in full effect here. Which is a shame, because if there were some real lyrics and a solid melody, this could be an awesome song.
I'm the Man Who Loves You: This is a perfectly safe, competent song, which is a complement and a criticism all at once. It's got okay words, a nice little melody, an okay chorus, but it doesn't really build, and it's not particularly catchy. I wouldn't mind hearing this song while walking into an Old Navy, which the song sounds as though I have before. But this is hardly worth the constant platitudes I keep hearing about them, especially since this is a track coming off of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. You know, that revolutionary album of the year. As for specifics, I do dig the trumpet parts at the end, but whoever the lead guitarist is in the band is pretty aggravating in this song, especially in the beginning. Congratulations, sir, you know how to bend one note through some fuzzy distortion. Try bending some other ones now.
Let's Not Get Carried Away: The first words here are “I've got a million things that I'd rather do/ Than to play rock and roll for you.” I'm going to go ahead and not bother with the obvious anti-Wilco jokes I could come up with at this line. Aside from that, this is the first song I could kind of get into. A slow, bluesy rock song, with fuzzy guitar and some honky-tonk organs in the background. I'm not quite sold yet, but not bad. Let's hear some other good ones...
Wait. Nevermind. Drum solo. Automatic lame. But the rest of the song was quite good.
I'm a Wheel: This song, as well as the previous, to an extent, are the first good songs from the list which indicate to me a sense of adventurousness that distinguishes them from other bands and gives the very least amount of merit to their journalistic reputation. In other words, this is a good rock song with some other cool stuff happening in it. The power chords that start the beginning of the song get me right into it, and there are little flourishes throughout that keep it from being a boring rock song. Still, not quite as catchy as I would like. Not the best thing I've heard, but good enough for me to not resent having to listen to the rest of this list. If this song were on an album with a bunch of truly stellar songs, it would grow on me eventually.
Side With the Seeds: A Wilco song that doesn't plateau? Stop the presses. I was a bit wary of the soul-ballad beginning of this song, but as soon as they started jamming it became okay. Not irritatingly jammy like Dave Matthews or Phish, but more like My Morning Jacket (which anyone who likes Wilco should check out, by the way). Again, if this were on an album full of other awesome songs, I would eventually learn to like this one a lot. For now, it's not bad.
Theologians: I keep throwing the word catchy around, but this is the closest song I've heard that I could even remotely classify as such, with a hummable melody and what have you. Again, not bad, but the lyrics here are pretty stupid as well. Want to hear some of Jeff Tweedy's scathing criticisms of organized religion? “Theologians, they don't know nothing/ about my soul.” And check out this poetic gem: “I'm an ocean/ this emotion/ slow motion.” Hm... what rhymes with ocean?
Shake it Off: I like this little melody they've got going on here, but Tweedy's voice sounds like he can't keep up. And the song itself had better change up pretty soon, an entire song of this is going to be pretty dull... Oh good. Here it is. As much as I derided Sky Blue Sky, I've been enjoying the selections from that album more than I have from any of the others. They must not have been part of the first three I listened to in my car that one time.
I Am Trying to Break Your Heart: I recognize this as one as the few songs I remember when I first tried to get into Wilco, and I remember being fairly unimpressed at the time. This song was off that album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, but this is a live version. As I can recall, the only difference between this version and the studio recording is that there's a lot more slow keyboard droning and messing around in the beginning. To its credit, this version picks up the pace a bit more as it goes on, but it's still a fairly uninteresting folksy ballad. Oh, and there's my friend doing that unnecessary atonal piano thing. Thank you sir. Now look what you've done, the song's about to end and you've got everyone wanking around. I'll tell you what, when I want to hear screeching feedback I'll put on Metal Machine Music.
Via Chicago: I've noticed that anytime these guys slow down, it's never quite as interesting as their faster, rocking stuff. I think this song is what I meant when I called them boring and anemic.
Oh wait, that's what this song needed, more noise and noodling. What a bunch of assholes.
You Are My Face: A gentle beginning, with some nice harmonization. Not boringly slow like the last two songs, but good. And it goes somewhere later on. Another solid song from Sky Blue Sky.
Feed of Man: Ah yes, this is off the collaboration with Billy Bragg. I remember one of my professors playing the class a song from this album, a song about Walt Whitman. I remember liking that one very much, but then again, apart from the song Whitman is also one of my favorite authors. This song is good as well. It's raucous and bluesy, and Billy Bragg is singing some Subterranean Homesick Blues-style fast talking words. Not only is this by far the best song on the list, it sounds like no other Wilco song I've heard so far. I'm not sure I'd go out and get any of the other Wilco albums after this, but I'm strongly considering getting this one.
Outtasite (Outta Mind): This is from Being There, when Wilco was just the other alt-country band that formed apart from Son Volt when Uncle Tupelo split up, before they became The Most Important Indie Rock Band Ever. This song then, is so-so alt-country at that. Nothing great.
A Shot in the Arm: I liked this one. It was okay in the beginning, but the middle pumped me up when Tweedy repeated “Baby all I need is a shot in the arm” over and over.This and the Billy Bragg song are my favorites. Apparently, however, this is the exception to the rule on this album (Summer Teeth), since it begins with the same dull song Wilco always records on every album:
Can't Stand It.
Misunderstood: Remember what I said about Being There? And remember what I said about slower-paced Wilco songs? Take a wild guess as to what I think about this song.
At Least That's What You Said: Zzzzzzzzzzz... Huh? Oh, sorry about that, I must have dozed off and forgot that I was writing a Wilco article. I'm assuming the rest of the band is noticing that their fans are falling asleep at the beginning of this song, since they've now resorted to banging one note on each of their instruments over and over again. Oh, and now here's some more meandering jamming. You know, I've never realized how bad some solo guitarists can be sometimes. Whoever this guy is, I swear his only tricks are either bending one note over and over, or maybe mixing it up by playing two over and over. Now, I do enjoy certain bands with bad lead guitarists, but to the best of my knowledge they don't spend nearly all of their time making the jamming portions the focal point of their songs.
Impossible Germany: I remember this song as one of the first three tracks from Sky Blue Sky I listened to in my car. I also remember thinking that this was a phenomenally idiotic title for a song. My opinion in that regard so far has not changed. And now I suddenly remember why I thought that this makes people fall asleep at the wheel. Most of the Sky Blue Sky stuff here was not bad, but this one still is. Thank goodness my previous intuitions were not all wrong.
Ashes of American Flags: “Gee, I wish I could like the Wallflowers, but they're just so rowdy. Is there a band out there that's a bit easier to listen to?” Hm. About three minutes have passed in a six minute song and it's winding down, who's willing to bet me that the band won't spend the latter half playing a boring solo? Ha! Bingo. Some reader out there hypothetically owes me twenty dollars.
So there you have it. Is my opinion of Wilco drastically changed? Well, not really. But although most of my criticisms still stand, I am now willing to concede that they're not terrible. I do like a few of their songs, and I can at least understand why others might like their music. The one thing I am wary about, however, is consistency in my opinions. With all of the criticisms I may have leveled against Wilco, I am sure that anyone could look into my collection and perhaps say the same sorts of things about any other band I might like. But here's the thing. When I listen to a certain band, I expect a certain thing or a few things done well, and I like a band when the band delivers on such a thing. Technically accomplished, satirical renderings of different genres of music with psychedelic lyrics and juvenile humor? Ween. Bizarre, jazzy music with raspy vocals and odd lyrics? Tom Waits. Decadent lyrics with fuzzy, distorted guitars and sunny Beach Boys melodies? The Jesus and Mary Chain. Quirky Baroque pop with whimsical, narrative-driven lyrics? Earlier Of Montreal (which is why I stopped liking them after Kevin Barnes wrote synth-pop songs, got rid of the catchy melodies and started talking about his goddamned feelings).You get the idea.
But Wilco? I'm not sure there's particularly anything that stands out in many of the Wilco songs I've heard so far. Even the good or acceptable ones sound a little same-y. They start out fairly bland and don't progress much, they lack hooks, as well as a sense of humor, they rely on aimless jams to conclude their songs, neither member of the band is all that technically accomplished, and Jeff Tweedy's voice is rather flat. And as for the critical acclaim thing, one could say, “But Garrett, all the music publications fawn over a band like Radiohead, and you like them.” You would be right. But Radiohead deserves it. No one has or ever will record a song that sounds like “Paranoid Android” alone. On the other hand, though, who am I to criticize this band? They do, after all, have gold records and Grammys. They're obviously making more money and having more sex than I am, so they must be doing something right. If it works for them, and if other people don't mind listening to it once in a while, good for them I guess.
I guess the only thing I resent about all this is that it's all going to show up on my last.fm page. If anyone takes a look at it, they might think that I actually listen to Wilco.
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