The Importance Of Being There

OK, let s get this first paragraph out of the way. You see, Wilco or rather two-fifths of Wilco, namely Jeff Tweedy and Jay Bennett hate reading articles whose opening lines just trawl through all the old cliches about their band being a classic American country rock band following in the critically worshipped tradition of Gram Parsons, The Stones, The Replacements and so on.
And because they spend a good portion of the interview tucking into a good portion of a McDonalds takeaway, they re extremely worried that I m going to spend precious column inches blathering on, like one recent article did, about their dietary habits; you know, commenting on the size of their bean burger and all that (not very big, as it happens).
Oh, and they also hate the way most Wilco pieces start off with comparisons to their former band, the cult country rock banditos Uncle Tupelo. So I promised them that I wouldn t mention any of these things in my opening three paragraphs. And I m nothing if not a man of my word (I m nothing, then).
You join us with Tweedy lamenting the frequency with which references to, yep, G**m P*r**ns keep cropping up in their press.
I guess it is a sort of pigeonhole, he says, in that it s not something that we ve been able to shake but we just know that Gram Parsons means about as much to us as. . . Alan Parsons (Hoary oul AOR muso who . . . ah, life s too short). I d like to see more Mott The Hoople comparisons.
Someone like Neil Young is surely much nearer the mark as far as Wilco s inspiration goes.
So many more people actually listen to Neil Young than Gram Parsons, states Bennett. It s a far more accurate comparison. But he s alive, so . . .
Tweedy takes up the point. It s a sign of superiority to write not for the public but for every other rock critic who reads your article. It s a shame Gram Parsons wasn t more popular. Then they wouldn t have anything to write about to show how cool they are.
Don t get me wrong, I think rock criticism is a really fun job. You get to listen to records and write about them and show people how smart you are about music. It s not that different from being in a band!
And we don t have to bother with soundchecks.
We don t go to the soundchecks either anymore, quips Bennett.
Sometimes we don t even go to the shows, retorts his partner. We just turn up for the first three or four songs and then go home and phone it in.
But, so long as the references are accurate, you don t mind all this trainspotting of your influences?
Tweedy watches Bennett reach for another cigarette. We don t care to hide things once they come out. We re just as surprised as anyone else if we go into the control room after we record something and it sounds like The Rolling Stones or
Or even good, interrupts Bennett, who, at this point, inhales. That seems to be the big thing with post-Nirvana bands: to deny that there was ever music before Dinosaur Jr.
Tweedy: It may sound really pretentious to use a literary metaphor, but would you really want to read a book that only drew upon the last five years of writing? That said, I like a lot of music that s being made today; the stuff that doesn t really hint at anything that happened before 1985 or whenever.
But I think the goal is to learn to appreciate more than to narrow it down. A lot of journalists try to differentiate between genres. I really think there s only two types of music: there s real shit and there s shit.
priority status
Being There the original of the species is the sprawling magnum opus from Wilco that has the record company people at Reprise affording them priority status and pushing the album in both the States and in Europe like you d shove your rich granny off a cliff.
Their appreciation of the enigmatic Peter Sellers film of the same name was one of the reasons why they chose the title. Or at least that s the line Tweedy s spinning in interviews.
The Chance The Gardener character is kind of representative of rock bands in general the really good ones, that don t in reality have too much to say but have all this meaning attached to them. I like that idea. I depend upon that idea.
And so do rock journalists. And rock novelists. Nick Hornby was quoted recently as saying that while he really likes Being There (incidentally, their second album), he believes Wilco have simply taken Exile On Main Street as their blueprint and worked from there. How do they plead?
He s wrong, drawls Bennett.
A little hurt by the comment, Tweedy goes on the offensive. Just because he writes good books doesn t mean he s smart.
I suppose he said that about the Liz Phair record too, sneers Bennett.
Calm down, calm down.
We weren t thinking about Exile at all when we were making the record. We didn t even conceive it as a double album. We recorded a song a day and finished a song a day, recalls Bennett, somewhat defensively.Tweedy explains that a group vote on the intended songs for a single album resulted in such a wide range of choices that they decided, with no unanimous track selection being thrown up, to include them all. That s why the pressing plant staff were put on double shifts.
But whatever about what the past has taught them musically, are they wary of what rock n roll mythology has to teach of the self-destructive streak that derailed so many of the greats, from Hank to Hendrix, be it through drugs, drink or whatever?
Pause. Tweedy chomps on his McDonald s burger.
Well, as of yet, we haven t really found a good source for drugs. We haven t found a good reputable dealer. But we re looking.
For the Alanis Morissette fans among you, Mr. Tweedy is being, how you say, ironic.
I don t know, he munches. I think we re all a little bit too schooled in rock history to do that. The rock mythology is just that: mythology, for the most part. . . except for the people that died (laughs blackly). We re just excessive about music, you know. Somebody might drink themselves into a coma at some point but that would be cool. That would be good press. We d enjoy that . . . but I think that would be a much more pointed question to ask Oasis.
Our primary concern is pussy. Once we get past the point where a bunch of middle-aged men are showing up at our shows and standing in the front with their blue-haired moms, then we ll know it s time to quit. That might run us off the rails.
Has being in a band increased your sexual desirability?
I ll give that a flat-out no ; a big huge no , answers Bennett, giving it a big huge no .
That s what we re complaining about, pines Tweedy, that no women hardly at all come to our shows. And the ones that do are alcoholic English majors that you wouldn t want to spend more than ten seconds with.
You mean they start quoting Emily Dickinson at you?
I m just kidding. But our desirability is at an all-time low. (to quote Harold Pinter, pause) I m married . . .
Bennett is quick to offer some words of comfort. But even still, you can still read the menu even if you re not going to order . . .
That s what I keep telling her, says Tweedy, hard-done-by. I just think it would make our shows better if there were a bunch of screaming chicks . . . wouldn t it?
I know I d have more fun, answers Bennett.
How do you look back on your days in Uncle Tupelo now?
That s a long time ago. We re kind of tired of it being in every article, says Tweedy, with that please ask me another question look on his face.
Bennett: It s the ideal first paragraph, though, and we re never gonna get away from that.
Tweedy: That s why I think somebody needs to drink themselves into a coma.
Bennett: We need a clean break; to start a new mythology.
Tweedy: I m working on a nervous breakdown right now.
Bennett: You re doing well.
Look, could you wait till you get to the hotel room? I d like to finish the interview before you have your nervous breakdown.
Tweedy smiles at your correspondent.
You ve got a scoop here. Your first paragraph could read: And as they carted him off to the psychiatric ward of Dublin General . . . .
Or alternatively I could use it as my last paragraph. n
Being There is out now on Reprise/Warners.