Greg Kot, "Wilco: Learning How To Die"
Picking apart the legend of Jeff Tweedy


Rock bios are generally full of sex, drugs and rock & roll -- unless they're about Wilco. Here we have virtually no sex, not much drug taking (apart from some early tales of alcohol and a relatively insubstantial painkiller addiction), but plenty of rock & roll. And in the end, isn't that what it's all about?

Chicago Tribune music critic Greg Kot lays out the story of Wilco in this detailed, informative biography. Actually, it's more the story of Jeff Tweedy than anyone else. Born and raised in the southern Illinois town of Belleville, Jeff met singer/guitarist/fellow music nut Jay Farrar in junior high school and eventually formed a band, the Primitives, with him. Their sound was deeply rooted in American country and folk, but fused with the raw power and nihilism of punk rock. Think Johnny Cash meets Black Flag.

Kot's book takes the reader through the Primitives' days and nights living in shithole apartments and playing shithole clubs. Eventually the Primitives become Uncle Tupelo and gain and even larger following, resulting in recording sessions, contracts, albums, tours -- making it it out of Belleville and beyond. The band recorded three critically hailed albums and virtually spawned the "alt-country" genre, but Farrar left the band suddenly, forcing Tweedy to reconstruct under the name Wilco. Farrar's follow-up band, Son Volt, gained the initial upper hand (their debut album, Trace, fared much better than Wilco's debut, A.M.), but Tweedy, determined to push Wilco unto more and more adventurous territory, had the last laugh.

Despite A.M.'s mediocre performance with fans and critics, Tweedy pushed ahead with the sprawling, ambitious Being There (he deferred a good deal of his songwriting royalties in order for the album to be released as a double CD at no extra cost to the customer), followed it up with the twisted studio wizardry of Summerteeth (aided in large part to Wilco's latest secret weapon, multi-instrumentalist Jay Bennett) and became a cautionary tale for boat-rockers everywhere with the dense, difficult, beautiful, and briefly unreleasable Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.

Almost everyone with a passing interest in contemporary rock music over the last three years knows the story behind that album. Tweedy, Bennett, utility player Leroy Bach, bassist John Stirratt and drummer Glenn Kotche pushed the envelope about as far as it would go, creating beds of noise and dramatic arrangements for the gorgeous songs of YHF. Their label, Warner/Reprise, wouldn't accept it, Wilco took the album to the smaller, more adventurous Nonesuch Records, it received boatloads of acclaim, and now Wilco are the coolest kids in the school while Warner Brothers come off as clueless corporate suits.

This isn't the first time Wilco was snubbed by execs. When Summerteeth was brought to the record company in late 1998, the powers-that-be complained that there was no "hit" to extract from the album. Hotshot producer David Kahne was asked to help mix "I Can't Stand It," in an effort to beef it up for airplay. Of course, airplay never followed. Wilco on the radio, as delightful a prospect as that is for discriminating music fans, carries the same probability as Philip Glass on a reality TV show.

Kot tells the story in amazing detail, drawing from an exhausting pool of interview subjects (it seems as though everyone involved in Wilco's history was interviewed). The book isn't merely a linear telling of how the band got together and went on to prosperity; a good deal of music-business politics is discussed and dissected as well.

Whenever speaking of Wilco and its history, it's always crucial to note how they've become symbolic of music business bullshit and how genuinely talented artists fall victim to almighty dollar. Tweedy is a singer, a songwriter, a musician, but certainly not a corporate ass kisser. He didn't get into music for the money and makes that fact clear throughout the book. Kot constantly hammers home the point that once upon a time, record companies were interested in artist development, whereas now it's just a matter of who can score a hit. Here today, gone tomorrow. No wonder one-hit-wonders are more popular today than ever before.

Tweedy's fickle nature with band members is also evident in Wilco's history. Kot does a good job of remaining objective, and although you get the stories from all sides, and Tweedy basically seems like a nice guy, you can't help feeling that the myriad personnel changes in Uncle Tupelo and Wilco may have something to do with Tweedy's stubborn nature in dealing with people who fly in the face of his overall musical vision. Guitarist Bob Egan was gradually phased out with little sympathy, as was outspoken drummer Ken Coomer (replaced by Kotche after Tweedy was introduced to him by noise-rock guru Jim O'Rourke, who would end up having a huge effect on Tweedy's musical experimantalism). Jay Bennett's dismissal from the band in 2001 was not only acrimonious, it was a substantial subplot of "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart," Sam Jones' 2002 documentary on the making of YHF.

Reading interviews with Bennett, Tweedy and the rest of the band members, in addition to hearing Kot telling the story from the beginning, it's easy to see how Bennett's studio domineering and general head games got in the way of the band. Was Tweedy feeling threatened? Perhaps. Was Bennett nudging Tweedy out of the spotlight? Maybe. But as difficult as it is for a Tweedy fan like myself to admit, Bennett's prowess as both as a musician and a studio engineer were crucial to YHF's sound. The band may be happier, but Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is a peak that they may never surpass.

This is indeed a great story about a musician who loves music, and will compromise nothing for his vision. Fans of Wilco and Uncle Tupelo will be in heaven. Casual fans who just want a good story about making music on your own terms will learn a few lessons. Readers looking for stories about groupies, heroin addiction and dressing room debauchery will have to look elsewhere.