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This universal experimental avant-garde community, is extremely possessive and narrowing
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Anyone who watched the riveting 2002 Wilco documentary I am Trying to Break Your Heart witnessed a band at the height of dysfunction, worn down by personality conflicts and record label woes. If the critical and commercial success of Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot looked like a happy ending, that triumph proved only part of the big picture: as the band finished that disc's follow-up, A Ghost is Born, Wilco leader Jeff Tweedy checked himself into rehab to treat an addiction to painkillers. The band canceled its highly anticipated appearance at Coachella and, for the first time, its future seemed in doubt.
At this point, though, people expect the unexpected from Wilco, so it's not all that surprising that such inner and external turmoil has resulted in a newfound stability. If you count 2005's live disc Kicking Television: Live in Chicago, its new Sky Blue Sky marks the first time in Wilco history that the band's same lineup has remained intact from one album to the next. It also features Tweedy at his most straightforward, both lyrically and musically, though like many things in Wilco's world, that may be an illusion as well.
On its surface the album is sunny and packed with early '70s production flourishes, but the lyrics are among Tweedy's most personal and direct. Then there's the matter of Wilco's impressive current lineup (which includes improv vet Glenn Kotche on drums and jazz guitar giant Nels Cline, who know just the kind of left turns a song needs to make it sound right).
"I don't know if it was a matter of writing for the ensemble at hand or just having everyone there long enough to get some songs to work," says Tweedy. "We'd worked on some of these songs with other lineups of the band and never figured out a way to get them to make sense."
So if Tweedy sounds oddly happy these days, maybe there's a simple reason -- he has a lot of reasons to be happy. When Playboy spoke with him shortly before the release of Sky Blue Sky, Tweedy was affable and at ease, whether talking about drugs, James Joyce or his long track record of inadvertently pissing off the fans who have supported him from the start.
Playboy: When Wilco was touring behind Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, the shows were intense. Not everyone seemed to be having a good time on stage. Lately, Wilco shows have been much more positive affairs. Has it become more fun for you, too?
Jeff Tweedy: Sure, absolutely. Especially in the last three years or so, since I've been out of the hospital. Not just easier to have fun. Just easier to be kind of present the whole way through most of the shows. My experience reflects that as well. I don't know if I can explain all the reasons that that might be, but it's certainly been more fun.
Playboy: Were you taking drugs because you weren't having fun, or were you not having fun because of the drugs you were taking?
Tweedy: Oh, I think it's probably hard to distinguish, you know? That's probably part of the reason it gets to be such a chore, to try and maintain with those kinds of chemicals. The answer would most likely be 'both.' I think that it certainly isn't fun having to try and sort things out every day, feeling like that. It also certainly wasn't very much fun trying to sort things out without those chemicals, at that time.
Playboy: How did the drugs actually affect what you were writing?
Tweedy: That's a question that seems to be at the fore of everybody's mind, considering how prevalent the myths are surrounding rock music and drugs. My answer would be that they didn't affect anything very positively, including my songwriting. I think that everything that happened that turned out well happened in spite of the drugs. What I feel like now is that I've regained the kind of enthusiasm and curiosity that was there all along - and that inspired me to write songs. When I first started writing songs, I was 14 years old. It was well, way before any of these things. It was certainly way before I had any painkillers or anything. It was sort of like regaining some sense of my true self.
Playboy: So it's not projecting too much to note a newfound clarity to the music?
Tweedy: No, I can understand that people hear that. I don't know if that's necessarily only because of the elimination of drugs. It might just be a natural artistic expression, some sense that after a certain amount of confusion that it would be nice to clear things up a little bit, you know? But at the same time, I can't discount the fact that there is a lot less to hide when you're not in denial. That allows you to express yourself a lot more clearly. It's all mixed up. I hate to sound so ambiguous, but I don't think it's ever that simple.
Playboy: You don't seem to be hiding anything on the new record, either. Almost every song has "I" and "you."
Tweedy: Well, there's always an "I" and a "you" in every song, whether or not there are any "I"s and "you"s in the lyrics.
Playboy: So how often should people conflate the "I" in your songs with you?
Tweedy: Whatever makes them happy. [Laughs] It doesn't really matter to me. People have attributed a lot of "I"s to me that are so far from me. I have no say in that. It's fine. I don't think there's anything on any record that I've made where the "I" is exactly me, you know? At the same time, I don't think there's ever been anything that I've sung that I haven't been able to feel connected to in some way.