The Road Mistaken

Very seldom do things work out precisely as you plan. You will find yourself loving people you'd never planned on loving and staying in places you'd never intend to stay.



But this is life, and you can take it or leave it — as the cliche goes — and so long as you're avoiding the latter, you may as well make the best of whatever time you have.


But sometimes it is... difficult. Like listening to one of your favorite musicians belt out one of your favorite songs, experiencing the moment as if only by proxy


Your hands too often on the shutter


As though wanting to share a moment that is — you acknowledge with a sigh — entirely your own.

But there are others all around you. Hundreds upon hundreds, your uncommon life experiences most common among this crowd.

The consensus undeniable as a stranger turns to you during intermission and says, "So what do you think so far?"

"Brilliant," you tell him. "But then again — I've never known them to disappoint."

From there two strangers politely converse, united for a moment by a shared fondness for sound and a fear of passing time in silence.

But no moment lasts forever, and with the end of intermission — and then the encore — you rise from your seat and turn from one another as if strangers again.

"So this is life," you think, joining the crowd in a chest-to-back rush for signs marked "EXIT."

You look over your shoulder and return your mind to the empty stage, a little sick to note that the one once closest to you

is now the furthest away.

The Devil and Daniel Johnston (Movie Review)

In the past seven days, I've become extraordinarily obsessed with the music and artwork of one Daniel Johnston.

Some of you may recall one of his more famous sketches from a t-shirt Kurt Cobain repeatedly wore on stage and to signings. Some of you may have even heard an artist like Beck or Wilco or Flaming Lips cover one of his more folksy tunes. Or maybe you recognize him from a VW commercial.

And some of you, like me, may be ashamed to realize just what you've missed out on these past several years.

For me, my obsession with Johnston worked like this:

• Washington goes to Austin last weekend for work.
• Washington happens to be there during Austin City Limits, for which I was terribly envious.
• Washington returns with a cute little t-shirt (a gift for yours truly) sporting an alien looking frog and the words, "Hi, how are you?"

Within a day, I was researching the artist and queuing up a documentary made about his life: The Devil and Daniel Johnston (2005), which I watched this past weekend.

There's not much else for me to say, except that I've already legally downloaded a couple songs, and expect to purchase an album or two in the next week (as much for the artwork as the songs themselves).

But first, a bit about the film.

The Devil and Daniel Johnston offers a disheartening glimpse into the life of a manic depressive whose state was exacerbated by drug use in the mid to late 80s.

That is to say, he was already prone to unhealthy highs and lows — in regards to his emotional and psychological state — but met a veritable point of not return after a bad trip made it nearly impossible for friends and family alike to "deal" with him.

The end result: the man who took South by Southwest by storm on more than one occasion — the man who inspired the likes of Kurt Cobain and counted people like "Sonic Youth" among his closest friends — spent several long stints of his life in asylums, never wholly able to pursue a career as a musician or an artist.

An ex-girlfriend interviewed in the film espoused her fear that Daniel was a bit too much like that proverbial flower in the desert — the rare one that blooms rather beautifully, and then disappears wholly unknown to man.

I think she's on to something there, as Johnston has a bit of a cult following by musical crowds (particularly in Austin), but otherwise isn't a name that's ever made it into the mainstream, even though he first entered the public sphere more than 20 years ago.

In any event, his story is a sad one and even when he sings out of key, his lyrics — which have a sort of Indie Folk quality — are beautiful.

I was sorry to watch his unfortunate descent, though I think this film likewise demonstrates why so many past artists, a la Van Gogh, weren't fully appreciated until after their death: they're oftentimes so much so a danger to themselves that they can't forge a career out of their talent: rather, their talent is a creature of the very thing that marks their undoing.

But Johnston is still very much so alive, and only in his mid-40s. His life's aspiration was to be famous, and — for whatever it's worth — he's found at least one new fan in the Midwest.

FINAL GRADE: A-

Sky Blue Sky (Music Commentary)

"Lyrics come to a melody like dust settles on furniture." ~Jeff Tweedy (paraphrased from a May 2007 interview)

---

If my fascination for Wilco is at all a secret, it's poorly kept.

And if you, too, are a fan of this Midwestern band, then you know why I'm bringing them up again: their newest album, Sky Blue Sky was released just over a week ago. And while there's no denying this album is their most mellow to date, I think it's a welcome addition to their repertoire.

But I'm a tad uneasy whenever I read (or hear) a review that implies the band has lost its edge, an accusation reviewers love to connect to front man Jeff Tweedy's successful completion of substance abuse rehabilitation (Tweedy has long suffered from debilitating migraines, which resulted in a subsequent addiction to painkillers).

Not only has Tweedy "kicked the habit," but he's also found a routine that allows him to minimize the frequency of said migraines. He's kicked a few other habits as well (e.g. smoking) and isn't ashamed to admit that he's happier and healthier than he's been in years.

The resultant question for many reviewers/interviewers has thus been not so much a question, but an insinuation.

"Now we all know you're healthier than you've been in over a decade, Jeff. Does that help to explain the more subdued tone of this album?"

Let me interrupt here to say that although Sky Blue Sky is a far cry from Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002) — an album I will continue to refer to as one of the most innovative and possibly one of the best produced in an era — it's unfair to expect any band to produce something of that caliber with every release.

Within a couple listens of YHF, in fact, I knew I was listening to something Wilco — or any band, for that matter — would be hard pressed to top. It's melodic and yet utilizes just pure... sound... in many of its tracks. That they were able to do this without the "sound" becoming "noise" was a mystery to me. But it worked, and rather beautifully at that.

The album which followed that masterpiece, A Ghost is Born, was also a treat. But it was no Yankee. There were a couple songs on Ghost that I couldn't get enough of (e.g. "Hummingbird") and others that just sorta blended in with the rest.

It follows that Sky Blue Sky is a little like that for me — though the album as a whole is (yes, music critics, you got something right) generally more mellow than previous Wilco productions.

That is to say, there's less "sound" behind the instrumentation (forgive me, I'm not entirely familiar with industry jargon), something I do kind of miss. But that also means Sky has a certain air (forgive the pun) about it that makes it easier to listen to.

I'm not saying this is "easy listening" — far from it — but rather that Sky is just a tad easier to digest than Wilco fans are accustomed to (and so may be particularly difficult for this same fan base to sink in those proverbial).

What irritates me about the recent deluge of reviews and interviews — to get back to my original point — is the insinuation that Tweedy's recent bout of happiness is complicit in some sort of artistic decay.

Sure, this album is more about finding happiness in the day-to-day and yes, it does have a more "hopeful" quality, as evidenced here by the title track:

Oh, if I didn’t die
I should be satisfied
I survived
That's good enough for now

But I also think it's a little short-sighted to term it an altogether optimistic work. There's a lot on here about being happy with what you have, but this is also spoken in the context of an ongoing battle with loneliness and uncertainty.

Song after song, Tweedy's optimism is pitted up against an intangible frustration with the world.

Why is there no breeze
No currency of leaves
No current through the water wire
No feelings I can see ("You Are My Face")

But what Tweedy seems to determine is a bit akin to Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach" (without all of the sexual innuendo). In other words: the world is brutal, and we can't change a thing. And then where Arnold's narrator turns to his female companion and essentially proposes a rendezvous, Tweedy turns to his family (and himself) as a means to secure some degree of happiness.

And I do mean degree. Or why else is the simple satisfaction of being alive simply good enough for now?

But, again, back to point: I'm not so sure the tone of this album -- which isn't quite as simple as reviewers have implied -- is a direct result of Tweedy's recovery. I'm not even so sure it's a direct result of the band's cohesiveness (this album is perhaps Wilco's most collaborative to date).

Rather, I think this album's tone -- like Tweedy's recovery from addiction -- has something to do with the simple passage of time: Tweedy is a married father-of-two. And it sounds like, maybe, he's growing up.

And I don't care what anyone says.

That's not necessarily a bad thing.

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart (Movie Review)

i am an american aquariam drinker
i assassin down the avenue
i'm hiding out in the big city blinking
what was i thinking when i let go of you...

***
Even if it is a tad slow at times, it's difficult for a Wilco zealot, such as myself, to not be absolutely smitten by this documentary.

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart (2002) captures the recording of what is perhaps Wilco's best album to date, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. If you haven't heard anything from this album, buy it. Or at least try out a couple songs on iTunes. I'd recommend the song that inspired the film's title ("I Am Trying to Break Your Heart") or "Reservations" or even "Poor Places."

I'm neither a producer nor a music history buff or even a musician myself, but I do have a keen appreciation for art (both in sound and sight). And Yankee, as far as I'm concerned, is up there with The Beatles' White Album in terms of innovation & style.

Now that I've heightened your expectations to unhealthy levels — and sufficiently set you up for disappointment — allow me to return to the film for a moment.

I appreciated the opportunity to see not only what one of my favorite bands is like off-stage, but also the experience of seeing just what, exactly, a musician goes through to get an album out. In this respect, you don't have to be a Wilco fan to enjoy the film, as it offers a rather interesting behind-the-scenes glimpse into the music industry. And for Wilco in particular, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was tricky because the music label that initially funded the record backed out of the contract when frontman Jeff Tweedy refused to alter the final product to suit their demands.

And, if I wasn't clear before, I'm glad he stuck to those proverbial guns. The final product is phenomenal.

But rather the spoil the documentary by revealing the series of events, and the backstage brouhaha, that finally led to the album's release, I'll refer you to Netflix, where you can queue up this black and white, pop some low-fat kettle corn... and enjoy.