There is a massive realization that comes at the 4:15-minute marker of "Misunderstood," the first track on Wilco's second album Being There. But it's not just a realization about singer Jeff Tweedy or his band. It's a realization about what we (as the listener) have heard before and what we want to be hearing right now.

When Jeff Tweedy barrels into the end of "Misunderstood," trashing his pretty Illinois twang for a taste of primordial punk-tinged screaming, you realize what sounds really good. It's not just the scream that grabs you. It's a battered guitar chord here and punctured drum there and a whole lot of other incidental mistakes, which sum up to one great "whatever."  By the five-minute marker of the first song, you are pumped into a rock and roll mood. And by God, so is Jeff Tweedy.

And why shouldn't he be?

Here he comes out of a pissy break-up with the Midwestern band Uncle Tupelo, whose spoken reputation usually consists of phrases like: "alt-country," "cult following, " and "pissy break-up." So Jeff Tweedy and his Tupelo co-founder Jay Farrar (who later founded Son Volt) were massive progenitors of the alt-country genre.

Who cares?

Certainly not Jeff Tweedy, a fact made crystal clear by the end of "Misunderstood," along with other Being There contemporary rock classics "Monday," "Hotel Arizona" and "Say You Miss Me," which are all included on the set's first disc.

Don't be confused by the Johnny Cash mellow of "Far Far Away." After a half-dozen listens, it's obvious that most nods on Being There are headed in the direction of dark rock Jedi circa Brian Wilson, Joe Strummer and Keith Richards (among 20 or so others).

No, Jeff's not listening to everything, but he is listening to a lot. Thus, the album seems to work best when you approach it like a mix tape of your favorite classic songs, covered by Wilco. There's a "Beach Boys" song written inside "Outta Mind (Outta Sight)." A song off Double Fantasy kicks of the second disc -- the second side for you vinyl junkies -- and Wilco pulls out a rough-edged cover of an old Rod Stewart outtake to close the album up in epic rock fashion.

Of course, its not all rip-off. Wilco prove themselves to be innovators in how they simply blend and bend the genres. The album's best track is "Sunken Treasure," the aforementioned tribute to Lennon, which leads off the second CD. The entire group shows an incredible dynamic found no where on its Tupelo-tainted debut AM. The music extends from soft guitar strums and hollow piano lines to pounding drums and crashing electric guitars ala Neil Young. In the final chorus, where the singer's compressed and creaky voice dangles over a piano-drawn pillow of sound, Tweedy breathes out a line like a poorly kept secret:

"I was tamed by rock and roll," Tweedy sings. "I got my name from rock and roll."

Should the next line read, "I'm not ashamed of rock and roll"?

I have no idea. I'll leave the question to the No Depression-heads who have little better to do than compare Son Volt and Wilco lyrics. It's impossible to tell what any of this means. There are 19 songs here, which do fit snugly into two halves of 90-minute blank tape, and the music ranges from the rotten country melodrama of "The Lonely 1" to the (Matthew) Sweet pop hit "Monday."

Certainly, it was easy to perceive this album as some sort of statement for Wilco when it first came out. Maybe it looked like a middle finger in the face of Farrar or anyone else who thought Wilco couldn't do anything more than write songs about getting drunk and driving home. Maybe music writers thought they had found a rock visionary a little more wholesome then Beck.

With a couple years hindsight, Being There just sounds like a bunch of guys having a lot of fun raiding their old record collection and coming up with something new enough to be respectable. Of course, with any amount of listening, we quickly realize (again) that this is often what sounds best.