Uncle Tupelo
89/93: An Anthology
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Uncle Tupelo
89/93: An Anthology
Columbia/Legacy, 2002
RiYL: Wilco, Son Volt, Johnny Cash, The Clash |
And one song into their first record, they found it:
The breezy guitar straight out of "I Walk The Line" opens the tune, as the husky voiced singer chirps out the opening line: "Home town / same town blues / same ol' walls closing in / Oh what a mess life can be / I'm sitting here thinking of you / once again / Won't you talk to me."
From there, without warning, the song is jolted by buzzing, crunching guitars, heavy riffs that recall the Clash's 1977 anthem "White Riot," and the singer broils out the next stanza: "Well, time won't wait, better open the gate / Get up and start what needs to be done / It's winding down, there's much you missed / Working on that graveyard shift."
At that point, the song, "Graveyard Shift," becomes a get-yer-ass-in-gear lesson in brute force songwriting, taking the listener on manic turns and twists throughout the singer's struggle to stay alert and keep interested in this mind-muddling, brain-numbing thing called life.
And damn, if it ain't powerful.
The band out of Belleville, Illinois, was called Uncle Tupelo, which is now perhaps best known for as being the launching pad for two other bands, Jay Farrar's Son Volt and, of course, Jeff Tweedy's Wilco. Uncle Tupelo blasted out of that Midwestern small town singing about many of the same issues that both Cash and the Clash did in their heyday, namely, boredom, love and violence.
And they did it with the same intensity over four albums and six years that their heroes did, which, in turn, made them heroes in their own right. Their albums were breathtaking, heartbreaking, loud, quiet, always pertinent, and largely unavailable in recent years.
But thanks to some clever publicity and uncanny timing, Sony's Columbia/Legacy issued the first teaser as part of an Uncle Tupelo love-fest with the release of 89/93: An Anthology, a remastered definitive collection of the band's work. Eventually, Sony plans to release all four of the group's records, all digitally remastered with bonus tracks and outtakes. And if those are anywhere near as good as Anthology, Ladies and Gentlemen, we're in for a treat.
Anthologies can go one of three ways: either too much, like Woody Guthrie's four-volume The Asch Recordings, too little (see Sacred Hearts and Fallen Angels: the Gram Parsons Anthology), or just right -- check out Hot Burritos: The Flying Burrito Brothers Anthology.
Well, just how Goldilocks finds the last bowl of porridge, this one is just right.
This album finds the middle ground between pleasing the hardcore fan and leaving the door open for some commercial success and earning new fans. Hell, just remastering the songs is enough to please the hardcore fans, as Uncle Tupelo's initial releases on Rockville Records were certainly no lessons in production. That said, Anthology contains the right amount of b-sides and rare finds -- the moody "Sauget Wind," the blatant "I Got Drunk," and a few others -- with the signature tunes, ranging from the aforementioned "Graveyard Shift" to Jeff Tweedy's classic "Gun."
Anthology pulls liberally from each of the group's four releases, but the focus is clearly on UT's first record, No Depression. That album is credited for starting the so-called alt.country movement, as well as giving the genre's one and only magazine authority its name.
No Depression, released in 1990, is still the band's definitive album, as the tunes on Anthology range from the traditional folk piece "No Depression" to the stop-start, Ramones-esque "Outdone." Jay Farrar is easily at his best on the early records, just listen to "Whiskey Bottle" from No Depression and "Still Be Around" from UT's second outing Still Feel Gone. Both are drown-in-your-beer heartbreakers, but there's something resilient, even uplifting about the lyrics, as dark and disturbing as they appear to sound.
"Whiskey bottle / Over Jesus / Not Forever / Just for Now," Farrar croons in "Whiskey Bottle."
"Alcohol doesn't have much that matters to say / can't imagine where you and time to kill will stay," he discovers on "Still Be Around."
Make no mistake, Uncle Tupelo was Jay Farrar's band, Jeff Tweedy just rented it out now and again to pen a few decent songs. Tweedy wrote a few good tunes and one or two great ones with UT, but even his best numbers pale in comparison to Farrar's contributions.
If anything, Anthology is notable because it documents just how far Tweedy as a songwriter and singer has come, and how far Farrar has fallen. You can hear Tweedy trying to sing in "Screen Door," "Watch Me Fall," and "Black Eye," and you can hear him develop slightly with "Fatal Wound" and "New Madrid." But he hadn't quite grasped songwriting just yet. He didn't quite know how to sing and stretch his voice. Certainly the album tries to play off his critical and commercial success with Wilco, as Anthology probably takes a bit too much from the Tweedy songbook than it should.
That's not to say Tweedy has anything to be embarrassed of, but the inclusion of all his material just reminds the world how relevant and crucial a writer Jay Farrar once was. Farrar's writing was clear and straightforward in his Tupelo days, while with Son Volt he's drifted about as close to oblivion as possible without having a nervous breakdown and becoming a born-again Christian.
Anthology presents Farrar at his best, and Tweedy at his most vulnerable. And that in itself makes for quite a collection.
RODEO ROB | An expert on all things "alt," Rob spends his days covering the energy industry and his nights covering the DC-area bars. Raise yer glass especially high to this man, for he has contributed to this site constantly since its creation four years ago.