It started with this joke. Well, one of those jokes that you tell yourself and you think is shit hot and it makes you feel okay about the things you weren’t feeling okay about. Then the next day you tell your girlfriend or whoever the joke aloud and you realize that it’s really not that funny. There’s just some little nuance there, within that joke, that clicked with you and, well, that’s how you get through the day. Details, baby.
That joke for me, yesterday at least, was about Wilco. While playing their new record, The Whole Motherfucking Love, I started thinking about each player. Sure, the whole Wilco thing centers around Jeff Tweedy and it always will, but the Center of the Circle has, since booting Jay Bennett after recording Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, been collecting the stars.
Or maybe it started before the Bennett thing, with drummer Glenn Kotche, an experimental Chicago musician seemingly capable of anything. By dropping longtime pal Ken Coomer in favor of the joyful drummer, Tweedy got a taste of what could be. And by the time the A Ghost Is Born tour kicked off, he’d assembled the best band on the planet, adding guitar virtuoso Nels Cline, pianist Mikael Jorgensen, multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone and, from time to time, studio whiz Jim O’Rourke. The kind of crew that could justify deep-frying the Monsters of Folk for a snack, up in their magical loft studio, in-between Take 7 and Take 8.
So, where’s the joke in that, right? I mean, they’re a bunch of dorky looking dudes (aside from that Keanu clone, Glenn), but I don’t laugh at dorks. I am a dork. I laugh with the dorks. Getting back to the joke – I don’t quite remember how it was worded in my head when I was initially amusing myself, but it had everything to do with Tweedy assembling version two of his band. The post-Bennett era Wilco that has become arguably the most loved live band in the U.S. (Don’t believe me? Go to a show and watch all the freaks in the crowd!) The joke had something to do with Fantasy Football drafts, I do remember that much. Let’s start there, get drunk, and see if the joke surfaces …
Round One (Drink One): You open by grabbing Jeff Tweedy, obviously. He’s maybe the best songwriter of his era and his voice is the kind that can – and will – burn straight through to your soul if you let it. And he ain’t goin’ solo like all those other marks. Also, he has cool kids and great taste in album art. And a history. And a cool wife. And a killer sense of humor. These things – all of them – really do mean something. So you build your team around that guy. He’s Tom Brady. QB1. He’s the guy on the cover of this year’s Fantasy Draft Guide and the rock n’ roll equivalent of Madden ’11. (Or, at least, he should be.) If you score the No. 1 pick in your draft, chances are, most years, you pick Jeff Tweedy. That is, if you know your shit. I mean, maybe you pick Thom Yorke once or twice and you definitely consider picking Bradford Cox or Sufjan Stevens or an old standby like Paul Westerberg or even an unpredictable madman genius like Wayne Coyne. But, with the shadow of the Being There / Summerteeth / Yankee Hotel Foxtrot / A Ghost Is Born era still looming long and large, you gotta play it safe. You gotta go with the proven ace. Not Jack White. Not Bob Dylan. In 2011, it’s Jeff Tweedy, QB1.
Round Two (Drink Two): At this point, obviously, you grab that dork John Stirratt. Why? Because you’ve watched every episode of “The Sopranos” and thus know the importance of loyalty – especially when it comes to an emotional guy like the Tweed. That, and Stirratt can play. And he helps the chemistry and sings the backups. No, he’s not gonna get into the end zone, but he’s gonna help you get there. (And, if you don’t pick him up, Ryan Adams or one of the guys from The Black Crowes will; this will devastate Jeff Tweedy and he will go back to the pills and cigs and bottle.) One of the all-time great rock n’ roll sidekicks, John Stirratt. I shudder to think where Jeff Tweedy would be right now without the man forever by his side.
Round Three (Drink Three / Four): In my opinion, the most important pick in any draft (rounds one and two are usually no-brainers and four and beyond can get messy). This is the round where you decide exactly what your band/team is going to be. You could pick up that really odd, kinda aging wide out (Nels), but figure he might slip past the hipster-filled radar and be easy to grab later on. So you go for it: Glenn Kotche – the guy who makes anything possible. The X Factor. A musician who just happens to play the drums. And that on-stage positive energy? If you could bottle that magical shit up and sell it, you’d be a magician with weird bottling abilities. This is the guy who makes you want to go to practice. Who makes you excited to go on tour. Who makes you want to trash that one recording you just finished and start over, approaching from a new angle. He makes you better. He takes you to the record store and makes you buy a bunch of shit you’ve never heard of. He makes the things that come so easy to you (or, in this case, the Tweedy Monster) seem more complex, and ultimately better once they finally arrive. He opens the door for you, not because he’s a kiss ass, but because he’s a damn good guy. He’s a big part of the reason, I believe, that Jeff Tweedy found his second wind. MVP? No, that’s obviously Tweedy. But most definitely a Gold Glove-type of player.
Round Four (Drink Five): Here’s where you grab Pat Sansone. I don’t know if you watched the 2011 NBA Finals or not, but if you did, you may have seen this cat named Jason Terry. One of the all-time best shooters who never became a household name. A real all-around kind of a dude who, in my opinion, was the reason the Dallas Mavericks won the 2011 NBA Championship. The guy who won the Hustle Award every year in high school. Anyhow, this guy has never made the all-star team or an MVP or anything like that. He wasn’t picked first in the NBA draft; leaked wiener photos from his Blackberry haven’t been celebrated by Perez Hilton; and he’s not 12-feet tall. This is Pat Sansone. A sixth-man who makes the difference. Pat can play anything. And he looks cool and, like Kotche, he’s a real positive energy kind of guy. When you’re forming a band, this is the exact kind of guy you want – he’s not gonna run for 1,600 yards but he’s the reason you’re better than My Morning Jacket at the end of the season. Every long-lasting team needs a spark plug like Pat Sansone.
Round Five (Drink Six / Seven / Eight): Finally, Nels Cline. He’s been on the cover of numerous guitar geek magazines and plenty of people have called him the best electric guitar player in the world. That said, you know he’s not for everyone and you know that he can do it on his own. Regardless, you pick the guy up and let him take a look at your shit. He either makes it his own or makes it better. Mostly, he makes it better … and he wears funny socks. From time to time, you let him run wild. Mostly, when you get on the field with this guy, you know what you’re getting. Talent. Ability. Raw skill. Maybe he dances too long in the end zone and gets a lot of penalties. That’s okay, because he’s dancing in a way that almost no one else can. A game-changer.
Round Six (Toilet / Drink Nine): Some bands consider this the throwaway round/drink. The flex position. The revolving door. Get a cute girl in here for some extra fun on the next tour. Or maybe a cute boy. Or how about a guy who owns a place where you can practice? Or maybe this dude’s dad is friends with the guy whose son is in the Strokes? Nope, that’s not the route we go for our Wilco team. Instead, we go out and get the guy who probably has no business on our team. I mean, he’s an absolute genius, but not exactly a street fighting man. He won’t steal the girls from John, the spotlight from Nels or the creative control from Jeff. What he will do is make everyone think differently. He’ll add something to the team/band that wasn’t there before – a refined, perfected skill set. You use him here and there, when it makes sense. And when he’s not co-writing the songs or running the melody down, he’s filling in the blanks. The man we pick to close out the draft is pianist Mikael Jorgensen, a tall, haughty-looking man with a haircut and blank expression.
So, wait, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, that’s right, a joke I supposedly told myself the other day. What joke? I don’t remember it, but it had something to do with Wilco and fantasy sports. I think the point was that Wilco is maybe the best band on the planet. I’m not saying that they put out the best records every time or that they’re even my favorite band of the moment. I’m just saying that, hey, I’m an educated man who plays fantasy sports and looks at things for what they are. And when I look at Wilco, I see what a band should be. Some buffoons see this when they look at U2 or Green Day. For me, it’s Wilco.
It’s Wilco because Jeff Tweedy made it that way. He’s smart, weathered and he still works hard. Sure, he could Malkmus the thing and keep lesser players around so as to keep the focus on himself and his past accomplishments. Or he could Adams the thing and call his band “Jeff Tweedy.” Or he could Westerberg it and just beat around in his basement, amusing himself. But no, this is Wilco – a real legacy band destined to stand amongst the giants. And yeah, they’ve been through a lot of drafts and had their share of fullbacks. But now, at this very moment, Wilco is perfect. They’re the band of their day. And this new record, The Whole Love? It’s blasted good.
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Hilarious! The Nels Cline round had me choking on my chocolate milk.