In October of 1995, I was two years out of college. I was working
at a collection agency, as the world's worst bill collector, and living with a girl that didn't like me much. She was
my college sweetheart, and after a little time had passed, boy did that shit go
south. I was miserable. I didn't know it then, but in less than a year I’d get
my first job at a radio station, start dating a girl I went to high school with
and be roommates with a drug dealer. Things were gonna get better, but in the
meantime I had (What’s The Story) Morning Glory!
I used to just get lost in this album. I didn't care about
Oasis vs. Blur. I didn't care about Liam Gallagher being a twat. I didn't care
that my mother loved “Wonderwall.” I didn't care that the girl that didn't like
me much was jealous of this album. “You’re listening to that again?! Give it a
rest!” Jealous, I say! I only cared about one thing... Noel Gallagher is a
mother fucking pimp! Thank you Noel! Someday, my big fat face is gonna be in a
picture with you and it’ll be my most prized possession. Next to my Beastie
Boys, Dave Grohl, and AC/DC pictures!
(What’s The Story) Morning Glory? is like ordering a
porterhouse steak for two and eating it alone. On the tenderloin side of the
bone there’s the rich and buttery “Wonderwall,” “Don’t Look Back In Anger,”
“Cast No Shadow,” and “Champagne Supernova.” They melt! They just fucking melt.
Then over on the strip steak side of the bone there’s the bold and meaty “Morning
Glory,” “Roll With It,” “Hello,” “Some Might Say,” and “Hey Now.”
Initially, I didn't like “She’s Electric.” I used to skip
passed it while listening to the album. Something in me had deemed it too
goofy. Then one night I was drinking at Star Bar, a pretty cool long gone bar
in Buffalo, NY. Terry Sullivan, from Terry And The Headhunters, was spinning
that night and he played it. I was super drunk and loved it so much I meandered
over to the DJ booth and asked Terry where he found this Oasis song. “It’s from
Morning Glory,” he said in a “you’re a dumbass” kind of tone. Touché Mr.
Sullivan. Touché.
Sometimes I wish everyone in Wilco would just
choke on their lead singer’s shaggy unkempt hair and go away. They are one of
those band’s that could put out an entire album of toilets flushing and Pitchfuck
would call it “brave,” and 100,000 hipsters would cram into the Roseland
ballroom to see them play it.
Having said that, I love this record!
Maybe it doesn't have to be a double album, disc 2 gets a
little long in the teeth, but God damn, isn't disc 1 just beautiful! It really
does fit the Alt Country moniker, cause it’s just not quite either alone. I
used to mainly stick to the first half, but when I got my first MP3 player in
2000, it became easier to listen to all of this album. I love a lot of Wilco’s
music, in fact, but I never really thought they topped this album in terms of
wholeness and universality. “Forget The Flowers,” sounds like pure Americana to
me and that is a lot of this album’s appeal.
I absolutely adore Wilco’s work with Billy Bragg on the
Mermaid Avenue albums. You know, maybe I’m being too hard on them here. I’ll go back and
listen to all their shit this year and get back to you.
It’s definitely not Wilco’s fault that I want to see them
get asphyxiated on greasy hair, it’s their fans. Did you ever talk to a Wilco
super fan? Oh, brother. If you ever meet one and they start talking about
Wilco, keep track of how long it takes them to bring up Uncle Tupelo. It should
take about thirty seconds.
When I was working for my college radio station, one of the
music directors was one of those Indie-Or-Die kind of douches. Zero personality
and an undying love of crap. After Uncle Tupelo broke up, he went home, put on
one of their records, blew out the pilot light on his stove and stuck his head
in the oven. Two days later, apparently nobody missed him, the lady that lived
downstairs turned on her stove and blew up half a city block. Seven people were
killed. Fucking tragic. If he had only hung on he would have lived to love
Wilco and his thirst for Alt Country gems would have been satiated for
years to come.
It’s really that kind of blind devotion that people have, not
just for Wilco, but for any artist that makes me skeptical of their true
motives. Now maybe it's not always some guy sticking his head in the oven because a band broke up, but there're other varying degrees of super fanboy bologna that I don't understand. Do you really love some band or artist soooooo much, that if they release an undeniable turd, you're going to pretend to like it? Why? What's the endgame of that?
I was never a Nick Cave fan. I’m still not.
I know that’s a cop out, but I’m just not familiar with his
body of work. I can honestly say I only know one Nick Cave And The Bad
Seeds’ songs.
Back in 1996 when Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds put out Murder
Ballads, my friend Mike Parrish, played their take of “Stagger Lee” on the
jukebox at a very hip dive bar we used to frequent. The song was winding
through its story when Nick sings, “I’ll crawl over fifty good pussies to get
to one good fat boy’s asshole.” The uproar from pretty much everyone in the bar
was so swift and passionate; the bartender skipped the song with a secret
button behind the bar, gave Mike a dollar and told him to stay away from the
jukebox.
You should watch the video for that song right now! It makes
Billy Squire’s video for “Rock Me Tonight” seem like it was choreographed by
Paula Abdul. Even if this is a joke, it does not land.
Oh and I listened to Push The Sky Away... It's just not for me.
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