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Source Material: Wilco, 'Being There'

by Justin Farrar

Wilco's Being There is one of those albums that was tailor-made for Rhapsody's Source Material treatment. The double-disc set is a ramshackle song cycle about all things rock 'n' roll: rock fandom, growing up on rock, rock as livelihood and so on. Even when Jeff Tweedy -- using as he does that deadpan croon that makes you think he's either bored or stoned or both -- rhapsodizes on the struggles of love and romance, he views them through the prism of ... the rock.

A big part of this hyper self-awareness is the way Being There wears its influences on its sleeves. The thing is littered with lyrical allusions and sonic references, as if it's a kind of Masonic Bible for rock 'n' roll: if decoded properly, it will open up a secret history. This is something I discovered not long after the record dropped in the fall of '96. I was a senior at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo back then. I was also a record store clerk "in the middle of awkward musical transitions," according to old pal and author Bryan Charles (who chronicled our college days in his Wowee Zowee book for Continuum's 33 1/3 series -- Wilco are also mentioned). Moreover, I had "disowned the traditional in favor of screeching free-form noise." Thus, Being There's American rock vibe was the last thing my antennae were attuned to at the time.

But two other close friends, Steve and Rob, big Wilco fans whose tastes I genuinely dug, got me hooked regardless. As the autumn turned into one of the Midwest's harshest winters in decades, I used Rob's Escort GT to run errands quite a lot, and the discs were always in the car. Every time I borrowed it I worked on this decoding process: the lines in "Misunderstood" were lifted from punk icon Peter Laughner's "Amphetamine" ("Take the guitar layer for a ride ..."); there was a nod to Pink Floyd in "Far, Far Away" ("... on the dark side of the moon"); and "Hotel California" had turned into the "Hotel Arizona," where they made the band "wanna feel like stars." This process has never stopped, in fact. Through the years I've discovered more, like the way the fiddle jam "Dreamer in My Dreams" is surely a brazen reimaging of the Sir Douglas Quintet deep cut "Funky Side of Your Mind," or how "Kingpin" and Bert Jansch's "Open Up the Watergate (Let the Sunshine In)" share the exact same slinky groove.

Obviously, my decoding at some point slips into abject projection -- not unlike the eight-year-old me who was convinced playing his vinyl copy of Shout at the Devil produced backward-masked Satanic messages. Then again, that's exactly the kind of fanaticism Being There demands of its listeners.

Now on to a few other points ...

In terms of bigger-picture aesthetic issues, I love what Tweedy and the band ultimately achieved on Being There: a modern and utterly non-retro (thank you) interpretation of classic rock. They took all the great music they grew up worshiping (from The Stones and Little Feat to The Eagles and Neil Young) and filtered it through heady sonic ideas gleaned from fellow Midwesterners such as The Flaming Lips, Red Red Meat and Souled American. I'm talking about stuff like feedback as ambient texture, electro-acoustic warmth/space and the use of all manner of novel instrumentation. On top of all this, Being There can also be framed as belonging to the American power-pop tradition that has its roots in the mighty Big Star, particularly the band's debut, #1 Record, on which they strike an uncanny balance between The Move and Crosby, Stills & Nash.

But enough is enough. Between the albums below and my 52-track Source Material: Wilco, Being There playlist, you, like me, will be busy for decades to come.

Exile On Main St.

The Rolling Stones

Topping practically every critic's poll as one of the best rock records of all time, with many counting it as the best, Exile came out at a time when people thought the Stones had been taking too many drugs, losing too many friends and making way too much money for too long to really be able to pull off another great record. Well, they did it. This deluxe re-release features no less than 10 previously unheard tracks.

The Notorious Byrd Brothers

The Byrds

For folks who identify with the Byrds more than the Beatles, this album is Rubber Soul and Sgt. Pepper's rolled up in one stony recording. David Crosby got fired during these sessions, and if you let the very last song play past the dead space and Gary Usher notes, you can hear the band arguing in the studio!

Tonight's The Night

Neil Young

Recorded when Young was in a very, very dark place -- touring in support of a successful album shortly after both bandmate Danny Whitten and roadie Bruce Berry OD'd -- Tonight's the Night is one of the most emotionally ravaged records of all time. Even the title cut "single" is disturbing. Music this real just doesn't make it to the general public very often.

Shout At the Devil

Motley Crue

Motley Crue's second record, released in 1983, still stands as their strongest, loudest effort. With the title track being a breakthrough hit for the band and "Looks That Kill" a solid follow-up, the band jumped off the L.A. strip scene and into every home in America with MTV.

L.A. Turnaround

Bert Jansch

L.A. Turnaround is the closest Bert Jansch came to playing the country-rock game in the mid-'70s. Produced by Michael Nesmith (who around the same time worked with another Brit-folkie, ex-Fairport Convention singer Iain Matthews), the album is the fullest-sounding in the troubadour's sprawling discography. Just listen to the way the ex-Monkee captured Jansch's fingerpicking; it's warm, spacious and enveloping. As for the songwriting, Jansch was at the top of his game. "Open Up the Watergate (Let the Sunshine In)" -- which surely inspired Wilco's "Kingpin" -- is one of the best of his career.

Clouds Taste Metallic

The Flaming Lips

A justifiably confident band takes its love of studio manipulation to new extremes on this set, which deploys xylophones, bells, birds, whirring machinery, exploding cities, cheering crowds and more as instrumental accompaniment to songs about cosmic orgasms, burning postmen and the inevitable triumph of evil over everything we know and love. Given the grim ending they predict, the band advises you to "show no mercy/ in your dreams," and this album is pretty much them doing exactly that: It's dreamy, and they're merciless -- even when you think they're joking.

Hoy-Hoy!

Little Feat

Released not long after the death of Lowell George, Hoy-Hoy! is an enlightening, if patchy, collection of live recordings, alternate takes and deep-vault gems. For those familiar only with the Feat's New Orleans-flavored and/or fusion offerings, the record served as a nice peek inside the band's obscured roots in California country rock. Remember, back in 1981, the group's earliest albums were nearly impossible to track down -- still are, in fact. Interestingly, vintage tracks such as "Easy to Slip" and "Strawberry Flats" sound like modern Americana. So yeah, George was one prescient dude.

#1 Record / Radio City

Big Star

The far-reaching impact these two records have exerted on rock 'n' roll is nothing short of profound. Led by Chris Bell and Alex Chilton, Big Star cut the sounds of British Invasion pop -- The Move in particular -- with West Coast harmony and hard rock (drummer Jody Stephens rumbles like John Bonham). The band created a distinctively American sound in the process. But what's truly amazing is how the music still feels fresh, as if it were created only yesterday. There's no real way of parsing this unique achievement, and that's why such a delicious mythology continues to surround Big Star.

No Other

Gene Clark

Released in 1974, No Other opens like other Gene Clark albums, with a gorgeous cosmic American ballad, one that's profoundly moving. The album then becomes something entirely different, a sweeping and intense self-examination of personal spirituality, creativity and, ultimately, torment. Every word Clark utters is caked in forlorn wisdom. The stretch containing the title track, "Strength of Strings," "From a Silver Phial" and "Some Misunderstanding" is particularly harrowing. These just aren't songs; they are operettas. Their epic qualities have more in common with prog than country-rock.

Anodyne

Uncle Tupelo

Uncle Tupelo's first major label release also happened to be their last album. It's fitting in that they seemed to have reached their apex here, having created a work that meshes folk, country and rock in a way that's almost revelatory in its directness. The Doug Sahm-assisted "Give Back The Key To My Heart" is a highlight.

Zuma

Neil Young

Neil followed up the harrowing brilliance of Tonight's the Night with a structurally less-challenging (it didn't sound like he was going off the deep end), yet equally powerful record in Zuma. Marked by "Cortez the Killer" and the often overlooked "Danger Bird," Zuma is also the first record with Danny Whitten's replacement, Frank Sampedro.

Bunny Gets Paid

Red Red Meat

You'd swear singer and guitarist Tim Rutili, who possesses one weary groan, was some kind of backwoods alt-country troubadour -- that is, if it weren't for the dub/industrial grime that's caked all over these 11 jams like a soggy mulch. But still, this is some truly earthy rock 'n' roll -- as ragged as anything off the Stones' Exile on Main Street. And like Exile, there's something inscrutably murky about Red Red Meat's music; just about the only well-defined sound is the killer slide-work.

Groover's Paradise, a lost gem if there ever was one, is the product of a '70s supergroup few at the time knew existed. The frontman is, of course, the charismatic and versatile Doug Sahm, who does it all: Tex-Mex, honky-tonk, folk-rock, blues, power pop and more. Tying together this wonderful array of styles and sounds is Creedence's legendary rhythm section, bassist Stu Cook and drummer Doug Clifford, who swing like a metronome: minimal and totally locked in. The group's most striking quality is its love for pop brevity. It gives Groover's Paradise a prescient, '80s roots-rock vibe.

The Complete Reprise Sessions

Gram Parsons

Does the music world really need another Gram Parsons compilation? The country rocking part of the music world does. Culled mostly from his two solo albums, this collection contains remasters, alternate versions, rare radio bits and actual interviews with the late innovator of cosmic American music. Although the remastered versions make the production sound less vintage than the originals, you have to hear "Hickory Wind" in all its melancholic splendor -- the way it was originally meant to be heard.

Stage Fright

The Band

The treasure that is Richard Manuel's singing voice is reason enough to listen to the Band. Add in a truly one-of-kind take on the breadth of American music history, Robbie Robertson's understated brilliance as a guitar player, and the downright desperation of "Shape I'm In," and the Band's third album offers rewards you didn't even know rock 'n' roll could provide.

Manassas

Stephen Stills

Stills' slide into mediocrity in the '70s was so unpleasant to witness it's easy to forget he created some killer rock in the decade's opening years. Manassas, a double LP, is the most ambitious thing he ever released. Surrounded by a cadre of California heads (Chris Hillman, Dallas Taylor and Joe Lala among them), Stills employs sweeping brushstrokes to paint a grand and epic statement. There's boogie jams ("Rock & Roll Crazies"), country-folk balladry ("Jesus Gave Love Away for Free"), stoner-grass ("Fallen Eagle"), Latin smoothness ("It Doesn't Matter") and even space pop ("Move Around").