Wilco / Being There (1996)
9.5
In a few days, Wilco will release deluxe versions of their first two records, A.M. and Being There. Both records played enormous roles in my, well, life. That may sound like an overstatement, but Wilco's first three records specifically, were so influential in how I view music and art, while also introducing me to countless new friends, many of whom I talk to regularly to this day. A.M., their first, was certainly well received, but it was their sophomore effort, the sprawling and adventurous Being There that quickly escalated the role that music, both recorded and live, played in my life.
Being There was released on October 29, 1996. I was just a few months into my first job, post-college, and rumors were swirling in the corners of the (early) internet that Wilco's second album would be a huge departure from the alt.country label that was attached Uncle Tupelo and A.M. I was hearing influences from band names I'd never heard before: Pere Ubu, Captain Beefheart, The Beach Boys (ok, I'd heard of them), Jonathan Richman, and a slew of acts that apparently inspired the massive sound of Being There. A Phil Spector record for the mid-90s, some said.
About a week prior to release, those same crazy corners of the internet revealed that advance copies of the record were showing up in some record stores. On the heels of my internship a year earlier at Bar/None Records in Hoboken, I started calling every record store in that town. I knew of three or four that were close to my train stop back to Bergen County. First one, no dice. Second, no answer. Third, bingo. They had one vinyl copy. The guy on the phone said he'd hold it until they closed. I couldn't risk it. I went to my boss, again, about two months into my first real job, and was.....honest. And she let me go. I was on the subway, over to the Path, and heading to that record store. I ran down those Hoboken streets and upon arrival, it was waiting behind the counter. Hopped on the train and an hour later, I was listening. "Misunderstood" totally threw me off. Messy drums, almost unlistenable guitar scratches. Was that a lawnmower? What was happening? And then it all stopped. "When you're back in your old neighborhood / The cigarettes taste so good / But you're so misunderstood / You're so misunderstood / There's something there that you can't find / You look honest when you're telling a lie / You hurt her but you don't know why / You love her but you don't know why." Gulp. Then that scratching guitar again. "Short on long-term goals / There's a party there that we outta go to / If you still love rock n' roll." I kept restarting it. The lyrics hit. The music seemed too much for me. But it was MASSIVE. Like nothing I'd ever heard before. It must've been 7-8 half-listens of "Misunderstood" before I could move on. As I sit here listening right now, 21+ years later, I have that same chill down my back. How on Earth could Jeff Tweedy move from the simplicity of Uncle Tupelo and A.M. to this? When it all comes crashing down at the end, with Tweedy shouting, "I know you've got a god-shaped hole / You're bleeding out your heart full of soul / You're so misunderstood" followed by what sounds like a piano exploding (I think they actually did record a piano crashing on concrete, oh so were the rumors), it's pure ecstasy. The song ends, I'm stunned, and they step into the gorgeous, straightforward, perfect, ""Far, Far Away." And then Being There takes a million different turns over 19 songs, and Wilco went from an Americana darling to a rock n' roll force.
Wilco have now been a band for 23 years. I've seen them roughly 60-70 times, on every single tour, but nothing touches the Being There tour for me. Jeff Tweedy, Jay Bennett, John Stirratt, Ken Coomer and Bob Egan. I must have seen them 20x on this tour. I'd see them in New York, then drive to Boston the next morning to catch them at the Paradise. And many places in between.
This show here, at Irving Plaza, sometime in 1996, may stand as the best Wilco show I've ever seen. They were loose, rowdy, inspired and spontaneous. I was with my three closest friends from my youth, and it stands as one of the best nights of my life.
And then there's the magic that was Jay Bennett and Jeff Tweedy.
Yes, Being There changed my life. In the same way that Born To Run did when I was about seven or eight. And the same way It Takes a Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back did in my teens. And the same way records have for my entire life.
In a few days, Wilco will release deluxe versions of their first two records, A.M. and Being There. Both records played enormous roles in my, well, life. That may sound like an overstatement, but Wilco's first three records specifically, were so influential in how I view music and art, while also introducing me to countless new friends, many of whom I talk to regularly to this day. A.M., their first, was certainly well received, but it was their sophomore effort, the sprawling and adventurous Being There that quickly escalated the role that music, both recorded and live, played in my life.
Being There was released on October 29, 1996. I was just a few months into my first job, post-college, and rumors were swirling in the corners of the (early) internet that Wilco's second album would be a huge departure from the alt.country label that was attached Uncle Tupelo and A.M. I was hearing influences from band names I'd never heard before: Pere Ubu, Captain Beefheart, The Beach Boys (ok, I'd heard of them), Jonathan Richman, and a slew of acts that apparently inspired the massive sound of Being There. A Phil Spector record for the mid-90s, some said.
About a week prior to release, those same crazy corners of the internet revealed that advance copies of the record were showing up in some record stores. On the heels of my internship a year earlier at Bar/None Records in Hoboken, I started calling every record store in that town. I knew of three or four that were close to my train stop back to Bergen County. First one, no dice. Second, no answer. Third, bingo. They had one vinyl copy. The guy on the phone said he'd hold it until they closed. I couldn't risk it. I went to my boss, again, about two months into my first real job, and was.....honest. And she let me go. I was on the subway, over to the Path, and heading to that record store. I ran down those Hoboken streets and upon arrival, it was waiting behind the counter. Hopped on the train and an hour later, I was listening. "Misunderstood" totally threw me off. Messy drums, almost unlistenable guitar scratches. Was that a lawnmower? What was happening? And then it all stopped. "When you're back in your old neighborhood / The cigarettes taste so good / But you're so misunderstood / You're so misunderstood / There's something there that you can't find / You look honest when you're telling a lie / You hurt her but you don't know why / You love her but you don't know why." Gulp. Then that scratching guitar again. "Short on long-term goals / There's a party there that we outta go to / If you still love rock n' roll." I kept restarting it. The lyrics hit. The music seemed too much for me. But it was MASSIVE. Like nothing I'd ever heard before. It must've been 7-8 half-listens of "Misunderstood" before I could move on. As I sit here listening right now, 21+ years later, I have that same chill down my back. How on Earth could Jeff Tweedy move from the simplicity of Uncle Tupelo and A.M. to this? When it all comes crashing down at the end, with Tweedy shouting, "I know you've got a god-shaped hole / You're bleeding out your heart full of soul / You're so misunderstood" followed by what sounds like a piano exploding (I think they actually did record a piano crashing on concrete, oh so were the rumors), it's pure ecstasy. The song ends, I'm stunned, and they step into the gorgeous, straightforward, perfect, ""Far, Far Away." And then Being There takes a million different turns over 19 songs, and Wilco went from an Americana darling to a rock n' roll force.
Wilco have now been a band for 23 years. I've seen them roughly 60-70 times, on every single tour, but nothing touches the Being There tour for me. Jeff Tweedy, Jay Bennett, John Stirratt, Ken Coomer and Bob Egan. I must have seen them 20x on this tour. I'd see them in New York, then drive to Boston the next morning to catch them at the Paradise. And many places in between.
This show here, at Irving Plaza, sometime in 1996, may stand as the best Wilco show I've ever seen. They were loose, rowdy, inspired and spontaneous. I was with my three closest friends from my youth, and it stands as one of the best nights of my life.
And then there's the magic that was Jay Bennett and Jeff Tweedy.
Yes, Being There changed my life. In the same way that Born To Run did when I was about seven or eight. And the same way It Takes a Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back did in my teens. And the same way records have for my entire life.
