Wilco, “The Whole Love” (dBpm)
Wilco’s eighth studio album of original material, “The Whole Love,” is the band’s best record in seven years. But, to quote lead singer Jeff Tweedy in a lyric from the group’s 1995 debut, “That’s not the issue.”
“The Whole Love” falls somewhere in the middle of a discography that’s one of the strongest of the past two decades of rock ‘n’ roll. Still, is it fair to judge Wilco based on past accomplishments, or should each new release be taken as a solitary effort? That’s the issue.
Here’s what works: Tweedy’s songwriting, always the bread and butter of this band, is as good as it has ever been. Guitarist Nels Cline is finally given room to run free after playing with restraint on “Sky Blue Sky” and “Wilco (The Album).” Cline’s lead lines are sharp and fuzzy, inventive and hook-laden, expansive yet subtle, as he leapfrogs among genres as early as album-opener “Art of Almost.”
Drummer Glenn Kotche is right there with him, pushing the record forward with urgency behind his charging toms and punchy snare accents.
Finally, lead single “I Might” and album closer “One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley’s Boyfriend)” may be among the best 10 or 15 songs the band has ever recorded.
However, as a whole, the record is fundamentally flawed. As Wilco and Tweedy continue to grow older, many of their cornerstone appeals have fallen by the wayside.
Tweedy, a once notoriously sub-par, monotonic singer, has made leaps and bounds in both vocal range and tenor. But it was his cool detachment that made so many fall in love with Wilco on “A.M.” and “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.”
It’s crazy to say the songs have suffered as Tweedy has improved, but these days, you can’t help but think he’s working to impress us, rather than awing us without breaking a sweat like in years past.
And while the experimentalism, pedal effects, fuzzy bass lines and song variation have all made a glorious return, much of this album feels merely splashed with creativity as an afterthought, rather than created with exhausting artistry in the band’s hallowed Chicago loft space. It’s the art of, well, “almost.” John Hendrickson
Feist, “Metals” (Interscope)
Have we forgotten about Feist in the age of Adele? No, we haven’t. It helps that Feist’s unique vision hardly ever repeats itself, as we learn via “Metals,” released last week.
“Metals” is the Canadian singer-songwriter’s moodiest record to date, a brooding experiment in melancholy and reflection. You can’t be surprised to hear that self-reflection in Feist’s lyrics, but it’s also there in the music on “Metals” — a far cry from the playful “1234” that made her a star via 2007’s “The Reminder.”
It’s not wrong to call it a downer of a record. But if you can handle Feist’s brand of weight that straddles the line between Joni Mitchell and Joanna Newsom, you’ll find some gems here — the chiming “The Circle Married the Line,” the peppermint-sweet “Cicadas and Gulls” and the emotional “The Bad in Each Other” included. Ricardo Baca
