An announcement I’ve been waiting for hit today: Wilco is definitely starting their own record label. This news doesn’t come as a shock — last July brought the news that this was something they were looking at doing, because the band was not planning to renew their contract with Nonesuch Records. In a lot of ways this seems like a logical move: they’ve got fifteen years’ worth of name recognition and fan base, they’ve got contacts, and they seem to be open to experimenting with nontraditional business models. From that perspective, I’m looking forward to seeing what they do and how they do it.
Like a lot of people in the vicinity of my age, I’ve done a lot of growing up with Wilco as my soundtrack. Tweedy’s songs have seen me through four years of college, two deaths in the family, jobs I hated (and jobs I loved), a cross-country move, a failed relationship or two, and a whole lot of solo travel all over the United States — much of it to see Wilco. It’s not a big stretch to say that Jeff Tweedy’s work helped me learn how to be independent, and it’s no stretch at all to say that his work made me fall head over heels for the country I grew up in. I do what I do because of Wilco, and Wilco is what it is because of Jeff Tweedy.
However. In the last year and a half, I’ve noticed some trends in Jeff Tweedy’s approach to his brand — and this is an important distinction: not his music, but his brand — that I don’t much care for. It’s not like he has any reason to care about my opinion, of course, but I’ve been a fan for a while, and his music means a lot to me, and I pay attention to what Tweedy does. The first time I heard “Wilco (The Song)”, I had to take a moment, because that song, self-titled, off their self-titled album, said what I’d been wanting to hear, and what I was sure I’d known for years: they’re my band, and they’ll be there when everything else sucks. The problem is that out of the studio, Tweedy doesn’t seem to want to back that up — or rather, it’s not as universal a sentiment as it looks on the surface.
Check the album art for Wilco (The Album); it’s the first thing that gave me pause. The photography inside consists mainly of shots of Wilco’s nudie suits, custom-designed by Derek Welch of UNKL. Nudie suits are their own kind of cultural code; when combined with the specific imagery on the suits, as well as the way the suits are portrayed in the photography, they send a powerful message. The suits don’t just hang out on display on mannequins in a store window. Men wear the suits at work, with their children, running errands. Wilco’s suits are your suits, the photographs say, and the album says, Wilco is there for you. They have branded themselves with this, in the song and the album named for their band.
What I noticed as I looked at the photographs is that women don’t get to wear the suits. Women don’t even get to be in the pictures at all.
And I asked myself: after everything I’ve been through, with their records beside me the whole way, does this mean Wilco is there for other people, but not for me?
On one level, it’s a stupid question. Jeff Tweedy and company don’t know me, and I don’t know them. But on another level, when put in context with the way Wilco has been attempting to write their own narrative since the release of the Ashes of American Flags DVD, their lack of recognition that their audience isn’t only made up of mostly white men in their twenties and thirties doesn’t sit well with me.
Put more simply, when the point arrives that your band gets called out on primetime TV as a comparison point for lack of diversity — namely, a network described as “about as diverse than a Wilco concert” (6:00) — that might be the time to start questioning how you’re portraying yourself, and how you’re constructing your brand — especially when your latest efforts at branding yourself mean casting yourselves as guardians of the flame of American musical tradition. Ashes of American Flags is the best and most blatant recent example.
Through the band’s (and the editors’) careful selection of venues, including Cain’s Ballroom in Tulsa (pictures of long-gone and forgotten country stars on the walls), Tipitina’s in New Orleans (historical anecdotes from John Stirratt and Pat Sansone, both of whom grew up in the area), and the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville (the Mother Church of Country Music), as well as various members of the band talking about their views on rural America and its music over shots of lonely stretches of interstate in the American South, Wilco shows themselves to be an American band with a long pedigree that crosses decade and genre.
And you know, that’s cool. It’s a big part of why I like them. I like that Tweedy writes simple songs — which is hard to do — that can turn into monster noise vehicles, both live and in the studio. The problem is that they’re perpetuating a view of American music, and American culture, and Americans, that’s awfully narrow. American popular music isn’t, and never has been, the sole province of those same mostly white guys in their twenties and thirties. They’re not the only ones who get to wear the suits.
This and the record label announcement wouldn’t have bothered me as much were it not for the fact that they’re using a very specific word when their press releases talk about their Solid Sound Festival, and that word is ‘curate’.
Because a curator, one who curates, is a gatekeeper. A curator gets to decide what’s worthy of preservation, and what — or who — gets left out of a collection for education, and for posterity. The items we see in museums are there because somebody decided they were worthy of being there, that they’re important enough to be there. The criteria for determining worth and importance aren’t always clear-cut, and it’s impossible to put everything on display at once. Decisions have to be made. The process of making these decisions will always involve leaving something, or someone, out.
The word ‘curate’ is a big red flag for me as it pertains to Jeff Tweedy, and it’s not because I think he doesn’t know what he’s talking about or because he doesn’t have the authority to be a tastemaker. It’s because with authority comes responsibility, and because I’m not sure his ideas of what’s ‘worthy’ for preservation and promotion are going to enhance American music by promoting groups that fall outside mainstream demographics. And a record label is a different prospect than a three-day festival. More money, effort, and long-term investment are involved. A record label means more promotion and more support. And while I’m sure Jeff Tweedy isn’t going to be personally overseeing every decision dBpm Records makes, the fact is that this label, from the start, is billed as “Wilco’s label”. And Wilco, for better or for worse, is Jeff Tweedy.
Tweedy is also nine studio albums (counting the Mermaid Avenue sessions, leaving out Kicking Television) into his career as Wilco’s frontman. It’s not unreasonable to start contemplating what kind of legacy Tweedy is going to leave, and what impact Tweedy wants to have, on music in the future. A record label can be a big part of that. The question is whether that legacy is going to involve shaking up, or at least shifting, the status quo by advocating music by artists who don’t fit a mainstream mold.
Tweedy’s work with Mavis Staples gives me a glimmer of hope, and I think we’ll know more once we see Wilco’s next album in late 2011, as well as who the first non-Wilco artist signed to dBpm Records is. Wilco’s last two studio albums were similar enough sonically that I’ve wondered if Tweedy and company weren’t in a creative rut; whatever we’re supposed to be getting this year will give us at least a partial answer to that question.
Meanwhile, Jeff Tweedy is broadening his scope on the back end of the musical process. I wish him luck. More, though, I wish he’d recognize the rest of us who don’t fall into that male, mostly white demographic, but who love his stuff anyway, and — in the case of the folks who could get signed to his label — want to work with him. We’re here, too.
I saw Tweedy twice at the beginning of this month at the Boulder Theater; now that life’s slowed down a little, I’m hoping to write some about what I saw. It touches on some of this label stuff, but a lot of it is just plain glee at getting to hear “Radio King” live and in person, among other things. It sucks when the context gets in the way of the music. But that’s Jeff Tweedy’s gift to me, even though he doesn’t know he’s given it — for me, in the end, past all the politics and other contextual contention, his music is worth it.
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Tweedy is doing a fundraiser for Rahm Emanuel tomorrow night at Park West. If you’re politically inclined that way and you’ve got the cash to drop, it’ll be a good show.
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I found your post to be very interesting, and confusing at the same time. Maybe it’s because I’m one of Wilco’s target audience members (30’s, white, male), but I’m not sure exactly what you want Jeff Tweedy to do. It seems like you have two beefs with Mr. Tweedy. 1) He somehow has left you, the female music fan, hung out to dry. His music somehow attracts men more than women, and because of that, the band hasn’t adequately reached out to female fans. 2) You’re worried about the new label and Tweedy’s ability to effectively control what music he wants to put on that label. It’s possible I misunderstood your points completely.
As for the first point: it’s music. Who is Tweedy writing for? Me? You? Himself? Either way, we all can enjoy it, right? There are no barriers to entry. There isn’t album artwork that features scantily-clad women ala “Smell The Glove”. I’m pretty sure they sell woman’s styled t-shirts at the merch store, right? What more do you want? Should they start writing songs about rainbows, princesses, and puppies? I hope you get my point. It’s music. I’m pretty sure Wilco wants to balance making the MOST money possible, with making music and touring the way they want to. Do they want more female fans? Sure. More male fans? Sure. I ask you, what do you want them to do to show their appreciation for the female fans they do have?
And for the second point, lets give him a chance to fail before we demonize him. You say, “It’s because with authority comes responsibility, and because I’m not sure his ideas of what’s ‘worthy’ for preservation and promotion are going to enhance American music by promoting groups that fall outside mainstream demographics.” Wait. So, his job in running a label is to enhance American music by promoting non-mainstream music? I thought that he gets to choose who he promotes for whatever reason he wants.
I guess I just don’t understand exactly what you want him to be. We know he’s a good musician, and a good writer, and in my opinion, a pretty smart guy. Why does he have to be more than that. Why is there a responsibility to some ideal? Why does he have to be a demographic-uniter, or a champion of a certain type of music? Lets just let him be. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to be “Jeff Tweedy, American Music God” which is what people often make him out to be. He’s just a man.
I’m just hopeful their new record is better than their last. I haven’t listened to Wilco (The Album) in a long time, but I find myself visiting AM, Being There, Summerteeth, and YHF frequently. That’s what I’m thinking about: more good music and more good shows.
I think you were getting to that in the last graph of your post. It’s the music that matters. Fuck the context. Music’s about feeling, not thinking.
To be honest, I’m not sure what I want Tweedy to do — and it’s not like I’m going to get a say, which I do realize. I don’t really want a say, either. I should also admit that a lot of this post is a rehash of a much longer piece I wrote for an academic audience; there’s a lot more I could say about the album art, the history of the nudie suit, and why the art isn’t surprising to me, but disappointing. Here I’m pointing fingers at Wilco, but the problems I’m trying to get at are present in every genre of American popular music, and it’s been that way for decades.
I have to disagree with you that music is about feeling, not thinking. I don’t think it’s an either-or proposition, and I don’t see why it can’t be both. (If music is only about feeling, why bother reading or writing about music at all?) Musicians put some thought into what they do — making music is work, and making art involves thinking — and I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask an audience to extend musicians the same courtesy. I also don’t think it’s possible to wholly separate music from its cultural contexts. If that were the case, “Sweet Home Alabama” wouldn’t exist, Greil Marcus wouldn’t have a career, and I wouldn’t have to look long and hard at the management of my local record store for sticking the Carolina Chocolate Drops in the blues section instead of folk or bluegrass.
If you’re willing to grant me those two points for the sake of argument, then I can start talking about Jeff Tweedy. I agree: he’s a smart guy. There’s plenty of stuff I’d love to pick his brain about. I also don’t think he owes me or anyone anything. He’s just a man who’s a free citizen of the United States, it’s a free country, et cetera.
What I think is that in the last couple of years — roughly since Wilco’s Chicago residency at the Riviera in February 2008 — Tweedy has tried to position himself and Wilco as authorities in American music. You say you’re pretty sure Tweedy doesn’t want to be “Jeff Tweedy, American Music God”, and I definitely agree with that. At the same time, a byproduct of producing records and curating a festival is lending his name, his influence, and his authority to the artists he works with, whether or not that’s what he intends by working with them in the first place. Agreeing to finance artists and arrange for distribution of their music works the same way, whether or not he personally will be making those decisions. Tony Margherita and company’s PR strategy thus far for dBpm, just like the Solid Sound Festival, just like You Are Not Alone, involves using the name Wilco and the name Jeff Tweedy. Whether anyone likes it or not — you, me, Tweedy, anyone — whatever authority Jeff Tweedy has, it’s thrown behind these projects for the purpose of promotion and making money.
So: if music can be about both feeling and thinking, if you can’t wholly separate music from its cultural contexts, if Tweedy is attempting to position himself as a dean of American music (if not a god), and if he’s wittingly or unwittingly lending whatever authority he has to artists he or an organization using his name chooses to work with, then I don’t think it’s too much to ask for him to think about using his influence to help broaden the definition of American music past the mostly male, mostly white people who are mostly in their twenties and thirties, especially considering that this is a reputation the band has earned in the eyes of the writers on 30 Rock at the very least. He’s already made a step in that direction by working with Mavis Staples, and he deserves credit for that. That’s the kind of thing I’d like to see more of from Jeff Tweedy, or the folks who are using his name.
I don’t advocate demonizing him, either. He’s done a lot of good things for a lot of people in the last couple of decades, and dBpm Records has the potential to continue that. This moment in Tweedy’s career is a crossroads, not an indictment or a conviction, and if I wasn’t clear enough about that, I should have been. And whatever he does, it’s not going to change the feeling I get on an open highway with the windows down and “Monday” or “Handshake Drugs” blasting on the stereo.
Also, I’m completely and totally with you on hoping the next album is better than their last. Lately I’ve been listening to earlier Wilco, and I miss feeling like their later output has real teeth, “Bull Black Nova” aside.
Yeah, re-reading “Music’s about feeling, not thinking” made me shudder a little. Duh. That’s simplifying it a little, isn’t it? You are correct, music should be8 about both. And, okay, I see your point about Tweedy & Co. positioning themselves as American Music authorities. Who knows if they’re doing that on purpose, or if it’s a true love for American music mixed with a little inflated ego that’s making it happen? So, maybe the takeaway from the original post is that you’re hoping Tweedy uses his powers for good and finds a new depth to Americana that is more appealing to lots of different types of people. It sounds like you’re already worried that he’s going to make the wrong moves. But like you said, If his work with Mavis tells us anything, he’s pointing in the right direction.
Either way, it will be fun to see what happens with the new label and the new record. Thanks for the post and the detailed follow up. Good stuff!
Yeah — it’s not whether Tweedy is going to use his powers for good or for evil, it’s whether he’s going to use them for good or for awesome. I absolutely believe that he’s going to use whatever influence he has to promote good stuff. But like you say, I’d rather see him work to find that new depth to Americana, and to push the boundaries of various definitions of Americana.
Thanks for the comments! I really appreciate them. 🙂
[…] So Chicago’s got a new mayor — something that doesn’t exactly have a huge effect on my day to day, but I kept an eye on @MayorEmanuel (NSFW for mountains of profanity) like several thousand other people. I noted it with mild interest when I saw that Jeff Tweedy was doing a benefit for Rahm Emanuel, but didn’t think much about it. As we saw last month, my interest in Jeff Tweedy’s politics tends to lie in other directions. […]
[…] ‘meh’ zone. I’d hoped that The Whole Love would make me reconsider — as I said in January, this album was likely to tell us something about whether or not Wilco was in a rut. As far as […]