Album Review: The Lonely Lament of 'Ode to Joy'
Wilco pares down their sound to delve deep into heartbreak and insecurity in a sparse acoustic setting.
Written by Zac Weiss
Photo courtesy of dBpm Records
Wilco has always been about subverting expectations. Though originally pigeonholed as an “alt-country” act, the Chicago band took a 90 degree turn in 1997 to explore indie rock, spit biting political commentary, and craft textured instrumentals on the trilogy of Summerteeth, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and A ghost is born. Just when their fans thought they had figured out the art underlying their experiments, Wilco replaced half of its members and recorded four relatively pop-oriented albums that even delved into satire at times. Now, the band has completely shifted their style yet again with their newest album Ode to Joy. The album maturely explores singer-songwriter Jeff Tweedy’s signature themes of loss and heartbreak in a stripped-down acoustic setting.
No song on Ode to Joy could be misconstrued as joyous. Beautiful, certainly. Truthful, certainly. But as Tweedy wonders “what would I do” if a “white wooden cross / meant that I lost you,” joy seems very far from his mind. Even the most upbeat song on the album, lead single “Love is Everywhere (Beware),” shows the characteristic fear of love that he’s explored through eleven albums spanning three decades.
Image courtesy of dBpm Records
Although the lyrical themes are constant, Ode to Joy doesn’t sound like any other Wilco album. Gone are most of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’s lush arrangements, A ghost is born’s Krautrock jams, and Sky Blue Sky’s folk melodies, replaced with stomping percussion, simple acoustic guitar, and breathy, almost exhausted vocals. And when experimental jazz guitarist Nels Cline finally indulges in one of his atonal, feedback-laden guitar solos on “We Were Lucky,” it sounds like a distant, ominous warning instead of the ear-splitting rock of their live shows. Ode to Joy is subdued, almost an echo of Wilco's former sound.
But that makes the album hit all the harder. Floating above a soft backdrop, the stripped-down songs are left to speak for themselves. And the ones that bear echoes of the former Wilco are mature, indulgence-free, and serve the song rather than drown it out. The feedback behind “Quiet Amplifier” crescendos almost imperceptibly until its sudden disappearance as the narrator realizes he couldn’t bear to live in a world apart from his love. The cascading ambient textures underlying “An Empty Corner” magnify the impact of the opening lines “Eight tiny lines of cocaine / left on a copy machine / in an empty corner of a dream / my sleep could not complete.” Tweedy’s lyrics are simultaneously more straightforward yet more cryptic than ever. In the sparse arrangement, they hit with all the force of the drumbeats underpinning the album opener “Bright Leaves.”
Through their long and varied career, Wilco continues to create music with style, grace, and emotional resonance. A full seventeen years after their magnum opus, most bands would either be long gone or reduced to shameless “greatest hits” cash grabs. But not Wilco. Their music continues to tug at their listeners’ heartstrings and engross them in Tweedy’s embrace of emotion. And maybe that’s the joy they named the album for ― the realization that no one is alone in their insecurity and the freedom of being honest with one another. Ode to Joy is as honest as Wilco has ever been. And though “Everyone Hides,” this album shows that you don’t have to do so alone.