The Ashes of Uncle Tupelo

This essay first appeared in the June issue of the Medford Sneak Preview.

The Ashes of Uncle Tupelo: A personal essay
Son Volt and Wilco both to headline at Britt this summer
By Vince Tweddell

“Mister tell me, fifty years in this town’s done for you
except to earn your name and place on a bar stool?
Spent your whole life in this county, you never been out of state,
You say you’re gonna make it out before it’s too late.”
--“Looking for a Way Out” by Uncle Tupelo

The first time I heard of the band Wilco I was agonizing through college, in the latter part of last decade, when I attended the band’s concert in Lexington, Ky. Wilco, still a young band, was touring in support of its double-length album, Being There, now a classic. I don’t remember much from the night, for I was still more worried about getting really drunk before a show than actually going solely to hear the music. But what I do remember is lead singer Jeff Tweedy’s scratchy voice as he poured out the final lines of the song “Misunderstood.” Part of an artist’s job is to make the simple seem profound, to turn a past moment of ugliness or frustration into something that is beautiful. Much of that can be produced through the delivery, and there, that night in central Kentucky, beer swilling through my head, I heard and saw Tweedy on stage singing these words:
“I’d like to thank you all for nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing at all. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing at all.”

Tweedy wasn’t singing about anything new—rock ‘n roll and country music were formed from the stories of loss and frustration, emotions his pained expression and intensity clearly showed me. Loss and frustration were things I was just beginning to recognize in myself, and Tweedy sang in a way that meant something to a drunk twenty-one-year old, with little clue as to where his life would go and only a hint of where he had been and from what he had come.
Soon after discovering Wilco, I found Son Volt—a band that has released at least two of my favorite albums, Trace and Straightways, headed by Jay Farrar. And soon after, I found the CDs of the defunct Uncle Tupelo, a band that included both Tweedy and Farrar. All three bands have been with me since.
With them, I struggled through my twenties. But I learned I wasn’t alone in this frustration, this sense of loss, this seemingly unending search for something better.
“There was a time when nothing seemed to make much sense/That's turned more intense/And all the crutches you've kept around, now are nowhere to be found.” –“Looking for a Way Out” by Uncle Tupelo
*
There was a time when I worked my first job as a newspaper reporter and I had no friends in the small Western Kentucky town where I lived. Nights, I spent mostly alone in my shag-carpeted, brown-paneled apartment, a bottle of whisky opened some of the time, twelve packs of beer pounded the others, only to wake mid-morning and head out the door to report the cops and crime—meth and crack heads and those trying to arrest them—in Madisonville, Ky., a place that bills itself as the Best Town on Earth. Hardly, I thought then.
“A long way from happiness/In a three-hour-away town/Whiskey bottle over Jesus/Not forever, just for now/Not forever, just for now” –“Whiskey Bottle” by Uncle Tupelo

*
Maybe those of us who’ve moved from the middle part of America will always have a small chip on his shoulder, as if always trying to prove that something great can come from the farmlands and humidity we know. Both Farrar and Tweedy grew up in Belleville, Ill., a post-industrial town on the Mississippi River twenty-five miles from St. Louis. It was a town trying to keep afloat in a changing economy, more churches than bars, but barely, with not much to do but drink. It’s in the same corner of the world as my own hometown of Henderson, Ky., and though its economy may be stronger—and I’m not sure—it is similar. Tucked away on the Ohio River, my Henderson has limited opportunities for recreation: a bar called Rookies, boating on the river in the summer, fishing in its sloughs, a few nice restaurants, church on Sundays, if that’s your care. And work is not always easy to find, but there are numerous factories a person can jump to right from high school.
So much of what Uncle Tupelo was seems to have come from the place of their raising, a place that helped to form both Farrar and Tweedy and a place they seemed to have both loved and reviled at the same time. And from my own youth, I remember those nights in the Best Town on Earth and in Henderson, dreaming of the places I was yet to see, when loneliness and desperation would be gone forever.
“Now and then it keeps you running/never seems to die/The trail's spent with fear/Not enough living on the outside/Never seem to get far enough/Staying in between the lines/Hold on to what you can/Waiting for the end/Not knowing when
May the wind take your troubles away/May the wind take your troubles away/Both feet on the floor, two hands on the wheel/May the wind take your troubles away” –“Windfall” by Son Volt

*
Uncle Tupelo fused punk and country into a blend of rock ‘n roll almost untried by most others in the band’s lifespan—the late eighties and early nineties. One song they’re rollicking through riffs that can rock your ass off, the next they’re picking through the sad story of a broken man. It’s a kind of music that harkens back to old country—the stuff Hank and Johnny sang about: heartache, drunkenness, loss, redemption. And hope—lots of hope.
One of their early songs—the Carter family cover “No Depression”—came to be used widely as the nomenclature for this genre of bottle-breaking music. The No Depression movement included the likes of The Jayhawks, Whiskeytown, Ryan Adams, Alejandro Escovedo. A magazine that covered the scene even took the name No Depression.
The movement is mostly gone now. The magazine has folded. Uncle Tupelo broke up in the mid-nineties. Tweedy formed Wilco, and Farrar formed Son Volt, each taking their music in different directions from Uncle Tupelo. Wilco has moved into almost an experimental pop rock, with a large cast of musicians and arrangements far from your classic intro-verse-refrain-bridge-refrain. Son Volt and Farrar have also done some experimentation in new styles, but have tended to stay closer to the tendencies of the No Depression era.
But I am no critic. I am just a fan. I look forward to each new record, especially what will be released this summer. Wilco (the album) is set to be released on June 30, the day of their show at the Britt. Son Volt’s American Central Dust is scheduled to be released a week later. Like the others, I’ll buy it, stick into my CD player, and push repeat.
*
While living in the Best Town on Earth, I fell for a girl, and the Best Town on Earth wasn’t so bad anymore. Wilco:
“All I can see/is black and white/and white and pink/with blades of blue/that lay between/the words I think/on a page/I was meaning/to send to you/I couldn’t tell/if it would/bring my heart/the way I wanted/when I started/writing this letter to you/but if I could/you know I would/just hold your hand/and you’d understand/I’m the man who loves you.” –"I’m the Man Who Loves You"

Then I moved to Alaska one summer. Wilco:
“Picking apples for the kings and queens of things/I’ve never seen/ distance has no way of making love/understandable/distance has no way of making love/understandable.” –“Radio Cure”

She came to visit me in Alaska. Son Volt:

“Walking down Main Street/Getting to know the concrete/Looking for a purpose from a neon sign/I would meet you anywhere the western sun meets the air/We'll hit the road, never looking behind/Can you deny, there's nothing greater/Nothing more than the traveling hands of time?”--"Tear Stained Eye”


She went back home and soon we broke up. Son Volt:
“Living for the moment/Flashes and fades and takes you down/familiar deserted byways/Shelf-stored memories/Lead you where you been/and no longer go/But guess who’s guessing now?
Let me back into your world/Blink of an eye/No uncertain terms/Let me back into your world.” –“Back Into Your World”

I moved back to Kentucky and tried to make things right. Son Volt:

“After all this confusion is put aside/After all, we’re finally gonna make it right” —Picking Up the Signal

And so, a pattern was established in life then that still seems to be holding: Work low-wage jobs, struggle to pay rent, find a woman to help shake the frustration, break up with woman, fall apart with anguish, put myself back together again, and move on—while always dreaming of something better.
*
There’s a clip of Uncle Tupelo’s first television appearance on youtube.com that shows a young band, sounding a bit off and looking a bit awkward on stage. The clip has all the under-production of a local TV station—grainy picture, choppy fades, piercing sound. It is the direct opposite from all the slickly produced bands with marshmallow lyrics and white bread sounds that have moved through our airwaves. And in that clip, there’s Uncle Tupelo on stage, singing stuff that means something. Young and dreaming, they couldn’t have had any idea what was in store for their band and life then: the break-ups, rehab, Grammy awards, sell-out concerts and world-wide tours that lay in store. They didn’t know they’d find a way out.
But what I want to believe is that when they got out and moved on with separate bands, a little of Uncle Tupelo stayed within. The lyrics and heart are still with Wilco and Son Volt. Tweedy and Farrar still speak to me. Getting out of Belleville may have been the goal, but Belleville will always remain inside the heart, as does my Henderson. People are a sum total of their struggles, and too often we try to forget just what it was that helped to mold us. Oh how I sometimes dream of those long gone days in the Best Town on Earth when I learned to live on hope. I want to hold them.
“Remember when you didn’t have to look ahead or behind you/There was always something right there to do/But now it’s life in some kind of trap looking for a way out/We keep moving on, that’s what it’s all about” –Looking for a Way Out by Uncle Tupelo

*

Wilco plays the Britt Festival on June 30. Son Volt plays the Britt Festival on July 18.