Wilco
Wilco (The Album)

If there's a world that tends to take itself terribly seriously, it's pop. Every single day some glossy magazine, more or less "specialized," comes out with a "here are the new Beatles," or "I have seen the future of rock." Most of the time with disconcerting results, and if all goes well, at best we are dealing with a decent group of teenagers or so who have little to offer us musically speaking, with anthologies of riffs recycled yet again. Meanwhile, they have a lot of arrogance, posh looks, and swagger to advertise some clothing line in the aforementioned "specialized" magazines.

So it might be surprising if among the few who don't take themselves too seriously is a band like Wilco, who certainly deserve much more seriousness. Or perhaps it's this very stance of becoming champions of the precious, rare art of "oh-let's-not-take-ourselves-too-seriously" that ennobles them. In fact, with this seventh effort straight from the recording studio, Wilco seems to enjoy messing with us quite a bit. Even the cover, with the camel dressed up for a party on a terrace, as imminent as it is unlikely, in its candid surrealism seems to mimic certain famous '70s progressive album covers. But it also cannot help but recall, in the subtle irony that leaks through, the undisputed masters of the art of "oh-let's-not-take-ourselves-too-seriously," the Supertramp.

Be that as it may, Wilco continues to pull our legs by naming the album after themselves. And so far so good, how many eponymous albums have we stumbled upon in our existence? Yes, but it's not just called "Wilco," it also adds an apparently pedantic and meticulous "(The Album)" that seems like a professor's correction on an assignment. But it's just appearances. Because the pinnacle of the jest is found in the piece that opens the dance, cheekily called "Wilco (The Song)": not only is it the title-track, but also the title-band! In any case, it is above all an excellent song, supported by an immediate riff and a chorus ("Wilco will love you, baby") that gets stuck in your head and won't leave, with a pronounced tendency to addict the listener and convince them to let it play on the stereo multiple times. Needless to say, this track is undoubtedly destined to become their live anthem, where it's been performed several times over the past year.

We are only at the beginning of an album that in many ways, like its predecessor "Sky Blue Sky," marks a departure from the experimentalism of "Yankee Foxtrot Hotel" and "A Ghost Is Born" and a return to that sharp and refined pop rock (or alternative country for label enthusiasts) of their early days that they had abandoned after "Summerteeth." Not only that, but compared to "Sky Blue Sky," this "Wilco (The Album)" is both reflective and complementary: as the former showed the more intimate and reserved side, also tied to the band's and its songwriter Jeff Tweedy's tradition, this one decisively leans more towards rock and, indeed, pop, being their most accessible album in a long time without sounding trite or radio-friendly (although I believe in other fairly distant years we would have often found it on the FM frequencies of some independent radio). All thanks also to a stable line-up including a gentleman over fifty like Nels Cline, an imaginative and extremely versatile guitarist who in recent years seems to have added a bit of spice to Wilco's already flavorful music in live performances (and for those who don't believe it, I highly recommend the "Kicking Television" live and the stunning recently released DVD, "Ashes of American Flags").

The impression, in short, is that Wilco wanted to return with the last two albums to more typical song rails, but immersing them in a truly unique sound fabric, and indeed they want to justify past experimental adventures precisely as necessary to reach these developments. Forays that, by the way, resurface in several waves in tracks like "Bull Black Nova," which revives the vaguely dark and claustrophobic tones of "Kidsmoke," as well as in the evolving musical plots of the songs, which we know how they start and often not how they end, the latter being Tweedy and co.'s trademark. For all the first five of the eleven songs, Wilco does not miss a beat: between the title-track-band and "Bull Black Nova" our friends pull off two outbursts of pure ingenuity like "Deeper Down" and "One Wing," simply thrilling in their fragility for how they always seem to be in precarious balance and on the verge of collapsing who knows where. And then a simple song like "You And I," where we find a duet between Jeff and Feist, sweet and delicate with a splendid authentic raga guitar solo reminiscent of The Byrds (!!) (ah Cline Cline, what would we do without you?).

The rest alternates between amusing moments like the vaguely George Harrison-like "You Never Know" or "Sunny Feeling," which seems to pop out of the archives of "Being There" or "Summerteeth," and other objectively more ordinary episodes like "Country Disappeared." But also on the verge of the conclusion, we find a couple of gems, like the melancholy from the title "Solitaire" and the finale. Here, I allow myself one last observation. If there’s anyone who unerringly nails the finales, it’s Wilco. Already in the previous album, a track like "On And On And On" was worth the price of admission. But with "Everlasting Everything" they double down and hit the bullseye. A poignant and bitter piece that perfectly contrasts the sunny and fun "Wilco (The Song)."

Because Wilco, as genuine Don Quixote-like noblemen of rock in 2009, know how to make you smile but also move you.

Wilco will love you, baby.