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Let's Go (So We Can Get Back): A Memoir of Recording and Discording with Wilco, Etc.
The singer, guitarist, and songwriter—best known for his work with Wilco—opens up about his past, his songs, the music, and the people who have inspired him.
Few bands have encouraged as much devotion as the Chicago rock band Wilco, and it's thanks, in large part, to the band's singer, songwriter, and guiding light: Jeff Tweedy. But while his songs and music have been endlessly discussed and analyzed, Jeff has rarely talked so directly about himself, his life, or his artistic process.
Until now. In his long-awaited memoir, Jeff will tell stories about his childhood in Belleville, Illinois; the St. Louis record store, rock clubs, and live-music circuit that sparked his songwriting and performing career; and the Chicago scene that brought it all together. He also talks in-depth about his collaborators in Uncle Tupelo, Wilco, and more; and writes lovingly about his parents; wife, Susie; and sons, Spencer and Sammy.
Few bands have encouraged as much devotion as the Chicago rock band Wilco, and it's thanks, in large part, to the band's singer, songwriter, and guiding light: Jeff Tweedy. But while his songs and music have been endlessly discussed and analyzed, Jeff has rarely talked so directly about himself, his life, or his artistic process.
Until now. In his long-awaited memoir, Jeff will tell stories about his childhood in Belleville, Illinois; the St. Louis record store, rock clubs, and live-music circuit that sparked his songwriting and performing career; and the Chicago scene that brought it all together. He also talks in-depth about his collaborators in Uncle Tupelo, Wilco, and more; and writes lovingly about his parents; wife, Susie; and sons, Spencer and Sammy.
303 pages, Kindle Edition
First published November 13, 2018
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 981 reviews
December 15, 2018
It’s not often my husband reads a book and hands it to me saying, “this book says things about myself in ways that I could never explain.” I was intrigued... I like Wilco and Jeff Tweedy...
Well, Jeff Tweedy can write. This a a beautifully written book about how his life turned out so far flaws and all.
This is a passage that I think speaks to my husband and all musicians. (Note, the guitar is not my thing.)
“Learning how to play the guitar is the one thing I always look back on with wonderment. I’m reminded of ‘What ifs?’ every time I pick up a guitar. Where would I be? I have sort of a survivor’s gilt about it that makes me want it for everyone. Not the ‘guitar’ exactly, but something like it for everybody. Something that would love them back the more they love it. Something that would remind them of how far they’ve come and provide clear evidence that the future is always unfolding toward some small treasure worth waiting for.”
As my husband sits in his office with his guitar, I guess this book does make me get it. The odd part is that I think books are my guitar, so in a weird way Jeff Tweedy connected an understanding in each of us.
Well, Jeff Tweedy can write. This a a beautifully written book about how his life turned out so far flaws and all.
This is a passage that I think speaks to my husband and all musicians. (Note, the guitar is not my thing.)
“Learning how to play the guitar is the one thing I always look back on with wonderment. I’m reminded of ‘What ifs?’ every time I pick up a guitar. Where would I be? I have sort of a survivor’s gilt about it that makes me want it for everyone. Not the ‘guitar’ exactly, but something like it for everybody. Something that would love them back the more they love it. Something that would remind them of how far they’ve come and provide clear evidence that the future is always unfolding toward some small treasure worth waiting for.”
As my husband sits in his office with his guitar, I guess this book does make me get it. The odd part is that I think books are my guitar, so in a weird way Jeff Tweedy connected an understanding in each of us.
November 15, 2018
Everyone who knows me knows that I hate Wilco with the passion of thousand burning suns (or whatever the expression). That's because I once loved them with the same passion. There it is on page 197. Jeff acknowledges us. Those who loved Jay Bennett's Wilco. Even before I got to that passage, I had already fallen in love with this book. Jeff is genuinely likable, thoughtful, funny, and charming. I can relate to how he thinks about life. I'm sorry that I can't listen to Wilco anymore. This book won't change that. But I will give the new solo album a listen. Thanks for writing this, Jeff.
November 14, 2018
Self-aware even about his self-awareness, Jeff Tweedy seemed like he might be either the worst or the best guy to write a memoir. In fact, the answer is much closer to the latter. Like a Wilco song, Let's Go (So We Can Get Back) breezes past, but is full of moments of acute insight, wry humor, and surprising poignancy. As music memoirs go, this is just the kind of book a lot of fans are looking for: neither a comprehensive catalog or an indulgent ramble, at a very reasonable 292 pages, Let's Go has only the parts you want.
I reviewed Let's Go (So We Can Get Back) for The Current.
I reviewed Let's Go (So We Can Get Back) for The Current.
May 29, 2019
Blew threw the last third in a couple hours this morning, and had to put it down twice because lines made me tear up out of nowhere. The lines involved his sons and his dad.
I've read dozens of musician memoirs at this point, and Tweedy is the only one I can recall that features practical, process-oriented philosophies on songwriting and/or general creation--he also delineates between art and creative expression in a way that allows both to have meaning and positive purpose. I love that--as a person who spends a huge amount time creating meaningless non-art to satisfy an everpresent desire to be putting something into the world, that sentiment meant a lot to me.
I've read dozens of musician memoirs at this point, and Tweedy is the only one I can recall that features practical, process-oriented philosophies on songwriting and/or general creation--he also delineates between art and creative expression in a way that allows both to have meaning and positive purpose. I love that--as a person who spends a huge amount time creating meaningless non-art to satisfy an everpresent desire to be putting something into the world, that sentiment meant a lot to me.
January 18, 2020
I've been to one Wico concert and enjoyed it. Its founder and lead singer Jeff Tweedy writes a funny, irreverent, and honest memoir. I like his discussions about how his family is the glue that keeps him together through his opiates addiction, depression episodes, migraine headaches. His songwriting sections are fascinating. Plus, I'm now a fan of his first rock group, Uncle Tupelo.
November 10, 2018
Total babe/badass/cool dude. I already knew Jeff was a great songwriter, and reading his memoir has let me appreciate his talents as a writer in long form as well. He’s funny and cynical yet accessible. Liked the book an awful lot and will always love Wilco.
November 30, 2018
In my opinion, this should win a prize for best memoir of 2018. No, I haven't read them all but this is a wonderful book. Jeff Tweedy, for those who don't know, is a musician and lead singer of a couple of different bands, most notably Uncle Tupelo and Wilco. I know his name because of a Dylan cover on the soundtrack for the Todd Haynes movie about Dylan, I'm Not There, but have never really got to know Wilco's music. I heard Tweedy interviewed and was so taken with him that I got the book. A happy choice--and the audio version is especially good, as narrated by himself.
The story Tweedy has to tell is honest, funny, sad, revealing (what is it like to be a rock musician, what is it like to make a record in a recording studio), thoughtful and insightful--about being creative, navigating a potentially rejecting world, dealing with demons and your very own self, in all its complexity. I--a woman, older, not a musician, not mid-western--have little in common with Jeff Tweedy, but so much of what he rights is so fundamentally true that I saw myself again and again: we were both weepy kids, is just one example that knocked me over with recognition, and understanding as he explored that aspect of himself.
Jeff Tweedy is not the biggest rock star in the world, but he is and has been for decades a working musician, singer, lyricist. He has had serious troubles with drugs and illness. He has been blessed with good parents, a wife and two sons. They are all interesting characters in their own right. And (this maybe is a spoiler--it came as a surprise to me) one of the most unusual and effective aspects of the audio book was the participation of Jeff's wife Susie and elder son, Spenser, in the narrative. This was seamlessly done and there was something so gratifying, so real, so... joyful almost.
Having finished the book, I now turn to getting to know the music of Wilco and related projects. Because a guy this bright and devoted to his craft will not, I think, disappoint me musically.
The story Tweedy has to tell is honest, funny, sad, revealing (what is it like to be a rock musician, what is it like to make a record in a recording studio), thoughtful and insightful--about being creative, navigating a potentially rejecting world, dealing with demons and your very own self, in all its complexity. I--a woman, older, not a musician, not mid-western--have little in common with Jeff Tweedy, but so much of what he rights is so fundamentally true that I saw myself again and again: we were both weepy kids, is just one example that knocked me over with recognition, and understanding as he explored that aspect of himself.
Jeff Tweedy is not the biggest rock star in the world, but he is and has been for decades a working musician, singer, lyricist. He has had serious troubles with drugs and illness. He has been blessed with good parents, a wife and two sons. They are all interesting characters in their own right. And (this maybe is a spoiler--it came as a surprise to me) one of the most unusual and effective aspects of the audio book was the participation of Jeff's wife Susie and elder son, Spenser, in the narrative. This was seamlessly done and there was something so gratifying, so real, so... joyful almost.
Having finished the book, I now turn to getting to know the music of Wilco and related projects. Because a guy this bright and devoted to his craft will not, I think, disappoint me musically.
June 5, 2019
I took the GRE a few days ago, and before the exam I spent a couple months studying vocab. One of my favorite newly learnt words is raconteur, n. "a person who is skilled in relating stories and anecdotes interestingly" (Dictionary.com). Jeff Tweedy is a raconteur. He's got a good story to tell, and he tells it really well. Reading this book I laughed out loud maybe ten times, I cried once, and I also felt lots of emotions that didn't manifest so physically. I found myself going back and listening to each record as he talked about it. Considering I wasn't a big Wilco-listener until circa The Whole Love, I discovered most of their music long after it was released. Rediscovering the music along with the context and story behind it gave me a better understanding of the evolution of the band and Tweedy and everything else, which I appreciate a lot. The moments that stuck out to me most were the transcripts of conversations between him and Susie or him and Spencer- they were a powerful, insightful, meta, grounding addition. There were plenty of bits and pieces of Tweedy's life I already knew about and plenty I knew absolutely nothing about; either way I thoroughly enjoyed going along for the ride.
November 24, 2018
As a Wilco fanatic, y'all are lucky I don't give this eleven stars. Tweedy's early chapters seem to struggle a bit to find the right voice (it's a little aggressively quirky early on), but once he finds his groove the book is a very satisfying and often moving look into the big picture issues that fans want to know about (namely, the fallings out with Jay Farrar and Jay Bennett and Jeff's own opioid addiction). I'd have liked a bit more focus on the specifics of making each album and a few more anecdotes of life on the road (like the great story about the time Tupelo ends up headlining a show for Johnny Cash), but it's a solid rock memoir for fans.
March 31, 2020
In retrospect, it shouldn't surprise me that Jeff Tweedy is a grood writer (that's great, with reservations for ya). I've been a fan of Wilco for some time now. Rather, I've been several different Wilco fans. Near the end of the book Tweedy talks about how different fans look for different things in the band. There are the ones who only like a certain album. That's the type of fan I was for a while. I loved Summerteeth and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. But then I kind of fell off the wagon, thinking that their newer sound wasn't as exciting.
But then several years ago, a wiser older me decided to listen to newer Wilco and I fell in love with them all over again. Yes, their newer stuff isn't as knob-twiddly, but I actually like it even more than their early breakout albums. Now I've become the fan that he describes in his book as ones who kind of expect change, and is along for the ride no matter what they do. Part of what's exciting about the band is how they continue writing deeper into their experiences, into who they are. Listening to Wilco is like getting to spend time with a friend. I feel like my relationship with their music has grown along with them, and I appreciate all their artistic decisions as you would appreciate a friendship growing into different phases.
Another thing that surprised me about this book (and that shouldn't have) is how funny Jeff Tweedy is. I already knew he was vulnerable, smart, kind, sensitive. And I thought he was funny too, through his songs... a kind of humor (sometimes lyrically sometimes purely musical) that's just oddball enough to make me chuckle and think "did he mean that to be funny? or is he just weird?" But for some reason I didn't think it would translate into his writing. But it did.
I loved that this book doesn't linger. He starts the book immediately in media res, and often chapters start in the middle of already telling you a story. He hits all the highs and lows that are important without being too self-important as to think you'd be interested in the boring parts of his life as well. It's a book mostly about his life... childhood, growing up, how he got into music, his band, and his family.
The rockstar life is also talked about (meeting Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan, playing shows, etc), but it's not the focus here. In fact, the more you get to know Jeff Tweedy, the more he just seems like a normal dude who has his problems, but learned from them and conquered them (and continues to work at them), and values what he now has in life all the more for it. He is down to earth, and constantly works to disabuse the reader of the notion that many have of art... i.e. the myth that you have to suffer to create art. Or the myth that inspiration just comes to artists instead of coming from sustained hard work, etc.
Of course all Wilco fans also want an exclusive look at the inner workings of the songwriting, and Jeff doesn't withhold in that department. I was especially fascinated when he talked about how he came up with his lyrics... being a poet myself and not musical at all, I often wondered if musicians write the music first or the lyrics first. I've heard some say one and others say the other. Apparently Jeff Tweedy writes the music first, with a mumble track. Then he listens to it and lets his subconscious do the work of filling in what he thinks he heard himself singing in those early demo tapes. It makes sense as his lyrics are sometimes nonsensical but also makes a sort of sense. And it is also validating, even in my own artform, because I often try different strategies to catch myself unawares... to get to that subconscious place before my conscious mind muddles it all up into something that makes too much sense.
I think you'd like this book even if you aren't a huge Wilco fan. But then again I'm biased. Also, if you stopped listening to them after YHF, might I suggest listening to Sky Blue Sky. And Sukierae by Tweedy.
But then several years ago, a wiser older me decided to listen to newer Wilco and I fell in love with them all over again. Yes, their newer stuff isn't as knob-twiddly, but I actually like it even more than their early breakout albums. Now I've become the fan that he describes in his book as ones who kind of expect change, and is along for the ride no matter what they do. Part of what's exciting about the band is how they continue writing deeper into their experiences, into who they are. Listening to Wilco is like getting to spend time with a friend. I feel like my relationship with their music has grown along with them, and I appreciate all their artistic decisions as you would appreciate a friendship growing into different phases.
Another thing that surprised me about this book (and that shouldn't have) is how funny Jeff Tweedy is. I already knew he was vulnerable, smart, kind, sensitive. And I thought he was funny too, through his songs... a kind of humor (sometimes lyrically sometimes purely musical) that's just oddball enough to make me chuckle and think "did he mean that to be funny? or is he just weird?" But for some reason I didn't think it would translate into his writing. But it did.
I loved that this book doesn't linger. He starts the book immediately in media res, and often chapters start in the middle of already telling you a story. He hits all the highs and lows that are important without being too self-important as to think you'd be interested in the boring parts of his life as well. It's a book mostly about his life... childhood, growing up, how he got into music, his band, and his family.
The rockstar life is also talked about (meeting Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan, playing shows, etc), but it's not the focus here. In fact, the more you get to know Jeff Tweedy, the more he just seems like a normal dude who has his problems, but learned from them and conquered them (and continues to work at them), and values what he now has in life all the more for it. He is down to earth, and constantly works to disabuse the reader of the notion that many have of art... i.e. the myth that you have to suffer to create art. Or the myth that inspiration just comes to artists instead of coming from sustained hard work, etc.
Of course all Wilco fans also want an exclusive look at the inner workings of the songwriting, and Jeff doesn't withhold in that department. I was especially fascinated when he talked about how he came up with his lyrics... being a poet myself and not musical at all, I often wondered if musicians write the music first or the lyrics first. I've heard some say one and others say the other. Apparently Jeff Tweedy writes the music first, with a mumble track. Then he listens to it and lets his subconscious do the work of filling in what he thinks he heard himself singing in those early demo tapes. It makes sense as his lyrics are sometimes nonsensical but also makes a sort of sense. And it is also validating, even in my own artform, because I often try different strategies to catch myself unawares... to get to that subconscious place before my conscious mind muddles it all up into something that makes too much sense.
I think you'd like this book even if you aren't a huge Wilco fan. But then again I'm biased. Also, if you stopped listening to them after YHF, might I suggest listening to Sky Blue Sky. And Sukierae by Tweedy.
March 31, 2019
I don’t read biographies because, but I will read this one again.
Because.
Because.
December 27, 2019
I knew I would like this book, but was truly surprised by just how much I loved it. What a wonderful memoir <3
July 23, 2022
This entertaining book will appeal most to Wilco's many fans. Tweedy is a charmer. Whether his readership extends beyond the band's fanbase will depend on how far-reaching is Tweedy's fame, for what's redoubtable in the Goodreads comments below is how the oeuvre carries dissent within two generations of Tweedy fans -- a not un-Johnny Cash-like career, name-checked within, and a possible analogue, especially for those of us who followed Uncle Tupelo and were surprised at how profitably Tweedy exemplified Alternaland -- the nineties culture of post-punk music and semi-popular media culture that has a whole other set of demographic coordinates, as well. At least two anecdotes here puzzle out Wilco's fame. Early in the book, Tweedy takes his entire family out to dinner during a 2005 home return to see his folks in Belleville, Illinois, on a weekend that happens to be, in Belleville, that of his 20th high school class reunion. Putatively Tweedy is telling us this to show that he never writes songs as revenge for how ill-regarded he was in school; but something else is going on. When two women from his high school class approach the Tweedys' table, it takes the memoirist a moment for the scales to fall from his eyes to recognize wealthier high school classmates with whom he didn't run, who are nonetheless sorry to hear that Tweedy has no plans to attend the reunion. Tweedy is less remorseful about this than his interlocutors: "I needed to 'catch up' with her like I needed to sit down with Madonna and reminisce about all the times I watched the 'Lucky Star' video on MTV as a teen."
Next comes an Alternaland face-off: One of the women asks Tweedy if he's "still in that little band" he'd been in after high school -- this, to be sure, is Uncle Tupelo, started when Tweedy was still in his teens -- to which, Tweedy assures her, in dry understatement, that he still is. Just then, however, his idealized son, the drummer Spencer Tweedy, curtly informs the woman papa has recently received a Grammy award for that "little band" he's in -- Wilco. "Now isn't that neat," the woman parries. The memoirist savors this bit of what he calls "midwestern sarcasm": "Midwestern sarcasm plays it straight and makes you listen more closely. You have to treat every conversation like a safecracker. Unless your ears are trained to hear it, you'll miss the hint of a minor key. Sometimes you don't realize what's happened until hours later, when it's 3:00 am and you're half-asleep, and suddenly it hits you: 'Aw crap, they didn't mean any of that, did they?'" Tweedy goes on: "Midwestern sarcasm becomes even more deadly when it's combined with small town isolationism. These women had been cheerleaders in high school, not indie-rock aficionados, and Wilco isn't exactly a household name."
No, however, American Popular Culture is a big wave, and many a small midwestern boat made from a pop corn bucket washed up on the tide sails like a jolly tidy ship at sea. From a pocket of isolationism, Tweedy understood there was a culture, and a market for his band's work. Tweedy & Farrar were signed by Joe McEwan at Warner/Sire, and Tweedy survived McEwan's tenure there, at first, it seems, by buying back the masters on Yankee Hotel Foxtrot from the company and then putting it out on Nonesuch, where it was a career-top seller for Wilco. Another instance of understanding where one is located, of knowing your value, like our media pundits say. Tweedy is reluctant even in this memoir to say much about business, business is good, why jinx it. But he does talk about his songwriting collaborators, Jay Farrar and Jay Bennett. Bennett was the Steve Gaines in Tweedy's Wilco mix, who became more and more integral to what they were doing until Tweedy had difficulty recognizing it anymore as his. Farrar, Tweedy's original co-conspirator of Uncle Tupelo, comes from a St. Louis musical family, and had nowhere near, so it seems, Tweedy's appetite for success. (There are worse people from whom to learn Midwestern sarcasm than from Jay Farrar.) Tweedy needed to escape it, to Chicago, where his love was a very together music world person herself, for his charm and his vision of a musical community to become reality. Sometimes, among hipsters, it can be difficult to imagine the necessity community consists in. Tweedy is a player. Amazing to those of us who knew the twenty-four year old, but gratifying too. In the other anecdote I was saying puzzles his fame, Tweedy is in rehab, trying to get a handle on his painkiller addiction. A floor mate hears the singing guitar player-author and assures him that he has something special. Tweedy shows how this guy had no idea that Tweedy was a professional musician -- but that's what Tweedy is: a professional musician.
Next comes an Alternaland face-off: One of the women asks Tweedy if he's "still in that little band" he'd been in after high school -- this, to be sure, is Uncle Tupelo, started when Tweedy was still in his teens -- to which, Tweedy assures her, in dry understatement, that he still is. Just then, however, his idealized son, the drummer Spencer Tweedy, curtly informs the woman papa has recently received a Grammy award for that "little band" he's in -- Wilco. "Now isn't that neat," the woman parries. The memoirist savors this bit of what he calls "midwestern sarcasm": "Midwestern sarcasm plays it straight and makes you listen more closely. You have to treat every conversation like a safecracker. Unless your ears are trained to hear it, you'll miss the hint of a minor key. Sometimes you don't realize what's happened until hours later, when it's 3:00 am and you're half-asleep, and suddenly it hits you: 'Aw crap, they didn't mean any of that, did they?'" Tweedy goes on: "Midwestern sarcasm becomes even more deadly when it's combined with small town isolationism. These women had been cheerleaders in high school, not indie-rock aficionados, and Wilco isn't exactly a household name."
No, however, American Popular Culture is a big wave, and many a small midwestern boat made from a pop corn bucket washed up on the tide sails like a jolly tidy ship at sea. From a pocket of isolationism, Tweedy understood there was a culture, and a market for his band's work. Tweedy & Farrar were signed by Joe McEwan at Warner/Sire, and Tweedy survived McEwan's tenure there, at first, it seems, by buying back the masters on Yankee Hotel Foxtrot from the company and then putting it out on Nonesuch, where it was a career-top seller for Wilco. Another instance of understanding where one is located, of knowing your value, like our media pundits say. Tweedy is reluctant even in this memoir to say much about business, business is good, why jinx it. But he does talk about his songwriting collaborators, Jay Farrar and Jay Bennett. Bennett was the Steve Gaines in Tweedy's Wilco mix, who became more and more integral to what they were doing until Tweedy had difficulty recognizing it anymore as his. Farrar, Tweedy's original co-conspirator of Uncle Tupelo, comes from a St. Louis musical family, and had nowhere near, so it seems, Tweedy's appetite for success. (There are worse people from whom to learn Midwestern sarcasm than from Jay Farrar.) Tweedy needed to escape it, to Chicago, where his love was a very together music world person herself, for his charm and his vision of a musical community to become reality. Sometimes, among hipsters, it can be difficult to imagine the necessity community consists in. Tweedy is a player. Amazing to those of us who knew the twenty-four year old, but gratifying too. In the other anecdote I was saying puzzles his fame, Tweedy is in rehab, trying to get a handle on his painkiller addiction. A floor mate hears the singing guitar player-author and assures him that he has something special. Tweedy shows how this guy had no idea that Tweedy was a professional musician -- but that's what Tweedy is: a professional musician.
December 30, 2018
AMAZING. I need some time to process. My vote for best non-fiction book I’ve read in 2018!
May 15, 2019
Really lovely, charming, and warm-hearted. His writing is very much of a piece with his music. A++
August 19, 2019
:) I like this book so much :)
February 4, 2019
I truly appreciate Jeff’s discussions about the creative process, loss, addiction, and interpersonal relationships with difficult people. I leave with more respect than I thought I could have, even as a longtime fan.
February 6, 2019
I work at a library, and as a result of that, the books that I own often sit on my shelves, gathering dust as I read the many books I take home and have due dates that make them more urgent to read and return by a certain due date. I love the books I own. I want to own them. I want to read them. I just...don't often get around to it.
I asked for Jeff Tweedy's memoir for Christmas, along with some other books. I got excited every time I saw Jeff Tweedy sitting there in particular, and yet I continued reading the things I took home from work. BUT, when Dan and I went to Lake Geneva for the weekend, I was fresh off of my latest read as we prepared to leave, and I decided I was only going to bring books with us that I owned. Then I couldn't decide which, of three, I was going to read.
As you can tell by the fact that I am writing this review right now, Jeff Tweedy won. (Wow, I've had a lot to say in this review so far, huh? And yet so far not any of it is about the book. Prepare yourself: even when I end this parenthetical, I'm pretty sure I won't start talking about the book right away, exactly).
One of my best friends introduced me to Wilco when I was in college, I think. They're one of her favorite bands, and she decided I needed to listen to which was a good call on her part. I've been with her to see Wilco at least once (I think maybe twice?), and I've watched the documentary, I Am Trying to Break Your Heart. One of my favorite things on the walls of our home is a Wilco poster that was gifted to Dan by an ex-girlfiend. So, yes, I'm on the Wilco train -- but not, like, HEAVY on it? I like Tweedy's voice, I like that they are hometown dudes, and I think I've listened to all their CDs at least once. I'm a fan, but not hardcore.
But man, oh man, I think after reading Let's Go... I'm going to be listening to a lot more Wilco (and Jeff Tweedy and Mavis Staples and Uncle Tupelo) in the coming days. Because I just kind of want to drown myself in Jeff Tweedy (but not in a creepy way).
I loved this memoir. Like, a lot. Tweedy is crazy smart, and really funny, and seemingly unafraid to admit when he is wrong, or could have done better, or just straight up f***ed up. His voice is interesting and refreshing and unique. His adoration for his wife and sons is obvious and endearing. His love of what he does and how much of that need to be creative is just at the core of who he is as a human is also clear. I appreciate how candid he is about his family, his life growing up, and how that impacted who he became - in both good and bad ways.
I think one of the things that made this so enjoyable was the fact that it felt real. I didn't get the impression that he was putting on airs, or trying to sugarcoat some of the tougher things in life. Does that mean that everything here is 100% accurate? I mean, probably not. Tweedy is human, and this story is told through the lens of his experience. But I do think it's true to him and how he sees things, and that he makes a stronger effort than most to provide as objective a take as he can on what he's been through, and what he's done.
The music and the various albums and phases of it play a role in this story, but not in the way I expected. They are there in the background, serving as his way of remembering what was going on in his life at the time. The experience of making the album is talked about, more than any particular songs, for the most part. And that's okay. Because it still somehow all makes sense.
At the end of the day, Tweedy just feels like a guy. As fallible and human as any of us. I mean, also, one who has had a pretty prolific career that is still going pretty strong, and has created his own FESTIVAL centered around his band. But other than that, you know, just a typical dude who loves his family and does his best.
And I love the crap out of that.
I asked for Jeff Tweedy's memoir for Christmas, along with some other books. I got excited every time I saw Jeff Tweedy sitting there in particular, and yet I continued reading the things I took home from work. BUT, when Dan and I went to Lake Geneva for the weekend, I was fresh off of my latest read as we prepared to leave, and I decided I was only going to bring books with us that I owned. Then I couldn't decide which, of three, I was going to read.
As you can tell by the fact that I am writing this review right now, Jeff Tweedy won. (Wow, I've had a lot to say in this review so far, huh? And yet so far not any of it is about the book. Prepare yourself: even when I end this parenthetical, I'm pretty sure I won't start talking about the book right away, exactly).
One of my best friends introduced me to Wilco when I was in college, I think. They're one of her favorite bands, and she decided I needed to listen to which was a good call on her part. I've been with her to see Wilco at least once (I think maybe twice?), and I've watched the documentary, I Am Trying to Break Your Heart. One of my favorite things on the walls of our home is a Wilco poster that was gifted to Dan by an ex-girlfiend. So, yes, I'm on the Wilco train -- but not, like, HEAVY on it? I like Tweedy's voice, I like that they are hometown dudes, and I think I've listened to all their CDs at least once. I'm a fan, but not hardcore.
But man, oh man, I think after reading Let's Go... I'm going to be listening to a lot more Wilco (and Jeff Tweedy and Mavis Staples and Uncle Tupelo) in the coming days. Because I just kind of want to drown myself in Jeff Tweedy (but not in a creepy way).
I loved this memoir. Like, a lot. Tweedy is crazy smart, and really funny, and seemingly unafraid to admit when he is wrong, or could have done better, or just straight up f***ed up. His voice is interesting and refreshing and unique. His adoration for his wife and sons is obvious and endearing. His love of what he does and how much of that need to be creative is just at the core of who he is as a human is also clear. I appreciate how candid he is about his family, his life growing up, and how that impacted who he became - in both good and bad ways.
I think one of the things that made this so enjoyable was the fact that it felt real. I didn't get the impression that he was putting on airs, or trying to sugarcoat some of the tougher things in life. Does that mean that everything here is 100% accurate? I mean, probably not. Tweedy is human, and this story is told through the lens of his experience. But I do think it's true to him and how he sees things, and that he makes a stronger effort than most to provide as objective a take as he can on what he's been through, and what he's done.
The music and the various albums and phases of it play a role in this story, but not in the way I expected. They are there in the background, serving as his way of remembering what was going on in his life at the time. The experience of making the album is talked about, more than any particular songs, for the most part. And that's okay. Because it still somehow all makes sense.
At the end of the day, Tweedy just feels like a guy. As fallible and human as any of us. I mean, also, one who has had a pretty prolific career that is still going pretty strong, and has created his own FESTIVAL centered around his band. But other than that, you know, just a typical dude who loves his family and does his best.
And I love the crap out of that.
December 18, 2018
Muy para hardcore-fans de Tweedy/Wilco, pero disfruté mucho leer a un tipo del que he aprendido tanto con canciones. Obviamente habla de música, de su curiosa adicción a los calmantes y de, en el fondo, cómo es esto de convertirse en adulto exponiendo todas sus heridas en canciones.
February 10, 2019
Way funnier than I expected it to be. Come for the Wilco stories, stay for the jokes about circumcision and murdering Dave Grohl.
December 29, 2018
I didn’t want this book to end. It’s so special, so perfect. I mean, I’ve been a Wilco fan from the beginning so I expected this book would be FOR ME, but what I didn’t expect was how hilarious, touching, honest, sincere, and profound Jeff Tweedy would be in telling his story, and in tandem, Wilco’s story. I always know a book is excellent when I can’t stop myself from reading passages aloud to my husband. I do it because I NEED TO SHARE THE BRILLIANCE IMMEDIATELY. I read a lot of passages aloud from this book. I was so impressed throughout by Jeff’s writing style, humor, and candor. There is heavy stuff in here. And light stuff. And love. And music. I wish I could read it again for the first time.
March 12, 2020
"If you picked up this book looking for wild, druggy stories about my addiction to opiates, you're out of luck. I want to put those years behind me. And frankly, there isn't much to tell. When you take a lot of Vicodin, your life is not a nonstop Algonquin Round Table . . . That last part was a joke. Jesus, of course I'm going to write about the drugs. I'm pulling your leg. Would you have believed Keith Richards if he'd started his memoir with "Listen guys, the less said about my experiences with heroin the better. I'd rather just write about what it's like to be a grandfather?"
Jeff Tweedy is a perspicacious guy. Midway through his autobiography, he calls me out, when he writes that there is a certain kind of Wilco fan who lost interest after Jay Bennett was fired. If I'm being perfectly honest, that's me. As far as I'm concerned, the Wilco trifecta is Being There, Summerteeth, and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Those albums were a huge part of my youth. I saw Wilco three times in the period from 1999 to 2002, twice with Bennett and once shortly after his departure. The shows were great.
If you like Wilco, you should absolutely read this book. Even if you don't like Wilco, you should probably still read it. Tweedy is a great writer—wry, engaging, sincere. And incredibly honest. What's amazing is how forthright this book is. Tweedy holds nothing back. You get all the dirt about his relationship with Jay Farrar, the dissolution of Uncle Tupelo, the drama behind the recording YHF, being dropped by their label, kicking Jay Bennett out of the band, packages of pills being FedEx'ed to the recording studio, puking backstage at an R.E.M. concert in Milan, his rehab, his family turmoil, his wife's battle with cancer, his experience of being sexually assaulted when he was young, and his eventual recovery, his bond with his children and parents. It's all in the book.
You hear about his midwestern upbringing, in a southern Illinois river town where his dad and older brothers worked for the railroad(!). How on the nose is that? I mean, if this was fiction, no one would buy it. You hear about his childhood love of The Minutemen, and going to see X and The Ramones as a teenager. After all the previously mentioned dirt, you get the reflections on life from a middle-aged rock star who's found balance, cranking out moderately well-reviewed albums every few years, writing and recording with Mavis Staples, touring with Bob Dylan, etc.
This book made me think maybe I should give late-period Wilco a second chance.
I really like half the songs on A Ghost Is Born. Never got into the three albums that followed. Their most recent, Ode To Joy is decent. Also Star Wars is kind of fun in a weird, spastic way. I haven't listened to much of his solo record, but I really liked "Having Been Is No Way To Be." Great title.
Here are some quotes:
"Too much ambition gets a bad rap in my line of work. If you grew up in the late twentieth century loving or wanting to be a part of the punk or indie rock scene, you were expected to at least give the appearance of not caring and giving the least possible amount of effort. Of course, it's a lie. Does anyone think Devo just happened with minimum effort?! The Ramones?! Pavement?! I'd be willing to bet every band you've ever heard of worked hard and had crazy ambition. Maybe it went away at some point or they got content to coast, but trust me, at some point they worked their asses off and dreamed grand and triumphant dreams. Listen, it's a cop-out to hide ambition and pretend aspirations are shameful. It's a way to protect yourself. Preemptive sour grapes."
"When I started being able to get my guitar to make sounds resembling what I was hearing on records, it wasn't just a sense of accomplishment; it was bigger than that, a naive feeling that I was the first person in the world to do this. Maybe that's a character flaw, but it was a huge part of it for me, elemental to why I wanted to do this at all. It would've been so much harder to keep at it without that feeling . . . I remember when I figured out how to do the standard da-da-dada Chuck Berry riff, it was like I'd split the atom. It was that monumental. It was never just, "Oh, a lot of people know how to do this, and now I do too." It was "Holy shit, I just invented rock and roll!""
"I fired Bennett from Wilco because I knew if I didn't, I would probably die. That sounds like hyperbole, but it's really not."
“If there’s one thing that’s 100 percent true about every intoxicated person in world history, it’s that you shouldn’t believe them when they say they love you. The only difference between you and that slice of cold pizza back at their apartment is that they haven’t met the pizza yet.”
“The Chicago historian Studs Terkel asked Bob Dylan in the sixties about how he went about writing a song and trying to outdo himself, or at least being as good as the last song he wrote, and his response was pretty damn perfect. “I’m content with the same old piece of wood,” he said. “I just want to find another place to pound a nail . . . Music, my writing, is something special, not sacred.” If the songs Bob Dylan wrote aren’t sacred, then nobody’s songs are sacred. Nobody’s. No one has ever laid on their deathbed thinking, “Thank god I didn’t make that song. Thank god I didn’t make that piece of art. Thank god I avoided the embarrassment of putting a bad poem into the world.” Nobody reaches the end of their life and regrets even a single moment of creating something, no matter how shitty or unappreciated that something might have been."
“I’ve heard people complain about my guitar when I play solo shows. “Why does he insist on playing that guitar? It sounds like it’s strung with rubber bands.” To which I say, Um . . . Shut the fuck up, get your own guitar and ring like a silver bell for all I care. I need a guitar with strings that don’t sound like a twenty-year-old who wakes up at five a.m. and has a venti iced Americano and is ready to seize the day! I need strings that sound like me, a doom-dabbling, fifty-year-old, borderline misanthrope, nap enthusiast.”
“Every time somebody asks me, “How ’bout the Cubs?” I want to respond with “Yeah, the Cubs, they’re going to die someday. Do you ever think about that? All of them. All of them. Rizzo. Bryant. The one with the goatee. The other ones. The entire team. Some of them probably soon, you don’t know. They could be dying right now while we’re sitting here making conversation about baseball. Death is lurking.” Susie always wants me to come with her to these type of gatherings and she almost always regrets it.”
Jeff Tweedy is a perspicacious guy. Midway through his autobiography, he calls me out, when he writes that there is a certain kind of Wilco fan who lost interest after Jay Bennett was fired. If I'm being perfectly honest, that's me. As far as I'm concerned, the Wilco trifecta is Being There, Summerteeth, and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Those albums were a huge part of my youth. I saw Wilco three times in the period from 1999 to 2002, twice with Bennett and once shortly after his departure. The shows were great.
If you like Wilco, you should absolutely read this book. Even if you don't like Wilco, you should probably still read it. Tweedy is a great writer—wry, engaging, sincere. And incredibly honest. What's amazing is how forthright this book is. Tweedy holds nothing back. You get all the dirt about his relationship with Jay Farrar, the dissolution of Uncle Tupelo, the drama behind the recording YHF, being dropped by their label, kicking Jay Bennett out of the band, packages of pills being FedEx'ed to the recording studio, puking backstage at an R.E.M. concert in Milan, his rehab, his family turmoil, his wife's battle with cancer, his experience of being sexually assaulted when he was young, and his eventual recovery, his bond with his children and parents. It's all in the book.
You hear about his midwestern upbringing, in a southern Illinois river town where his dad and older brothers worked for the railroad(!). How on the nose is that? I mean, if this was fiction, no one would buy it. You hear about his childhood love of The Minutemen, and going to see X and The Ramones as a teenager. After all the previously mentioned dirt, you get the reflections on life from a middle-aged rock star who's found balance, cranking out moderately well-reviewed albums every few years, writing and recording with Mavis Staples, touring with Bob Dylan, etc.
This book made me think maybe I should give late-period Wilco a second chance.
I really like half the songs on A Ghost Is Born. Never got into the three albums that followed. Their most recent, Ode To Joy is decent. Also Star Wars is kind of fun in a weird, spastic way. I haven't listened to much of his solo record, but I really liked "Having Been Is No Way To Be." Great title.
Here are some quotes:
"Too much ambition gets a bad rap in my line of work. If you grew up in the late twentieth century loving or wanting to be a part of the punk or indie rock scene, you were expected to at least give the appearance of not caring and giving the least possible amount of effort. Of course, it's a lie. Does anyone think Devo just happened with minimum effort?! The Ramones?! Pavement?! I'd be willing to bet every band you've ever heard of worked hard and had crazy ambition. Maybe it went away at some point or they got content to coast, but trust me, at some point they worked their asses off and dreamed grand and triumphant dreams. Listen, it's a cop-out to hide ambition and pretend aspirations are shameful. It's a way to protect yourself. Preemptive sour grapes."
"When I started being able to get my guitar to make sounds resembling what I was hearing on records, it wasn't just a sense of accomplishment; it was bigger than that, a naive feeling that I was the first person in the world to do this. Maybe that's a character flaw, but it was a huge part of it for me, elemental to why I wanted to do this at all. It would've been so much harder to keep at it without that feeling . . . I remember when I figured out how to do the standard da-da-dada Chuck Berry riff, it was like I'd split the atom. It was that monumental. It was never just, "Oh, a lot of people know how to do this, and now I do too." It was "Holy shit, I just invented rock and roll!""
"I fired Bennett from Wilco because I knew if I didn't, I would probably die. That sounds like hyperbole, but it's really not."
“If there’s one thing that’s 100 percent true about every intoxicated person in world history, it’s that you shouldn’t believe them when they say they love you. The only difference between you and that slice of cold pizza back at their apartment is that they haven’t met the pizza yet.”
“The Chicago historian Studs Terkel asked Bob Dylan in the sixties about how he went about writing a song and trying to outdo himself, or at least being as good as the last song he wrote, and his response was pretty damn perfect. “I’m content with the same old piece of wood,” he said. “I just want to find another place to pound a nail . . . Music, my writing, is something special, not sacred.” If the songs Bob Dylan wrote aren’t sacred, then nobody’s songs are sacred. Nobody’s. No one has ever laid on their deathbed thinking, “Thank god I didn’t make that song. Thank god I didn’t make that piece of art. Thank god I avoided the embarrassment of putting a bad poem into the world.” Nobody reaches the end of their life and regrets even a single moment of creating something, no matter how shitty or unappreciated that something might have been."
“I’ve heard people complain about my guitar when I play solo shows. “Why does he insist on playing that guitar? It sounds like it’s strung with rubber bands.” To which I say, Um . . . Shut the fuck up, get your own guitar and ring like a silver bell for all I care. I need a guitar with strings that don’t sound like a twenty-year-old who wakes up at five a.m. and has a venti iced Americano and is ready to seize the day! I need strings that sound like me, a doom-dabbling, fifty-year-old, borderline misanthrope, nap enthusiast.”
“Every time somebody asks me, “How ’bout the Cubs?” I want to respond with “Yeah, the Cubs, they’re going to die someday. Do you ever think about that? All of them. All of them. Rizzo. Bryant. The one with the goatee. The other ones. The entire team. Some of them probably soon, you don’t know. They could be dying right now while we’re sitting here making conversation about baseball. Death is lurking.” Susie always wants me to come with her to these type of gatherings and she almost always regrets it.”
October 6, 2019
There is so much to love about this book. First, I thought Jeff Tweedy's discussion of his mental health journey and experience with addiction was incredibly moving. He talks about his struggles with the insight of someone who engaged with therapy for a long time and worked really hard at getting to know his own self, and it's such a refreshing and honest series of reflections. Additionally, he addresses his privilege as a white, straight man often, still recognizing that even wealthy or privileged people in some ways can experience profound trauma, simply as the result of brain chemistry. He never seems overly defensive or insensitive about what goes well or poorly for him; instead, he just seems like someone with an incredibly wide range of emotions, and I really related to that.
Secondly, this book is REALLY funny. He is super witty, and again, his ability to make even heavy topics seem light is really special, and it gives me hope for those who I know who struggle from dark times.
Also, I think he talks about parenting, his creative process, and grief from his parents' passing in ways that really, really touched me.
This is a book I'd REALLY urge readers to experience on audio. The emotion in his voice is unmistakeable at times, and there are cameos from his wife and son, which I thought was a really special touch.
I couldn't wait to return to this one once I had to put it down, and I cannot recommend it enough!
Secondly, this book is REALLY funny. He is super witty, and again, his ability to make even heavy topics seem light is really special, and it gives me hope for those who I know who struggle from dark times.
Also, I think he talks about parenting, his creative process, and grief from his parents' passing in ways that really, really touched me.
This is a book I'd REALLY urge readers to experience on audio. The emotion in his voice is unmistakeable at times, and there are cameos from his wife and son, which I thought was a really special touch.
I couldn't wait to return to this one once I had to put it down, and I cannot recommend it enough!
December 2, 2019
Just a very interesting story by Jeff Tweedy about his life, his musical development over time, Wilco, and where he is at now.
For me, this started strong - loved the part about growing up and his childhood.
The middle part lacks focus and wanders a bit, and lacks a deep dive in some areas that I would be very interested in hearing much more about.
That may be the downside of taking over the project and making it a solo autobiography effort, that there is no external author saying what readers will be interested in hearing more about and directing it. In addition, my sense is that he goes easy on others, or simply does not want to get into situations where it would encompass saying bad things about others. (He does not go easy on himself.) Of course, without the control of doing it himself, we may never have seen this book, which would be a shame.
The last part of the book finishes strong. This is a story of addiction, how it effects his life, and how he overcame or continues to deal with addiction. His compelling description was sobering, no pun intended or wanted.
I would recommend this book.
For me, this started strong - loved the part about growing up and his childhood.
The middle part lacks focus and wanders a bit, and lacks a deep dive in some areas that I would be very interested in hearing much more about.
That may be the downside of taking over the project and making it a solo autobiography effort, that there is no external author saying what readers will be interested in hearing more about and directing it. In addition, my sense is that he goes easy on others, or simply does not want to get into situations where it would encompass saying bad things about others. (He does not go easy on himself.) Of course, without the control of doing it himself, we may never have seen this book, which would be a shame.
The last part of the book finishes strong. This is a story of addiction, how it effects his life, and how he overcame or continues to deal with addiction. His compelling description was sobering, no pun intended or wanted.
I would recommend this book.
January 11, 2019
This is probably the best memoir I've ever read. It was funny and sincere. Jeff Tweedy told an awesome story here and answered the questions many fans have on their minds. He put his life and struggles out there, so readers could relate. I'd probably read this again and would definitely recommend it.
October 19, 2019
Prior to reading this book, I had heard of Wilco but wasn't familiar with its music or band-members. I did something I rarely do... chose to read it based on its title.
Tweedy's memoir is very thoughtful and moving. He describes his upbringing, introduction to music, bands, and later, his depression. What struck me most about Mr. Tweedy? His humility.
Recommended.
Tweedy's memoir is very thoughtful and moving. He describes his upbringing, introduction to music, bands, and later, his depression. What struck me most about Mr. Tweedy? His humility.
Recommended.
July 10, 2023
I have had a strange relationship with the band Wilco. I don’t claim to be a longtime fan or one of their most knowledgeable or dedicated, but I have certainly always felt incredibly drawn to them. I think that Jeff and his songs have been ones that I go to when I need to feel. They are the front runners in “songs where I have no idea what the hell they mean but I can feel buckets of emotion in” (see Via Chicago).
Jeff is unique in the sense that he is one of the most self-aware and grounded authors and musicians I have ever had the pleasure of reading from. The man knows himself now - after opioid addiction, childhood trauma and abuse, band dysfunction and so much more, he’s reached wise old guy status and dished out some gnarly perspective.
I’ve had a difficult relationship with music in my life. It’s made me cry, hate myself, and want to never pick up a guitar again, but also, it’s made me feel like I’m on top of the world. The very fact that I know how to play the guitar and that I can carry a tune well enough has been one of the most important things to ever happen to me and one of the biggest parts of my identity - whether I choose to share it or not.
“When a song is finished, and it has its final coat of paint, it makes me sad. I mourn all the choices I didn't make. I can still hear the overdubs I didn't add, the notes that were left out, the guitar parts that are just all wrong. That's when I realize I've ruined it. That's not false modesty. Any song that ever originated in a person's imagination and was translated into notes and words is inherently inferior to its potential. When a song is rattling around my subconscious, it's still limitless, which means I haven't found a way to fuck it up yet.
Once a song goes out into the world, that's when it really gets ru-ined. Other people get to listen to it and make it worse, by misreading intentions and judging and weighing in with opinions. I'm right there with them. Not just my songs, but all songs. People ruin every-thing. My songs are never as good as they were in my head when they had limitless forms and belonged only to me. It's a leap of faith every time to share them. I do it willingly, because if I held on to my songs I'd eventually be the one to break the spell and I'd be the one ruining them. And that's the only thing I can think of that could be worse than other people's opinions.”
I read that and had a good cry because I felt so seen and heard. I have never been able to explain what terrifies me so much about sharing my ideas. I hope that this book can help me move forward and repair my relationship with music a little bit. Maybe I can keep writing music for me, and if I ever feel like taking that leap of faith, great. If not, at least I feel so alive in those moments alone in my bedroom, where I can pour out my heart to the wall. I can’t forget that.
Jeff is unique in the sense that he is one of the most self-aware and grounded authors and musicians I have ever had the pleasure of reading from. The man knows himself now - after opioid addiction, childhood trauma and abuse, band dysfunction and so much more, he’s reached wise old guy status and dished out some gnarly perspective.
I’ve had a difficult relationship with music in my life. It’s made me cry, hate myself, and want to never pick up a guitar again, but also, it’s made me feel like I’m on top of the world. The very fact that I know how to play the guitar and that I can carry a tune well enough has been one of the most important things to ever happen to me and one of the biggest parts of my identity - whether I choose to share it or not.
“When a song is finished, and it has its final coat of paint, it makes me sad. I mourn all the choices I didn't make. I can still hear the overdubs I didn't add, the notes that were left out, the guitar parts that are just all wrong. That's when I realize I've ruined it. That's not false modesty. Any song that ever originated in a person's imagination and was translated into notes and words is inherently inferior to its potential. When a song is rattling around my subconscious, it's still limitless, which means I haven't found a way to fuck it up yet.
Once a song goes out into the world, that's when it really gets ru-ined. Other people get to listen to it and make it worse, by misreading intentions and judging and weighing in with opinions. I'm right there with them. Not just my songs, but all songs. People ruin every-thing. My songs are never as good as they were in my head when they had limitless forms and belonged only to me. It's a leap of faith every time to share them. I do it willingly, because if I held on to my songs I'd eventually be the one to break the spell and I'd be the one ruining them. And that's the only thing I can think of that could be worse than other people's opinions.”
I read that and had a good cry because I felt so seen and heard. I have never been able to explain what terrifies me so much about sharing my ideas. I hope that this book can help me move forward and repair my relationship with music a little bit. Maybe I can keep writing music for me, and if I ever feel like taking that leap of faith, great. If not, at least I feel so alive in those moments alone in my bedroom, where I can pour out my heart to the wall. I can’t forget that.
August 17, 2023
I want to be Jeff Tweedy when I grow up.
I like Wilco, but I love this book. Tweedy comes across as refreshingly down to earth, willing to admit when he is wrong and even how he's struggled to live up to the expectations of being a "rock star." (Which, frankly, he doesn't.) He's worked hard on his marriage, dotes on his two sons, and really works at being a professional musician, whether it's writing a song every day or simply trying to express in music what's going on in his brain.
He freely admits his struggles, including a mental health crisis that put him in a facility for months (and not one of the high-priced ones you read about; this was a run-of-the-mill place in Chicago where his housemates were felons and the fallen). He agonizes over his wife's cancer, laments the way he left relationships with people he no longer plays with, and simply puts one foot in front of the other.
(Also, he converted to Judaism for his wife and sons. A fellow landsman! I never would have expected that. Too bad he only hints at the story of his adult bris.)
He finds things to admire in all kinds of music and doesn't put down the stuff he doesn't like. Even the story of Uncle Tupelo's tour bus -- provided by the record label and formerly used by Kiss, with the attendant decor -- comes through with a gentle smirk.
He sounds like a good guy to hang around with -- and he's a great, and honest, storyteller. After all the predictable rock memoirs I've read, it was nice to be continually surprised by one that was willing to burrow deep inside.
I like Wilco, but I love this book. Tweedy comes across as refreshingly down to earth, willing to admit when he is wrong and even how he's struggled to live up to the expectations of being a "rock star." (Which, frankly, he doesn't.) He's worked hard on his marriage, dotes on his two sons, and really works at being a professional musician, whether it's writing a song every day or simply trying to express in music what's going on in his brain.
He freely admits his struggles, including a mental health crisis that put him in a facility for months (and not one of the high-priced ones you read about; this was a run-of-the-mill place in Chicago where his housemates were felons and the fallen). He agonizes over his wife's cancer, laments the way he left relationships with people he no longer plays with, and simply puts one foot in front of the other.
(Also, he converted to Judaism for his wife and sons. A fellow landsman! I never would have expected that. Too bad he only hints at the story of his adult bris.)
He finds things to admire in all kinds of music and doesn't put down the stuff he doesn't like. Even the story of Uncle Tupelo's tour bus -- provided by the record label and formerly used by Kiss, with the attendant decor -- comes through with a gentle smirk.
He sounds like a good guy to hang around with -- and he's a great, and honest, storyteller. After all the predictable rock memoirs I've read, it was nice to be continually surprised by one that was willing to burrow deep inside.
March 6, 2023
“I think that’s the secret to this line of work—you have to be okay with music being a great thing to do, and not rely on it to be the thing that makes you rich or even the thing that pays all of your bills. As long as it’s something that makes you feel better and you wake up every morning wanting to get back in the studio to make something else, then there’s not much anyone can fucking do to ruin it. You can find an audience. You can take your time. You can find your voice. You can find new ways to express yourself. You can explore it. You can get better at it. If you keep it close, no one can take that from you. It exists. The beautiful part has existed and it will continue to exist.”
. . . Don’t text.
. . . Don’t text.
February 16, 2019
This memoir from Uncle Tupelo and Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy is an excellent read if, like me, you’re a fan. I was intrigued to read about how he writes his songs, and the dynamics and history of his bands, and found his writing style warm and entertaining. There was a lot about his family – both his childhood home and the one he’s made with his wife Susie (who has the patience of a saint) and his two sons Spencer and Sammy. He also provides an insight into his much-publicised addiction to painkillers, and how difficult it was for him to admit he needed help and go into rehab. You probably do have to be a fan of his to enjoy this, but you probably wouldn’t read it anyway unless you were!
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