Tag Archives: Jeff Tweedy

Loose Fur – Loose Fur

Loose FurLoose Fur (Drag City)

Sometimes AM seems so far away. He ascended into experimento land with 2000’s Summerteeth, and leveled off at Gestaltitutde with the acclaimed Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Ever since, erstwhile Uncle Tupelo bassist and insurgent country barnburner Jeff Tweedy set has had his spaced-out ship set to autopilot, the better to take big tokes off the avant-garde bong. While his solo performances still include dollops of downstate charm and some rollicking gems from AM and Being There, Tweedy is just as fond of losing himself in noisy bursts of stuttering, formless guitar that are more experimental than elemental. Loose Fur, his collaboration with the famously unconventional Jim O’Rourke, is another flagstone on Tweedy’s path to enlightenment. Unfortunately, he doesn’t leave many breadcrumbs for the nonbelievers to follow.

Neither an EP nor a full-length, Loose Fur’s self-titled release on the Chicago indie Drag City offers six compositions, including a YHF throwaway and nine minutes of unadulterated wanking. Tweedy and O’Rourke split vocal and lyrical duties roughly in half, while Wilco drummer Glenn Kotche remains mostly out of site. “Laminated Cat” draws on the same isolation metaphors and first-person musings that gave Yankee Hotel Foxtrot its slightly claustrophobic feel, while O’Rourke’s “Elegant Transaction” is a fluttering tribute to Nick Drake. Things don’t get really strange until “So Long,” the album’s set piece. With only a tenuous grip on a vague O’Rourke lyric (“Don’t look at me, you won’t find me there/Found a lodger for my face”), the three musicians seem to spend nine minutes stringing snippets of their no doubt fabulous record collections together. Snatches of guitar stop and start over Kotche’s percussion, which sounds like “shave and a haircut, two bits” deconstructed. It’s all very silly, and amounts to self-congratulating nonsense. But this is the sort of thing that “ah-tists” do, you see.

There’s nothing wrong with the avant-garde, or experimental approaches to music. A problem arises only when working within these structures becomes a license for performing music that communicates more between the musicians themselves than their audience. “So Long” might have been a wonderful experience for Loose Fur to perform in the studio, but it’s barely accessible to the listener. While the album’s other instrumental treads some similar ground, it’s rescued by repetition and organic instrumentation that suggests a campfire Stereolab. “Chinese Apple,” Loose Fur‘s final song, is a lovely marriage of English folk and American country balladry. It’s a pretty ending to a loopy, lilting, and mildly irritating release that’s wonderful as a document of musicianly communication, but opaque and a bit boring for the rest of us.

JTL

You can read the Glorious Noise review of Loose Fur’s December 6, 2002 show, and you can buy this album at Amazon.

Jeff Tweedy Solo: Alone Like He’s Supposed to Be

Chicago Wilco fans are a healthy breed. Predominantly males over six feet tall who obviously drank their milk when they were kids. Good Midwestern stock. They take up a lot of space. And at a show as oversold as Wednesday night’s at the Vic, every inch of space counts.

I was feeling grouchy and preparing myself to be disappointed since there was no way I was going to be able to see the stage. I was down on the floor, trying hard to pretend this was a small venue like the Lounge Ax. I figured if I got close enough to the front, it wouldn’t seem like there were quite so many people there. But that’s just dumb. The people with the best seats were the lucky bastards in the front row of the balcony. When the first strums of “Airline to Heaven” started, I strained my neck and stood on my toes, and caught a glimpse of one of my favorite musicians in the world, alone on stage with an acoustic guitar, singing one of my favorite songs. Everything was going to be okay.

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Loose Fur Live: Fuck Art, Let’s Rock

Loose Fur at St. Ann’s Warehouse, NY

Dec. 6, 2002

I hoped the Loose Fur show wouldn’t be an evening of high seriousness. Somehow the presence of experimentalist Jim O’Rourke and even the lettering on the poster of the concert – Tweedy/O’Rourke/Kotche, it announced portentously – foretold solemnity. I’d been to hear O’Rourke a few months ago, playing with the improvisational band White Noise, and it was smart and imaginative music, but as clever as it was, I realized while listening to it that I wouldn’t have minded if was suddenly cancelled by a power failure.

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Trying: The Wilco Movie

Pity Jay Bennett. In I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, Sam Jones’ new “documentary” about the making of Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, the former Wilco guitarist comes across as self-absorbed and out of touch with the rest of the world. Instead of displaying the typical motivation for antisocial musician behavior—sex, drugs, money—Bennett just seems to be a guy who’s not very cool. A geek. Someone mocked by his own bandmates, who has the unfortunately poor judgement to quote himself in an on-camera interview, a musician who spends more time obsessing about esoteric production issues than strumming chords. This is a somewhat expected depiction—Bennett is the guy who got kicked out of the band in the middle of the making of this film. There’s certainly no reason to expect Jones to be fair to him, not when Jones is the guy whose still photography appears in the liner notes to the album. Especially not when Jones is looking to get the band’s cooperation in the release of a double disc DVD of his movie. No, what is surprising is that the rest of Wilco doesn’t come off looking much better than Bennett, especially frontman Jeff Tweedy. “Pot Kettle Black” indeed.

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