Part of Who Are Wilco? (Disc. #2)

Being There is sort of an anomaly for a double album, in so much as the total running time of the two discs only amounts to about 76 minutes, not an inordinate sum for the 80 minute compact disc era. The band’s decision to split the album up could have proved questionable, but so much noticeable thought was put into the sequencing of each stand alone disc, that it’s easy to overlook the indulgence. Even still, this is a modern double album, and ultimately a handful of tracks could go and we’d have been none the wiser. As a result, Being There is a record that consistently gets let off the hook for its weak spots. However, if there was ever an album whose highs so far outweigh its lows as to render them nearly incremental by comparison, it would have to be Being There. Besides, half the album’s charm lies in its lofty consideration of itself as a musical statement. By this point, Wilco were becoming serious musicians, and they now had the double album to prove it.

Being There’s two discs are each anchored by stellar opening tracks, both of which evidence the band as an increasingly restless creative entity. The experimental techniques that so defined their turn of the millennium material is still somewhat in chrysalis here, but you can certainly hear the static transmissions of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot in the distance of twin openers “Misunderstood” and “Sunken Treasure.” As the tracks swim around in canyons of distortion, heeding little respect to any sort of pronounced structure, it’s almost as if the band was finally announcing “This ain’t your Dad’s alt-country,” a sadly less convincing statement in light of the tunes they’ve been giving us for the last half decade. 

Nothing on the remainder of the two discs is as artistically sound as these openers, yet Being There is still scattered with many moments nearly as memorable. The wanton “Wilco (The Song)” from their latest record was basically D.O.A. in my mind, as Wilco already has an anthemic signature tune in the form of “Outtasite (Outta Mind),” it’s indelible opening line (“I know we don’t talk much but you’re such a good talker”) as contradictory as the former song’s title. This track, along with the album’s other furious rave-up “I Got You (At the End of the Century),” stand out on a record that actually excels more in its quiet, considered moments than in its rock gestures. Disc 1 closer “Say You Miss Me” may be Jeff Tweedy’s single best ballad, while Disc 2’s penultimate track “The Lonely 1” proves that slow and reflective doesn’t mean wandering and undeveloped, something the band hasn’t even come close to reconciling the last few years.

So if Being There kind of works in spite of itself, that’s not necessarily a reflection on the group’s then-growing inspiration, which would soon lead to two of the best records of the modern era. Wilco threw many (too many probably) ideas at the wall with this sophomore album, and the fact that a majority of them stick and continue to be fan favorites 13 years (!) later speaks to the group’s internal dynamic, even while working within pretty conventional standards. If nothing else, Being There proves that this kind of competent, reliable sound can work if the songs are actually there. Wilco may very well have another great album in them, but, judging by recent efforts, it’s more likely to come through experimentation than convention, as they had basically perfected the latter with Being There.

Last Word:

Wilco’s beloved sophomore album found the band refining their more conventional alt-country techniques while beginning to experiment more openly with dissonance and structure.

Review By:
Jordan Cronk, Music Editor

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