Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot Review

To say the release of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot – and the subsequent battle with their record label that ensued – catapulted Wilco into mythic status kind of misses the point. You can’t earn mythic status without the music to back it up, and this album proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Wilco made music worthy of mythologizing. There had been glimpses of genius on Wilco’s previous albums, but the critics were too content to pigeon-hole the band into the “alt-country” tag and dismiss it at that.

And then came Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Initially scheduled to release on Reprise, the record label heard the finished product and declined to release it, citing a lack of commerciality. Bootlegs of the album leaked widely on the Internet and proved that fans were eager to support Wilco, which garnered interest from several other record labels. The album was eventually released on Nonesuch to wide critical acclaim. By refusing to compromise their artistic integrity, the story went, Wilco had earned their hero status.

But don’t let this behind-the-scenes drama distract from the music, which is extraordinary. The whole sound of the album is very unusual, warm acoustic melodies laced throughout with often-dissonant sonic augmentation that references the album’s theme of short-wave radio transmissions (from which the title Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was inspired.) And yet, at the basis of this sound are heartwarming and even catchy pop songs. As such, the album often sounds like a lost late-Beatles album, (which shouldn't really come as a surprise, since it was mixed by 'fifth Beatle'" Jim O'Rourke.)

The songwriting is held together by a general theme of wry heartbreak – frontman Jeff Tweedy’s favorite and best subject.

Highlights include the subversively lovable "Kamera", the strangely soulful "Jesus, Etc.", the danceable "Heavy Metal Drummer," and the charming major-minor "I'm the Man Who Loves You."

But the album is strongest when listened to in its entirety - its true genius comes from the fact that it expertly navigates every strange nuance of emotion that accompanies a heartbreak of any kind. And because of this, the album works best when listened to start to finish, so that the false toughness of the opening track ("I Am Trying To Break Your Heart") gives way to the sweet vulnerability of "Kamera" ("Phone my family/tell them I'm lost/and no it's not okay,") before delving even deeper into the bleak despondency of "Radio Cure" ("Cheer up honey/ I hope you can/There is something wrong with me.")

From here, the album shifts to a theme of getting over it, from the morbid rebirth of "War on War" ("You have to learn how to die/if you want to be alive,") to the weary reassurance of "Jesus, Etc." (Jesus, don't cry/You can rely on me honey/You can come by any time you want/I'll be around,") to the wispy hope of "Ashes of American Flags" ("I want a good life/with a nose for things/a fresh wind and bright sky/to enjoy my suffering".)

Then it's time for bittersweet nostalgia to kick in with "Heavy Metal Drummer" ("I miss the innocence I've known/Playing KISS covers, beautiful and stoned") and "I'm the Man Who Loves You" ("If I could, you know I would/just hold your hand and you'd understand/I'm the man who loves you.")

Finally, there's a shift to overcoming anger on "Pot Kettle Black" ("I'm tied in a knot/But I'm not gonna get caught/Calling a pot kettle black") and grieving the loss on "Poor Places" ("My jaw's been broken/My heart is wrapped in ice/My fangs have been pulled/But I really want to see you tonight".) And finally, the album ends in a kind of heart-wrenching, self-blaming acceptance with "Reservations" ("How can I convince you it's me I don't like/and not be so indifferent to the look in your eyes//It's not about you."

Much like a good breakup, this is one remarkably complex album. And far from lacking commercial appeal, its unusual beauty earned Wilco their first gold record.