Wilco's "Sky Blue Sky"

Sky Blue Sky
Wilco
Released May 15th, 2007 (Nonesuch)

I'm really not going to go on about this one. I'm limiting myself to 300 words. Basically, Jeff Tweedy, a man the world came to knew for his bleak observations and profound statements on the much-lauded Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and it's follow-up A Ghost is Born, is now freshly rehabiliated. He hasn't had a cigarette in years, he's off his pain medication, the migraines are few to nil. His band's lineup, as he has proclaimed himself, is in top shape-- the music will be astounding.

But Jeff doesn't want to write about distance making love understandable anymore, or whether Coca-Cola is satanic or not. His head once clouded with sadness and confusion, is now a Sky Blue Sky, and really, I don't care to hear for your complaints. For over ten years and across five LPs (including the live Kicking Television record), Wilco have been consistantly praised for their ground-breaking, genre-pushing efforts. Are they not allowed to take a breath and release music that they just generally enjoy playing? Haven't we already taken enough pleasure from Jeff Tweedy's pain? Close your eyes, forget about their earlier stuff, and just fucking listen.

Remember when Bob Dylan punched you three times in the face with his majestic Bringing Your Blondes All Back Home to Highway 61? Remember a few years later when he released Nashville Skyline? Well, that album has held up over the years, hasn't it? So don't give up on Wilco just because they're letting loose and shakin' off. Put your trust in the man you've come to love and you won't look back.

M. Ward's "Post-War"

Post-War
M. Ward
Released August 22nd, 2006 (Merge)

At the joint cottaging address of David Clarke, the binary Track Three entity had a wonderful opportunity laid at his feet on a summer's eve. The cigarette smoke illumined by a lunar blue, by a porchlight yellow. Weird records half of us hadn't heard of had been on rotation all day, though we couldn't have known the breakwater hadn't yet held forth. We had come across this advance copy of a Merge Records release - POST-WAR, M. Ward 2006. The fact that it was otherwise anonymous was enough to titillate. By the time the album's title track had made its appearance we had been completely and totally disarmed by the breadth, and (almost as important) the brevity.

Christ, what do want me to say? Fuckin' Matt Ward. That's about all I can manage. Since his acclaimed self-release Duet For Guitars #2, Ward has put out quality music each year following. Honestly, this guy is in bed with EVERYONE; from Beth Orton and Neko Case to Conor Oberst and Jim James - you know, just a few names. He's been with both Matador and Merge, currently. It's not surprising of a man so steeped in indie-country and next-wave folk types to have an authorial signature so reliable and so easily identifiable.

Ward’s latest is his shortest and his tightest. It's a succinct walk-through of memories that refuse to be thrown out; the old wooden chest of sepia photographs someone's great-grandkid found one day. His voice hovers somewhere in between the ghost of a long-lost FM radio crooner and starry-eyed nostalgia for the shared loneliness of bygone, dusty-lane Americana. This guy has some of the most assured stuff in this simple genre that some will say is pointless to write in anymore.

Within twenty minutes the album is past the side-two mark, but Ward has already ranged over such diverse sounds, from a Daniel Johnston cover musing on love and death, to an electrified country-rock number. This is to say nothing of the first song, 'Poison Cup', which marks M.Ward's premiere for vocals on an album opener. This is total Ward, a direct line to the acoustically-driven pathos for simpler times right at the outset

Not as though he tries to be some relentless innovator - his albums generally sound like one another. This is in no way a detriment to his discography, however, as his albums only get more concise and a little more polished production-wise with each successive release. There is an almost orchestral air added to the basic balladry purveyed on Ward's albums - the string-and-timpani sound on 'Poison Cup', the ocean-wide rockout on 'Neptune's Net', the quiet indifference of the title track - M. Ward evokes a wandering, broke-heart wisdom that all the king's horses and men are rushing around trying to bullshit and bury. Do yourself a favor and listen.

TRACK PICKS:
'Requiem', 'Afterward/Rag' -S.M.
'Post-War', 'Eyes on the Prize' -S.V.
IDEAL LISTENING SETTING:
Fuckin' whatever, it's Matt Ward.
BE SURE TO CHECK OUT:
Devendra Banhart, Joseph Arthur, Wilco, John Fahey