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A Film about Wilco by Sam Jones

The relationship between the Powers that Be and the world's great artists has never been an easy one. 
Think of the David and King Saul story. David played his harp at Saul's request. Saul did not like what David had to offer, so he threw a spear at him. David somehow got too close to the truth. Or perhaps he was just too innovative. Whatever... Saul wanted what Saul wanted... to be soothed, to be comfortable. Perhaps David was following the muse rather than trying to please the audience. While David was persecuted for a while, his integrity exonerated him as a great artist, and Saul was shame-faced. That's how the story goes. (Sorta.)

This story happens all the time in the world of art. Well, at least part of the story does. Many artists have moments of inspiration and innovation, and many subsequently suffer rejection and misunderstanding. Few live to see the scoffing critics and bureaucrats overcome. 

The "Saul," whether it is the record label or the audience clamoring only for "more of the same," looks with displeasure on the honest artist, the innovator, the truth-teller, the groundbreaker. The artist, desiring to be true to the vision rather than true to the Top 40, risks rejection by crafting something new. David insisted, "Sing to the Lord a new song." Why? Because then the work has "the ring of truth". The audience knows that they aren't being fed a line. The "original" work is something genuine, the message of someone who has been to a different mountain and seen a different view. But, sadly, the masses aren't generally interested in discovering something new. They want what is comfortable.

Introducing Wilco... a band that commercial success has eluded. They remained truly alternative while "alternative rock" became mainstream. They played what has been coined as "alt-country", a sort of solid, organic songwriting with its roots in the Country Music that pre-dates the Top 40 pseudo-country championed by such pop stars as Garth Brooks and Shania Twain. (For other good "alt-country", check out Buddy and Julie Miller, recent work by Emmylou Harris, Sixteen Horsepower, and Neil Young for starters.) Good alt-country boasts musicianship that speaks of education and excellence rather than marketing ploys. 

After releasing some strong rock, pop, and gospel work, including their endeavor to give voice to unrecorded Woody Guthrie lyrics in the "Mermaid Avenue" albums, the band turned to a new project, trying to forge a new sound. That sound became the album "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot", a strange, difficult, experimental record. It was bound to give the record company some trouble. It makes listeners listen to it, repeatedly, before its virtues really become evident. (My review of the album is here.) This is groundbreaking work, and thus is it exactly what the record company does not want to hear.

Fortunately for this group of hard-working artists, who have a passion for excellence, creative freedom, and innovation, filmmaker Sam Jones was there to document what they went through as they tried to record "Y-H-F". When their work was callously rejected by the label, without any real advice or specific complaint, Jones's camera recorded footage at the scene of a crime against art. 

The movie I am Trying to Break Your Heart (appropriately borrowing its title from a "Y-H-F" song) gives us intimate, up-close footage of the band hard at work, following their muse to record new sounds. Lead singer/songwriter Jeff Tweedy and his creative partners, especially Jay Bennett, clearly understand that true beauty is heightened when it is discovered in a context of disorder, and thus the sounds they mess around with on the album are fringed with chaos, feedback, static, and strange effects. Out of these sonically turbulent beds emerge beautiful melodies... just the suggestion of a fully-realized song... as though a great work of Beatles-esque pop were coming over the airwaves on a very weak signal. Making it more complicated, the singer sounds tired, slightly sour and off-key, weighed down by life's disappointments. If you listen, you can hear greatness, but you have to pay attention.

Jones intended just to document the work of his favorite band when he got busy in July 2000. He had no idea what was coming. Nor was he sure just how close the band would let him move the camera. As it is, we hear not only moments of great musicianship at its genesis, but also moments when personalities clash, when misunderstandings divide band members. We see the lead singer at his lowest point. We hear Tweedy searching for just the right mix of sweet and sour in a vocal track. This is fascinating and exciting stuff, especially for Wilco fans, and one might wish that everything had gone smoothly so the movie would have stood as a thorough documentation of a whole album's creation.

Fortunately for Jones, his movie, and the band, something much more dramatic happened. In spite of all of the trust placed in the band by the studio, the support of the fans, and the hype drummed up by critics, when Wilco turned in the album, the record executives didn't like it. As Tom Petty sings, "Their A&R man said 'I don't hear a single.'" Can you blame the record company? They want to make money. They don't want to gamble. But when money is the goal, art dies. Wilco was left with the option to make their record more accessible (and thus less artistic) or else face the consequences.

I don't want to spoil the story, but what happens is inspiring, ironic, and quite revelatory of just how ridiculous and money-oriented the record industry really is. It is also a testament to the integrity and vision of the band.

Jones's film is a bit uneven. But what a challenge he had, distilling a mountain of material into a coherent "story." The result is a sort of three-act play. First comes the chapter about the band's love of music. Then comes the chapter of the pressure that hits as they spend money and time only to fall into major debates and personality conflicts. This leads to a difficult shakeup in the band. The movie then plunges into Act Three, about the problem with the record company, which is a compelling finale with revealing insights from insiders like David Fricke of Rolling Stone. 

I wish the film gave us more time in the studio hearing the music, so that viewers come to care more about the fine work that is being misunderstood by the record company. I wish there had been some context provided, so we would know who Wilco is and where they came from. (Jones was right not to bog down the film in history, but how could there be a film about Wilco that never mentions former collaborator Jay Farrar or Uncle Tupelo, the band from which Wilco was spawned?)  I also wish Jones had backed off from showing us things we didn't really need to see, like a clear shot of Tweedy vomiting into a toilet and then a zoom on the vomit floating there in the water. Gritty? Yes, literally... but necessary? Did we need to see that to be convinced that Tweedy's migraines are really really serious?

What Jones has recorded is nevertheless powerful. It should be seen by anybody who wants to be in a band, or who is already in a band trying to make it big. By letting us listen in on one side of several tense telephone conversations, by showing us small moments of intimate exchange between band members and family members along for the ride, we come to care about these guys and their hard work. And then we want to go see them in concert, which is exactly what I did a few days after seeing the film. When the crowd roared with approval, it was a joyous moment full of triumph, emotion, and understanding. How many artists who have been mistreated, under appreciated, and trampled by the industry will ever have the chance to stand before their audience thoroughly rewarded for their efforts, thoroughly excused, and even celebrated for their accomplishment?

Little David, play on your harp, Hallelu... Hallelujah.

P.S. Where was Sam Jones when Sixpence None the Richer was recording? If he wants to film a sequel, that band's story has similar themes. Or how about the dramatic saga of Chagall Guevara? 

Jeffrey Overstreet 9/9/2002