However frosty the relationship between Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy had become by the time of the original 1993 release of Anodyne (10/5/93), both were able to muster enough civility to co-produce the appropriately-titled final LP by Uncle Tupelo, the fourth studio effort of the alt-country pioneers and, in no small irony its first on a major label, namely Sire Records.
The group’s pairing with alt-country pioneer Doug Sahm, on the Texas Tornado’s own tune “Give Back the Key to My Heart,” may have only been designed to inject some warmth into an alternating sequence of songs that seems like nothing so much as an emotional thrust and parry between the principals.
But that accommodating gesture in itself speaks volumes about the dialogue between the two almost fully estranged bandleaders taking place via respective originals from Farrar (“High Water”) and Tweedy (“We Been Had'”). The back-and-forth gives new meaning(s) to the word designated as the title: ‘anodyne’ can be defined as a calming agent or a source of blandness, so either or both perspectives, among many others, may apply here.
Especially with the benefit of three decades of hindsight, the self-referential nature of the opening song is unmistakable. It’s further notable that Farrar didn’t include the word ‘clean,’ along with “Slate,” in the title of his most mournful tune. Amplifying the world-weary sound of the author’s singing is Max Johnston’s fiddle.
As if to deliberately counteract that effect, Tweedy’s vocal on “Acuff Rose” is much more upbeat, as is the aforementioned multi-instrumentalist’s playing. But the future frontman of Wilco (who formed almost immediately upon Farrar’s announcement of his departure in 1994) sounds altogether fatalistic on “The Long Cut:” it may actually be the last vestige of Tupelo’s respectful relish for punk, evinced by previous covers of The Stooges “I Wanna Be Your Dog” (see 89/93: An Anthology).
The slam of drums from Ken Coomer, like the loud electric guitars, threaten to drown Jeff out (and he almost sounds like he wouldn’t mind). Meanwhile, Farrar’s “Chickamauga” is the simultaneous counterpoint and companion piece; as despondent in tone as it is noisy in arrangement, its distance from the country-bluegrass likes of the opener is indicative of how much more literal-minded Tupelo sounds on this album and how, in turn, the musicianship lacks the unity of the band’s earlier efforts.
Not surprisingly–and altogether fittingly–the aforementioned title song is a balanced blend of influences rather than mere fragments. Crisp electric rhythm guitar meshes with pedal steel, while acoustic guitars form a backdrop for Farrar’s staunch but fragile singing: no one could sound more personally forlorn or stylistically authentic.
Nor could anyone sound much more bitter than Tweedy on “We’ve Been Had.” The ache is palpable in his voice and pain reeks throughout both the rhythm and lead electric guitars, to the extent it’s amazing the band even agreed upon promotional tours for this album (except perhaps out of loyalty to manager Tony Margherita).
Nonetheless, verbal altercations eventually led to physical ones during live shows during this time. Such animosity belies the delicacy of arrangements including the intermix of acoustic guitar picking and dobro for “Fifteen Keys.” And the way bittersweet pedal steel echoes the hope in the lyrics of “High Water,” this song of Jay Farrar’s might well stand as the epitaph for this influential band.
Perhaps that’s why Jeff Tweedy sounds so muted on “No Sense in Lovin’.” He knows full well demise is imminent for the group he joined at the behest of its then-leader and his current partner, but it’s rightfully left to the latter man to declare it dead with the repeated (and altogether accusatory) refrain of “Steal the Crumbs:” ‘ …no more will I see you.’
Anodyne was remastered and re-released in 2003, expanded in the process to include five bonus tracks that corroborate the point(s) within the original dozen tracks. “Stay True” and “Wherever,” by Farrar and Tweedy respectively, represent a more oblique commentary on their fractious relationship, while modern country icon Waylon Jennings’ “Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way,” another track from the album sessions, is no more of a mere leftover than those two. Rather, it’s at once an additional observation of their predicament and homage to the idiom both of the band’s standard bearers still admired.
Meanwhile, the pair of live cuts originally issued on a promo-only item–“Truck Drivin’ Man” and “Suzy Q”–speak to the joy of making music that not only permeated Uncle Tupelo’s early work at its best, but also the pinnacles of these forty-five minutes playing time as released on the same label as the Ramones, Talking Heads, Replacements et. al. Despite the band itself (or at least its principals), such brilliant intervals flash more than once this time, not just on the allegorical “New Madrid.”
The subsequent activities of Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy further emphasize the foundation of their collaboration in Uncle Tupelo. Both recorded debuts of Wilco (A.M.) and Son Volt (Trace) contain even finer blends of country and folk music with rock and roll, but whereas the former would quickly proceed into uncharted experimental territory with LPs like 1999’s Summerteeth, the latter would refine the distinctive style, beginning with the sophomore long-player, Straightaways, then all the way to 2009′ American Central Dust, fittingly released on the roots-oriented Rounder Records label.
In the long run, Tweedy and his band have proven themselves far more commercially successful, but that may have as much to do with their willingness to promote themselves (see Tweedy’s bit part on Parks And Recreation but even more to the point, 2002’s I Am Trying to Break Your Heart: A Film About Wilco). Farrar himself is hardly so inclined and instead embarked upon a solo career in 1999.
He’s since regrouped Son Volt and reconfigured its lineup multiple times since. The personnel has remained fairly stable in recent years, however, so it hardly seems a coincidence that, on the largely (or at least implicitly) topical songs that comprise 2019’s Union and Electro Melodier two years later, the bandleader has composed his most cogent material since Tupelo releases on Rockville Records like No Depression.
In a very real sense, Son Volt carries on proudly where its increasingly mythic forebears left off thirty years ago.
One Response
Nice one. That’s Joe Ely singing “Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way?”.