Strong Legs
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
MOTM Jeff Tweedy
Jesus, don't cry
You can rely on me honey
You can combine anything you want
I'll be around
You were right about the stars
Each one is a setting sun
Tall buildings shake
Voices escape singing sad sad songs
Tuned to chords strung down your cheeks
Bitter melodies turning your orbit around
I know you saw this from a shit shake away that is if you've been watching and listening with a Wilco slant (one reason why this blog is a few days late) that's a big bowl of oranges and what springs from it is a spatter of nutritious juice that is a juicy Mr Tweedy a vitamus spray a lyrically stable significance that clenches a very deep part of me one that is better suited for a world where pretending is effective [just] not to anyone but me or it would be failure a failure as in a text sent hurling into the undesired future of the recipient a chord or progression of intense real that makes Jeff Tweedy so pretty it's like hard for me to even look at him without feeling like i could curl up with him in a major way and get to the heart of the matter and it's not about sex or sexlove even though I'm convinced that every things' baseline is sexual, but not this, specifically about really looking at desire and balancing it delicately on a point that intersects the scientist that exists in all of us and the romantic non scientific in all of us, that like me, wishes its ability to pretend had become a facet somewhere the evolutionary plane perhaps around the time when mating erroneously became lovemaking or something but Tweedy has encouraged me not to stray from recognising a talent beyond most and when I use the word tidy, I mean it with all due respect and not meant to establish a quality to his appearance but rather the sum of Tweedy's complicated parts even the parts that are dark and disheveled and at one point perhaps dependent on controlled narcotics emerges a perfection a talent that uses confusing bytes to create a whole that is, if you listen with a Wilcritical ear, a passionate nerdy and it makes me very very happy when I hear the exactness of a person's talent the event of that artist who has recognised his own potential and not just in working hard but in the knowing he's good and in also recognising that his ability to speak to people live from the stage without the context of the musical float causes a stumble with an artistic bent the kind of bent that makes us smile knowingly even though we don't know that kind of inner torment so prevalent in those people who excel in a way that alienates us but with Tweedy as he has struck a method that gestures to us on purpose, and with the connection but give him notes and out pours some beauty that is really special to me despite his unsettled lyric but I am so impatient with dumb that only through the darkness even a teeny glimpse into his type of art is a gift fit even for me, Tweedy here (fyi, his drummer is killer):
there is something wrong with me
my mind is filled with silvery stuff
honey kisses, clouds of fluff
oh distance has no way of making love
understandable
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