There was a time, That time is gone (again)

On stage, Jay Farrar reminds me of that Ten Commandments monument down in Alabama. He doesn't do a whole lot but stand there, kind of cold and roped off, but eveyone is going fucking nuts around him. I caught myself bobbing up and down on the First Ave mainroom floor like a college girl, to songs where he barely blinked his eyes while singing. I honestly believe that the American songwriting ladder goes something like Cole Porter, Woody Guthrie, Hank Williams, Bob Dylan, Jay Farrar. But Jesus, tap your foot, wiggle your knee, spit on somebody in the front row if you have to. I thought we were in for a real treat when he opened up the gig with Punch Drunk. "Man oh man," I thought, "here it comes." For the most part, he knocked me senseless. It's impossible to not be struck dumb by his songwriting abilities. Lovely, melodic, instrospective, intelligent, dark...always dark. You go numb in Jay's darkness after a while. As far as I know, he's happily married, has some kids, his own label and recording studio, and every long-haired, folk-rock, six string, jean jacket, college kid since about 1990 absolutely worships him.

He's been asked in every interview that he's done since 1994 if Uncle Tupelo is ever going to get back together. You know what? Who gives a shit? The first thing you Minnesota Nice people need to grasp is the aching finality of a Missouri (pronounced Missour-uh) blood feud. Brothers...BROTHERS in Missouri stop talking to each other because of one fight they had when they were 17; it's a betrayal thing. Someone you love unconditionally pisses on you and it hurts.

Well, here's our result...You were probably at the Wilco show at the Walker...Jeff Tweedy's free form jazz odyssey. What the hell was that? I'm not saying it was bad, I'm saying, "What the hell was that?"

Let me flesh this out. Standing on the floor, about ten yards away from Jay Farrar last night, I knew I was watching a master perform absolutely beautiful, original, Amercian roots music. It was good, and it made me emotional. But, it didn't appear to make Jay emotional. He got all wound up at the end of the encore for the cover of Neil Young's "Like a Hurricane" with Canyon, but his own music doesn't do that to him? And that's when it hit me.

He shook off Jeff, then the Boquist brothers, and now there's no one up there on stage with him to agitate him. Same with Tweedy...first Jay, then Jay Bennet, now it's just Jeff and the loop back feature of his keyboard player's synth.

Creative people can be extraordinary by themselves. But, they can be off the charts good with a little adverse or unusual input that shakes them up, makes them nervous, depressed, or angry. Look at some of the high water marks we got from Johnny Cash with Rick Rubin. This kind of grizzly, hardcore guy in sunglasses takes an icon and drags the fight out of him onto 4 records.

I don't know shit about Jay Farrar. His show last night was fantastic, but I wanted more. I wanted to see the fight. I wanted to see him acknowledge the raised glasses, lighters, the hoots and hollers. I wanted him to look at that 6'2", 90 pound hillbilly savant guitar player for Canyon who stood in complete darkness the whole night, wink, smile, and flip him off.