Song Of The Day: Wilco and Nancy Sinatra "These Boots Are Made For Walking" And Why Jeff Tweedy Is The Luckiest SOB Ever!


Okay, seeing Wilco perform "These Boots Are Made For Walking" with Nancy Sinatra herself at last weekend's Americanarama Festival in Irvine, CA was a lot of fun.  It was nice to see Wilco not get too campy with it, or try to be cool and change it in some way that ends up ruining it.

Of course, I'd expect nothing less from that bunch of overly precious hired guns, which is what Wilco has been for quite some time.  Come on, admit it, they look like a bunch of computer programmers up there most of the rest of the time.  Without those guys noodling studiously behind him, though, Jeff Tweedy would be revealed as the fraud that he is.  Go ahead, count how many guys it takes to cover up Jeff Tweedy's black hole of anti-talent.  I'll wait.

Seriously, is there a luckier human being among us?  Let's see, a singing range that makes Dave Pirner's look positively Pavarotti-esque by comparison), could write great pop songs (as Summerteeth proved he could do) but such things are apparently beneath his superior intellect or something, and the higher up his own ass he gets, the more beloved he becomes.  It's an amazing thing to behold, it really is.  Who among us would not give our left arm to have our every utterance worshipped with half the zeal as one of Jeff Tweedy's burrito farts?  Even those who are allowed into his orbit become infinitely more interesting by association, which is the ONLY reason anyone can explain why I'm continually fast-forwarding past Glenn Kotche playing water faucets on my TV.


Here's the thing:  I actually consider myself a pretty big Jeff Tweedy fan.  It has nothing to do with his music, though.  Instead, what I most admire is how he has managed to cultivate this "aw shucks" Forrest Gump-like demeanor that disguises the otherwise mercurial and moody little fella he was behind closed doors.

So, let's see...

1. modest musical talent,
2. reluctant songwriter,
3. looks like somebody hit him in the face with a shovel,
4. and he's kind of a dick in real life.

Well, sure, that sounds like just the guy to connect with a worldwide audience of creative, touchy-feely types.

He may not have killed Jay Bennett, but the way he treated the best musical friend he could ever hope to have is something that still astounds me to this day and I don't even have a horse in that race.  I just can't get over somebody having the solid-gold clackers to treat someone that way.  Of course, all of that stuff has been white-washed out of the official story and Tweedy continues to be regarded as musical royalty, sharing stages with the likes of Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen, mentioned in the same breath as Gram Parsons and Nick Drake.

Anytime I see Jeff Tweedy onstage with a bunch of rock & roll luminaries, I can't help but wonder if Bob Dylan (whose own talent I find highly suspect as well) isn't shaking his head and going, "How'd that guy get up here?"

Superior St. Rehearsal Facility

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