Wilco has delved into country music before. A quarter-century ago, Jeff Tweedy, alongside bassist John Stirratt and a different lineup, released *Being There*, a double album that firmly established his identity beyond Jay Farrar’s shadow. This 1996 release surprised many following Wilco’s solid debut, *A.M.*, with its dynamic range from somber twang to rootsy power-pop, embodying both tender sweetness and barroom bravado, and featuring epic excursions like “Sunken Treasure.” From the moment the glassy-eyed ballad “Misunderstood” thundered to life, it was clear Tweedy was destined for greatness beyond Uncle Tupelo.
While *Being There* pushed against and sometimes obliterated genre boundaries, country was embedded in Wilco’s sound. The double-album format was an intentional statement: Tweedy famously insisted on splitting the 19 songs into two halves, even taking a pay cut to make it happen. The circumstances for *Cruel Country*, Wilco’s new behemoth collection, are different. Fans today are more likely to buy the album on vinyl, necessitating its 78 minutes be divided into two records. This time, the creative conceit is country music itself—a genre Wilco has never fully embraced.
“Wilco goes country” is more of a thought experiment here than a practical reality. There’s a bit more pedal steel and slide guitar on these 21 songs, but compared to albums like *Mermaid Avenue* with Billy Bragg, *Cruel Country* isn’t especially twangy. In tone and disposition, it’s similar to Tweedy’s recent meditative works. For the first time since 2007’s *Sky Blue Sky*, the six members of Wilco recorded live together, creating a consistent vibe across the tracklist.
*Cruel Country* may not blow you away like Wilco’s earlier albums from *Being There* to whichever point you believe they stopped making masterpieces. It might even bore you, depending on your mood. Yet, the more time spent with the album, the more it reveals its depth. This album rewards deep, active listening, with what feels like Tweedy’s best collection of lyrics to date. It’s a masterful display of subtlety in writing, arrangement, and performance.
The older, more mature Wilco may not capture the explosive energy and adventurous spirit of their earlier days, but *Cruel Country* stands on its own merits. Tweedy’s songs now often embody a sigh—sometimes exhausted, sometimes contented, but almost universally low-key, rendered in shades of greyscale and sepiatone by Tweedy and co-producer Tom Schick. *Cruel Country*, again produced by Tweedy and Schick, leans towards minimal overdubs and subtle gestures.
This album is a patient listen, with its graceful ramblers, weary slow-drifts, and barebones acoustic ballads. It can feel slow and samey if you’re not in tune with its wavelength, like getting stuck behind someone ambling down the sidewalk at their own pace. However, if you’re open to being wowed by understated beauty, *Cruel Country* is worth the time. The band understands how to combine into a dazzling overflow of sound when needed. Songs like “Tired Of Taking It Out On You” and “The Empty Condor” echo past glories but remain present and alive.
The lyrics are a standout, showcasing Tweedy’s ability to abstract his musings on the world just enough to provoke contemplation. Lines like “I love my country, stupid and cruel” sting amidst recent headlines, yet the album isn’t just a political statement. It blurs the lines between the confessional, philosophical, and impressionistic. Tweedy’s insights into the messiness of life ring true, whether he’s being direct or abstract.
*Cruel Country* is a great album, full stop. It requires patience and deep listening to fully appreciate its intricacies. Some of the most staggering Wilco songs of the past decade are buried deep within its second disc, waiting to be discovered. The album’s beauty and depth might not be immediately apparent, but it grows on you with time. Just as a mature palate comes to appreciate fresh produce, *Cruel Country* reveals its splendor to those willing to invest the time.