Openers the Front Bottoms and Fake Problems impress Say Anything fans at Firebird [Live Review]

The Front Bottoms - Photo by Brian Reilly

Seeing bands that one really likes open for less attractive headliners usually tends to be a disappointing experience.

This is especially true if there are four or more bands on the bill and the sets are clipped short. Mostly it’s just a drag to see the lesser known artists open to crowds who couldn’t care less and who are immersed in just about anything other than paying attention to the stage. On rare occasions, though, the opening band will win over an indifferent crowd and leave them wanting more. Case in point:  Sunday night at the Firebird during the set by New Jersey based, The Front Bottoms.

With an air of nonchalance and looking like he just woke up from a nap, front-man Brian Sella, attired in gym shorts, a D.A.R.E. t-shirt and flip-flops, said hello to the crowd.  Armed with a plain acoustic guitar and an entreating, disarming voice, he broke into the opening notes of “Flashlight” to just a few scattered claps of applause. By the time they finished the second song, drummer Matt Uychich was killing it with his exaggerated gestures, and the addition of Drew Villafuerte on keys was a nice substitute for the horns that appear on the band’s debut self-titled album. The crowd started to wake up and take notice, and the room buzzed when bill-mates Kevin Devine and his Goddam Band flooded the stage to do an enthusiastic sing along to “The Beers.” By the second chorus of, “the summer I was taking steroids…” the kids in the middle of the sweaty crowd joined in and were enjoying the vocals. I even heard some surprised chuckles throughout the set after people ascertained and understood Sella’s clever, amusing lyrics. The Front Bottoms only played six songs for just under 30 minutes, but by 7:20pm they had engaged and charmed the audience into lively hand claps to the choruses. As I watched one of the seemingly few big fans of the band be super drunk, flail his tall can PBR in the air, and crook his arm around his girlfriend’s neck while screaming along, I kept thinking of this interview: “The Front Bottoms are … life and love.” They definitely got love from the Say Anything fans on Sunday.

Fake Problems - Photo by Ryan Russell

The second band of the night was Fake Problems, who can always be counted on for an energetic set when they visit St. Louis. This time I was a bit surprised (pleasantly) by their setlist choices; no appearance by their standard crowd pleasers like “The Dream Team” or “Diamond Rings.” I am guessing that they were catering toward pleasing the stalwart fans they had in the crowd, as opposed to focusing on recruiting new ones. On the down side, this resulted in a distracted, overly-chatty, restless audience on the fringes and near the bar. Though, I did notice the kids who were closer to the stage rocking out mid-set for “5678″ and “Don’t Worry Baby.” This was probably also spurred by singer Chris Farren’s admonition that “this song is about being fucking crazy.” Personally, I was stoked that they played my favorite song from 2009′s It’s Great to Be Alive. I can’t help but mention that I felt that it was a flatter version of Fake Problems than we’ve previously been treated to, but in all fairness this could just have been due to time constraints or the fact that spunky guitarist Casey Lee is no longer in the band. In any case, I look forward to their return.

The Front Bottoms Setlist

• Flashlight
• Rhode Island
• Swimming Pol
• The Beers
• Mountain
• Maps

Fake Problems Setlist

• Soulless
• RSVP
• Songs For Teenagers
• 5678
• Don’t Worry Baby
• There Are Times
• HeartBPM

Ben Kweller – Go Fly A Kite [Album Review]

Ben Kweller - Go Fly A Kite

On his new album, Go Fly A Kite, Ben Kweller turns in a succinct power pop record filled with nuances that will have you reaching to listen to it again and again.  

After a decade of recording and touring in his rear view mirror, the baby-faced Kweller, now in his 30s, is poised to make a jump to another level with this latest album. Overall, fans of the work of Nick Lowe will appreciate Kweller’s mash up of pop, rock, country and hook filled songs on the record. Based in the guitar driven pop of the 80s New Wave, Kweller leaves the dense ’60s orchestration for others making music in the pop vein for a more basic sound. Vocals and harmonies play a starring role, but over 38 plus minutes of music he presents 11 well-crafted pop songs about love, heartbreak and relationships. 

Kweller kicks things off with a bang with the power pop rocker “Mean to Me,” the album’s lead single. With a liberal amount of crunch the song pulls you in with a gritty hook and the energy level keeps building throughout. Hints of classic rock, ’80s and ’90s pop peek through and the horns near the end put it over the top giving the track an anthemic quality.

Whether conscious or not “Out the Door” pays homage to the sound of Beatles guitarist George Harrison. Kweller seems to update Harrison’s homage to Carl Perkins in his own songwriting as the country and rockabilly mixes with pop. The strummed layers of guitars, the jangly picked melody and sweet background vocals conjures ear memories of the ex-Beatles’ solo classic All Things Must Pass mixed with the Jeff Lynne produced quality of Cloud 9 and the sound of the Perkins’ Sun Studios recorded originals.

On the pop gem “Jealous Girl,” possibly the best song on the album, Kweller takes on the jealous nature of a girlfriend of a good friend. The song’s protagonist fights for his friend’s feelings while giving advice to the offending significant other. In the chorus he sings, ”Can’t you let your boyfriend be himself?/Sweet Jealous girl, oh Jealous girl./The only one you’re hurting baby is yourself.” By the end he laments the loss of his friend to the girl, but reconciles it with himself. “It has been three years since you took my friend. He’s been gone for good. I’m just sad that I don’t even miss him like I thought I would.” Arguably the best track on the album, a piano and acoustic guitar provides the basic structure as a jangle guitar adds color and electric guitar adds just a twinge of crunch.  

The beauty of the album is its varied forms of rock and pop. One minute Kweller can go from ”Free,” a slow, sexy ’70s-style classic rock jam and then easily transition back into lighthearted pop of “Full Circle,” complete with a bouncy piano part and a lyric about inclusion.

Slowing down the train near the end of the record Kweller shows considerable depth as he dips his toes into pop country for “I Miss You.” The song, a melancholy lament about losing the one you love after they’ve changed, has a protagonist laying his heart bare for that person in some misguided attempt to get that person back.

One interesting aspect of the album the “instruction manual” that serves as the liner notes and lyric sheet. Most artists have a printed booklet with a lyric sheet containing songwriting credits and details about the recording process. Kweller, however, goes the extra step of adding the chord diagrams like the open “E” major chord on the cover of the album. Whether inclusion of the chords to the songs will create a boost in posts of YouTube videos by aspiring musicians covering Kweller’s songs is unclear, but if you’re an inspiring guitarist or just like to cover his songs, the liner notes will save you from looking up the chords online. Unless, of course, you’re downloading your purchase from iTunes and you’ll still have to look them up.

As the album closes, “You Can Count on Me” moves back to the rolling train beat to chug the work into the sunset. Kweller reminds the listener that while this may be a new record he’s still the same guy, “It’s a sad day ’cause all my old friends have changed / I just want you to know that I’m still the same.” As an older, wiser artist as he sings, “You should know that I won’t disappear on you.” A decade into his career, Kweller is still there writing some of the best hooks around.

Ben Kweller – Go Fly A Kite track list

01. Mean To Me
02. Out The Door
03. Jealous Girl
04. Gossip
05. Free
06. Full Circle
07. Where’s the Rainbow
08. Justify Me
09. Time Will Save The Day
10. I Miss You
11. You Can Count On Me

Presented by 88.1 KDHX, Ben Kweller performs this Friday at Off Broadway with Sleeper Agent and The Dig. Doors at 7 p.m. and show at 8 p.m.

“Mean To Me” – Live

“Jealous Girl” – Live

A Great Big Pile of Leaves, Mansions, and Young Statues at FUBAR – 3/21/12 [Live Review]

It’s noon the day after and my ears are still ringing from last night’s show. I have been seeing loud concerts in small venues for 14 years, which is half my life, and I can remember maybe five shows that left me this deaf the following day. I’m not sure if this tinnitus speaks more about the venue, or the sheer wall of sound from the bands, or both, but I am glad for it. It keeps us young, don’t you think?

This tour didn’t have a clear headliner, but A Great Big Pile of Leaves took the honors last night at Fubar. Hailing from Brooklyn, NY and repped by one of my current favorite labels, Topshelf Records, these guys put on a hell of a show. Their music is a complex mix of indie rock, experimental, progressive… akin to a variety of different genres and bands like Minus the Bear, Hot Rod Circuit, or Good Old War. Eight songs of their nine song set were from the 2010 release, Have You Seen My Prefrontal Cortex? and the addition of the harmonizing vocals and extra guitar was a surprising and welcome change. When they hit their stride four songs in with the album opener, “Alligator Bop,” the sparse crowd began to move and really start to connect with the band’s performance. The lyrics are difficult to discern and only after giving the album a few turns and reading along was I able to figure them out. Front man Peter Weiland has a deep, mesmerizing, almost droning voice and he earnestly sings these melodies over beautifully crafted bars. Then you realize they have some of the most irreverent lyrics ever put to song. I especially enjoyed last night’s inspired version of “I Will Gobble You Up” where the wonderful foods of Thanksgiving are asked to stick around more than one day.

Mansions, aka Christopher Bowden, was who I assumed would be headlining, and the guy (band) I was most excited to see. Last fall, I was obsessed with the song “City Don’t Care” and listened to it religiously for about a month. I first heard the full album Dig Up the Dead while sitting in a younger friend’s apartment surrounded by good people, good beer, and good music. The record made me feel nostalgic for my college years, and so did last night’s show, especially when the opening song was “Blackest Sky” with the chorus, “My youth was stolen from underneath my nose.” Seeing the indie singer/songwriter perform live with a full band really showcased his talent; I thought the addition of the female backing vocals was delightful. The real drummer, borrowed from A Great Big Pile Of Leaves, aspect made the songs seems harder, more visceral, and more alive. That isn’t to say there still weren’t the token moments where the audience connects to the lyrics or the singer’s personal, emotional output, though. I saw one young girl twirling her hair while singing along and rocking back and forth, and (again with the nostalgia) felt like I was observing myself circa 2002 at a Bright Eyes show. Mansions’ eight song set was a cool mix of songs from the newest album, years old EP’s, and even a bonus track from the vinyl-only version of Dig Up the Dead called “All Those Dreams.” The mix was a fitting example of the artist’s prolific discography.

The highlight of the night, though, was the opening band, Young Statues from Philadelphia. Despite technical problems, a dismal crowd of maybe 20 people, and a deafening hardcore show going on in the next room, this band came on stage and killed it for their 40 minutes. The main face of the band, singer/songwriter Carmen Cirignano, exuded charisma and joy and energy as he led the band through their indie rock jams. Kicking off with the upbeat and poppy eponymous “Young Statues,” they enticed what crowd there was to trickle up to the front. The band did a nice job of slowing the pace for two songs mid-set, then bringing it back up to dance mode for the latter half. Secretly, I hoped for the radio-friendly “Losing a Friend” to make an appearance during the down time. During “Seasons Stay the Same,” Cirignano was jumping around and having so much fun that the lone hardcore kid who had wandered over from next door left to get his bandmates and bring them to our side. By the time Young Statues closed their set with “Spacism” and everyone in the room was nodding in time to the lyrics, “You don’t have to say it again, I’ll come around I’ll be your friend,” I knew that they had made a great and lasting impression.

Young Statues set list

• Young Statues
• Athens
• Pretty Girls Make Raves
• Half Light
• Seasons Stay the Same
• Bumble Bee
• Meet Me at the Hudson
• Spacism

Mansions set list

• Blackest Sky
• City Don’t Care
• new song
• Talk Talk Talk
• Holidaze
• Seven Years
• Dig Up the Dead
• All Those Dreams

A Great Big Pile of Leaves set list

• Race Car Driving (instrumental)
• Meet Me at the Mall and Bring Your Swim Trunks
• Vampires in Love
• Alligator Bop
• Great Fun
• new song
• I Will Gobble You Up
• A Few Screws Loose
• We Don’t Need Our Heads

My Town, My Band, Not Quite My Record…At First: Uncle Tupelo — March 16-20, 1992 [Recollection]

Editor’s Note: In our final installment of our look back at Uncle Tupelo’s album, March 16-20, 1992, writer Jeff Fields personalizes his bond with the band from his hometown.  If for some reason this is not enough information for you, more details about the band can be found at this NPR story from last year. 

Uncle Tupelo - Still Feel Gone / March 16-20, 1992 vinyl

by Jeff Fields

Belleville, IL is (in)famous for more than a few cultural exports. I could begin a discourse about Stag beer, Jimmy Connors or Bob Heil, but none of the aforementioned notables ever inspired me quite like Uncle Tupelo. They played my house, they went to my high school and they played my kind of music.

My hometown is Belleville. I grew up here and live here today. It gives me a different perspective on Uncle Tupelo than most I guess. You always root for your hometown favorites and Belleville didn’t really have any. When Jay Farrar & Jeff Tweedy released this record I knew they were no longer just another “band from Belleville”, but were destined for much more.

My first exposure to Uncle Tupelo was a No Depression cassette tape I borrowed from a friend shortly after it was released. After dubbing the tape, I immediately wore it out and bought my own copy. Eventually that tape wore out too, which forced me to purchase the CD, which I still own today. A fifteen year old with burgeoning musical tastes longs for something different and Jay, Jeff and drummer Mike Heidhorn were a much-needed change from the MTV fodder I was surrounded by.

Uncle Tupelo’s album recording timeline ran parallel to my time in high school – 1989-1993. In such pivotal time for most near-adults, you can learn quite a bit about yourself. One of my own revelations was an insatiable appetite for music in all forms. The first concert – of my choice - I attended was a great show that featured my hometown boys and a great Minneapolis band opening, The Magnolias. This was Tupelo’s first headlining show at St Louis’ premier concert venue of the time, Mississippi Nights. The date was March 20, 1991. I was eleven days shy of my 16^th birthday and could taste my vehicular freedom.

Uncle Tupelo - March 16-20, 1992 (Rockville Records, 1992) Original CD

After procuring a two-tone blue 1980 Chrysler Cordoba for the very Brian Henneman price of $1000 I knew good shows were coming my way. Subsequently missing their summer show at the same venue, likely due to a waxing interest in the opposite sex, I vowed to make the next one. They were working on a record and maybe they will have a show when that CD is finished. September rolled around and Still Feel Gone was purchased on release day at my local Streetside Records. They really didn’t have a CD release show as best I can remember, but they were going to play again in November. With a car full of friends I made my way to Mississippi Nights once again. This time the Texas Instruments opened, they put on a great show just as the Magnolias did at my previous show. Opening bands can be great and can expose you to new music, but I wanted my Tupelo. I stood right down front and sang all the songs from No Depression and Still Feel Gone. They played a few covers and a song I didn’t know at the time called “Moonshiner.”

Around this time my mom got remarried and we all moved into my stepfather’s sizeable home. I now had stepsiblings who were older and younger than me. Blasting music was a right of passage for teenagers back then. My guess is now they just make “killer play lists” and cut the limiter on their ear buds…or something like that. The sounds that spilled from my room were often those of my favorite local trio and my older stepbrother took notice. He asked me what I was listening to and I told him Uncle Tupelo. He said he went to high school with Farrar and Heidhorn and that they had classes together. Instant cool points were applied to the scoreboard. He began to tell me a story of how they played a party at my new home a few years back. The group performed back when they were The Primitives and was a four-piece cover band. If memory serves me, the gig was a birthday party for my brother and the group never got paid any of what they were promised. Maybe he said the cops came, maybe it was embellished internally over the last 20 years. Either way it doesn’t matter…they played where I lived. It seemed cool to me and still is.

Most of the music that I connected with around this time was heavier and “mathy.” The Dazzling Killmen and The Jesus Lizard were creeping into heavy rotation during 1992. The stop/start rhythms of the first two Uncle Tupelo records seemed to marry the jerkiness of the Minutemen, the heavy/punk vibe of The Stooges and cover it all in a layer of a modern Gram Parsons influence. Having no idea what drew me in at that point, I just knew what I enjoyed and Tupelo’s first two LP’s were the pinnacle. I’m fairly certain I left just as much oxide in the bottom of my car stereo as was left on the cassettes themselves by the time their next album was released. My musical appetite (and cassette deck) we ready for the new record.

Uncle Tupelo - March 16-20, 1992 - original cassette

Another release date visit to Streetside and I had copy of what I already knew I was going to love. As I plunged my key into the cellophane and instantly popped the tape into my car stereo there was an instant disappointment. Where is the raucous electric guitar? There is electric guitar…but it’s a pedal steel. At this point in time for me it held as much importance as a bouzouki. Little did I know I was getting a dose of both on this release. They had acoustic songs on previous records; maybe they’re mixing it up a bit on this one. “Coalminers” kicks in and I’m sure at that point I knew I was in for a different record than I expected. This song is slower than the one before. I felt duped or at least alienated from what I thought our relationship was. Looking back, the feeling is akin to watching the neighbor of the serial killer interviewed on the news speak of how “so and so” was a super guy that you would trust your kids with. You never would have expected “so and so” to have 15 bodies in his house. In my scenario I was the neighbor, Tweedy, Farrar and Heidhorn with producer Pete Buck were the serial killers and the 15 bodies were these songs they delivered me.

Growing up in the Midwest you are inevitably exposed to some country music. It’s prevalent and all over the radio. I grew up with some Jerry Jeff Walker and a lot of Creedence Clearwater Revival thanks to my pops. Mom wasn’t so nice; she pummeled me with Eddie Rabbitt, Alabama and The Oak Ridge Boys. My grandparents were into the good stuff, Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash, but if you can’t connect with your parents’ taste, your grandparents are a lost cause. The realization of how cool my grandparents’ music library was came only after losing my grandfather. They had more Haggard records than I had ever seen in one place. By this time I had developed a reverence for country music. This was at least six or seven years after March 16-20, 1992 was released.

Religious themes were much more present on this record. Sure, they touched on religion a few times during the first two records, but nowhere near as much as on their acoustic masterpiece third LP. I remember this seemed to bother journalists more than it ever bothered me, but it did seem odd at first after a ton of grain belt anthems and drinking songs. After a few spins I realized the religion gave these songs much of their power. Life and death, heaven and hell…these are universal concepts and everyone can relate. They seamlessness of flowing from a 120 year old song into one that was finished this week in the studio is staggering. This timelessness of style from song to song is what truly places this record such legendary regard. It has impact because it dared to be so different than their records that came before and all other records released during this period.

Of course Farrar and Tweedy are the heart of this record, but the secret weapon is the Crown Prince of Jefferson County, Brian Henneman. He helped to round out the very stark arrangements of most of these songs. Henneman was also a massively integral part of their live show at this point also. His skill in this regard is undoubtedly why Jeff Tweedy brought him back into the fold for the first Wilco record A.M. Buck deserves some credit too, but not for his ten seconds of feedback that he performs on the record. He probably did more psychological production than physical. I’m sure his belief in my hometown boys was far more important to the sound of this record than letting them borrow his bouzouki. His magic was instilling the confidence needed to make a record that sounded nothing like the Uncle Tupelo any of us had heard. At the time, rumors floated around that this record was a big “fuck you” to Rockville Records to complete their three record deal. This was their last independently released record and I think all parties involved knew that the band was meant for a bigger stage at this point. If this very simple record truly was envisioned as an insult to a record label, then they succeeded smashingly in pleasing fans while pissing off the label. Somehow I doubt this scenario, but it does make for a great dramatic backdrop.

Most of my friends were wise enough to sense the vast talent in Tupelo’s recordings. There were weekend nights when we would congregate in my dimly lit room – or someone else’s - and just listen to March 16-20 1992 and not speak until the record was over. Steve, Dan and Bart we my closest friends at this time and we were all just awestruck at how much emotion could come though such simple acoustic songs. “Fatal Wound” would tear us open with its slow sad tone and subject. Without “Sandusky” to break up the drear emotion one would certainly be in tears by the end of Jay’s “Wipe the Clock”. These two heart-wrenching songs seem to close the album with a loss and hopelessness that could not have been possible with electric instruments on earlier records. To this day both these songs remind me of high school loves, or the lack there-of, just as they did in ‘92 & ’93. My high school years ended summer 1993 and Uncle Tupelo ended just a short year after that.

During this 1992 time frame I also remember making a visit to Farrar’s mom’s used bookstore. My intentions were to try and meet and talk to Farrar if only for a second. I heard he worked there if there weren’t on tour. I decided to go in one day and there he was, manning the cash register in a store that seemed overloaded with Louis L’Amour and bad romance novels. While pretending to be browsing the store I was just sneaking glimpses of the guy who I really admired.  Eventually I made my way to the counter and proceeded to unnaturally start an extremely awkward conversation. This was my first dose of the very dry and reluctant Farrar. I probably told him his group was amazing and I was a real fan, then he probably said only “thanks”. I left feeling under whelmed by the interaction and bit disappointed, but with a feeling that Farrar was a real guy who didn’t have rock star airs. My initial thoughts at the time were probably a bit negative and overly harsh, but he was just guy at work trying not to be bothered. Time gives me the ability to look back and respect the man for his modest honesty. Hindsight will only increase the importance of this record. In a very digital and automated modern world these guys made a natural analog classic. They both exhibited the same brutal honesty in their performances on March 16-20, 1992, which will undoubtedly endure for many years to come.

P.S.: I still would love to drink a Stag and hang out with Bob Tweedy – Jeff’s dad - who lives 3 houses down from my friend Bill. I just want to talk music with him. If you see this Bob, please email me. I’ll buy the Stag. It would be my honor!

Uncle Tupelo – The Long Cut – Promotional radio program (2003) [CLICK TO LISTEN]

Related articles

• How one album can change your life: Remembering March 16-20, 1992 by Uncle Tupelo [Recollection] (3minuterecord.wordpress.com)
• Part of something big: How Uncle Tupelo shaped the musical landscape [Recollection] (3minuterecord.wordpress.com)
• How I started to love country music: March 16-20, 1992 [Recollection] (3minuterecord.wordpress.com)

How I started to love country music: March 16-20, 1992 [Recollection]

Uncle Tupelo - Jeff Tweedy, Jay Farrar and Mike Heidhorn

I wish I could say that I knew about Uncle Tupelo much earlier in their existence, but I cannot. I had heard the name mentioned from my friend, and fellow contributor here, Jeff many times before, but just had not reached the portion of my musical “journey” where Uncle Tupelo would eventually break through. I can vaguely recall driving around Belleville one day and hearing “Gun” come over the airwaves – on the 105.7 The Point, no less – and thinking to myself, “Hey, that’s the band my friends have been talking about.” This was just before Anodyne was about to be released, and I can remember going out and buying No Depression, Still Feel Gone, and March at the same time on cassette. At the time I did not have a CD player yet, so cassettes were still where it was at for me.

At this point I should also state that at this time in my life I had completely abandoned any hope of liking country music. I absolutely hated it actually. I grew up in Greenville, IL, which could only be considered a “big” town due to the fact that it was surrounded only by farms and really, really small towns. Greenville is a cool little town and I still enjoy going back there from time to time, but it was always a place that never seemed to be completely open-minded and a bit limiting. I associated, maybe unfairly, country music with my charming little hometown.

So, when my family moved to Belleville, IL in the summer of 1986, I left the country music behind in Greenville, IL. For the record I should also state that my musical tastes at this time were primarily hard rock/metal and rap, so there is no way possible I could conceive of liking country music. By the time high school rolled around, the metal and pop-R&B I had been listening to gave way to the wave of alternative music that was being introduced to me by friends and the then new 105.7 The Point.

Fast forward a little bit and there I was opening the three new cassettes I had purchased by Uncle Tupelo. I decided to listen to them in chronological order. I listened to No Depression a few times through. I then did the same with Still Feel Gone. I can remember really enjoying the rockin’ stuff on both records. I can also remember liking the country/folky stuff on the records, but I think I still had a little bit of the anti-country defenses up and didn’t allow myself to admit that I loved it.

Then it was time to listen to March 16-20, 1992. Where the two previous Tupelo records had plenty of hard driving rock tracks to “allow” myself to listen to the country tracks that accompanied them, March had no fast paced rockers for me to fall back on. March was a steam locomotive of raw folk and country music barreling its way at me just daring me to jump off the tracks. I let that train completely run me over. I was wrapped up in the beauty of the simplicity of the music and overwhelmed by the lyrics. “Wipe The Clock,” still my favorite Jay Farrar song, was the knock out blow that made me realize I could admit to loving country music.

I think that the lyrics of Farrar and Jeff Tweedy reflected so much of where I lived also really helped a lot. The fact that these two guys were from the same town that I lived in and wrote songs about the people and places I was surrounded by, really drew me in to the music even more. Maybe I couldn’t directly connect with “Coalminers” as none of my relatives worked in a mine, but the theme of hard work made me think of my family members that were farmers and laborers. I started to realize that I knew a few people that the song “Black Eye” could be about. “Moonshiner” always makes me think about my grandpa and the blackberry wine that he used to make. I could always just envision him having a still out somewhere in one of his fields. Maybe everything in the songs was loose connections, but they were connections all the same and they somehow made this music seem so much bigger than maybe it was.

March 16-20, 1992 isn’t the reason I started to love country music, it was just that last big nudge I needed to push me off the high dive. Even though I came in late to the Uncle Tupelo party, I was fortunate to see them a couple of times live at the end. Those shows introduced me to the Bottle Rockets and Blue Mountain. I would also start listening to The Jayhawks, Waco Brothers, and the Old 97s. Next thing I knew, I was right in the heart of this newly coined alt-country scene. The music that I had turned my back on had now become one of the most significant parts of my life. Ain’t life funny?

Part of something big: How Uncle Tupelo shaped the musical landscape [Recollection]

By Robin Wheeler 

My name is nothing extra, but the truth to you I tell. I am a coal miner and I’m sure I wish you well - “Coalminers” by Uncle Tupelo

Uncle Tupelo - Jay Farrar, Jeff Tweedy and Mike Heidhorn

I remember the first time I heard of Uncle Tupelo. Freshman year at the University of Missouri in the autumn of 1991, sitting in my dorm room with an old friend from my tiny hometown, listening to him bitch because the skirt he was chasing was making him go to an Uncle Tupelo show.

“I hate that country shit,” he snarled.

Two months earlier, I would have said the same thing. Growing up in rural west-central Missouri, country music’s de rigueur, and we had both had our fill. Making a rural escape with Nirvana and Pearl Jam as the soundtrack, there was no excuse to ever hear another word sung about the working class, whiskey bottles, and coal.

Except that’s what I wanted.

I blazed out of my hometown as fast as possible, only to return weekly for the first two months to spend time with my dying grandmother. Being in the new environment I’d craved for years, only to be dragged away to experience a lingering, horrific death. Unable to jump into my new life while watching an old life end.

Most days I just wanted to go home, and nothing felt more like home than country music. Through the privacy of my headphones I’d sneak listens to the local country stations in between my public blastings of the Pixies and the Replacements that led to lots of unpleasant visits from my dorm’s RA.

Based solely on my friend’s ire and my acute craving for country, I started keeping an ear out for Uncle Tupelo. Three guys from a small town in Illinois that seemed a hell of a lot like the town I’d left, playing not country, but country infused with flavors of the punk artists just coming onto my radar – Iggy Pop, The Clash.

These guys were me.

So I sought them out, which wasn’t difficult. Columbia, Missouri is only two hours from Belleville, Illinois, so it was well in UT’s touring range. They were “local” to me. So imagine my surprise when I started seeing the band in Rolling Stone.

Something big was happening. Something big, and I was a part of it. On the edge, but clinging to it. R.E.M’s Peter Buck was recording with them. And just like that, I’m connected to one of the first bands that caught my attention, showed me that there was more to music than what TV and radio stations from Kansas City fed me.

Being a country kid no longer meant tacky flash and sequins. It wasn’t oversized cowboy hats and slick production that didn’t sound much different from pop music. This was the first time since realizing Bruce Springsteen was singing about my blue-collar, industrial people did I really feel like an artist was articulating my experience. And they did it by taking the music beloved by my dying grandmother and blending it with the music that had started speaking to me.

I can’t say I remember buying March 16-20, 1992. I just know it’s always been in my record collection in one form or another, along with everything recorded by everyone on the album. It’s been a part of my life’s fabric since it arrived. It wasn’t my favorite Uncle Tupelo album at the time, since it was so country. When they were new, “Anodyne” was the album that spoke to me the most.

I do remember a different day of record-shopping. In mid-October, 1994 – a week before my 23rd birthday – I bought three albums. Wilco‘s A.M., Son Volt‘s Trace, and the Bottle Rockets‘ The Brooklyn Side. All three were début albums from bands fronted by Uncle Tupelo members who’d been a part of the March 16-20, 1992 sessions. A Sunday afternoon and feeling more comfortable in my skin than I was when I first heard about “that country shit,” I sat in my car, ripping the cellophane from the CDs all at once. Enveloped in the new CD smell, I flipped through the liner notes, looking for familiarity. And it was there.

This is my music. It’s about me. It’s about the same experiences I’ve had. The same fears I’ve known. The same place that bore me.

Uncle Tupelo, Wilco, Son Volt and the Bottle Rockets have remained huge parts of my listening life for the past twenty years. In them, I can hear my own evolution as a person. I don’t know if the songs mirror me or if I mirror them. I don’t care.

Funny thing: in 2007 my husband and I decided to move to Belleville, Illinois. We’d been in the St. Louis area for eight years and weren’t happy with our neighborhood. After a lot of research we decided Belleville offered everything we wanted – excellent schools, easy accessibility to St. Louis, affordable housing, and a sense of independence and quirkiness that suited our weird family.

It’s taken five years for friends to stop accusing me of moving to Belleville because of Uncle Tupelo. It’s the school, the cute 1920s brick bungalows, and the art festival. Really! The fact that the streets run with Stag Beer is an added bonus.

I would be lying, though, if I said I don’t feel the impact of the history that happened in my backyard. There are Tweedys and Farrars living in my neighborhood, and people who were a part of the same music scene that produced them. We have kids in the same school, buy our milk from the same corner market and have dinner at the same restaurant while we wave to one another from our cars on America’s longest Main Street.

Try walking past the fountain in Belleville’s town square without singing “New Madrid” under your breath. Go on. I dare you. It can’t be done.

We didn’t get the house we originally wanted to buy five years ago, and it’s just as well. That house is slowly slipping into one of the abandoned coal mines that litter subterranean Belleville from the days when residents would illegally dig into the black veins below the town in hopes of finding a way out of financial ruin.

All those years I’d snickered about Farrar’s fixation with coal miners, ignorant to the fact that he knew what he was talking about. Every word true.

I see the relevance daily. Hear it in the stories from my Belleville friends and neighbors who were there, too. In 1992 I had no idea how many of my peers were also touched by the collision of divergent musical worlds brought forth by one little band from a little town. I thought it was just me. But now, we have a tribe. It includes our families and children, our community, and runs like a coal vein through our lives. Rich and deep, the place we mine for what’s most important: who we are and where we came from.

How one album can change your life: Remembering March 16-20, 1992 by Uncle Tupelo [Recollection]

Editor’s Note: 20 years ago today, the three members of Uncle Tupelo stepped into John Keane Studios in Athens, GA to begin recording their third album with producer Peter Buck, best known as the guitarist for R.E.M. Five days later they had a finished record. Over the next few days the owners of 3 Minute Record will give our thoughts on how that album changed our musical landscape. – Scott

Gimme back that year, good or bad. Gimme back something that I never knew I had. – “That Year” by Uncle Tupelo

I remember the evening vividly. A typical hot, sticky August night in St. Louis. I picked up my longtime friend Steve Kuhlman in my 1968 Chevrolet Camaro and we drove to the Granite City location (R.I.P.) of Vintage Vinyl to look for some new records. Little did I realize that one particular trip would be etched in my brain 20 years later.

In August 1992, I was a recent high school graduate of Collinsville High School just hanging out with friends and counting the days before I moved away to the University of Missouri – Columbia to begin my college education. The act of going to a record store was nothing new. I’d been doing this for years frequenting a store called the Record Company at their locations in Glen Carbon and Granite City as well as the chain stores in the mall. However, during my junior and senior years of high school I started attending shows at clubs on the Landing in St. Louis. Places like Mississippi Nights, Kennedy’s and the Bernard Pub opened up a new world of possibilities to me about music. Up until this time I was content to buy records and listen to music in my room or on my Walkman. With a driver’s license, a car and a little knowledge, my universe began to expand as rapidly as I was driving that V8 engine.

Now, armed with what felt like secret knowledge, I went out on the weekends to see national touring acts as well as local bands. I dug through the pages of the Riverfront Times, still owned by founder Ray Hartmann, in the constant search of new venues and new artists. Here I learned about the local music scene and started following bands like Pale Divine, Three Merry Widows and The Finn’s.

While looking around the store that summer night, I stumbled upon the recently released album, March 16-20, 1992, by Belleville based band, Uncle Tupelo. Excited, I bought the new release ready to hear what it had in store. After leaving the record store that evening we headed back to my parents’ house to shoot some pool on my parent’s pool table. At the time, I had a new JVC dual CD/dual cassette boom box that I had received as a high school graduation present, which I left downstairs to listen to music. I removed the shrink-wrap to open up the compact disc to play. The first thing I noticed was the stark artwork; a modern twist on those early ’60s records. Second, I was excited to see guitarist Peter Buck, of my favorite band R.E.M., had worked with a band as producer.  

At the time I purchased the album, I already owned the band’s first two records, No Depression and Still Feel Gone, and I had seen them perform live a few times at Mississippi Nights. Early Uncle Tupelo shows were a dichotomy of power and energy mixed with slow, country balladry. They exuded a punk vibe carried over from their unique blend of the post-punk of Hüsker Dü, Minutemen and Black Flag and country music. However, as I listened to the new record, it became abundantly clear that Jay Farrar, Jeff Tweedy and Mike Heidhorn had intentionally made a drastic change in course. This new batch of songs was completely different from much of their early material.

During the previous couple of years I had already begun a fascination with folk music, specifically the work of Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan. However, March 16-20, 1992 marked a distinct turning point in the development of my musical tastes as a listener and a fan. While Nirvana had shaken the apples off the tree in a fit of raw power, Uncle Tupelo, however, took a decidedly different course. In an anti-establishment turn, which now we realize Jay Farrar is wont to do, the band eschewed the current sound for one that had been pushed to the fringe decades before. For many fans, Uncle Tupelo’s blend of country, rock, and punk served as the same type of touchstone in indie circles as Nirvana and the Seattle music scene had for mainstream rock. Yet, on March 16-20, 1992, the band focused completely on the country and folk side of their music and helped launch what began to be referred to as “Alternative Country” and eventually “No Depression” after their first album.

My first inclination that something was radically different from their other work - the album is almost entirely acoustic. Yes, they had performed acoustic country music in the past as they had included covers of the Carter Family classic “No Depression” and Leadbelly’s “John Hardy.” However, the songs included on the latest record were haunting, politically charged ballads that spoke to the state of the working class in the early ’90s – a place that Farrar and Tweedy knew all too well from their upbringing.

The album’s liner notes revealed that there were 8 original songs flanked by 7 covers. One song I recognized was the traditional song,”Moonshiner,” which I knew from the Bob Dylan box set, The Bootleg Series Volumes 1-3 Rare and Unreleased 1961-1991 released just the year before. The other cover songs completely changed my perspective on country and folk music, for example, “The Great Atomic Power” by the Louvin Brothers and ”Come All You Coalminers” by Sarah Ogan Gunning.

Furthermore, I was impressed how well the original songs crafted for the album blended perfectly with the older material. Tweedy chipped in with three outstanding originals – the bouncy upbeat folk of “Wait Up” with its heartbreaking lyrics about love going bad, the gorgeous ballad “Black Eye” and the solemn ”Fatal Wound,” a song with as much, if not more, power as their classic “Whiskey Bottle.” It’s Farrar’s contributions to the record, however, ”Grindstone,” “Criminals,” “Shaky Ground” and “Wipe The Clock,” paired with his readings of the covers and traditional material that give the project its depth and authenticity.  In a future foretold, Farrar continued in his post-Tupelo career, with both Son Volt and his solo material, to follow the path set forth on this record. Whereas with Wilco, Tweedy followed a more commercial road that brought him the success, fame and indie credentials he seemed to covet.

That Fall, while at the University of Missouri, I volunteered to work at student-run radio station 88.1 KCOU. I started my training and eventually got on the air for a couple of shifts in the 2-6 a.m. slot. To this day I still have a cassette tape of one of the shows that started with playing the Uncle Tupelo original instrumental, “Sandusky,” followed by Woody Guthrie‘s “Grand Coulee Dam.” When the music exemplifies a certain classic quality the new and the old blend seamlessly together and artists become intrinsically linked across generations. For me, classic country and folk music became another genre to dig into with the same ferocity as rock, soul and rhythm and blues. All it took were a trio of musicians from a couple of towns over and just a few years older than I to give me an introduction.