AVC: When did you write your first song?
JT: Probably when I was about 14 or 15. I don't think I played the guitar for very long before I started writing. In fact, I think I always thought of the guitar as the vehicle to be able to make some musical idea up. The only appeal to learning more chords was having more chords to put into songs. I never got too wrapped up in becoming technically good. So writing songs happened pretty simultaneously with learning how to play the guitar.
AVC: What was the first song where you can remember saying, "Okay, this is good"?
JT: [Pause.] I can't remember. Maybe "Please Be Patient With Me" [from Sky Blue Sky]. [Laughs.]
AVC: Back when you were with Uncle Tupelo, did you find working beside a songwriter as strong as Jay Farrar daunting or inspiring?
JT: I didn't find it daunting. I was very taken with Jay at a young age. Even before I played in a band, or played guitar, I was a classmate of Jay's. He was always a mysterious, kind of big character, even though he was very, very quiet. He seemed to possess some knowledge that everybody else didn't have. I was really inspired to work hard, not only on my songs, but on helping bring his songs to life. I worked so hard at getting better as a songwriter, because I wanted our records, the things that we were doing together, to be awesome. I wanted to write something that sounded good next to his songs. I never felt daunted—I felt much more inspired.
AVC: In the early days of Uncle Tupelo, you seemed to be more the spokesman for the band in the press.
JT: Well, Jay's just so socially awkward that it was by default that it fell on my shoulders to talk. It was so painfully uncomfortable to be in a room with him, for me at least. Jay and I are just so different. He sort of appeared to be comfortable with making people uncomfortable by not saying very much. I could never be that way. So I always spoke up. I answered the questions. I got tired of waiting, most of the time.
AVC: But even though you spoke more, you were still reticent compared to how you are now, when it comes to answering questions.
JT: Well, that's the power Jay exerted, maybe even unconsciously so. It was very hard to be myself around Jay, because of our differences. Because he seemed very judgmental about what my motives were for talking about anything. He was very suspicious, and not very trusting, and that was definitely a case were I was intimidated. Or maybe not necessarily intimidated, but definitely inhibited by the idea that I was doing something forbidden.
AVC: Having grown up a rock 'n' roll fan, did you find that touring with Uncle Tupelo lived up to your expectations?
JT: Yeah, I actually did. I think that every step of the way has been kind of a dream come true. Maybe I'm naïve—in fact, I'm pretty certain that I am about a lot of things—but I really thought it was awesome to get a band and go play in Columbia, Missouri. And then after that to go play in Lawrence, Kansas, and then start heading further and further out from where we lived. And then to put a record out. Every step of the way, honestly, I've felt very privileged to be able to do what I get to do. I'm sure that sounds trite to a lot of people. [Laughs.] But I think it's wrong not to acknowledge it.
AVC: You were once quoted as saying that performing on stage was the closest you could imagine to a religious experience. Can you elaborate?
JT: I don't remember saying that. I do remember feeling that way, but I don't remember placing myself onstage so much. It doesn't necessarily matter if I'm onstage or not. I just find the communal experience of a rock concert, or any type of music performance, achieves a kind of transcendence that I associate with spirituality. It's the closest thing to what I think people expect church to be like. Or maybe just what I've always thought church should be. It's as close to it as I feel like I've gotten. You lose yourself, and at the same time come to the realization or understanding that you're part of something bigger than yourself. That's the main function of religion, in my mind.
AVC: What about drugs? Do you find that going through rehab and getting those addictions behind you has affected your creative process at all?
JT: The short answer is no. I feel very strongly that the creative process and the creative impulse in me existed long before my problems manifested. And going through rehab was actually a process of regaining those powers, those same feelings that I always aspired to. That's not to say that there weren't a lot of anxieties that the opposite would be true. All those myths and the conventional wisdom that it's a zero-sum game. But it was a bargain I would've been willing to make when I went into the hospital, without even thinking about it. The only thing I wanted to do was feel better. To not feel as terrible and miserable as I felt. And I would've been happy to not write any more songs in my life, sincerely, just to feel better. I'm really grateful that that's not the way it works, and that you don't have to make that trade. But I do think that there's a lot of different reasons for the myth that you have to suffer or you have to have some horrible friction or turmoil in your life to create. Primarily because it makes a lot better ink. People are much more willing to write about it when it's framed within this mythology that has existed since people began making art.
AVC: Do you think too much was made of the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot story, what with the documentary and all the stories in the press about how long it was taking for the album to come out? Did it blow up into a bigger story than you would have preferred?
JT: To answer your question simply: Yeah, I think too much is always made of things that don't have anything to do with the music. Like our last record, with my rehab and hospital stay. Any kind of backstory. Anything that's sort of celebrity-driven generates that sort of ink. But I also understand that these stories are too good to pass up. With Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, that was an age-old parable that people like to retell, sort of David and Goliath. It had a life of its own whether or not we talked about it. Since it was going to be the story of that record, I tried to see the advantages of it. The good side was that more people were listening, even if they weren't coming to the album straight-on.
AVC: One of the downsides, though, was that a lot of people were turned off by the hype. Some people came to Wilco who hadn't heard Wilco before, and then couldn't understand what the big deal was.
JT: I can't affect any of that. It's not a process I have any control over. If someone uses the amount of time I spend in the public eye as criteria for what my music could possibly mean to them, they probably should take a long, hard look in the mirror and figure out why they need to think they're so special. Because I don't think anybody is that special.
There's been a lot of change in Wilco. That's an understatement. Every record other than the last two, the live record and this record, there's been a lot of change. And I can honestly say that each change has made things feel better for me. And my personal perspective on the music is that it's gotten better. I really wouldn't feel like doing this if that wasn't the case.
AVC: Back when you were a young rock 'n' roll fan, were you ever let down by a band that went in directions you weren't expecting?
JT: No, I honestly can say I don't ever remember feeling that proprietarily toward any band. [Laughs.] There have definitely been bands that changed and I lost interest. But I didn't hold it against them. It wasn't something they did to me, like they disappointed me or let me down, because they still had their other records that I loved. And honestly, I've never made a record other than No Depression that people didn't say something like that about. Still Feel Gone was way too polished and produced. March was obviously a big disappointment because it didn't have any electric guitars on it. And so on.
My question is: Could anybody imagine the Wilco record that would make everybody happy? I can't imagine it. So you're confronted with that reality—anything you do is going to be a disappointment to somebody. We just have to do what we do, and that's make a record that we fuckin' like. [Laughs.] We really don't have any other options. If we'd made a record that followed up on every impulse and stylistic sensibility that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot had going for it, can you imagine the criticism? Not to mention that it would be impossible for us.
I hope I don't sound too defensive here. I don't want to come across as being up in arms about any of this. I just have a very pragmatic approach. I understand that a lot of people aren't going to see it, or aren't interested in seeing it. But that doesn't really have anything to do with me.
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