Wilco Contest Results!

“Pieholden Suite” / Sheila Blanchard

Summerteeth’s “Pieholden Suite” captures the dissolution of a romance from the perspective of a cheating partner. Whether the protagonist is participating in a two-way dialogue or inner monologue, his discomfort is immediately evident, as he recognizes his wrong but is uncertain of what to say or do or where the relationship stands now. His words are deceptively simple and awkward, the discomfort of his measured confession covered with uneasy rhymes unevenly spaced, echoing the break in the rhythm of the couple. Acknowledging that the relationship could be at an end, he brings his partner back to their beginning. Could remembering their original spark rekindle their connection? Although no answer is directly given, the music provides the context for what is not being said. Underscoring the uncertainty of the lyrical performance, the music meanders through several paces and tones. Starting with a single note and slowly plodding through the layers of the early confession, the music then breaks off into a wistful instrumental before the hopeful remembrance of things past. As the lyrics end, the music takes off, expanding the tune of the previous verse, then pausing before breaking into a jaunty march. The old-fashioned style of the finale indicates nostalgia for the spoilt past, but its open ending and buoyant tone also point to optimism for a potential reconciliation. “Pieholden Suite” therefore reflects the complicated outlook of the wayward romantic protagonist from beginning to end: uncertain, unstable, yet hopeful for recovery of the ruined relationship.

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“Some Things Go Without Saying” / Nancy Nichols-Pethick

“There’s a random painted highway,” she sings, “and a muzzle of bees”. She opens her eyes. It’s 2 a.m., and you’re sitting on the floor in your friend’s roommate’s room, the one room in the apartment you’ve never been in before, at the end of the hall. “My sleeves have come unstitched, from climbing your tree.” There are plants in the tall windows and the bed is made, but the pillows are on the floor. Everybody’s gone, including your friend. Someone cracked a window in the living room and the February air settles around your legs and your bare feet, so you pull the blanket off the bed. The old smoke rises away from the cold. “…The sun gets passed from tree to tree, silently, then back to me…” It’s weird you never noticed how strong her hands are. Her voice is coming from a carved wooden box in the corner. “…I’m assuming you love me, and you know what that means…” Yes, you almost say out loud, except you don’t want to, and you know she knows. You hear the apartment door open, and you hear your friend call your name. “…With the breeze blown through pushed up against the leaves…” You don’t answer. You’re outside now and hot air balloons are bumping into the sky. The grass has something important to say. You roll over slowly and check the time on the clock radio. 7:15. It’s going to be a perfect day.

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anti-anxiety / Christopher J. Mulé

The Wilco song “Spiders (Kidsmoke),” for me, represents rock-n-roll yesterday and today. It is an eleven minute collision of two different realities—the Sex, Drugs, and Rock n’ Roll of the 1960’s anti-establishment era and the Fear, Meds, and Anxiety of our current Xanax Nation. A few seconds before the four minute mark of this song, these two worlds meet; they handshake; they trade pills; they have a drink; they talk about the future. “Spiders” is a sonic and lyrical mental breakdown that suddenly becomes, with the help of a heavy guitar riff, a rock anthem. It is as if Tweedy and Co. are summoning the spirit of rock-n-roll to save us from our maniacal multitasking that paints a Blackberry glaze over our nervous minds. For Tweedy, it is personal.

He wrote the song while making A Ghost is Born at the height of his struggle with migraine headaches and panic attacks. Struggling to get through the session, Tweedy and Co. simplified the complicated piece with a bunch of bashing guitar chords. He was just trying to get by, he did it loudly and I respect him for it. Over the years, Tweedy has gone public about the panic attacks and migraines he has suffered with his whole life. If you know anything about this disorder you can understand how amazing it is that he has never missed a show because of it. Ironically, one of the symptoms of a panic attack is an overwhelming feeling of “fight or flight”—a struggle to flee, to escape your anxious reality. Come to think of it, maybe the anti-establishment has something in common with our age of anxiety, but maybe we are all just doing the wrong drugs.