keepers-3
keeper avg-.200
In response to the continued adulation of critics as well as fans, Tweedy delivers another 75 minutes of maudlin, self-congratulatory drivel. Maybe the band still haven't found what they're looking for after the scattershot The Wilco Album, or maybe like REM, making another album is just something they're obligated to do. Opener "Art Of Almost" and instrumental "Speak Into The Rose" work the Kraftwerk influence yet again, the former dragging to over 7 minutes. "I Might", the only track that could be mistaken for a single, is composed of interesting parts which unfortunately never mesh; they manage only to step all over each other in yet another attempt by Wilco to prove how clever they are, while I suppose "Sunloathe" is supposed to be yet another tribute to Pet Sounds that forgets to include an actual hook. Though sometimes the path to bedtime (see: most of Sky Blue Sky), the best songs on The Real Love are the three that back off from pop songwriting and grandiose ambition the most. The minimalist but graceful instrumentation "Black Moon"**** occasionally surges but never overwhelms Tweedy's comfortable murmur, while "Rising Red Lung"**** rides on a quietly catchy finger-picked guitar, while Cline's tasteful lap steel is a most welcome texture common to both. Closer "One Sunday Morning"**** overstays its welcome for sure, but the main ascending guitar riff is the pretty distraction while the narcotic instrumental crescendos lull me into a state of satisfied complacency where I wouldn't think of skipping any of the track's admittedly excessive 12-minutes - at least until the fake endings at minute 9. The rest of the album descends to pleasant but forgettable pop on side one to the dregs on side two, including "Standing O", which inexplicably lifts the riff from "Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting", the lame James Taylor groove of the title song, and a corny Dixieland waltz "Capitol City". Disc two adds nothing better. I will attest that covers are fun to play, but maybe it wasn't necessary to include Nick Lowe's "I Love My Label", a track guaranteed to be relatable to exactly no-one, while the busy acoustic lick that dominates "Message From The Mid Bar" dooms yet another track to being too clever for its own good. While a whole album of orchestral country such as "Black Moon" would probably get old really fast, it turns out to be a better approach than substituting musical tricks for memorable hooks.
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