Hello Darling Ones,

I have never met Jeff Tweedy. He does not know of my existence. I don’t want you going into this thinking I’m gonna be dishing some dirty deets about the guy from Wilco, because I got none. Sadly. I will admit I’ve had an inordinate number of sex dreams about Jeff Tweedy. I don’t often have sex dreams about famous people, but if I do it’s Jeff Tweedy or Kirsten Dunst. I don’t know why. In my conscious life I don’t find either of them particularly sexy or attractive, but brains are weird.

My relationship with Jeff Tweedy’s bands has been long and contentious. It could have started in college when some dude was all, “Chromes, Uncle Tupelo, you’ll love it.” And I maybe I did? Or maybe that was the same kid who said “Under the Table & Dreaming is the best record ever” so I ignored him.

What I remember is that when I finally stumbled onto Wilco I fell hard and fast and love them for a very, very, very long time. I loved them so much I went to see them at the Walker all by myself. I loved them so much that I went and saw them at Midway even though I had long given up on their new records.

It is my belief that Wilco peaked at Summerteeth and every album after that has been a little more boring until I entirely stopped listening to their new music in 2009. I do, however, hold a special place in my heart for the song “Impossible Germany” because at that aforementioned Midway show Wolf and Heather both wandered off, in separate directions, to be nearer to the stage. When they returned, again separately, they both talked about how they cried during “Impossible Germany.” And if that ain’t fucking couple goals, I don’t know what is.

When Jeff Tweedy released a memoir in 2018 I noted it and vaguely added to my To Be Read list. I did not jump into it because dude rock memoirs tend to be really, very boring (See: Keith Richards, Pete Townshend, Lenny Kravitz, Bob Mould. . . I could go on). In fact, I would argue that a lot of rock & roll books written are men are boring because men seem to think “well-researched” is the same as interesting and as an avid reader I am here to tell you it is not. Just because you learned it Bob Mehr, author of The Replacements’ biography, does not mean you have to tell it to me.

I did not rush into the Tweedy memoir. However, earlier this year I read his book on songwriting and that thawed my ice robot heart a bit. It was funny and I really enjoyed his approach to creative work. So when I spied Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back) on the Library app I had nothing to lose.

OH.MY.GOD.

This book has quickly skyrocketed into the Top 10 of all the rock & roll memoirs I’ve read. It’s right up there with Kristen Hersh’s Rat Girl and the much-beloved Heart memoir. This book rocked me so hard that I read it in e-form from the library, then I borrowed the audiobook from the library, and then I bought a copy for myself that should be here next week.

I love this book so much that it’s all I wanna talk about and I’m hella bummed that nobody wants to talk about it with me. I tried with EM, but she super hates Jeff Tweedy and so the conversation was mostly her saying, “I hate him, he’s a sanctimonious asshole” and me saying, “I know, but. . . ” And BFK doesn’t even know who Jeff Tweedy is.

This book is hilarious and interesting and heartbreaking. He’s catty about Jay Farrar and self-deprecating about himself. He’s sincere in talking about his addiction and so fucking right about the relationship of pain/suffering to creativity that I want to give him one-million high fives and right ons. I’m paraphrasing a bunch, but he thinks that yes writing about pain and creating art about pain is what brings us together to make sense of it, but you do not need to suffer or romanticize your suffering to be creative. What makes you creative is showing up every day and making shit.

If y’all could just go read chapter three and then come back and talk to me about it, that would be much appreciated.

Thanks,
Jodi

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Last night I journeyed to lovely St. Paul, MN to see the festival with 14,000 other people. Generally, I am not a Jam Rock fan but the tickets went on sale when it was snowing, and the last time I was at Midway was in the 90s when Wilco opened for REM, and the heavens opened up as Michael Stipe started “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” and nobody who was there has ever forgotten it ever.

Also, I figure there aren’t going to be too many chances to see ol’ Bob. Now, onto the observations.
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• I do not care for the music of My Morning Jacket. They do nothing for me at all. I hear them and there’s no quickening of my pulse or stirring in any region music ought to stir. My favorite parts of the MMJ set was when they brought out Trampled By Turtles and did Wonderful and TBT’s Alone.
• Even so, MMJ’s “Wonderful” felt really Clapton-y to me. Perhaps he’s ruined the word wonderful for all the other singers.
• After Dylan shirts and Wilco shirts, there seemed to be a high preponderance of Old 97s shirts, which I thought was kind of rad.
• My niece, Jaycie, who went to the concert with me thanks to Robin who couldn’t make it, took that picture up there.
• Incidentally, she enjoyed Bob’s set way more than I did.
• I think that’s because she had no expectations and little knowledge of Bob’s catalog and so had no shattered hopes and dreams when he busted into an unrecognizable rendition of “Tangled Up in Blue.”
• Also, I was totally ready to bail halfway thought the Dylan set, especially after the Wolfdogg pack had to leave so Wolfdogg could get to work. However, I remember back sometime in the 90s when I went to see Dylan & Paul Simon with my mom and Sister #3 and they made me leave before the show was over which I thought was totally bogus and unfair and I dragged my feet for at least two songs until they rose up and kicked my lollygagging ass.
• My favorite thing: While Heather was off flitting about the front of the stage with Delilah and Jaycie, Wolfdogg confessed that “Impossible Germany” got him right in the heart. A little while later when Heather came back she confessed how the song made her cry. I swooned a little with the adorableness of it.
• This show reminded me of why I have such a hard time quitting Wilco — they did “New Madrid,”At My Window,” and “I’m the Man that Loves You.” In fact, this show was so good it erased the Northrup show where I kind of decided to break up with Jeff Tweedy because there were entirely too many boring guitar solos.
• Every time I see Jeff Tweedy, I have flashbacks to that dream I had about him having a vagina.
• At a concert headlined by Bob Dylan you think the audience would have been rife with Faux Hippie Hipsters, however it was not. Or at least not within my field of vision. There was one hoola hooper, but I cut them some slack because it was, after all, Dylan.
• Dancing white-haired Baby Boomer hippies are kind of cute.
• After the concert I nearly had to beat down a 20something BroDude who was trying to hit on my 15-year-old niece. He totally freaked her out, but then he apologized for freaking her out and it was okay.
• People who smoke skunk weed, why? That stuff smells so bad I can’t imagine it’s doing much for you.

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I fell in love with a bass lead guitar player, I fell in love with bass lead guitar player, I fell in love. Man. Nels Cline is the man. That dude can kick it like you wouldn’t believe. It’s like his possessed. It’s mesmerizing.

Wilco brought it tonight. (So did Andrew Bird but I’m not ready to talk about that yet and sadly there are no pictures because I was too busy trying to not moan in ecstasy to find my camera).

Wow. Yikes. It was good.

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Since that is behavior that borders on the disturbing, I decided to listen to nothing but The Rolling Stones today in an attempt to cleanse my musical palette before giving Wilco’s “Sky Blue Sky” another chance.

Yeah, I ain’t got much today. It’s one of those bad days by association. My day isn’t so much of the shitty, but all the people around me are having a shitty day and their shitty is getting all over my day. I hate when that happens.

But there is good news on the horizon. Do you know what will occur next week at this time? Do you? I’ll be sitting my ass on a bench somewhere making fun of Minnesota State Fair-goers and shoving a corndog down my throat. Just the idea of next week makes me euphoric.

Oh yes, remember how I was telling you about listening to nothing but the Rolling Stones today? Well mostly that means I am just listening to “Honky Tonk Women” over and over again.

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