These long-overdue reissues -- which include the three Rockville Records efforts as well as the band's 1993 major-label debut (and swan song), Anodyne -- should lift Uncle Tupelo out of historical-footnote status. One revelation is the band's
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impressive songwriting range, which stretches from Farrar's apocalyptic, transcendence-seeking tunes to Tweedy's two-beat curiosities and sad love odes. Each title has been remixed and crisply remastered, and each offers previously unreleased bonus material.
Tupelo evolved quickly. The first phase, documented on 1990's No Depression and its follow-up, 1991's Still Feel Gone, finds the band drawing on both the Stones and the Clash to forge its own fire-breathing power-chord stomp. The second phase, which begins with "Sauget Wind," a Farrar-ballad outtake from Still Feel Gone, flowers fully on the Peter Buck-produced live-in-the-studio collection March 16-20, 1992 -- a triumph of austere, delicately embroidered acoustic atmospheres that put the emphasis on the narratives. The final phase, Anodyne, combines Uncle Tupelo's early headstrong rock with the nuances of March 16-20, and shows that this band, alone among American acts of its generation, understood how to connect Woody Guthrie to the Minutemen to Marvin Gaye.
For all the lore surrounding this band's performances, most of the bonus material falls into the "pleasant but inconsequential" category. But there are a handful of undeniable gems: notably, Anodyne's live jam of "Suzy Q," which finds Farrar spitting blue fury over a rhythm bed that evokes both the open prairie and the murky Delta swamp.
TOM MOON
(From RS 921, May 1, 2003)
Uncle Tupelo knows a thing or two about exorcising demons. No Depression, the debut album by the Belleville, Illinois, trio, was one of the loudest, loneliest wails in recent memory to arise from the Midwest's recession-plagued plains. With Still Feel Gone, its stirring second outing. Uncle Tupelo has proven itself to be the poetic voice of small-town isolation and smoky-barroom imprisonment.
While Still Feel Gone lacks some of the crunch of its predecessor, the band has not sacrificed its power by stripping away a layer or two from its country-grunge anthems. Vacillating between poignant acoustic balladry and full-tilt punk energy, Uncle Tupelo still comes off as equal parts Gram Parsons and Gang Green.
The characters that populate Still Feel Gone are far from one-dimensional caricatures of rural life. Songwriters Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy write with an insightful eye and ragged beauty that bring their images alive without coming off as rote shrieks of youthful disenchantment. On "Still Be Around," Farrar growls about a life "when the Bible is a bottle and a hardwood floor is home/When morning comes twice a day or not at all," and the listener is instantly drawn into his world.
The band's other ace in the hole comes from the contrasting vocal styles of Farrar and Tweedy. While Tweedy sings with a pop-perfect boyish lilt, Farrar's powerful rasp sounds like he's been gargling with Wild Turkey since puberty. The balance of innocence and hardedged rawness helps give Uncle Tupelo an emotional range reminiscent of the glory days of Hüsker Dü's Bob Mould and Grant Hart.
A first-rate example of the power of no-frills production and direct expression, Uncle Tupelo's work stands as a testimonial to what can be accomplished with drums, guitar, bass and plenty of focused frustration. It would be a crime if the band's screams from the factory belt went unheard.
Still Feel Gone is available from Rockville Records, P.O. Box 800, Rockville Centre, NY 11571. (RS 626)
CHRIS MUNDY
