A Family Legacy

Alternative country (“alt.country” for the attention-deficit crowd) has been officially dead as a discrete genre for several years now, say those who care about such things.

Disavowed by the artists, the term was nevertheless handy to describe a sensibility and general outlook. Its practitioners spurned – or were – by Nashville, and they reeked of artistic integrity and individualism. Naturally, their records sold hardly at all.

They pointed to Hank Williams Sr. (definitely not Jr.), Bill Monroe, Bob Wills and Johnny Cash as their heroes, and not a few also revered the true believers of Nashville’s first golden age. Many also rocked, punkishly. The fan base was passionate but doomed to a size that couldn’t sustain the movement.

If any artist or band could be called the Alpha Dog of alt.country, Uncle Tupelo would be the consensus pick. Co-leaders Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy were the brains and brawn of the group. Farrar’s more country/thrash leanings slightly predominated, but Tweedy’s pop/rock preferences were a crucial counterpoint. The band made only four albums in as many years.

The first, “No Depression,” was a very loud and raw affair. Country was sprinkled in rather than integrated. But the title cut, a cover of an A.P. Carter song (talking about the Great One, not the mental state), was adopted both as a magazine and a moniker for this new music.

“I Got Drunk” was released as a single, and it was not a party anthem so much as a pissed off lament. The follow-up, “Still Feel Gone,” had more balance but still feels too enamored with heat over light – ragged and tiring.

The next album, “March 16-20, 1992,” was a surprise all-acoustic effort.

Quiet and austere, the record mixes faithful covers of old-timey country standards like “Satan, Your Kingdom Must Come Down” and “The Great Atomic Power” and folk-rock originals by Tweedy and Farrar. The band’s swan song, “Anodyne,” found them hitting the sweet spot with regularity and force. Relaxed front-porch strumming, raucous rockers and gorgeous melodies are stitched together over an entire album’s worth of gold.

The band broke up within months of its release. Farrar and Tweedy reportedly had a spat of Lewis-Martin proportions. No reconciliations to date, either.

But the principals soldiered on individually. Farrar formed SON VOLT, Tweedy started WILCO.

Son Volt’s debut, “Trace,” totally deserves the overused “classic” designation – it seems truer to the spirit of the parent band than Wilco’s first.

It’s got spine-tingling strolling country ballads mixed in with spiky power-chord laced jams. Wilco’s first effort, “AM,” is an altogether friendlier and more down-to-earth record, which for my money was just as deserving of praise as Traces. Bets on which of the two leaders would have greater success were decidedly in Farrar’s favor.

But Farrar found it hard to expand upon that first brilliance, and inspiration for Son Volt seemed to dry up. Farrar put out solo records with mixed results. Reformed in 2005, Son Volt put out two very good if overlooked records. Wilco, on the other hand, grew into a critical and modest commercial success story.

On successive releases Tweedy and his band mates got more experimental, with pop, soul and even avant garde noise elements gaining prominence. Gone were any overt country strains, only echoes remaining.

Being There,” “Yankee Foxtrot Hotel” and “Sky Blue Sky” are standouts, although others would argue that “Summerteeth” and “A Ghost is Born” are as worthy.

Both bands are forever bound together by their origins, and comparisons are inevitable if also unfair. Both have now released new product almost simultaneously.

Maybe it’s the underdog effect or because they’ve been off the radar screen, but Son Volt’s new one, “AMERICAN CENTRAL DUST,” sounds fresh as paint. The current lineup sports a new guitarist and keyboardist. There are no flat-out rockers, but there’s abundant attention to detail and songwriting.

Farrar’s lyrics have been models of sideways lucidity, obtuse imagery over straightforwardness. That’s all still here, just a little less so. The message of “Dynamite” is pretty clear: “This love is like celebrating Fourth of July with dynamite” goes the chorus, and it’s surrounded by concrete generalities and images of levees and hearts breaking, suffused with washes of accordion. “Down to the Wire” features a stop-and-go shuffle with harsh and funky keyboard colorings and tremolo and lap steel guitars, while Farrar sounds his environmental warning. Straight country informs “Roll On” and “Dust of Daylight,” to glorious effect. “Pushed Too Far” is an ode to New Orleans and Louisiana and a post-Katrina lament that gets to the heart of the matter: “When you hold your cards close to your chest, it shows you’ve been pushed too far.”

Other gems are “When the Wheels Don’t Move,” a spot-on picture of the economic crash, and “Jukebox of Steel,” an almost exultant shout-out to tavern revelry.

Farrar achieves transcendence here, where his visions of a damaged but salvageable America are matched perfectly with melodic and instrumental beauty.

Wilco’s new one, “WILCO (THE ALBUM)” continues the relaxation and deep breathing of Sky Blue Sky, with even more unpretentiousness. “Wilco (the Song)” starts the self-referential album with a song that promises things the band can’t possibly deliver, and therefore is actually funny – and jaunty. The lovely “Deeper Down” follows and sets a tone of true empathy.

“One Wing” and “Bull Black Nova” both start deceptively soft but end up with full throttle rocking, especially the latter. “You and I” is a clear-eyed love poem without too much sugar. “You Never Know” has another direct swipe of a George Harrison lick (from “My Sweet Lord”), no doubt an homage. Another sad song about America follows, “Country Disappeared,” but again, it’s not morbid.

“I’ll Fight,” “Sonny Feeling” and “Everlasting Everything” are some of the strongest trio of end-songs I can remember in the CD era.

This one’s not meant to shock or amaze – its charms are much more modest and sanguine.

Uncle Tupelo is no longer, but its two former leader-buddies continue to entertain sharply and immensely.