Damn it, I just read that Wilco has released a new album. And you know what that means. Well you don’t, but I’m going to tell you.
It means that I’m going to read a few reviews, and probably get pissed off because they mention how “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” is the best album in the history of the universe, when I think it’s one of the most overrated works of the rock era. It’s not a bad album, per se, but great? Pazz ‘n Jop winner? Please.
Inevitably, I’ll hear a snippet of a song on the radio or on the Internet, and I’ll think to myself, “damn, that actually sounds good – like back in the days when they were making really good and unpretentious works, like “Being There” and Summerteeth.”
I’ll head to the record store, and for a guy like me, when you enter a record store…well, there’s just something in my DNA that won’t allow me to leave a record store without at least one CD in my hand. So if I happen to go in on a night when I can’t find anything else, I’ll wander over to the W’s, and next thing you know, I’ll be driving home with the new Wilco CD in my pocket.
I’ll give it a listen, and then I’ll mutter to myself, “Damn it. Never again.”
Until the next Wilco CD comes out.