(Nonesuch)

4/5 Stars



Although alternative pioneers Wilco have garnered almost as much critical praise for their dynamic concerts as for their genre-bending studio albums, the band’s mid-November release of “Kicking Television” represents the first official effort at documenting their formidable live show.

Originally slated as half of a joint CD/DVD release—the DVD was cancelled because singer/song-writer Jeff Tweedy deemed the footage too “claustrophobic”—the double disc album contains 23 songs, mostly culled from the band’s recent studio effort “A Ghost is Born,” but their 2001 classic “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” is also well-represented.

The band appointed well-respected sound engineer Jim Scott (Johnny Cash, Tom Petty, Red Hot Chili Peppers) to cull material from four nights of shows at Chicago’s Vic Theatre. Scott does not disappoint, faithfully capturing the force and clarity of Wilco’s performances while maintaining remarkable fidelity and a pleasant level of crowd noise.

Though many of the included songs are not significantly different from their studio counterparts, the palpable enthusiasm with which they are played brings out their finer points. Nels Cline is astonishing on lead guitar, Pat Sansone (keys/guitar) and Mikael Jorgensen (keys/laptop) are quietly innovative, Glen Kotche is rhythmically and melodically dynamic behind the drums and John Stirratt is powerful on bass and harmony.

The true genius of the live-album format is revealed in the many moments where Wilco’s performance transcends their pre-recorded material. At the end of opener “Misunderstood,” Tweedy boldly forces his voice up an octave to declare: “I’d like to thank you all for nothing at all/I’d like to thank you all for nothing” before leading a raucous crowd through a lengthy chant of “Nothing/nothing/nothing” culminating with the cathartic release of “Nothing at all.”

Another crowd sing-along on “Shot in the Arm” kicks Tweedy and bassist John Stirratt into vocal overdrive as they shout: “Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm/Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm/Something in my veins/Bloodier than blood.”

This blood courses through the end of “Via Chicago,” where Tweedy and Stirratt soar out of a cacophony of raw sounds with: “Rest my head on a pillowy star and a cracked-door moon that says I haven’t gone too far,” dovetailing seamlessly with the song’s guitar theme.

Such resonance is appropriate enough, as Wilco thrills instrumentally as well as vocally. Nels Cline and Tweedy redefine synchronized guitar acrobatics in the short but beautifully orchestrated electric guitar solo on “Hell is Chrome.”

Cline’s extended solo on “Ashes of American Flags” replaces the noise outro of the studio version, completely altering the character of the song. Instead of leaving the listener disoriented, Cline restores melodic order and orchestrates an instrumental climax before slowly fading out.

The few missteps on “Kicking Television” stem mostly from poor song selection. “Wishful Thinking,” while inoffensively boring on “A Ghost is Born,” fails to lend itself to the kind of dynamic re-invention that makes the other tracks so exciting. Palette cleansing interludes may be necessary for those actually present at the concert but only stultify the recorded artifact. The titular “Kicking Television” is a fairly uninteresting piece of angular guitar rock reminiscent of “I’m a Wheel” with none of that song’s charm.

“Radio Cure” is another example of a song better left in the studio. Its dissonant chordal structure and hushed vocals are buried in the bustle of live performance, making its inclusion here incongruous. An energetic closing salvo of “Oh distance has a way/of making love understandable” partially redeems the cut, but can’t save it from redundancy.

Tweedy himself is captivatingly mysterious, alternately capable of whispering fragments of poetry and screaming vocal hooks, the consummate enigmatic band leader. “Kicking Television” showcases his multifaceted talent, but, more importantly, it captures a vibrant and engaging band firing on all cylinders.