Morning

I know I’ve written ad nauseum (by the way, that means, “To a disgusting or ridiculous degree; to the point of nausea.”) about “an old friend” who said or did this or that, and specifically for this post, made reference to music speaking to you in a certain way depending on where you are in life.

Back around 1995 is when another old friend was feeding me CD’s by Uncle Tupelo and their offspring, Son Volt and Wilco. The angst of those records was counsel to my tormented soul back in those tumultuous years, but eventually I got to a point where those mid to late 90’s reminders became unlistenable. I simply didn’t want to regress, so a more upbeat substitute in the form of Sloan sat near as sonic therapist.

Saturday night as Kyle and I glided home after seeing a movie with new friends, Wilco’s debut, “A.M.” appeared first under the “Albums” click of the LeoPod. Somewhat tentatively I depressed the white right pointing isosceles. What jumped out of the speakers was joyful and alive. It just didn’t drag at me the way it once did. Of course there are still depressing songs on the record, but the music was jumping in a way that turned sad words glad. I sang and Kyle suffered through it, but not without complaining that Wilco is the worst band ever. Maybe he thought I was high.

You never looked in my eyes
Long enough to find
Any piece of mind
But now you got it
And I, I must be high
To let you say goodbye
Bye bye bye

I Must Be High – Wilco