I can’t listen “At Least That’s What You Said,” when the music comes in, when the drums come in, without crying. It sounds like a panic attack to me. It’s representational, you know. The second half of the solo when the guitar becomes more frantic is unsettling to me in a really beautiful way. It says more than anything I’ve ever written lyrically, and it just happened.
Wilco is the Mark Ruffalo of bands; just slightly-grizzled and tortured-seeming enough to disguise the fact that, at bottom, they’re just a bunch of boring middle-class dudes who like Ben & Jerry’s like you do. Listening to Wilco — much like watching, say The Kids Are All Right — lets you momentarily believe that life really is hard for us low-melanin types, and that nobody out there should ever forget it!