Being Isaac Josephson - Sunday Morning Edition

Asher got a cold. Then I got a cold. Now both of us would like to take our heads off and put them on a shelf to drain.

Meanwhile, Leah's back to waking up every three hours at night. After sleeping for 6-8 hour stretches for the past month, it's a bit of a letdown.

Is "letdown" one word or two? Hyphenated?

Matt Pond PA's "Kc" is stuck in my head right now. So, I'm listening to it while I download free episodes of Sesame Street from iTunes.

Speaking of iTunes, I'll give you one guess what their password retrieval screen's called. Yep, "iForgot." Clever bastards, they are.

New Wilco

One of the happiest mysteries of the past decade is how Jeff Tweedy has evolved into a peerless experimental rock bandleader whose increasingly innovative work remains grounded in an accessible, rootsy ethos. In part, this transformation has been driven by a revolving cast of muses – musical luminaries like Jay Bennett and Jim O’Rourke who have pushed Tweedy’s Wilco to set the bar higher on each release. With Sky Blue Sky that mantle has shifted to avant garde jazz guitarist Nels Cline whose New Monastery – an audacious interpretation of Andrew Hill’s music – was one of the most interesting records of 2006.

Against such a backdrop, anything less than a once-in-a-generation album would have suffered from high expectations. And while Sky Blue Sky is still a solid release, it falls far short of its promise, instead landing near the top of that largely risk-averse, roots-and-jam-band genre known as “dad rock.”

Musically, Sky Blue Sky is a mature follow-up to the band’s 1996 release Being There. The songs are impeccable; Tweedy sprinkles in a few well-timed George Harrison licks, and percussionist Glenn Kotche, a longstanding enemy of the standard backbeat, mixes up the rhythms enough to engage listeners, but never lets them forget it’s a rock album. Still, Wilco has traversed much ground since 1996. A throwback to that earlier Wilco does not do them justice.

There are exceptions - the back-to-back “Side With The Seeds” and “Shake It Off.” The two traverse miles of musical ground in a manner not attempted since the days of early Pink Floyd or Selling England-era Genesis. Cline earns his paycheck here, adding textures that turn what would otherwise be simply solid compositions into mind-blowing psychedelic affairs.

To be sure, many of the other songs on Sky Blue Sky will be welcome additions to the Wilco canon once they’ve been worked out in the live arena. But at their core, they’re a step back both musically and lyrically.

Some day I will once again have the time and energy for lengthy and cohesive posts. But until then...

I'm reviewing the new Wilco CD for Down Beat. Just got it in the mail today, but grabbed an illicit listen a few weeks ago at work. Best thing they've done since Summerteeth is my first impression.

Every once in a while, I remember how incredible Jimmy Smith's The Sermon record is. If you get a chance, give it a listen. I'm not one for organ jazz, but the grooves he and his rhythm section lay down, and the solos (taken by the likes of Lou Donaldson, Kenny Burrell and a young Lee Morgan) are out of this world.

Leah went for her one-month doctor's visit today. She's in the 50th percentile for height and weight. For the non-initiated, that means she's in the bullseye of average. Given her genes, that's something of a wonder, and will not likely last for long. Asher, for example, is in the 5th percentile in height and the 10th percentile in weight.

Blah blah blah baby blah blah blah toddler blah blah blah.

I knew that music industry experience would come in handy, and other complaints

Oh Dear Reader(s), I haven’t felt so overwhelmed in a long time. Some tidbits:

On Tuesday night, I settled down to finish my paper, but Leah started crying. Finally got her down around 10pm, and wrote for an hour. Then, Asher woke up terrified of the thunderstorm. I stayed with him until after one in the morning.

On Thursday/Friday, Sarah, Asher and Leah all came down with some sort of stomach thing. I stayed home from work. At one point, when I was wiping Asher (who was redder ‘n a fire engine), Sarah said, “Why doesn’t he scream when you do that? He’s so raw that he shrieks when I try.” My response? “I worked in the music industry for a decade. I’m used to dealing with assholes.” Thanks. Be here all week.

Today, we made an impromptu trip over to Sarah’s grandmother’s house to stake claim on some miscellanea. This was supposed to have been done in an orderly fashion, but, well, it didn’t happen that way, and now it’s 9:30pm. Both kids are kvetching, and I’ve got a hallway full of paintings and 50-year-old throw pillows. Oh yeah, there’s a chicken in the oven that had to get cooked tonight (use it or lose it). It should be done around 11:15pm and cool enough to put in the refrigerator by midnight.

It’s got to get easier.