Every other year (excepting the first two), the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art (henceforth called Mass MoCA) functions as a lodestone (magnetized, if you will) for a legion of Wilco fans. Solid Sound. This year marked the 6th every-other-anniversary of the festival, and much like always, it mirrored Wilco’s own eclecticism, from the art and music to the comedy and emphasis on discovery.
I consider it important, though, to mention and discuss the venue. Mass MoCA enjoyed its 20th anniversary this year, (though 33 years have passed since the Williams College staff first germinated the idea of it), having become a destination in and of itself, a beautiful and endless industrial cavern of art that often both enthralls and confuses, capturing a sense of what it means to be human. Somehow, over time, they converted this massive complex of factory buildings into an interconnected web of visual and performing arts; in truth, were it not for all of the music, I can imagine an alternate reality wherein I spent 3 consecutive days absorbing everything the museum offers. Instead, much of it seeped in through osmosis, proximity, and the brief tenures when I stopped to study the little world we called home for a little more than 48 hours.
But it’s not an alternate world, and I found myself – along with both lifelong and temporary friends – focusing on the joy of music and community. We arrived – my wife, myself, and two of our closest friends in tow for their first Solid Sound – late Friday, having spent the prior day (and that morning) driving to and through the surrounding area, taking in a Hudson River vineyard and delicious food along the way. Those first few moments are a wild mix of elation and the almost-unsettled confusion of being in a mass of people. The former stays, the latter fades.
As we settled in at Joe’s Field – where Wilco and some others always play – our phones buzzed with the notification that Courtney Barnett, at that very moment, had taken residence in the middle of an art installation. This is one of those things about Solid Sound it’s never easy to capture: the sudden joys of pop-up shows, both announced and unannounced, these little 3-5 song snippet shows that populate the moments between sets and shows.
And then there’s Wilco themselves. This is, for all intents and purposes, a second homecoming for them. North Adams has become more than just the place where Solid Sound happens – John Stirratt has a hotel here (the beautiful Tourists), and more often than not, it seems he populates its river shores and hiking trails when not touring. Audience members from the massive A Shot in the Arm Facebook group orchestrated a gathering to hold up WELCOME HOME signs while Wilco played onstage, eliciting a tide of smiles and a shout-out from Jeff Tweedy.
The joy shown by smiles extended easily to the audience, many of whom have found themselves stamping the earth at Joe’s Field every other year for the better part of a decade, with fewer first-timers than repeat attendees. We attend not just because we love the music – and we do, make no mistake – but because this festival offers the entirely rare phenomenon of genuine interaction and closeness with artists we admire and love. That connection reminds us both of our own important humanity, but that of the band, too, who more than emphasizes the sense of community throughout the weekend. They say hello to everyone they see, treating us all like close acquaintances, sharing stories and memories, or sometimes just a quick wave hello and a smile.
And also, we tend to get special access to musical events no one else in the world ever will.
So, without further ado and in no particular order, here are 10 of the things we loved most about Solid Sound.
Karaoke Night
Let’s get this one out of the way first: Karaoke Night was awesome. I won’t tell you I loved it more than 2015’s acoustic show or 2017’s Being There / Yankee Hotel Foxtrot eargasm, but the privilege of seeing my favorite band in the world allow a selected handful of people take center stage with the band behind them? Kind of priceless. And Wilco made it a group singalong by placing all of the words behind them on a screen, encouraging everyone in the audience to join in. Not everybody knows every Wilco lyric – maybe even most of us don’t, with Tweedy’s love of free association and challenging symbolism – but every single one us could see every word and sing (mostly in-tune) with the band. Most of the guest singers more than held their own, with a special highlight being a woman named Bailey singing “True Love Will Find Us in the End”.
And maybe this is what sets Wilco and Solid Sound apart from so much of the music in the world. A relationship exists between the band and the audience that transcends the purely transactional nature of live music; the audience doesn’t buy into Solid Sound and Wilco just because they make great music (they do), but because we care about them and they care about us. That might be a maudlin perspective, but I suspect it’s no less true for the sentiment.
Jeff had promised on a radio show that there would be a few ringers for Karaoke Night, which included Sammy Tweedy on “I’m Always in Love” and Yuka Honda on “We Aren’t the World (Safety Girl)”. But undoubtedly the biggest moment – maybe of the whole festival, though there’s at least one clear challenger – of the night came when Jeff introduced “Courtney from Melbourne” to sing “Handshake Drugs”. Courtney Barnett settled in after the first verse and then shared a dueling solo with Nels Cline that melted the audience. I am almost impossibly eager to buy this Roadcase just to hear one good recording of this song.
Pop-Up Shows
Maybe this isn’t necessarily a defining characteristic of Solid Sound, but it’s certainly a conspicuous difference. Where else can you catch Andy Shauf and Buck Meek nestled into the corner of a photography art exhibit? Or see Skyway Man and Courtney Barnett amidst the neon-bright, meticulously odd world cultivated by Trenton Doyle Hancock (seriously, please check this out)? Or catch Wand from above this exhibit as a crowd fills the entire room in a fever dream of colors and odd characters? Or listen to Pat Sansone and company play a quartet of Mellotrons as it wafts through the galleries? Or how about the extraordinary privilege of seeing Ohmme acoustic, on stools? Really and truly, these shows possess a surreality I find it hard to capture and comprehend. They offer a synergy between performance and art rarely reflected in the more traditional example of a rock show or a festival; it’s less about a trade of capital for music and more about finding an experience to hold close to your chest.
Side Projects
The members of Wilco have almost-innumerable side projects between them. Generally, they rarely get the airtime they deserve. That’s not the issue at Solid Sound. The unutterably beautiful Autumn Defense set with strings stunned an entire audience, including a choice Chris Bell cover (a perfectly obscure nod to influences for Pat and John, if you ask me). Mikael Jorgensen’s Expandards set in the airy corner Building 6, its overlooking prow like a stage-covering balcony, or his wild Sunday Quindar set. Or Nels’ almost-weird improvisational duo set with Julian Lage as obscure or absurd silent videos played behind them (I found myself utterly transfixed by the spinning tops). And the aforementioned Mellotron Variations fronted by Pat Sansone. Every single one of these shared a touch of something else about Wilco, a combined tapestry that necessarily informs their sound.
Mass MoCA: The Art and the Setting
I mentioned it above already, but it bears repeating. Mass MoCA has amassed a collection of art installations that deserve every ounce of the viewers’ attentions. Annie Lennox’s “Now I Let You Go…” and its little field guide offered a view of life and living, death and dying, that reflects what it is to be human. I cannot begin to parse through it.
I Loved James Turrell’s “Into the Light” feature, the way it plays with perception; the way light becomes tangible, less an object in motion and more something that we can touch. I am reminded of my cats chasing laser pointers, certain the little red dot can be captured, and I wonder how often we do the same thing?
Or Titus Kaphar’s “Language of the Forgotten”, in which narrative is everything. Kaphar takes an image of Jefferson we all know and recognize and superimposes an etched image of a woman who evoked Sally Hemings for me. I interpreted it as a reminder that the narratives we are fed are never the whole picture.
To those that know me, it should come as no or little surprise that my favorite exhibit was “The Bright and Hollow Sky”, a collection of photos about characters and figures in the musical world, showing them as people, behind the scenes of the rock and roll pageantry. It is a poignant reminder, and a message well-reflected by Solid Sound.
Musical Eclecticism
As mentioned previously and elsewhere, the members of Wilco have disparate musical and artistic interests; this results in a decidedly eclectic mix of musicians for every Solid Sound, and 2019 was no different. From the mind-blowing, left-handed Tuareg stylings of Mdou Moctar (I swear to you, nobody plays like him) to the experimental and formative so-called post-rock explosions of Tortoise (watching them switch between instruments is a delight). The edgy pop perfection of The Minus 5 and the privilege to observe Scott McCaughey blaze new trails post-stroke, flanked by Mike Mills and Peter Buck (with the inimitable Linda Pitmon on drums). The heavy swirls and whirls of Lithics and Rough Francis contrasted with the melodic, slow-burning styles of Buck Meek and Andy Shauf (as well as Foxwarren). Or the happy-go-lucky Jonathan Richman with just a guitar and drumkit, post-storm on Sunday, which felt like a celebration. Or Cate Le Bon and her voice that somehow soared over the entire festival, no matter where we stood.
Of course, I can’t forget one of my favorite discoveries, Skyway Man, who presented two sides to his music, one via the Courtyard rock, and the other a smaller, quieter thing that still managed to fill the exhibit he occupied. Or The Feelies, who quietly surprise me every time I engage with their music, a band well before my time that has slowly occupied my earspace.
The most perfect part of this variety is that I now know more music than I used to know. I have listened to musicians now that have introduced me to an entire new worldview – because of Mdou Moctar, I have spent hours of drive-time listening to Tuareg music. Because of Tortoise, I now write and cook to a new genre of music (after searching for “bands influenced by Tortoise”). Solid Sound continues to influence my interests, as well as greatly expanding my understanding of what music is and can do.
Courtney Barnett
Listen. She’s an ascendant talent with a gift for observational lyrics that take on a deeper meaning when you wade into the songs.
I’ve seen and written about her music before, so I won’t spend overmuch time belaboring this point. But I implore you, reader, to please sit down with her songs, to let them percolate through your mind. For me, I like it best when I’ve got the lyrics on the ground next to me as I’m listening. Songs like “Depreston” (which easily provokes a kind of existential malaise) become something more than; a song about house hunting, Courtney somehow takes this mundanity and explores impermanence, death and dying (of people and lives and relationships), and the juxtaposition of daily small events with the big ideas of living.
clipping. and Milo
They get their own subheadline because they deserve it. I almost gave each their own. I had literally (I mean this in both the true and figurative sense of the word) never heard of or listened to either act. As Milo prepared to take the stage, my wife told me she’d overheard he’d retired the Milo stage name, but had brought it back for Solid Sound (he goes by R.A.P. Ferreira now). He genuinely blew me away with his spitfire lyrics, insightful commentary, and consistent sense of humor and stage presence.
And then clipping., the hip hop group out of LA, featuring David Diggs of Hamilton fame (indeed, his work in clipping reportedly led to his discovery for Hamilton). My friend Annie had almost as much excitement about this set as any all weekend, her anticipatory elation a kind of drug urging me to dig into the songs. Lit by weak red or blue lights, Diggs rippled around the stage, a barely-contained maelstrom, only stopping between songs or when a malfunction happened with the computers being manned by William Hutson and Jonathan Snipes behind him. He laughingly announced they had a bet going about how many times a problem would arise (three, I think, was the ultimate total). Fractured beats, edges of static, along with smooth and spry lyrical stylings defined their set, matched by an audience that found its late-night vigor and danced until the music ended.
“There’s more of this than there is of that”
It’s not a secret that Jeff Tweedy (and some of the other outspoken Wilco members) hold certain ideals to be true. Jeff routinely asserts the importance of community, loving one another, and accepting others. On July 4th, Nels issued a facebook post decrying the inhumanity of the current border situation (ignoring your personal politics, these camps dehumanize the victims). In the wake of the attack on women’s rights, Wilco issued a statement of support and solidarity, encouraging fans to donate. Jeff has repeatedly talked about the grotesqueness of the current president’s approach, the not-so-subtle manipulations of some people’s fears and worries, a subversion of reality to project a group of people as the problem.
Which brings me back to the above quote. I wrote that line in my old, slightly waterlogged journal, the ink bleeding more than it should through soaked cotton. I’m not sure I wrote it exactly correctly, even, but it’s close enough to capture the sentiment.
“There’s more of this than there is of that.”
Solid Sound is about community as much as music and art, though maybe those things are the same things. People at Solid Sound automatically project love and kindness to each other, shouting support about band shirts, or random ”Hellos” at passersby we recognize from social media. We get introduced to new friends. And everybody smiles throughout, regardless of the stressors we might be undergoing.
The “this” is love, acceptance and community. The “that” is othering, xenophobia, and belligerence.
Fuck. That.
“Look at that stupid rainbow”
This is about the Jeff Tweedy and Friends show. Every other year, by the time the calendar rolls over to Sunday, it’s hard to avoid a bittersweet malaise, something disquieting at the center of the soul, all emotion.
I love Warm and Warmer, but never got to see Jeff tour solo. Life got too far in the way, and no matter what you say, that’s okay. The sun colored the sloping mountains viridescent, the sky a robin’s egg with pillowy clouds. The earlier storm well-chased by the time Jeff walked onstage, his songs rang like clarions to meditation, to thought, to community. So much wisdom and life experience suffused into the lyrics, from the heart-clenching honesty of “Bombs Above” (“A man so drunk he could hardly stand / Told me once holding my hand / Suffering is the same for everyone / He was right but I was wrong to agree”) to the crushing truths of “I Know What It’s Like” sung with Sammy Tweedy (my favorite song in years).
It’s a little like church without the gospel, Sunday at Solid Sound. All of the preaching is confined to the songs and the setting, the ideologies referenced vaguely and without assertions of right or wrongdoing. Jeff invites others onstage with him eventually, every time, and it begins to feel like a revival. This year, it felt more like a shared miracle. Jeff pulled on heartstrings and emphasized hope, singing “You Are Not Alone” with Ohmme on backing vocals and “It Must Be Love” with Pat Sansone (a Labi Siffre song well worth finding). And then “You and I” with Amelia Meath (of Mountain Man and Sylvan Esso), who arrived like an unexpected angel as though summoned.
All of a sudden, as Jeff talked onstage, something like fog cascaded down the mountain behind him, and the knowing audience around me scurried to get undercover, donning ponchos and jackets. The rain hit, and he shared that he had the perfect pair of songs for the rain, first singing “Losing End” (Neil Young) with Scott McCaughey and moving into “Let’s Go Rain” as the clouds faded, treating us to an altogether uncommon sunstorm.
And then it happened. As the rain fell on the audience, towards the end of the song, Jeff pointed into the crowd and said, “Look at that stupid rainbow,” a little moment of magic. Somehow, as though summoned, a rainbow had framed Joe’s Field. We all smiled at the little gift, exulting in the sky’s little speech.
The day ended with a wild rendition of “I Shall Be Released”, a now-standard written by Dylan, featuring everyone who could take the stage on Sunday. Jeff waved goodbye and said,
“Thanks for making this beautiful. Thanks for making this happen”
I think Wilco recognizes how much Solid Sound means to so much of the audience. It’s a homecoming for more than just the band. So many of us schedule our hotels and Airbnbs a year in advance, sight unseen, just because we know we always want to be there. The privilege of hearing our favorite band – arguably the best American band of this generation – more than once, across three days, and to see all of their side projects, provides more than enough incentive to come to Mass MoCA. Then, every time, the festival is as beautiful and perfect as we could hope.
They play the songs we love, and every time, a new song comes to the fore. On Friday night, I quietly sobbed during “What Light”. Having just learned about my beloved grandfather’s death minutes before the set, I experienced rapid and untamed emotional responses that supernova’d with that final line, “There’s a light / One light”. And to be followed by “The Late Greats”, another song that took on a temporary meaning.
On Saturday night, special moments abound. New songs on the assumed forthcoming release (“Empty Corner” and “White Wooden Cross”). A mind-blowing run of songs from ”Laminated Cat” (that jam!), “Reservations”, “Side with the Seeds”, and “Theologians”, followed shortly by one of Nels’ best “Impossible Germany” solos. Or the set beginning with the understated punch of “Hell is Chrome” and “Muzzle of Bees”. We laughed along with the band throughout, Jeff cracking that he feels compelled to warn the audience whenever they play a song from the first record.
Ultimately, the main takeaway from the weekend is this: when we band together as a community, we are better humans. When we come together, we make the world more beautiful. When we sing together, we become one light.
