Written by: Matt Fogelson

Why write about a band that broke up nearly 25 years ago?

Because for the past few months the music of Uncle Tupelo has insinuated itself into my consciousness, reaching peak levels in the days after November 8, 2016.

As most everybody knows, Uncle Tupelo was a collaboration in the early 1990s of Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy; the former going on to start Son Volt, the latter, Wilco. Uncle Tupelo is regarded by many as the founders of the alt-country genre, a style of music blending traditional country with alternative rock and punk, all tied together by an earnestness derived from blue collar lyrics and a rawer sound than typical of mainstream country music. Think Ryan Adams for a contemporary parallel.

Maybe it was my recent return to the working world after an extended sabbatical in South America that has allowed me to hear Uncle Tupelo with fresh ears. Whatever the reason, I find their music speaking to me in this moment as a husband and father deeply mired in mid-life. The track “Looking For A Way Out” from the band’s second record, Still Feel Gone (1991), has been my Ally McBeal theme song, playing endlessly in my head for weeks:

There was a time

Could put it out of your mind

Leave it all behind

There was a time

That time is gone

 That verse to me is a distillation of mid-life and the responsibilities that come with having a family. That time of easy escape, or at least the possibility of it, is gone. Of course, every stage of life is filled with connections and responsibilities, and even now I can steal moments of care-free solitude, but it feels like the over-arching fundamentals have shifted. The same equation yields a slightly different solution.

The verse speaks even more powerfully to me this week as a political statement and (with apologies to Trump supporters), as a call to action. Maybe in the past we could look away, content to just lead our lives, but that time is gone. Because, as the lyrics to the bridge state, things are “turned more intense/And all the crutches you’ve kept around/Now are nowhere to be found.”

But enough about politics (for now) and back to mid-life crisis. The track’s final verse distills another truism about this phase of life:

Remember when you didn’t have to look ahead or behind you

There was always something right there to do

But now it’s life in some kind of trap looking for a way out

Well, you keep moving on that’s what it’s all about

While I wouldn’t necessarily use the term “trap” to describe mid-life, it does seem there is a certain lack of spontaneity endemic to it, with the ability to do what’s right in front of you severely compromised.

While the lyrics to “Looking For A Way Out” are intensely provocative, it was the music that initially hit me like a thunderbolt from on high, vaulting the song immediately to the top of my rotation. It is a perfect compilation of varied musical elements: it is by turns forceful, soothing, brooding, melodic, driving, slow-burning, and raw, structured around musical interludes that come to a cymbal-crashing and distortion-filled end. If you are unfamiliar with the track, you must check it out. And even if you know the song but haven’t heard it in a while, take another listen and see if it speaks to you any differently these days.

Another tune I have been playing around the clock this past week is “Whiskey Bottle” from Uncle Tupelo’s first record, No Depression (1990). It too has taken on new meaning of late. I used to cue it up to hear one of my favorite lyrics set within a furious musical arrangement seething with anger (don’t be fooled by the dreamy Hawaiian quietude of the opening; this song is a punch to the gut):

I can’t forget the sound, ’cause it’s here to stay
The sound of people chasing money and money getting away

The personification of money, with dollar bills sprouting legs and running away like Saturday-morning cartoon characters, expresses a well-understood reality, but in a darkly humorous, novel and soul-wrenching way that renders pathetic those who think they can escape their hard luck.

But it’s the last verse and final chorus that have worn out my earbuds this past week:

In between the dirt and disgust there must be
Some air to breathe and something to believe
Liquor and guns the sign says quite plain
Somehow life goes on in a place so insane

With Jay Farrar’s spitting utterance of that last word, “insane,” the power chord-infused chorus rolls back in like a tidal wave:

A long way from happiness
In a three-hour-away town
Whiskey bottle over Jesus
Not forever, just for now
Not forever, just for now

That chorus is devastating; the concept of a “three-hour away town” masterful. Three hours away from where? From what? From whom? Presumably from everywhere, everything and everybody. A place where faith gives way to self-destruction. But don’t worry; it’s not forever, it’s just for now. We are hardly convinced. The song exposes the false promise of the album title; it is hard to conjure a more depressing dreamscape.

But that is the reality many people feel they are living in now, one of isolation and despair. We can only hope it truly is not forever, just for now.

One final track to haunt your days and nights: “Moonshiner” from the band’s third record, March 16-20, 1992 (1992). This track has always been depressing and I’m not sure it goes down any different these days:

Let me eat when I’m hungry
Let me drink when I’m dry
Two dollars when I’m hard up
Religion when I die
The whole world is a bottle
And life is but a dram
When the bottle gets empty
Lord, it sure ain’t worth a damn

The good news about hitting rock bottom is things can’t get any worse. Of course the trick is knowing when rock bottom has arrived.