The story behind Tweedy’s Sukierae

The story behind Tweedy’s Sukierae

By Jake Tully

It seems that any time one can assume Jeff Tweedy is down for the count his return is more invigorated and imbued with fresh ideas than ever imaginable. Such is the case with Sukierae, Tweedy’s latest side project with son Spencer. Released under the mutual surname, Tweedy, the collaboration is a surprisingly fresh father-son musical venture. Though the elder Tweedy does (understandably) the majority of the heavy lifting, Spencer Tweedy mustn’t be overlooked for his drumming chops – the kid ain’t bad.

On the surface, Sukierae isn’t so vastly different from Tweedy’s earlier works. One part ethereal ballads, two parts rolling drums and bass, mix in some trademark skronky guitar and there would seem to be a perfect recipe for a Tweedy album. And yet, despite having all those elements and then some, Tweedy seems to be morphing his oeuvre. For the man who was once synonymous with “Misunderstood” and throwing back whiskey alongside Jay Farrar et all, it’s certain a cultivated sound.

What undoubtedly contributes to the maturity from Tweedy is the story behind the album – Tweedy’s wife Sue Miller (the album’s namesake) was diagnosed with lymphoma earlier in the year. Sukierae seems more a call to action than a spontaneous family project, without suffering any sort of destitute recording. Tweedy junior and senior have more than enough to ruminate on the daily, in Sukierae lies a sort of cathartic journaling from a beleaguered paternal line.

At 20 tracks, Sukierae makes no bones about its standing as long play release. Listening to the record in its entirety in one sitting is an undertaking in itself. It can be done; though digesting nearly 80 minutes of a doleful Tweedy in one sitting may require some sort of break, or a shot of whatever whiskey you’ve got lying around. Any prolonged despondency is broken up with slightly heartened tracks – “Low Key” and “I’ll Sing It” to name a few.

Sukierae is a heap of tunes to mull over. Ostensibly any song that begins as transparent soon transforms into something much more introspective, and yet again the impetus of recording comes to mind. Nonetheless, it’s difficult not to imagine the record as an invention that finds Tweedy in “dad” mode. Tweedy seems to struggle with erring on the side of XM radio coffeehouse fodder whilst peppering in obligatory distortion to avoid the looming adult contemporary stamp on his forehead. He avoids such a guilty distinction, and whips back around into something out of Sky Blue Sky era material.

Moreover, it’s pleasant. Tweedy and son aren’t grasping at straws on any of the 20 tracks, each song as well fleshed out as the one preceding it (after all, Sukierae is concept of sorts.) Sukierae’s only true flaw may be the inability to digest it all, though it can’t truly be condemned for form and content. Hear Tweedy out – it’s worth a spin.

wilcoworld.net  |  vinyl  |  iTunes  |  fb