Jeff Tweedy laid out his approach to crafting lyrics in his entertaining 2020 book How to Write One Song, an instructional manual of sorts. Among other advice, the Wilco frontman suggested making a list of words, connecting the nouns and verbs that don’t seem to naturally fit together to see what images or feelings they evoke, and then following where they lead. Another idea he employs is rearranging something he’s been working on by literally cutting it up and piecing it back together in a new order to see what associations suggest themselves. If those strategies have helped keep Wilco among the most restlessly evolving bands of the past few decades, they prove underwhelming on the group’s latest.
Cousin is Wilco’s 13th studio album, and the first one on which the band hasn’t gotten a production credit. That goes to Cate Le Bon this time, though there’s little on Cousin that suggests her input. Mostly, it sounds like a latter-day Wilco album: Tweedy’s murmured vocals on muted songs that give the impression the band is trying not to awaken someone sleeping nearby. This being Wilco, the musicianship throughout is virtuosic, but rarely showy, and many of these 10 songs feature artful instrumental touches: Glenn Kotche’s heartbeat drum fills on opener “Infinite Surprise,” or John Stirratt’s active bassline roaming over a shifting meter on the title track.
Yet for every sublime moment on Cousin—and they’re present—there’s an uncharacteristically dull counterpart. Tweedy mumbles in a flat monotone on “Ten Dead” that undercuts the interplay between twinkling piano and electric guitars. Maybe that’s a commentary on a world in which any catastrophe leaving “no more than 10 dead” feels like a minor victory, but Tweedy in the past has excelled at offering dark sentiments in a more engaging way: think “Via Chicago” from Summerteeth, or “White Wooden Cross” from 2019’s Ode to Joy.
It’s not just the dreary melodies threading through too many of these songs. Some of the lyrics here feel as though Tweedy was reaching for profound and landed instead on banal. It’s true that separating lyrics from the song can do them a disservice, but the musical context doesn’t help much. On “Levee,” he delivers the words in a hesitant, affectless tone over a looping musical pattern carried by guitar. “I love to take my meds / Like my doctor said / But I worry / If I shouldn’t instead,” he sings in one of several passages on Cousin that sounds like it owes more to a rhyming dictionary than poetic expression. There’s a different kind of disconnect on “Soldier Child.” Acoustic guitars over a restrained rhythm steer the song into a chorus where Tweedy compares his emotional state to a child soldier who “Fights to forget / What it’s like / To be / Home,” an analogy that’s simply in poor taste.
Fortunately, there are redeeming moments. The gentle “Sunlight Ends” celebrates someone for their unconventional magnetism, and Tweedy sings admiringly over electronic elements and squiggles of guitar and synthesizers. Album closer “Meant to Be” is maybe the best song on the album. It’s uptempo, for one thing, with electric guitars that circle and soar above a bed of synthesizers and a propulsive beat that help Tweedy’s melody take flight. It’s a reminder of how good Wilco can be at their best, even if that’s a standard the band doesn’t always reach on Cousin.
Eric R. Danton has been contributing to Paste since 2013. His work has also appeared in Rolling Stone, The Wall Street Journal, the Boston Globe and Pitchfork, among other publications. Follow him on Mastodon or visit his website.
