Listening to this career retrospective nearly a decade after Uncle Tupelo split up, it's not immediately clear why they were such a big deal at the time, and why their myth continues to occupy the center of the alternative country universe. Well, a lot of it has to do with the two bands that emerged from Uncle Tupelo's wreckage: Son Volt and Wilco. Both bands have displayed moments of near-brilliance: every twist and turn along their career path adds to the myth of their former band. Witness Son Volt's incredible debut, Trace, and their equally incredible decline into mumbling irrelevance, or Wilco's wobbly first steps before the masterful Being There, and their subsequent reinvention with Summerteeth and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Both of these storylines figure heavily into how Uncle Tupelo is remembered.
So what makes Uncle Tupelo so special? On a conceptual level, what they were doing wasn't completely without precedent. Three kids from southern Illinois, inspired by old-time country and punk, form a band sounding something like Dinosaur Jr. covering the Carter Family. Their precursors and contemporaries-- Rank and File, Souled American, Jason and the Scorchers, the Jayhawks, the Replacements, the Mekons-- were all bands that combined country and, if not punk, then at least a certain DIY, anti-establishment aesthetic. What set Uncle Tupelo apart, and why did this band have, and continue to have, such resonance among listeners?
Quite simply, Uncle Tupelo was the right band at the right time. Alternative music in general was gaining popularity by the time Uncle Tupelo released their first LP in 1990. That album's title, No Depression, would itself become a synonym for alt.country. As listeners revolted against what they saw as the mainstream, and the spirit of punk itself began to saturate popular music, many listeners craved a more authentic sound. And some found it in the music of Uncle Tupelo.
So, almost exactly a decade after Uncle Tupelo recorded their third and best album (March 16-20, 1992), along comes this 21-song retrospective, 89/93: An Anthology. This collection is meant to be an appetizer, something to get old and new fans alike interested in the proper albums, three of which will be reissued later this year (all but Uncle Tupelo's final album, Anodyne, have been out of print for quite some time). As such, Anthology is a bit haphazard and not much of a cohesive listening experience. Anthology's goals seem split between pleasing diehards with a few rarities (a demo, an unreleased B-side, a live cut, a radio session track) and seeking new converts by means of a good band overview.
Uncle Tupelo's best moments are Jay Farrar's. It was unquestionably his band, and he was hitting his songwriting peak just as they were breaking up. His "Graveyard Shift" (from No Depression) evokes the vast expanse of possibility inherent in the combination of country and punk traditions. Songs like "Whiskey Bottle" and "Still Be Around" should, by all rights, sit alongside Creedence Clearwater Revival's best work in the future canon of classic rock. And speaking of Creedence, Anthology rescues from oblivion Tupelo's sinister cover of "Effigy" (it originally appeared on 1993's No Alternative comp). Tracks like these have an undeniable exuberance and bear the mark of a great band.
But Anthology tries to even the score by giving equal time to both of Tupelo's songwriters, and Jeff Tweedy's early material falls a little flat. Tweedy was clearly operating in Farrar's shadow in Uncle Tupelo, and many of his songs ("Screen Door," for example) seem like they're trying too hard to achieve some sort of approval. Tweedy had developed into a distinct songwriter in his own right by the second half of Tupelo's existence, as evident here on "Black Eye" and "New Madrid." Both songs hint at the mysterious and complex lyrical turns he would explore later with Wilco.
When it was all said and done, Uncle Tupelo left a legacy far bigger than their recorded output. Hordes of bands would pick up where they left off, and many would be content to stay right there. Fortunately, Uncle Tupelo had the good sense to split up when they did before they were forced to choose between upholding tradition or evolving into something else. Like the Johnny Cash song, Uncle Tupelo walked the line, and were damn good at it.
