Pitchfork

Although Loose Fur's 2003 debut sprawled and streched its way to nowhere fast, the album's tangential importance is undeniable. Recorded in summer 2000, it documents the early of stages of the Jeff Tweedy/Jim O'Rourke mind-meld as well as drummer Glenn Kotche's introduction to Wilcoworld. If he never made strange squawks with Loose Fur, Tweedy may not have amassed the courage to make Yankee Hotel Foxtrot or shove Jay Bennett and his tangled old-white-guy dreads toward indie oblivion; without Loose Fur, the remarkable solo on "At Least That's What You Said" may still be a mere guitar-god figment and "pretentious Wilco" would probably still sound something like "Via Chicago".

Considering how this informal trio apparently played such a large role in uncovering the more experimental cells underneath Tweedy's skull, it's ironic that the relatively straightforward Born Again in the USA is more musically traditional than some of Wilco's recent output. With tapes and tapes of formal collaborations now behind them, the boys are past the "feeling out" stage and onto making proper songs. Just check the track lengths: Whereas only one Loose Fur track clocked in at under five minutes, Born Again only has one that goes over that mark. Basking in the sun-dried guitar echoes of the Eagles, the Byrds, and the Grateful Dead, Born Again is sturdy classic rock revivalism sans stupefied jamming. Adding even more structure and continuity is a satirical godlessness that binds several songs together.

As the punny title suggests, much of the LP confronts religion with a sly, blue state smirk. "The Ruling Class" tells a dubious account of a crack 'n' smack messiah who's "drinkin' beer, just trying to get down." Sung by Tweedy, the aim is secular comedy motivated by biting social critique, but the sarcasm sounds smug-- even when deflated by an easygoing smiling-whistle refrain. The same complaint can be lobbed at "Thou Shall Wilt", which finds O'Rourke offering running commentary for the Ten Commandments (to No. 4, "Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy," the singer responds, "[It's] such a pain, this Sabbath thing is so arcane/ I don't want to desecrate, my only day to sleep in late"). Such Bible-baiting is mildly amusing at first but quickly succumbs to novelty-- especially for an emotional martyr like Tweedy, who tackled similar territory with peaceful poise on A Ghost Is Born's "Theologians".

Luckily, Born Again regularly sidesteps its clunky central theme for Tweedy and O'Rourke's songwriting specialty: pained reflections on relationship dysfunction. With its circular acoustic guitar pattern and hushed sense of folky foreboding, O'Rourke's "Answers to Your Questions" could have found a home on one of his poppier solo records. Predictably, the titular responses are devastating: "You always write to ask how come I don't write back/ Well, I could tell you/ But then I'd have to write a letter that would start/ 'I finally found it in my heart not to forgive you'"). His soothing delivery quivering alongside a slight crescendo of xylophone and precise picking, O'Rourke shades his detachment from a dumped ex with palpable ache.

The same goes for Born Again's finale, "Wanted", the most Wilco-ish track in the Loose Fur canon thus far. Boppy piano accompanies a classic Tweedy opening salvo: "When I say that she's a rapist/ That really isn't what I mean." The song's approach to sexual awakening includes religious overtones and questions of lust vs. saintliness but stays devoid of any holier-than-thou posturing. Wounded and feeling ambiguously abused, Tweedy's narrator defends his indiscretions, "She's not so well rounded, she has points you don't see/ She does whatever she wants, and I swear she wanted me." Topped with an air-guitar-worthy dollop of harmonized six-strings, the song wraps up in just three minutes but its confused longing lingers.

There's no doubt Born Again is superior to its predecessor in nearly every respect. Even the eight-plus minutes of "Wreckroom"-- complete with Tweedy surrealities, wafting solos, and ambient denoument-- are more purposeful than anything on Loose Fur. But, since the album's sharpest moments largely serve to underline the individual strengths of its more well known songwriters rather than the group as a unit, it acts as a teasing appetizer for new O'Rourke and Wilco full-lengths more than it satisfies in its own right.