Hey folks!

Welcome to the first match of Round 2!

Today’s Best Album of 2001 match is:

#1 Wilco, YANKEE HOTEL FOXTROT

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vs.

#64 Rufus Wainwright, POSES

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To vote, follow this link to the Google Form. You will need a Google login to vote. If you can’t or won’t have one, let me know ASAP (either through this newsletter, my email [kentmbeeson@hey.com] or on the Best Album Brackets Bluesky account) and I’ll see what I can do.

We have one Designated Cheerleader today, it’s for YANKEE HOTEL FOXTROT, and it’s from Head Cheerleader @bsglaser.bsky.social. Take it away, Brian!

First things first: I am not here to weigh in on the 2001 vs 2002 issue, because I do not care. I am here to talk about something that's far more of a bummer.

YANKEE HOTEL FOXTROT acted as one of my main post-9/11 comfort listens. Which I guess is a small nod at the release date, but it also stretches beyond that. I lived in NYC from 2000-2007, I still work there, and I can tell you that from fall 2001 through to maybe summer 2002, everyone needed a hug, which could come via all sorts of delivery systems. And YHF did a lot of work to help work through what had happened, what was still happening, and how I felt a lot of the time.

The way the album opens, with the weird noise that sort of coalesces into a song, and then lyrics that sort of make sense but the words aren't coming out right even though they're clearly trying to say something? That's how a lot of things felt when the self-release hit in late September. You're trying to break my heart? I know. I'm right here, hiding out in the big city blinking. And I know, I know this album was written and recorded and in the can by summer 2001, so none of this stuff is a reaction. But art often meets its moment, even if it's not born of the specifics of that moment.

The sounds are moving in and out of coherence. The lyrics keep throwing off emotional sparks across the first few songs. "Cheer up honey/I hope you can." "Phone my family/Tell them I'm lost." "Moving forward through flaming doors."

And then: "War on War" Shit, that was on the news every night! "You have to learn how to die/If you want to be alive."

And then: "Jesus, Etc." Oh no. "Tall buildings shake/Voices escape/Singing sad, sad songs." "You were right about the stars/Each one is a setting sun."

And then: "Ashes of American Flags." Oh fuck, are you kidding me? The lyrics careen around, struggling to say something, then the somber musical mood crashes out to almost nothing and lands on: "I would like to salute/The ashes of American flags/And all the falling leaves/Filling up shopping bags." Yup. It felt like that. Not all the time, but often enough.

But then: Staticky noise that resolves into a buoyant drumbeat at a quicker temo. "Heavy Metal Drummer" is when we stop wallowing in the present and start living it up in the past. Suddenly this record is offering release from everything and dancing down by the landing in a different summer. "I miss the innocence I've known." Absolutely! I saw Wilco play in Central Park around this time, and when they kicked into "Heavy Metal Drummer," you could feel something pour out of everyone, all at once. It felt amazing. I still feel it in my chest like it's happening right now.

From here, the record tries to sustain the new mood, but ultimately fails. Instead of trying to break your heart over and over, "I'm the Man Who Loves You," which swipes a lyric from the first Wilco record, AM, and sounds kind of like a regular rock song. It doesn't last long, tumbling down through "Pot Kettle Black" and "Poor Places" until the latter breaks down into a swirl of noise and far-off military radio babble. Were we fighting the endless war on war yet? Most of the time things were fine, but sometimes I'd look the wrong way going downtown, and there it all was, right in front of me. I had reservations about a lot of things, but not about how YHF helped me process a weird, weird time.

Briefly back to the release year thing: The packaging, when it came out in 2002, felt crazy when you held it in your hands. I know the twin, gunmetal grey towers on the cover are in Chicago, but they were punched out against a neutral, blank background and could have been anywhere. They could have been here, singing sad, sad songs.

I know a lot of people don't like YANKEE HOTEL FOXTROT for lots of different reasons, and that's fine. But music isn't always just for listening to--sometimes it does something to or for you, and that's what the record becomes. I think a lot of people got a lot out of YHF in that moment; I certainly did, and it still brings me back to that moment and out the other side of it in under an hour. I'm grateful to Wilco for making this record and making it available across the span of 2001-2002 and unbreaking hearts just a little bit.

Thank you, Brian!

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Thanks,

Kent