Review: Jeff Tweedy’s Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back) is an honest and revealing look at the Wilco frontman

The title of Jeff Tweedy’s memoir, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back), is a saying he inherited from his father, and it’s one that can be viewed a few different ways. According to Tweedy, his father initially began using it as a fun inside joke with his family before any outings, but over time it took on more of a resigned air — let’s get this over with, so we can move onto other things. That sort of balance applies to much of the Wilco frontman’s long-awaited biography, which is often aloof and entertaining, without ever shying away from the darkness that Tweedy has wrestled with over the years.

Tweedy sets the self-deprecating tone of the book right from the introduction, where he plays with the audience’s expectations of what to expect from his memoir. “If you picked this book up looking for wild, druggy stories about my addiction to opiates, you’re out of luck. I want to put those years behind me,” he writes, with the full knowledge that his well-documented addiction is an integral part of his story. It’s a set-up he quickly remedies just a few lines later, adding: “The last part was a joke. Jesus, of course I’m going to write about the drugs.”

That sort of push and pull weaves its way through the book, which takes a relatively chronological approach through his life, with some interesting and often very funny sidebars (more on those soon). In the sort of open and honest storytelling that’s become a staple of Tweedy’s solo shows, the book follows his upbringing and early attraction to music, the founding and dissolution of Uncle Tulepo, his long and occasionally complicated history with Wilco, his struggle and eventual triumph over a crippling addiction to opiates, and most enthusiastically, his marriage, and his work with Tweedy, a collaboration with his son Spencer.

Somewhat paradoxically for a musician’s memoir, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back) is at its best when Tweedy is writing about anything other than his music. That’s not to say that the sections delving into his early, struggling years with country-punk hybrid band Uncle Tulepo, or the more experimental era of Wilco aren’t interesting, but Tweedy often seems as mystified by the songwriting process as his fans might be. It’s not that he’s being cagey, he just doesn’t necessarily have the sort of anecdotes that are often peppered through in books like this. He simply loves writing songs, and doesn’t delve too deep into his process — that may disappoint fans looking for a deep dive into the making of, say, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, but thankfully there’s a whole movie about that (which Tweedy definitely has some opinions about).

Tweedy does open up about his relationship and falling out with Uncle Tulepo co-founder Jay Farrar and Wilco’s Jay Bennett, two collaborators who shaped the sound of their respective bands with Tweedy, and whose departures have divided fans for years. Ultimately there are no major revelations here, but Tweedy still seems hurt and confused by Farrar quitting the band, even all these years later. That relationship fuelled the music of Uncle Tulepo, and that disillusion of their friendship directly influenced the formation and early sound of Wilco. Tweedy’s relationship with Bennett may not have been as formative, but it’s clear thatBennett made his sonic stamp on Wilco, even if his own struggles with drugs forced Tweedy to fire him from the band for his own sake, claiming that if he didn’t he would “probably die.”

Tweedy is candid and chatty throughout the book, making the entire memoir feel like a close conversation between friends. That openness makes some of the darker elements of his story hit even harder, especially the sections detailing his years-long addiction to opioids, which first took hold of him while Wilco was touring Canada.

Tweedy was thankfully able to overcome his addiction, and he is very careful not to glamorize drug use in any way here. His addiction initially spurred from a way to cope with migraine pain, and was fuelled by an unlikely but key accidental encounter — an employee at the drive-through window of an unnamed pharmacy turned out to be a fan, and began hooking him up with large quantities of pills after hours. At his lowest point, Tweedy even admits to stealing medication from his mother-in-law while she was dying of cancer.

Tweedy calmly and rationally details the minute and horrible ways addiction can take hold of someone — it’s about as far from Hammer of the Gods as it gets. He actually goes out of his way to disavow the prevailing notion that artists need to struggle for their creativity: “I think that artists create in spite of suffering, not because of suffering. … To exalt an artist’s suffering as being somehow unique or noble makes me cringe.”

Even with the struggles with addiction and some behind-the-scenes band member drama, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back) is a hopeful and uplifting story. Tweedy’s writing about his family is especially heartfelt, and the book delves into his process of deciding just how much personal information to include in some unexpected ways. His relationship with his wife Sue Miller is detailed in comic book form, and the book features numerous transcription breaks between Tweedy and his family about how they will be portrayed in the book. It’s a unique look into Tweedy’s creative process, and also brings readers into the dynamic of the Tweedy household in an intimate and often pretty hilarious manner.

In some ways this is a bit of an odd time for a Jeff Tweedy memoir — Wilco is still putting out new records, and Tweedy is set to release his debut solo LP, WARM, later this month. Tweedy is still very much an active musician, one who hopefully has many more years of records and touring ahead of him. For whatever reason he decided to take stock now, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back) feels like an inviting and breezy conversation with one of the greatest songwriters of this era. It may not answer every burning question diehards fans want to know, but that’s what the next book is for.

Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back) is available now.