The experimentation of A Ghost is Born seems gone, but also the county folkisms of Being There has disappeared. And if you remove those two aspects from Wilco, what's left?

Having been birthed from the demise of Uncle Tupelo and its sometimes traditional take on American, Wilco began in much the same manner - if not for a dash more of that old rock and roll flavor. But since the group's 1995 album A.M., it seems as if there has been a lack of consistency from this Chicago group.

In part one could place the onus of this problem on the shoulders of Jeff Tweedy and whatever personal problems he's encountered in the last fifteen to twenty years. But that would be unfair. Tweedy's a human being - even if he's one of the most well respected rock dudes still writing songs.

Wilco's inconsistency could than be shouldered by the fact that the group has seen a few key individuals pass through their ranks and eventually disappear - amicably or not. Of course, the recent court drama still being played out involving Jay Bennett could have been a distraction to the current crop of Wilco dudes as well. But Jim O'Rourke isn't around any more either to punk up the precedings. And while Wilco is more than capable of attracting and retaining any number of talented producers, O'Rourke's inclusion in the band served to give the combo some teeth.

The much anticipated Wilco (The Album), though, when stripped of the band's predecessors really is, for the most part, just a singer song writer effort from Tweedy. Obviously, that man's penned some near classics, but when set in a bunch of pretty traditional rock songs, the results aren't too amazing. That won't stop the devoted - nor should it.

It seems that Tweedy's acumen for writing some catchy ditties hasn't dissipated with time - or soberness. But there are a few new Beach Boy inclinations here that, perhaps, may not have been too recognizable before. "Solitare" comes off sounding like any Brothers' Records release from the '70s. It could just as easily be Carl Wilson singing the track as Tweedy. The ghostly slide guitar, while figured to dirty up the pristine pop constructions simply ties current Wilco to the period in the Beach Boy's catalog when the group was just trying to reconcile the music industries embrace of pseudo psychedelia and its bubble gum pop.

This one comparison, obviously, doesn't work throughout the disc. And on the album's almost title track - "Wilco (The Song) - the band gives listeners a more aggressive Wilco than we've heard in a while. That guitar production, its brief and sporadic moans set the track in a completely different territory than the rest of the album. It's odd that the track was selected to lead off this clutch of songs. Not only is there not another track that comes close to this particular offering, its inclusion only reminds folks of what this band is capable of when not trafficking in lilting piano ballads.