![]() Then I flirted with cocaine, but that’s like poison to somebody with panic disorder, literally like poison. “After alcohol it was pot, which made my panic much worse, so I stopped that pretty quickly. In part to combat his migraines and anxiety, Tweedy had what he describes as a series of “monogamous relationships” with drugs, using for a while, then quitting. “I knew there was a family history of it, and it was something that scared me,” he says. I come from a family with an alcoholic background, so I’ve struggled with addiction, or at least alcoholism, for a long time as well.” In 1991, while still a member of Uncle Tupelo–an outfit known for its boozing–Tweedy quit drinking. “That probably goes as far back as my childhood. “I’ve been dealing with depression and panic disorder for a long time,” he says. Long before he’d gained any notoriety, Tweedy was trying to balance his awareness that something was badly wrong with his desire to downplay the extent of his problem–to keep it manageable, if only in his head. But the truth seems to lie somewhere in between. Some in the popular press have portrayed it as a typical case of rock-star excess: Tweedy was featured in a Billboard cover story on addiction along with rehab ghouls like Courtney Love and Scott Weiland. Tweedy’s handlers have tried to downplay his recent hospitalization as a minor stint in rehab for painkiller abuse, the unfortunate by-product of his lifelong battle with migraines. Tweedy, thinner and shaggier than he’s been in years, takes off his mirrored aviator sunglasses and flops face-first onto a futon in the corner. It’s less than 72 hours before their first shows, a pair of warm-up gigs at a small club in DeKalb, and they’ve been trying to work through a set list of 60-plus songs. The first time all the members of the new Wilco–Tweedy, bassist John Stirratt, drummer Glenn Kotche, keyboardist Mikael Jorgensen, and recent additions Pat Sansone and Nels Cline–were all in this space together was three days ago. Shelves lined with CDs and books, cases of gear, recording equipment, and reels of tape clutter every corner, and the walls are hung with all manner of rock ‘n’ roll memorabilia–concert posters, band photos, drawings by fans. It serves as the band’s studio, storage facility, and clubhouse. ![]() The musicians set their instruments aside and disperse as a production manager and guitar tech start to untangle the maze of cords. It’s a quiet Sunday in May, and as the band wraps up rehearsal you can hear birds chirping outside. Late-afternoon sunlight filters through the windows of Wilco’s loft, a third-story warehouse space near Albany Park. In another day he’d be in the emergency room. I wanted someone to tell me what was wrong, ’cause it was really scary, terrifying.” “I wanted to be knocked out and locked up. “I was just begging to be hospitalized,” he says. A few weeks earlier he’d quit everything cold. ![]() Tweedy had become anxious about taking painkillers, scared that he was becoming an addict. Later, he began taking prescription painkillers, antidepressants, and antianxiety medication.īut his migraines and panic attacks were becoming stronger and tougher to deal with. Over the years he’d tried to assuage his fears and kill the pain with drugs: first booze, then pot, coke, and pills. Tweedy’s belief in his talent as an artist had long been undermined by bouts of anxiety and depression, which were worsened by severe migraine headaches. Unable to focus long enough to read a book or even to play with his two young sons, he’d taken to leaving the house for hours at a time and just walking. And Tweedy himself was about to publish his first collection of poetry.īy all rights he should’ve been feeling pretty good. Already the stars of a feature-length documentary, the group would soon be the subject of a biography, Greg Kot’s Wilco: Learning How to Die. The follow-up, A Ghost Is Born, would be out soon, and the band had a new lineup Tweedy was genuinely excited about. The band’s last album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, had sold 450,000 copies and was well on its way to going gold–not bad for an album that had been rejected by its intended label. He’d soon celebrate his ninth wedding anniversary and his tenth year fronting Wilco. He shuffled through the grass, past the swings and across the baseball diamond, retracing his steps over and over again before slumping onto a cold iron bench. On a brisk morning this past March, Jeff Tweedy took a walk through the park near his house on the northwest side. Best of Chicago 2022: Sports & Recreation.Best of Chicago 2022: Music & Nightlife.Get your Best of Chicago tickets! Ticket prices go up May 15 > Close
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