You Can’t Judge a Book by Its Cover

Jeff Tweedy's new autobiography encapsulates an early memory of his: "Something that really happened and it's fucking magical." And very funny at times; the author jokes at the start, "There will be no mention of prescription painkillers," as he launches into his days and nights of Vicodin. Wilco's bandleader recounts how he routinely received prescription drugs illegally from a pharmacist who was a fan. Those tales are entertaining, but the best parts of Let's Go (So We Can Get Back) involve his family and his songwriting process. Tweedy recounts playing music with his sons Spencer and Sammy, both of whom he now tours with on occasion, and details his wife Sue Miller's cancer and his realization that after everything he put his family through, his spouse had held everything together. His affinity for music parallels his ambiguity for it in words, but he writes passionately about sounds he'd rather didn't sound like some musician sat down in a coffee shop to write a song.

Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back): A Memoir of Recording and Discording With Wilco, Etc.