Objective: To use departed Wilco keyboardist Jay Bennett's debut album (with mystery man multi-instrumentalist Edward Burch) to determine the importance/nature of his role in said former band.

Introduction: Jay Bennett's always been something of a wild card in the Wilco deck. A renowned session musician who joined up for the majestic double-album Being There, Bennett gradually accumulated influence over the band's sound, and according to some, was primarily responsible for the band's shift from twangy traditionalism to tentative pop experimentalism. However, at some point during the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot sessions, Bennett wore out his welcome as creative foil to lead Wilcolyte Jeff Tweedy and departed for the wilderness of a duo career with longtime confidant Burch. But, perhaps as part of his severance package, Bennett has thrown two YHF leftovers onto his debut effort: rocker "Shakin' Sugar" (sometimes known on Wilco forums as "Alone") and purty piano ballad "Venus Stop the Train." Now, thanks to the wonders of digital technology, we can pit the Wilco and Bennett versions against each other cockfight-style, and in doing so, shed some light upon Bennett's past and future.

Methods: Bring over a couple of CD players from last weekend's Zaireeka party, pop in your copy of The Palace at 4am, and dig out that disc of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot demos and outtakes you salvaged from the file-sharing rummage sale. It's time for a little compare and contrast so that we might shake out just how important Jay Bennett was to current king-of-the-rock-galaxy Wilco.

Results: The findings may be inconclusive (the completeness of the Wilco outtakes is unknown, not to mention whether Jim "Pappy" O'Rourke was yet involved at the time of their recording), but it don't look so good for Herr Bennett. "Shakin' Sugar" remains largely unchanged from its unremarkable organ-driven barnburner Wilco version, a song that, were it included on YHF, would've been a distracting stumble backwards to their less-rewarding A.M. days. On the other hand, "Venus Stop the Train" is thoroughly pillaged, changed from the hauntingly spare Tweedy/piano/harmonies take into a 64-track psychedelic dubfest of string sections and unnecessary organ embellishment, all behind an uncomfortably greasy vocal performance.

Discussion: So, to analyze the data, it certainly appears that Bennett was not quite the forward-pushing individual many hypothesized he was for the band. Comparisons on these two tracks reveal a complacency with the traditional format of the rock song that may have actually been weighing Wilco down in their evolution, rather than accelerating it. Both "Shakin' Sugar" and "Venus" are also mired in the same over-overdubbing sludge that kept Summerteeth from being the album to infect the world with Wilco Fever. Is a song not complete until it has four keyboards blaring on top of it?

These shortcomings can be expanded to the entirety of The Palace at 4am, explaining the album's considerable mediocrity. Bennett and Burch obviously just want to make a rock album, and you can't really fault them for it. But while YHF is a classic rock album with grease spots of laptop diddles and noisy skrawk seeping through, Palace is perhaps more what Reprise was hoping for: FM-ready stuff that at best resembles Tom Petty and at worst could be mistaken for the Counting Crows.

While there are certainly some good songs to be found ("Whispers or Screams," "Like a Photograph," "Talk to Me"), most appear to have spent a little too long being kicked around the studio. The liner notes credit Bennett with at least nineteen instruments (Burch gets eight), and most songs appear to have utilized each and every one of 'em: mellotrons, omnichords, orchestral bells, and all. Most of the layering sounds more like camouflage than innovation, particularly on the useless remake of Summerteeth's "My Darling," complete with head-scratchingly superfluous electric sitar and "You Can't Always Get What You Want" muted trumpet.

"My Darling" also highlights why Bennett was restricted to backup vocal duties by his former employer, as any song that's been previously given a treatment using Tweedy's signature rumpled rasp highlights unfortunate shortcomings in Bennett's forced-emotion warble. The excessive length of Palace doesn't help matters either; at nearly seventy minutes, there's far too much filler material diluting the good stuff. It's as if, freed from the parental reigns of bandmates, he's lost all sense of tasteful restraint.

Right: bitch, bitch, bitch, Wilco, Wilco, Wilco. Can't I examine The Palace at 4am (Part I) on its own terms? Well, frankly, no. Nobody who isn't already a Wilco fan would probably consider buying this record, and as the above research shows, Bennett himself isn't quite yet out of the band's considerable shadow (I haven't even mentioned the appearances of Ken Coomer, John Stirratt, or a couple Mermaid Avenue outtakes). For the same reason, it's probably too soon to tell who'll win the Tweedy-Bennett showdown; without their former keyboard maestro keeping a rock foundation, Wilco's follow-up to YHF could launch too far into outer space, and Bennett & Burch supposedly already have a stripped-down version of Palace ready to go (Part II, perhaps?), indicating that Bennett recognizes his tendency to over-tweak. Bennett's future may not be you-gotta-wear-shades bright, but we probably shouldn't write him off just yet. Keep in mind that nobody thought Tweedy was the talented Tupelo.

-Rob Mitchum, July 29th, 2002