Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy has always been bleak. In his Uncle Tupelo days he was writing dispirited songs like “Black Eye,” and “Watch Me Fall.” Scoring a college radio hit with “Gun,” a self-defeated Tweedy sings, “Climbing up the ladder/Breaking my shin on the very first rung.” The metaphor might be heavy handed and indicative of an unseasoned songwriter, but Tweedy’s Uncle Tupelo and early-Wilco recordings make their marks in the accessibility they possess.

The group’s most recent release A Ghost Is Born (Nonesuch, 2004) tends to be a chameleon of new Wilco and old. The album opens with “At Least That’s What You Said,” a two minute whispered apology to a lover which spirals off for three-and-a-half minutes of electric fissures followed by the folky piano-drive, “Hell Is Chrome.”

The striking opening of A Ghost Is Born revolves around a schizophrenic Tweedy. Never before has his music been this loose and open.

The darling that is Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (Nonesuch, 2002) survives on its character. Throughout the entire album, the listener expects the music to fall off the bone, but Glen Kotche’s phenomenal percussion gives it a necessary spine. Nothing like that could be said about A Ghost Is Born—Kotche is almost absent. Perhaps it’s a product of a shifting lineup with the departure of multi-instumentalist, Leroy Bach and addition of keyboardist Mikael Jorgensenand during the recording. But for the first time it is almost all Tweedy, proving that Wilco’s success doesn’t revolve around one mind. Instead, as the past has indicated it’s been a collective.

The departure of multi-instrumentalist Jay Bennett, during the YHF sessions, shows how much influence he had in the overall success of Tweedy’s pop-oriented songwriting. This is not to say that A Ghost Is Born is ill-conceived or fundamentally poor. Rather it lacks the immediate influence of a guiding hand, · la A.M.’s (Reprise, 1995) debt to Uncle Tupelo and the Bottlerockets’ Brian Henneman. A Ghost Is Born has no distinct origin but a wispy and diffuse wraith of sound rising and spiraling into nothing.

This is the biggest surprise from a band so ambitious and concerned with evolving its aesthetic from album to album. For that matter, Wilco kills itself and starts over. It’s a noble move coming off of three continuous “album-of-the-year” releases. Glimmering moments like “Company in My Back” and “Theologians” remind us of Wilco’s brilliance as a pop-minded band.

Perhaps A Ghost Is Born is a vestige of their reluctant celebrity following the YHF follies. It’s safe to say that Wilco would just be a well-respected rock band if Sam Jones’ documentary never established the myth that they were larger than themselves. Wilco isn’t hoisting the black flag against corporate rock that one might think. A Ghost Is Born shows their vulnerability and mortality in explicit terms: it doesn’t hide behind the accustomed wall of sounds and verses of Summerteeth (Reprise, 1999) and YHF. In short, Wilco aren’t the art school rockers they tend to gravitate toward at times on A Ghost Is Born, but undoubtedly the album has those singular moments, like on the sing-a-long “The Late Greats,” which once again confirms Wilco as unmatched pop songsmiths.

If you’re a nonplussed Wilco fan after A Ghost Is Born don’t fret. The album’s organic nature should translate well into a live setting. Also, Wilco’s broad repertoire should prove well for a distinctive pace, covering Tweedy’s Uncle Tupelo work and even some from Mermaid Avenue. Wilco plays the Orpheum Theatre this coming Monday and Tuesday with lovable noise-rockers Deerhoof. Note: at time of printing Monday’s show is sold out.