Memorial Day 2009 was a day of sadness for fans of the rock band Wilco.  News leaked early Monday that former Wilco member Jay Bennett, he of the dreadlocks and the in-studio knob-twirling, with the ripping lead guitar and perpetual cigarette dangling from his mouth, the one given the boot in 2001 before the release of the band’s seminal Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, died Sunday morning in his sleep.  He was 45 years old.

Bennett’s history with the band was both fruitful and tumultuous, as he was a mad genius with a predilection for being a massive pain in the ass (as often is the case).  He joined the band shortly after their first record and steadily grew in prominence and importance to the band’s sound and songwriting over the course of their next three albums.

What Jay Bennett brought to this band was an unflinching belief in the possibilities of studio wizardry to obtain gorgeous and frightening sounds that would set his band apart from everybody else’s.  Wilco has changed their sound once again since Bennett’s parting, going in a looser direction from the lush and dense orchestration of the Bennett era records; that said, his influence on their sound is a part of the band to this day.

There is no denying that the Wilco behind 1994’s debut A.M. bears little resemblance to the band that dropped 2002’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, one of the few truly extraordinary American records released this millennium.  Bennett did not single-handedly change the band’s sound from album to album, but he brought an attitude and approach to songwriting and recording that challenged Wilco leader Jeff Tweedy to aim higher and go further conceptually than perhaps he otherwise would have.  Tweedy has come into contact with many spiritually intrepid artists and performers, but none arguably delivered the immediate and sustained impact as did his partnership with Bennett.

Give 1999’s Summerteeth a spin.  You can all but here Bennett screaming, “Right there?  You hear that?  All me,” in the different sounds and effects bubbling beneath the surface of the songs.  It happened to me earlier today: either that, or I was actually looking for Bennett’s imprint and no longer accepting the long-held belief that he was an ego-driven asshole who wanted to take over Jeff Tweedy’s band when he should have been grateful for the opportunity to work with such a genius.

Because Tweedy’s my guy, and he always will be.  I love his songs, and I love the various visions he has pursued since his start in Uncle Tupelo.  I can’t say I’ve been a fan since the beginning, but I’ve gone back and done my homework and noticed that I gravitate towards and connect with vast swaths of Tweedy’s work.  He kicked Bennett out of Wilco because, to quote Tweedy, “A circle can only have one center.”  Bennett was leaving more and more of an imprint on Wilco’s sound and songwriting and harboring feelings of being 1B to Tweedy’s 1A as far as band leadership was concerned, and Tweedy wasn’t prepared to deal with that at the time.  Tweedy wanted his band back.

The rest of Wilco supported the decision, and so Jay Bennett was removed without ceremony from a band whose sound he in large part defined over the course of seven years immediately before they dropped their most important record, one on which he made a substantial creative contribution (particularly on “War on War” and the outro feedback orgy of “Ashes of American Flags”).  Though he recorded and released several solo albums and contributed engineering know-how to various smaller bands’ records, his musical career is in large part defined by his ouster from Wilco as recorded in Greg Kot’s 2003 book about Wilco Learning How to Die and Sam Jones’ 2002 documentary about the band I Am Trying to Break Your Heart.

This story is still developing, and it will not end well.  Who dies in their sleep at 45?  Bennett was dealing with a host of personal issues recently: not only was he attempting to pay for a hip replacement without insurance, but he filed a lawsuit earlier this month against Jeff Tweedy and Wilco for unpaid royalties from Wilco’s back catalog as well as money for his appearance in I Am Trying to Break Your Heart. 

The guy was strapped for cash, off the road, dealing with an injury, working but not quite successful, having to sue his former band to get them on the phone and no doubt feeling disrespected and forgotten as a crucial long-time ingredient in what is now one of the most successful American rock bands of their generation.

And what did Jay Bennett ever mean to me?  Not a whole lot, at least not until I heard of his death.  In light of his passing, of course I loved the man and treasure his output on those early Wilco records.  I am grateful for the difference he made in the direction of my favorite band, all that wonderful sound on Being There (1997), Summerteeth, and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.  He was a visionary, that rare artist in the world of rock and roll.

Would I have come to this same conclusion had you asked me Sunday, before I heard of his passing?  I’m not so sure about that.  And that’s the saddest part of this whole deal, a life’s work given short shrift because of a personality conflict and something as ultimately meaningless as getting kicked out of a band (I assure you, it happens all the time).

R.I.P. Jay Bennett.  The League of Underappreciated Musical Geniuses found themselves another member Sunday morning.  If only we’d have shown love when we had the chance.