With a career given over to protean change and stretching as far back as Wilco’s, it’s hard to say just what sonic territories have been left uncharted. The group has pumped out morbid piano-laced pop tunes such as “Summerteeth”, strummed Americana-infused country in the spirit of Graham Parsons “Being There”, poked fun at Americana under a veneer of guitar feedback “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot”, probed the super-natural “A Ghost is Born”, made a breezy soft-rock record “Sky Blue Sky”, then finally settled on an identity: Wilco (The Album).

Now here they are with The Whole Love and it is hard to say what can be considered boundary pushing. If you have followed Wilco through their wayward past, you have come to expect the unexpected with each new album, hoping for some new jumping off point and some new trajectory teetering between traditional and experimental art-rock. Much like Wilco (The Album), The Whole Love seems to find satisfying moments from Wilco’s epochal past instead of looking forward.

It will be perfectly clear on the first listen through that consistencies of older Wilco albums weave comfortably in and out of The Whole Love. The neurotic, sometimes-inscrutable lyrics of Jeff Tweedy on songs like “I Might” (“The Magna Carta’s on a Slim Jim blood, brother”), the pulse and bombastic crescendo on “Art of Almost”, and the lovable pop anthems like “Dawned on Me”; such reenactment seems to communicate that Wilco is finally honing in on a hallmark sound after years of identity crisis.

Other evidence suggests that the band might be settling down too. The Whole Love is Wilco’s first self-produced album recorded completely at their practice loft in Chicago, and with three albums featuring the same line-up, Wilco seems more grounded then ever. But instead of sounding fatigued or sedentary, The Whole Love vindicates the band’s surefootedness. The ease in which they reproduce their past is a joy to hear, especially through a pair of headphones where you will surely catch the most exciting details of The Whole Love.

Songs like “Capitol City” a cabaret two-step, are striking for the musical bric-a-brac strewn about. Keyboard flourishes punctuate Tweedy’s somber lilt while bells ring and steel guitar wines in the background. The most infectious track, “Dawned on Me”, features castanets snapping over walls of guitar drones. All of this proves again Wilco’s knack for blending the conventional and the strange. The Whole Love is marked by a wealth of sound and detail meticulously placed across all 12 tracks.

Unlike past albums where obtrusive, occasionally jarring layers of noise have marked much of Wilco’s sound, The Whole Love tempers much of the band’s stranger tendencies with ornaments and surprises used to intrigue the listener in a less confrontational way. Far from being a gimmick, this indicates a band attuned to its own sound. The days of exploration might be behind them, but The Whole Love will convince you that Wilco can sound like Wilco and still be interesting. For this reason, The Whole Love will get played for a long time. I give this album three stars out of five.