You know the days when you could turn on the radio and hear all sorts of interesting female voices? That’s been true throughout country’s history, from Loretta and Dolly on down to Martina and Faith. Nowadays, it’s Miranda and Carrie–well, no, not even Miranda, as her latest single struggles mightily to chart despite its sales and critical acclaim. Better to say Carrie and Kelsea. Anyway, to all the young girls out there who might be pursuing a career in country music and are wondering just how to shatter the glass ceiling on country radio, here’s some tried-and-true advice.
1. Don’t, under any circumstance, release something traditional. Fiddle, steel, mandolin, throw them all out. Even if they might make an appearance on your album–which is also discouraged–at least do what Maddie & Tae did with “Girl in a Country Song” and release a single with electronic beats and pop elements. Keep all the traditional fans guessing at your intent, wondering if the beats are serious or sarcastic, because it’s better to hold them at arm’s length or even to alienate them altogether if you want to get a #1 at radio.
2. Ignore all the misogynistic bullshit thrown at you by radio programmers, record executives, and in many of the male songs on country radio. Katie Armiger spoke up about that a couple years ago, and look what happened to her career.
3. Don’t date anyone in the industry, or better yet, don’t attempt to have a personal life on any level. Lindsay Ell taught us that.
4. Trivialize the female problem on country radio and in the industry. Kelsea Ballerini’s got success, and she barely admits to the problem. Meanwhile, the ones who speak up about such things struggle for recognition. Just worry about breaking in yourself, and don’t try to help other women along the way.
5. Forget just ignoring the misogyny, try writing lyrics about being these types of women. Throw all your dreams and hard-hitting lyrics to the side and sing about tailgates and tight jeans. If at all possible, try accepting the objectification and embracing this role.
6. Try not to veer too far from singing songs about love or getting noticed by men. Under no circumstances should you speak up about the type of songs that women are often stereotyped as singing.
7. Don’t be sexual or have sexual desires, and if you do suffer from these afflictions, don’t leak them into your music, for God’s sake.
8. Talk about your outfits more than your music. It’s not okay to be sexual in your songs, but it is important to be viewed as desirable at all times.
9. If all this fails, sing one or two lines on a male song, and you’ll soon have a #1 hit. It doesn’t matter if you sound like a glorified backup singer, take it from Maren Morris.
10. Finally, remember that your awards, sales, and most importantly, your perspective, do not matter in this industry and on the radio. Let go of these archaic notions, and you might soon be one of the only four females in the top fifty. Here’s to being one of the fortunate 8%, and I look forward to your #1 hit!
Yeah, this has to be the most challenging review I’ve ever done, but it’s also one of the most fascinating albums I’ve ever covered in my time here, and I enjoy a challenge. I’ll go ahead and say right up front, this album isn’t going to be for everyone; in some respects, it’s not quite even for me as a fan, given the darkness which permeates this record, but that’s exactly the reason it deserves discussing–because it’s so far from anything I’d typically listen to, and yet the writing and the stories and the general feeling evoked by this record still hold my attention. In many respects, it reminds me of Robyn Ludwick’s latest album, This Tall to Ride, because both projects are dark and sometimes downright disturbing, but for listeners who can get past those features, there’s a lot to appreciate in each of these albums.
The difference? Robyn sings with frankness about hookers and cocaine and paints pictures of life on the streets; you come away from that record intrigued by her ability to take the commonly accepted definition of country music that “it’s about real people” and use it to tell the stories of people often ignored by society as a whole and certainly by country music. Rod Melancon takes that definition to a much darker conclusion even than Robyn, telling us in the opening song, “With the Devil,” the story and thoughts of a serial killer. And that’s ultimately the most intriguing and arguably disturbing thing about this song and much of the album; real people do think like this, and Rod Melancon is indeed telling the stories of real thoughts experienced by real characters, even if the specifics are false. Now, I’m not saying this is a country record sonically–it’s got country touches, and a couple of country songs, but it’s mostly a rock record–but lyrically, this is what the genre was made for, to explore real stories and real emotions and perhaps evoke sympathy, or at least understanding, in the listener for the ones portrayed.
It doesn’t lighten up at all after the opener. “Perry” tells the tale of someone equally sinister, saying darkly, “ain’t nobody mess with Perry, and come out alive.” And then we are treated to the most intense moment on the whole album with “Lights of Carencro.” From the spoken word to Rod Melancon’s delivery to the production that can only be described as ominous, this song has to be the most disturbing tale I’ve heard all year. Here, the narrator tells us in sharp detail how his brother was killed in a motorcycle accident after being hit by an eighteen-wheeler. The driver carried on with his life unaffected, and the plan to exact revenge by the narrator’s dad failed. But many years later, the narrator’s brother would take his own revenge, as the driver died in a trucking accident. This is only made more intense by the fact that Melancon speaks the whole tale, and you can imagine your relative sitting across the table from you relaying the whole incident.
It does lighten up in a way after these three, in the sense that we go from sinister to melancholy. There’s “Dwayne and Me,” the story of two cousins who became friends and looked out for each other until Dwayne went off to war and never came back. There’s “Praying For Light,” where the narrator sings about watching the storm clouds build and hoping his land will still be there in the morning because he can’t afford to rebuild. There’s “Promises,” where the main character is stuck in his hometown after a knee injury in football and wishing he’d gotten to leave. It’s all very wistful, and Rod Melancon really has the right voice to pull out the desperation in these characters and make you feel what they’re experiencing. It’s a great example of a singer without a technically great voice using their tone and vocal ability to their advantage to convey emotion.
There’s one more disturbing moment on the album as well in “Different Man,” where we learn about Jimmy, a soldier who has returned home with PTSD. We hear, through the words and ever-building production, all the things going on in his head till finally it just explodes in the end. I’ll go back to the Jason Isbell song “Anxiety” here because Isbell used the angry production there to help the song, and I didn’t think it enhanced the story. I even found the outro somewhat distracting. This, however, is a good example of using the production to help tell the story, as it really adds a sense of frustration to the track, while also illustrating the lack of control Jimmy has over his own mind.
But Rod Melancon is not always dark or even depressed. WE get a nice break in the middle of the album with the fun, energetic “Redhead” that offers some balance to the project and serves to make the darker material stand out even more. “Redhead” also appears to show off more of Melancon’s personality; the other songs seem to be stories about other people, but this one seems to have more of Rod himself in it. The song also stands out because he’s singing about a hot single mom instead of your typical young girl. “Mary Lou” also adds a little variety to the record–it’s still a wistful heartbreak song, but it’s upbeat and stands out as a lighter moment on the album. Both of these songs, though not the best ones here on their own, were crucial to making Southern Gothic stand out and not just be one dark, depressing affair where the songs ran together.
So, overall, this is quite a good album. It’s going to come down to taste, I think, on your mileage with the record, but it shouldn’t be overlooked because there are some great stories here, not to mention many of them are enhanced by cool and interesting production. Rod Melancon does a fantastic job bringing life to these characters and telling the tales of people who no doubt have real-life counterparts but are nonetheless often ignored in music. If you like dark albums, you’re obviously going to enjoy this more, but I’m not someone who gravitates toward them, and this record still managed to stand out to me. I think that’s a testament to the kind of storyteller that Rod Melancon is, as well as to the fascinating listen that is Southern Gothic.
Jake Worthington, whom many will remember from The Voice and perhaps most specifically from that wonderful 2014 performance of Keith Whitley’s “Don’t Close Your Eyes,” is probably the most promising traditional country artist to have come from that show. Sure, we’ve had success in the country world from RaeLynn recently, as well as some for Cassadee Pope and others, but if we’re just talking about straight-up, traditional country, Jake Worthington is the one with the most potential. You cheer for him when he gets success on the Texas charts and hope his name recognition and experience from the show can help him, because you know he is the real deal, and you want to see that potential realized.
His sophomore EP only strengthens that notion. You only get five songs and fifteen minutes, but Jake uses every minute to further reinforce his traditional country sound and lyrics. You get three heartbreak songs in “Big Time Lonesome,” “A Lot of Room to Talk,” and “Hell of a Highway” that, while they probably shouldn’t have been placed right in a row, still all sound unique and tell a different story. “How do You Honky Tonk” is reminiscent of a 90s radio hit and manages to be fun and upbeat without veering into the territory of cliché. “Don’t Think Twice” is probably the weakest of the five, but it’s still a nice love song, and Jake delivers a strong effort here, especially considering the length. The fact is, it’s one of three EPs I’ve enjoyed this year (the others being Whitney Rose’s South Texas Suite and Lindi Ortega’s Till the Goin’ Gets Gone.)
However, I can’t help but feel that it’s time for Jake Worthington to release an album. He’s given us two EPs now when he could have delivered one full-length project; both EPs were strong, but I think more people would be paying attention to an album. This has been debated a lot recently, but the fact is that more people pay attention to albums, for better or worse, and that’s mainly because Eps often leave you wanting more. With both Whitney Rose and Lindi Ortega, the projects were somewhat of an exception, each reflecting a time in the artist’s life that might not have been captured if they waited to release full albums. Those projects both had a cohesive theme despite their short length and therefore stood out as only few EPs manage to do. With Jake Worthington’s Hell of a Highway, there’s no overarching theme that holds this together–it feels more like a preview of Jake, and while that worked nicely for his debut EP, it doesn’t work as well this time. Still, it says something about these songs and Jake Worthington’s potential that this EP still manages to stand out despite these factors. As I mentioned, it’s one of only three that have made an impact on me in 2017, and that can’t be taken lightly. It took so long after his release to write about this because it’s harder to talk about EPs in general–but that’s also a testament to the fact that this particular EP still deserves talking about. All in all, it will leave you wanting more, but it’s still a nice place to start with Jake Worthington’s music.
It’s no secret that traditional-sounding country has little, and female representation has even less, place in the mainstream today, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that the vintage, traditional Secret Sisters lost their major label deal and struggled to get by despite their incredible talent. It’s also been pointed out recently that the mainstream has a noticeable lack of female producers, and it’s not as if there are a ton of them in the independent/Americana world either, so it seems fitting that the Sisters’ latest record, aptly entitled You Don’t Own me Anymore and very much an album of empowerment and freedom from control, would be produced by Brandi Carlile. And for the most part, it’s a great showcase of the Sisters’ vintage sound and undeniable talent.
I use the word “vintage” more than “traditional” because this record harkens back very much to the earliest days in country, and it’s like something you can imagine your grandmother playing and loving. It’s not necessarily reflected in the themes, like the timeless Colter Wall debut, but in the sound and overall mood of the record. It’s a simple album, not relying too much on production to tell these stories but instead playing to the strengths of Laura and Lydia Rogers and allowing their vocals to be the highlight. And indeed, the sisters’ incredible harmonies shine forth as the greatest asset to this whole thing. It’s the dissonance in the beautiful “Carry Me” that adds to the raw emotion, and it’s the reimagining of “Kathy’s song” with harmony that ultimately makes it stand out here despite it being a cover. Although the opener, “Tennessee River runs Low,” is not one of my personal favorites, there’s no denying the fact that it’s a vocal masterpiece, showing off all kinds of crazy chords and harmonies and just being generally impressive.
The songwriting is another strength of this record. It’s definitely an album of empowerment, as embodied in the title track and the mournful “To All the Girls Who Cry,” featuring some nice piano and those excellent harmonies. Sometimes it seems directed at a controlling lover, like in the more upbeat “He’s Fine” or in the painfully honest “The Damage.” It’s probably also referring to their struggles in the music business, and the powerful thing is that even though the record is called You Don’t Own me Anymore, this person and/or entity that once owned them has obviously left an incredible, even irreparable mark. It’s a triumphant title, but it’s not a happy album; in fact, except for occasional fun breaks like the ode to Alabama entitled “King Cotton,” it’s a melancholy, sorrowful affair. But still, it brings comfort and healing in a way that only these types of albums, borne of struggle and filled with empathy, can. A song like “To All the Girls Who Cry” only works when you understand that they’ve done their fair share of crying themselves, and that sense of empathy permeating this record is what makes it so relatable.
It’s no secret that this album is great from a technical and critical standpoint, so why the 7.5 rating? Well, as a music fan, it honestly could have used some more energy, particularly in the back half. Sometimes the reliance on the vocal ability of the secret Sisters goes a bit too far. The vintage sound renders some of these tracks almost classical in nature; in fact, one of the best examples of that is the previously mentioned and lyrically beautiful “To All the Girls Who Cry.” As I said, it’s an album that played to the strengths of Laura and Lydia Rogers–credit to Brandi Carlile for that–and it’s quite simple. That’s both the best quality and the thing that ultimately holds it back slightly. Their talent is obvious throughout, but it’s stuff like “Carry Me,” “King Cotton,” and “He’s Fine” that will hold up better because their harmonies are simpler. Having said that, this record is one that grows on you with time, and as you start to dig further than the outstanding harmonies and really absorb the lyrics, you begin to uncover more of the underlying genius in the album. So, it’s a 7.5 for now, but that rating will probably increase with time.
Beautifully sung, painfully honest album. It may not be for everyone because of its vintage nature and a slight lack of energy, but it’s certainly worth your time, and after a few listens, you might just find it working its way into your heart like I did.
Well, I’ve never covered a live album before, but there’s a first time for everything, and the latest record from Crystal Bowersox is certainly a fine place to start. This is one of those times that I’m so thankful for this platform because I get to share cool discoveries like this album that people might not know about. Recorded at the Kitchen Sink Studio in Santa Fe, New Mexico, for sixty fans over the course of three shows, this isn’t your typical live album; it’s got some material previously recorded by Bowersox, but much of the record consists of new songs, and also, it’s an intimate recording rather than a stadium show, and Crystal seems to thrive in this setting.
For the first time, “I feel as though I am fully living, now. I am grateful for every waking moment, even the days when the rain seems to pour. I think that often times we forget how precious every gradient layer of life is. If it weren’t for the emotional pain we sometimes must endure, we wouldn’t have a darn clue how to appreciate the joy and fulfillment available to us in between the difficult times. Learning to live with an open heart is only terrifying if one is unwilling to see the valuable lessons that despair and darkness have to offer. I want to feel it all. To me, that is what it means to be alive.
And that joy in being alive and feeling it all comes out all over this record. Sometimes, it’s in songs themselves, like “Dead Weight,” where Crystal advises her son to let go of the trouble and doubt weighing him down, or “NO Mistake,” where she sings about making bad choices in her life but knowing that her son was not a mistake and was meant to be here. This one, with its unflinching details about the town saying she was drunk and being asked by her ex to have an abortion, is one of the highlights of the whole thing. Sometimes, the “alive” feeling just comes out in Crystal’s interaction with the audience; she tells them all about her love for sweatpants and bacon before the fun, relaxing “Staycation,” asks them “who’s here on a date?” and lets them know that “married dates count people” before launching into the simple, sweet love song “Mine all Mine,” and later says, “Life is short, and so am I.” It’s these little reflective moments that add to the songs to express so well the contentment Crystal Bowersox is feeling and which ultimately give the album a unique touch that wouldn’t be present in the studio.
But being alive also comes with pain, as Crystal Bowersox points out in the quote above. The acoustic songs “Marlboro Man” and “Let me Walk Away” come together in the heart of the album to best illustrate this side of life. The former was written for a friend going through a painful breakup who considered ending her life, and the latter, Crystal’s personal favorite, is another breakup song, this one more specific in nature as the narrator reflects on the end of a relationship after “there was once a time I thought that I would be your bride.” I should point out that perhaps the greatest asset to this entire album is the power and emotional expression in Crystal’s voice, and her uncanny ability to draw you in while also singing the hell out of a song technically is best displayed here. Incidentally, for the strict traditionalists, these two make the most country moment on the record as well. Crystal’s voice and songs range from country to pop to soul, and she executes it all very well, so I don’t really want to focus too much on that, but if it’s country you’re seeking, do start with these two.
There’s also a side to being a live and feeling it all that comes with understanding the consequences. That’s best expressed in the excellent, soulful opener, “The Ride,” during which Bowersox sings about knowingly going after a man who ended up being trouble. Her mom warned her against him, but the woman in the song just wanted to experience it all; the cool part of this is that she’s fully aware it’s not the best decision, but she’s ready to face that head-on, saying that she “bought that ticket,” so she’ll “ride that ride.” This song is really about the consequences of one night, but we also have “Now That You’re Gone” later on the album which seems to be a more reflective, relationship-oriented companion to this one as Bowersox sings about a relationship that went wrong and calls it “the face of my regret.” There’s also some of that in the aforementioned “Marlboro Man,” as Crystal sings, with all the regret and pain of the song captured in one line, “he could be well worth your broken heart, but it won’t kill you if you don’t start.”
This album does a great job exploring what it means to be alive and experience all the joy and pain that life has to offer. Crystal Bowersox has clearly reached a place of contentment in her life, and her decision to record this live serves all the more to try to pass that contentment on to her listeners. Spend time with your family on a “staycation” eating bacon and sitting around in sweatpants. Look for someone who loves you like the one described in “He Calls me Angel,” and love them even if the “cupboards are bare” like in “Mine All Mine.” Look for that, but learn to live independently like the bus driver from American Idol that Crystal sings about in “Arlene.” Make some mistakes like the woman in “The Ride” and let go of your “dead weight,” but understand the blessings in life like Crystal advises us in “NO Mistake.” Mourn when the time is right, like the narrator of “Let me Walk away.” But even then, and always, sing; like the best song on the album says, “even the bird with a broken wing sings from the ground.” And yeah, I purposely didn’t mention that one before because not only is “A Broken wing” the best song, it’s also the thesis of this whole thing. And that’s why, even though it’s not a perfect album, Alive is such a special one. I think it will fly under the radar for a lot of people because it’s a live album, but that would be a shame because it’s a truly wonderful experience, and the idea to record it in this way only serves to add to its beauty. It’s not just an album recorded live, it’s an album about being alive and living in the moment, captured in a moment in time between Crystal Bowersox and an audience, and shared with you so that maybe you could take something from it and experience the same joy in living that she herself has found.
