Yes, Carrie Underwood has new music. I think we all knew that if we were living anywhere on the planet this week, so let’s get right to the point.
This song so blatantly flaunts established country radio convention that it becomes necessary to make a list of things it does to fly in the face of that institution.
it’s a mid-tempo ballad, not some upbeat summer anthem
it contains actual steel guitar
it features four female songwriters which must be some sort of unspoken crime in Nashville
it actually speaks to the female perspective instead of whatever “Female” thought it was doing
there’s actual emotion, but it’s nothing to do with love or anything else stereotypical
And yet, Carrie Underwood has the gall to release this to country radio–not only that, to choose to release it despite the pressure to release her Super Bowl anthem “The Champion” which featured Ludacris instead. That song, despite not being country in the slightest and not being very good in whatever genre it landed beyond its original purpose, probably would have done well in today’s radio environment. Yet she chose this decidedly country pop song and exercised leadership with that decision, more than we can say for many other mainstream country artists.
The song itself starts off with just Carrie and some very faint electric guitar, and credit to her for being very restrained at the beginning and slowly building throughout the song to reflect emotions getting out of hand and becoming uncontrollable. She’s singing about those times when our emotions get the best of us; we can fake it with a”pretty lie” or brush it off with a “pretty smile,” but it’s impossible to “cry pretty.” She asserts that crying is human and all part of being a person and a woman–it could be in response to the way she removed herself from the public to heal after injuring her face, but the details are vague. The vagueness is both a drawback to the song and a thing that will keep it more relatable to a wider audience. This is Carrie Underwood, famous singer, always in the spotlight, actually being vulnerable and making herself an equal with all of us. It’s why this song will work–it shows that she’s really not that different to any of us, and it will speak to people because of that.
And it will most likely get played on country radio as well because it’s Carrie Underwood we’re talking about, and she’s pretty much one of the only women guaranteed to have success in the format. Credit to her for taking advantage of that position and releasing this song, adding her name to the growing number of artists channeling good singles out into the mainstream.
Written by: Carrie Underwood, Lori McKenna, Liz Rose, Hillary Lindsey
Wow, it feels good to be able to sit down and positively review a Kelsea Ballerini single–and even more than that, to have something good to say about a song partly concocted by Shane McAnally. Kelsea had already showed significant growth and maturity on her second album, and I was hoping we’d see something like this released as a single. Hopefully, we’ll see it have the same kind of success as some of her previous stuff because maybe she’ll keep releasing substantive, if pop-flavored, material to country radio.
The thing about this that makes me think its success is highly possible is that while substantive, it’s still fun. It’s clever and witty, bringing a much-needed slice of humor to the genre similar to what we saw with Maddie & Tae’s “Shut up and Fish.” But whereas that song forsook the clingy guy altogether in favor of fishing, this one only casts off the tired, worn-out clichés associated with love. She still loves her man, but she’s sick of “cakes with white frosting” and “Valentine’s dinner” and notes that “you’d die if your heart really skipped.” He makes her feel something, but it “sure as hell ain’t butterflies,” and they were drunk when they met, so neither of them can remember their anniversary.
It’s all delivered with a laid-back lounge atmosphere that calls to mind vintage pop; yes, it’s definitely pop more than country, but it’s like a 50’s style more than anything modern. I can almost hear Whitney Rose doing something like this, only maybe less produced. The delivery is part of its charm, as she’s telling us all these lines in an offhanded, casual way, so you might not pick up on the jokes right away.
This is Kelsea Ballerini’s smartest, most mature single to date. The lyrics are sharp, and the delivery fits the song well. She’s also kept the fun personality which characterized her earlier singles, refining it into wit and humor rather than immaturity. This should be a hit, and I hope it will be because this is both the right direction for Ballerini and a move toward more quality in the mainstream.
Written by: Kelsea Ballerini, Shane McAnally, Trevor Rosen
Sometimes it’s not the records with the best songwriting, the ones with the most interesting instrumentation, or the ones with the greatest vocalists that manage to stand out. With regard to that last point especially, Sarah Shook certainly doesn’t qualify, and as I said in a recent piece on vocal technique, hers is a perfect case for the value and importance of improving your vocal skill and making your music work regardless of your tone. She’s not an especially brilliant songwriter either; it’s not that her songs are lame by any stretch of anyone’s imagination, but there’s no Jason Isbell or Evan Felker-ish line coming out of nowhere on this album to make you stop in your tracks and think about life differently than you did five minutes ago. So why is it that she and her band, The Disarmers, seem to have captured such a wide audience with this record?
It’s amazingly, stupidly simple, and yet so few artists have stumbled upon it: Sarah Shook is relating to people. She’s being herself, and she’s being real. She’s telling us all the God’s honest, unpolished, unedited truth, and not only that, she’s making us all empathize with her. When you strip away all the extraneous qualifications and unnecessary bullshit, that’s what music is all about and why we all love it. It’s meant to make us feel something in a way that nothing else can, and Sarah Shook delivers that in full force on this album.
And when you’re throwing out lines like “I need this shit like I need another hole in my head,” it only makes sense that you deliver them in a rough, weathered vocal tone. Sarah’s vocal tone is anything but pleasant, but she worked on the parts of her voice that she could control, such as breath support and pitch accuracy, between the Disarmers’ debut album and this one, and the results are tangible. It makes her tone a feature rather than a flaw, lending character to songs about living hard, breaking up, and spiraling through drunken depression to deal with it all. Some people are just not going to like her tone regardless, a fact which there’s really no getting around–but the people that are going to love this record are going to love it in spite of and even because of that.
Relatability is her strength, and she showcases it here by telling both sides of the story in the breakup. Sometimes she’s the one fed up with her lover for drinking and staying out late and generally living unwisely, and sometimes she’s the one doing all of these things. In the opening lines of “Good as Gold,” she adopts the role of her whiny ex, as she mockingly sings, “I’m afraid of losing, not afraid of losing you, ’cause I don’t think of you like a thing of mine that I can just up and lose.” You can feel the sarcasm coming off her in waves, and you want to empathize with her and call this guy a bastard. But then, on “The Bottle Never Lets me Down,” she provides a counter to that argument, singing from the man’s perspective and saying “the bottle never lets me down the way you do,” asserting that drinking is the only way he can feel the way he used to be. We’ve all been there on one side or the other, and the genius in Sarah shook is that she gracefully depicts both, and more than that, she leaves it up to us to decide who is right. And still other times, she sings from her own perspective but still portrays someone living hard, adding another angle to the story. In “New Ways to Fail,” in a moment of forthrightness I think we can all appreciate, she announces,
It seems my way of living don’t live up to your standards,
And if you had your way, I’d be some proper kind of lady.
Well, the door is over there, if I may speak with perfect candor,
You’re welcome to walk through it at any old time that you fancy
It’s that sharp, raw honesty, spoken out of a place of perpetual tiredness, that many of us can relate to and which keeps people identifying with Sarah Shook and her music.
As for the instrumentation, it’s bright and vibrant, especially for an independent country/Americana record. I’m so glad to see we’re getting more energetic stuff in 2018; I feel like I’ve written that last sentence more already this year than I ever got the chance to do in 2017. I’ve seen this labeled stylistically as everything from outlaw to cowpunk, but I think we should just go with…country. We can have all kinds of discussions, enlightening and otherwise, about what isn’t real country these days, but some things are just unequivocally real country, and this is one of them. It isn’t going to cause debates or discussions or divisions. Within that, we are blessed with varied tempos and even some variations in style. “Lesson” goes for an almost beachy feel and sees her casually vowing to learn from all this and move on. Following that, we have a straight-up Western swing number in “Damned if I Do, Damned if I Don’t.” This one is just infectious as all hell. And massive credit to the Disarmers, an essential part of making these melodies and often depressing lyrics come to life on this record and complement the stories told by Sarah Shook.
This album is not without its flaws, the biggest one being inconsistency. We go from the absolutely excellent openers “Good as Gold” and “New ways to Fail” to an honestly boring rendition of “Over You.” “Heartache in Hell” is another boring moment, this one unfortunately allowed to drag on for over five minutes. Sarah Shook’s stories work best when they’re backed up by fun, infectious music, and the slow-burning songs serve to interrupt an otherwise fantastic record. It’s here where her vocal quality sticks out because it’s here that it’s meant to shine above the rest of the band. They work better as a seamless, collective unit rather than as a backing band featuring Sarah in a prominent spot. They are much more suited for the faster songs, as these are where they all work together to create a sum that is better than its individual parts.
But when it works, as it does for a good majority of this album, it’s nearly flawless. Sarah Shook’s ability to cut right to the point and then frame that point around a clever hook and catchy melody in a way that you can’t help but relate to it and get it stuck in your head is uncanny and certainly welcome in independent music. You all might be surprised at the amount of 8’s and 9’s pouring out over the past couple weeks–and yes, we’ll have some balance soon–but I wish all release weeks could be like these last two. Add this one to the growing pile of great records already released this year.
In my recent discussion on “real country” with Zack of The Musical Divide, he brought up the interesting point that country-oriented sites tend to be more accepting of rock influences infiltrating the country genre than of pop ones. He even cited Blackberry Smoke as being a band embraced by a lot of sites such as ours, and the point is a good one; Blackberry Smoke’s sound is less country than much of what we’d call pop country, yet many of the same people that shun country music infused with pop elements welcome Blackberry Smoke with open arms, a band who, aside from select tracks, arguably doesn’t fit within the genre at all.
It’s a contradiction and an interesting thing to ponder, and I still don’t have a good answer for why strict traditionalists are so averse to pop influences mixing with country, but after one listen to this latest Blackberry Smoke album, I think I can say exactly why these listeners embrace them and their Southern rock sound. It’s that while we’ve all been focused on the dying art form of traditional country, Southern rock has died right along with it. Maybe we don’t notice its absence as much with the prominence of classic rock over classic country on our radio dials–and also because we keep our focus on the country genre–but when you hear this come blasting out of your speakers, it’s suddenly, startlingly apparent that fans of Skynyrd and CCR have become just as forgotten and disenfranchised as fans of Willie and Waylon. Southern rock, like traditional country, represents a place and people whose music is seen as the sound of a backward generation that needs to be brought into the present. It’s no wonder country fans can identify with this. Just like country music, Southern rock needs artists to keep it alive in the modern context, to prove it’s not music of the past and to keep pushing the genre forward.
For all you disenfranchised fans of Southern rock music, I proudly present Atlanta’s Blackberry Smoke, ready to take up that particular torch and carry it with a vengeance.
I’ve talked about the decline of the importance of melody and even great vocals in the “age of the song” we’re living in, but it also has meant the virtual extinction of the guitar riff. We’re all so focused on lyrics and songwriting that we’ve forgotten what unique joy a great guitar riff can bring to our ears. “Run Away From it All” is a swift reminder, calling to mind those great rock bands of the 70’s and just getting perpetually stuck in your head. The same can be said for the piano-infused “Medicate my Mind” and the energetic “Best seat in the House,” both songs which carry the album theme of finding light in the midst of life’s struggles and both of which sound like they could have been recorded by any of your favorite Southern rock bands at the height of that subgenre.
But this band is also uniquely modern, penning songs like “Lord strike me Dead” and “Nobody Gives a Damn” to address the current state of our world, a state with which they seem to be especially disgusted. The former is more self-reflective, seeing lead singer Charlie Starr indicting the thin-skinned and those always looking for someone to blame, wishing God would just strike him dead and remove him from everyone’s bullshit. The latter is more of an address to these people themselves and something we’d all probably like to say to the whole of social media–“you think everyone’s watchin’, but nobody gives a damn.” These two are great testaments for the viability of Southern rock in 2018, for proof that it’s not just the music of times gone by and can still be relatable today.
Still, there’s variety in the sound as well on this record; it’s not all just screaming Southern rock anthems. “I’ve Got This song” is a straight-up, three-chord country number with an ungodly amount of fiddle. This is one of the best songs of the year so far, a simple declaration that whatever happens, the one think that Starr won’t lose is his music. Amanda Shires lends some of her characteristically excellent harmony to another country moment, the heartbreak song “Let me Down Easy.” This one is upbeat despite its sobering lyrics and provides a cool contradiction musically. “Till the Wheels Fall Off” goes for more of the Red Dirt country/rock blend than Southern rock and reminds me sonically of Kody West or early Eli Young Band. The laid-back closer, “Mother Mountain,” features the Wood Brothers and serves to end this high-energy record on more of a subdued, peaceful note, even fading out with the sounds of a running stream to end it all.
And somehow, despite all these standouts and unique moments on this album, I’ve failed to mention the ridiculously exciting “I’ll Keep Ramblin’,” which might just shine above all of them. This one is just a glorious five-minute exhibition of music where essentially all hell breaks loose as they sing about living restless, rambling lives. We have some killer piano, some screaming electric guitar, a gospel choir, and an appearance by pedal steel player Robert Randolph. We’ve seen our fair share of Southern rock and country on this record, and here we have a touch of blues and soul to round it all out.
If you haven’t figured it out, this is an excellent album. At thirteen tracks and especially fifty-three minutes, it could have done with having a couple songs trimmed, particularly near the front of the record. There’s nothing here I’d skip, but most of this material is so strong that even a marginally weaker track sticks out like filler. If they’d trimmed it a little, it would have been an absolutely ridiculous ten- or eleven-song project, one that would have earned a perfect rating here–and let me say, that would have only been the ninth album to achieve this status since this site was founded in June 2015…yet it would have been Blackberry Smoke’s second, something no artist has done to date. It falls just short of achieving that, but it quickly replaces Lindi Ortega’s Liberty, which held the title for a glorious week, as the strongest album to grace our presence in 2018, and we’ll be talking about this album again when those endless lists come around in December.
Look, we all knew this was coming, that in this especially divisive political and social climate, some mainstream country artist was going to release something about this and tell us something generic like that we should all get along. Enter Chesney, who literally calls this “Get Along” and asks if we can’t all just well, get along.
When I heard this was coming, I had a bad feeling I was going to hate it. I’m pleasantly surprised to say I don’t. It comes with a nice, bouncy melody and even some substance in the verses as he interacts with specific people and paints pictures of loneliness. It reminds me startlingly of Keith Urban’s “Female,” where the verses actually tried to go for something by giving specific examples and imagery. Kenny Chesney delivers it with some personality as well, unlike his last couple of singles.
But just like with “Female,” Shane McAnally manages to ruin this in the chorus. I can’t prove that McAnally is the one, of the three songwriters who produced this, responsible for penning the lines, “paint a wall, learn to dance, call your mom, buy a boat, drink a beer, sing a song,” but then again, it’s almost proof in and of itself. It’s the same listastic bullshit which ruined “Female” and which follows McAnally around. It takes a song which tries to say something meaningful and then inserts a list of crap which, in the case of both of these songs, has nothing to do with anything. What does painting a wall have to do with getting along with people and loving your neighbor? That’s right, nothing.
This song is pretty much harmless; I wouldn’t change the station if it came on. It’s not the offensive mess it could have been. But it’s not some deep, thought-provoking anthem that tries to unite us all either. You can’t do this with a song so transparent anyway. It takes something like the simple story in Jason Eady’s “Black Jesus,” or the sharp wit in “But You Like Country Music” from sunny Sweeney and Brennen Leigh, to really bring people from opposite backgrounds and political affiliations together. Both of those songs will stand the test of time. This is not a terrible song, but it’s far from the statement it claims to be, and ultimately, it will be quickly forgotten.
Written by: Josh Osborne, Shane McAnally, Ross Copperman
