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Reviews

Album Review: Ashley Monroe–Sparrow

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Rating: 6.5/10

If any of you know me at all, you know I am an unashamed Ashley Monroe apologist and have been looking forward to new music from her almost since The Blade. With the release of the first single, “Hands on You,” came mixed feelings–I enjoyed the single, but I was hesitant about the more polished direction Monroe took sonically. I haven’t been overly impressed with any of the other pre-released tracks either, and what once was promising to be a great release was becoming a worrying one.

After several listens with this thing? Honestly, this is probably the most conflicted and divided I’ve been with myself about a project in a long while.

Monroe cites “good therapy” as being largely responsible for this record. She says that she finally chose to properly deal with the loss of her father at thirteen and what that was like for her family. That’s certainly evident from the opening lines of this album, as “Orphan” begins with the line from which the title of the album was inspired–“How does the sparrow know more than I? When a mother is gone, it learns how to fly.” “Orphan” is a ridiculous opener and one of the best songs of the year–and as for that polish which traditionally hasn’t been a Monroe characteristic, it actually works to perfection here, with elegant strings and piano accentuating the vocals and the story.

Monroe’s father comes up several more times on this album, often in its strongest moments. “Daddy I Told You” is another standout, again featuring some very tasteful piano and letting him know that she kept his name and still loves him. This one is just the kind of honest, thoughtful expression of emotion which defines country music. If I get asked to define it again anytime soon, I’m just going to cite this song. “Mother’s Daughter” is another track that echoes with the memories of her dad, as she sings about once being her father’s daughter but now having become more like her mother in his absence, or as the song says, “now that he’s no longer.” Sonically, this one is similar to something like “From Time to Time” from Ashley’s last album, and this one feels like a moment where the more polished sound works to her advantage.

Sensuality is also an important part of this record. I’m not sure how that plays into the therapeutic aspect of it for Monroe, but there is something liberating about the presence of both “Hands on You” and “Wild Love” here. This is the country genre, where women aren’t allowed to speak about desire at all, much less in this way, with lines like “pull my hair and call my name” (Wild Love”) and “I wish I’d have pushed you against the wall, locked the door in a bathroom stall” (“Hands on You.”) It’s not really apparent how little women actually sing about desire in country until you are presented with it here, and that shouldn’t be such a rare and shocking thing. I congratulated Shinyribs last year on introducing foot worship to country music; now I’d like to extend the same congratulations to Ashley Monroe for releasing these scandalous lines out into the world and especially on a major label.

I will say that while they both add value as individual songs, these two could have done with different melodies and production. “Wild Love” was released after “Hands on You,” and it’s the same tempo, same key, even the same strings in the background doing some of the same runs. I feel as if I’d have enjoyed “Wild Love” more if it had been released first, just as I enjoy “Hands on You” more currently. It’s intriguing because both of them stand well on their own, but they are so similar musically that they take away from one another on the album.

The major issue with this record can be boiled down to that incessant polish, and I hate to criticize him twice in a week, but Dave Cobb strikes again here. It’s not that Cobb did a bad job here, as the string sections and piano all over this album are generally really beautiful, even adding to some of the songs I’ve mentioned. They also work really well in “Hard on a Heart,” another of the standouts on the record. And Monroe said she wanted to work with him and wanted a countrypolitan feel on this album, so this problem has to do with her vision more than Cobb actually screwing it up.

but Dave Cobb is a terrible producer for Ashley Monroe. Vince Gill was a much better one, even on The Blade, where there was more polish than her previous records. The Blade still kept her personality, her emotion, that traditional voice as the focal points. With Sparrow, you’re often too drawn in or too distracted, depending on the song, by these orchestral arrangements to fully appreciate the words of Ashley Monroe. And it’s a shame because this is supposed to be the most personal record for Monroe to date–but instead of letting us in like Kacey Musgraves managed to do on her album, it feels like Monroe holds us at arm’s length, not quite letting us into the unique headspace she was in when she wrote these songs but rather staying in her own private moment. Her vulnerability is masked by cellos and piano and general overproduction. “Paying attention” is absolutely ruined by production; lyrically, that’s a great heartbreak song and one that Ashley could nail vocally, but she’s fighting to be heard over everything else so that she’s not even on pitch all the time. She also has pitch issues in “She Wakes me Up,” another ridiculously cluttered affair, and it’s not a coincidence. Ashley Monroe is one of the most gifted country vocalists around, but she’s being drowned out by all this until both her emotional delivery and her technical performance are suffering. It renders some songs boring and lifeless, some of which might have been better had Monroe and her lyrics been allowed to shine more. I mean, I don’t think “Rita” could have been helped by anything, as that’s definitely the most boring track Ashley has ever released, but it’s the exception here, and the point still stands.

I wanted to like this more than I do, and as many issues as I have with this album, I probably do enjoy it more than my words may imply. The standouts I have listed are just that–they’re not the few tolerable or decent tracks on an otherwise terrible record, they’re gems that stand as proud additions to Ashley Monroe’s discography. A brilliant song like “Orphan” proves that this more polished, countrypolitan style can work for Monroe at times, and it’s a song like that which really makes the boring, overproduced filler on this record all the more disheartening. Overall, this style doesn’t suit Monroe, and especially not on what’s meant to be a personal, intimate record. Here’s hoping Vince Gill will come back to produce her next project. Cherry-picking is not something I normally condone, but it’s appropriate here because this album has some treasures; unfortunately, they’re mixed in with filler, and more importantly, I don’t see this record making new Ashley Monroe fans. For those like me, already unapologetic fans, it does have the potential to grow–the problems are less with Ashley herself and more with the style–but I don’t see Sparrow being a defining record for her, even if it symbolizes a defining moment for Monroe personally.

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Reviews

Album Review: John Prine–The Tree of Forgiveness

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Rating: 7/10

How can I actually find a way to properly introduce the great John Prine. If background info seemed superfluous with Willie Nelson, it seems almost ridiculous with John Prine, as that name should be an introduction in and of itself, carrying the legend of the incredible songwriting that has marked his career. Indeed, he wrote one of my favorite songs in “Angel From Montgomery,” and I am nothing but glad to see that with this resurgence of his popularity at this point in his life, new generations are coming around to the fact that Prine is a songwriting genius.

John Prine was never an especially remarkable singer, and time and especially cancer can be cruel to a voice, but that’s not why anyone ever listened to Prine in the first place. If it was a great voice you were looking for, it’s your loss because it’s wisdom and passion which outlast even time and circumstance, and Prine displays both in his songwriting. Anyone looking to become better at this craft should study this album and the music of John Prine, for the man is a world-class wordsmith, and no one can pen songs quite like him.

It’s not just his choice of words or the unique way he can empathize with the world, either. It’s the way he can make death seem like a party in “When I Get to Heaven”–in fact, the very name of this album comes from the name of a nightclub he plans to open in the afterlife. He speaks of starting a band and smoking cigarettes that are nine miles long and makes it all seem like an adventure, all but eliminating the fear of death with this picture of it. He can make us all feel at once sympathetic with the forgotten, lonesome narrator of “Knockin’ on Your Screen Door” and guilty for not helping the less fortunate. With the pictures he paints, he lets us know it’s our business to be more compassionate to people, to understand their circumstances and put ourselves in their place. It’s not preachy because John Prine is not a preacher–he’s a storyteller, and this is a story of the downtrodden that needs to be told. He can even humanize “poor planet Pluto,” as he does in the album highlight, “Lonesome Friends of Science,” the once majestic planet which has now been demoted.

It’s also in that song that he speaks of actually “living” in a place deep inside his mind while collecting his mail in Tennessee. It’s an interesting perspective and one that is common among songwriters and other creative souls, as they interpret the world with deeper emotion and unique insight, feeling things from deep within and letting their imaginations run free. It’s certainly from a place like that where songs like “Egg & Daughter Nite, Lincoln Nebraska, 1967, (crazy Bone)” originate; yes, that’s a real title here on this album, and yes, the song is about as strange as that title would imply. But it’s a cheerful reminder for us all to stay weird if nothing else.

Dave Cobb was, for the most part, a good producer for this because he knows how to get out of the way of an artist and let their lyrics be the focal point. This is pretty minimalist in its approach, and usually, that serves Prine well. There’s some upbeat, cheerful acoustic guitar in “Knockin’ on Your Screen door” which helps to give that track some life, and some lively drums and more energetic production to help the humorous “Crazy Bone.” The piano adds to “Lonesome Friends of Science” as well, creating a nice interlude in the middle of that track. There are some collaborators, most notably Jason Isbell, Amanda Shires, and Brandi Carlile, and they do their part to enhance, rather than take away from, the lyrics. Prine and his words are always the main focus.

Still, it does feel like sometimes John Prine is left too exposed by the production. “Summer’s End,” for example, could have done with a bit more, especially at the beginning, as it sounds sort of unfinished. “NO Ordinary Blue” could have benefited from some collaboration to support the vocals as well, and “Caravan of Fools” just feels like it needed something else, maybe some strings or piano to add to it. There are some strings which come in at the very end, but they would have served the song better if they’d come in earlier. It’s an odd thing to say because a record usually suffers from the opposite when it comes to production issues, but this one is underproduced in places.

As for John Prine himself, this album proves why he’s become so popular again later in his life, why people are once again taking notice of his songs and his career. It’s because he is a songwriter like no other, and people recognize that wisdom and talent when they hear it. They admire his compassion and love the weirdness and wit which separates him from many of his contemporaries. On a side note, this record is also a great case for the fact that artists don’t magically stop having something relevant or profound to say when they’ve reached a certain age or point in their careers–it’s a lesson Americana knows well but which country needs to learn. Aspiring songwriters and fans of good music, acquaint yourself with Jon Prine. This is just another good place to begin.

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Reviews

Album Review: Wheeler Walker Jr.–Ol’ Wheeler

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Rating: 7/10

**Language**

All right, I’m rising to another challenge this week, attempting to review Wheeler Walker Jr. So, for anyone possibly living under a rock who might otherwise be shocked by the content here, Wheeler is a character personified by comedian Ben Hoffman who rose to prominence rather quickly last year by releasing foul-mouthed, sexually explicit, and generally vulgar country songs, all while simultaneously creating a persona surrounding him of bashing Nashville and the current state of pop country. So for the easily offended and/or faint of heart, I don’t recommend reading on–he’s not for everyone. For all those out there who can take a joke, enjoy stuff like say, Rodney Carrington, and/or just like some really well-done, straight-up traditional country instrumentation, please read on. But you’ve been informed, so now I’m going to treat Wheeler like a real artist because that’s how this music is presented, and that’s part of its genius.

The glaring problem with Wheeler’s debut album, Redneck Shit, was that it was funny and provided quite a lot of shock value, but it didn’t really hold up. Some of it was vulgar for the sake of being vulgar, and Wheeler has definitely improved on that front. You still have plenty of examples of this on the new record; “Pussy King” was a fun single for a couple minutes, but it didn’t stay with me either, and it also went in a more bluesy direction which I don’t think suits Wheeler’s style. But then you have moments like “Summers in Kentucky,” which seems to be quite a serious song about Wheeler being out on the road and thinking about an ex from his past–she’s now married with kids, but he says that if she wants to leave her husband, she can come on tour with him. They’ve both “aged like shit,” and he’d trade all the young girls to have her “flabby ass” back. It’s songs like this, where the vulgarity comes out at unexpected moments to make serious songs funny, and yes, also to add something to the song, that make wheeler stand out as more than a comedy act and rather a country artist, which is what Wheeler’s character is going for. There’s also “Fuckin’ Around,” which is your classic country cheating song with a twist–Wheeler has been fucking around on his wife, Kacey, while on the road, but she has been doing the same back home, and now they’re both confessing their various misdeeds. Kacey’s part is sung by Nikki Lane, and she was a fantastic choice for this role. You also have a nice moment in “Drunk sluts,” where Wheeler laments his bad luck in love and that these types of girls are all he can seem to find. “Small Town Saturday Night” stands out too because it could be any mainstream party song–except for its traditional instrumentation and the fact that the characters are high on paint and propositioning a married woman while her husband “drain(s) his dick” in the bathroom–“drinking and smoking and looking for something to fuck.” The point is, instead of coming off as songs that were written for the sole purpose of being as vulgar as possible, a good portion of this record comes off as serious, if especially crass, country, and that makes it, for me, an improvement for Wheeler.

I mentioned the instrumentation, and except for “Pussy King,” which as I mentioned has a more bluesy slant, this is straight-up traditional country. Even if it’s not funny, or the humor wears off, it’s more country than 90% of the stuff being marketed as such, and Dave Cobb did a tremendous job with it. Wheeler also calls out Nashville in the closer, “Poon,” which backs up the things he says all over social media and in podcasts. It won’t be for everyone obviously, but it’s comedy, and damn it, it’s funny, and there’s wit in these songs and in Wheeler’s writing. And on top of that, it’s country. Credit to Wheeler walker Jr. for delivering us something different and unique, and even more than that, for being able to do it differently, and much better, a second time.

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Commentary

You Know What? I Couldn’t Care Less About the Production on Colter Wall’s Album

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Recently, I reviewed Colter Wall’s self-titled debut album, and if you haven’t heard that record, you’re honestly depriving yourself for no good reason. It’s right up there with the best of 2017 so far; it got a 9/10 here, but only just, due to one song, “You Look to Yours,” which admittedly has gotten only slightly better and less boring since my initial thoughts…but I digress.

Many outlets had a common criticism, in varying degrees of intensity, of the production. Produced by Dave Cobb, this record was minimalist to say the least–in fact, Cobb did virtually nothing, letting Colter and his guitar speak for themselves on a good portion of the album. This was quite a contrast from Wall’s debut EP which featured more interesting instrumentation and sometimes lively fiddles. I wrote that I thought that might have worked in some places on this record, and that Dave Cobb was to blame. I was careful to add that I personally thought that on this particular album, Dave Cobb did a fantastic job, getting out of the way of Colter–but I added that Colter will have to expand his sound going forward, and I agreed that the concerns of production are valid, if perhaps a little early.

But now? After listening to this several more times, and as this record becomes one of my personal favorites of 2017, as well as one of the best from a critical standpoint, I have to take back those comments. I think the production here was fantastic, as I already said, and I do think Colter’s next album can’t be more of the same without running the risk of it feeling a little stale, a la Stapleton. However, Stapleton is an easy comparison because they used the same producer; the bigger problem with Stapleton wasn’t Dave Cobb’s production as much as a general lack of passion from Chris Stapleton himself, which stands out even more on a minimalist Dave Cobb project where there’s not much going on to distract you. Now, I do have a problem with some of the production on Stapleton’s album, but my point is that it made it easy at first for me to draw comparisons with Colter Wall and seek out problems with the minimalistic approach, especially one that differed so much from Colter’s previous output.

But that’s just it; Stapleton’s two albums sound exactly the same, whereas Colter’s album and EP sound nothing alike, so I believe this means that any concern we have about him sliding into a rut with production is completely unwarranted until his next project. That concern should have no bearing on this album, and when I listen to this album, I can find no flaw in the production. Colter Wall and his guitar are enough, and that is all the more reflective of his talent and of the strength of these songs. I’m actually glad Dave Cobb got out of the way of this and let Colter and his stories shine. I can still understand people who wanted more production wise, but it is no longer my criticism–and as for expanding his sound going forward, we’ve already seen two very different sounds from Colter Wall, so I’m no longer sure we have to worry about this either. Now seriously, go listen to this album, it’s still incredible.

Reviews

Album Review: Colter Wall (self-titled)

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Rating: 9/10

Eleven miles west of Dodge City, Kansas, on West Highway 50, otherwise in the middle of nowhere, there is a boardwalk and a historical marker to denote the place where over a century ago, wagons passed through on the Santa Fe Trail. If you stand there on that boardwalk in that relentless prairie wind and look out over the land, you can still see the ruts these wagons drove into the ground as countless people made their way to Santa Fe, and though so much time has passed, their stories are still etched into the prairie and echoing out of the past. Though you stand there in the 21st century, a piece of 1872 is still with you in those ruts, and there’s something about that that’s powerful and timeless.

It’s that same sort of feeling you get when you press play on this record, and Colter Wall starts to sing, with often little else but his guitar and some well-placed steel or drums to accompany a voice reminiscent of Johnny Cash and stories that seem to come pouring out of another place and time. From the opening words to “Thirteen silver dollars,” where we are invited in with, “It was a cold and cruel evening, sneaking up on speedy Creek, I found myself sleepin’ in the snow,” it’s an album of rambling and searching, more story than song, more folk than country, and more past than present. That remarkable voice will draw you in and remind you of earlier days in country, but it takes more than that to sell stories like these, especially in these modern days. It’s the conviction and emotion in these words that keeps you listening and makes it more than just a singer with a great, throwback voice, and rather a storyteller taking you on a journey. This particular journey includes hopping trains and sleeping in lonely motel rooms, and culminates in prison–and that’s just the front half. This half of the record ends in fine fashion with “Kate McCannon,” as Colter Wall sings from his prison cell about meeting “the prettiest girl in the whole damn holler” and then subsequently “courting” her and murdering her after finding her with someone else. This song builds and builds until the climactic line, “I put three rounds into Kate McCannon,” and you can feel all the pain and guilt of the song and whole first half of the album in that line.

I separate the album into halves because that’s exactly how Colter Wall presents it, and between the halves, there’s another slice of the past, as a DJ on the “Old Soul Radio show” is supposedly debuting Colter’s album, complete with static and background noise before he “flips the record over.” I can see how people would love or hate this moment, but it does serve to add another vintage element to the album, and it also breaks the record nicely into two parts, providing a break after the intensity of “Kate McCannon.”

The back half of the album is just slightly weaker, at least for me, as I’m still not really getting into the song “You Look To Yours.” If there’s any filler on this record, it would be this song. Here we have two nice covers, Townes Van Zandt’s “Snake Mountain Blues,” which serves nicely as the opener to the second half, as well as the excellent “Fraulein,”–originally done by Bobby Helms, but also previously performed by Townes–featuring Tyler Childers. These two are excellent together; Childers adds some high harmony and some great contrast to Wall’s bass, and they should sing together more. Townes Van Zandt is a fitting artist for Colter Wall to cover on this album because his songs work well with the images and stories portrayed here. Some of the best songwriting on the record can be found on “Transcendent Ramblin’ Railroad Blues” and “Bald Butte.” The former is more of, well, exactly what the title says, but this one stands out for its lines like, “If I don’t leave here tomorrow, I believe I’ll blow out my brains. But either way, there’ll be sorrow, you won’t be seeing me again.” The latter is a story straight out of the past, as we are told the tale of Henry, who had his horse and rifle stolen by some Southerners and sought revenge, only to be shot. The details and imagery in this one are impressive.

I mentioned before that there’s not much to accompany Colter Wall here usually except his guitar. Sometimes there’s some steel and sometimes some drums, which certainly do a lot for “Bald Butte.” For people that knew Colter wall before this and enjoyed his debut EP, Imaginary Appalachia, this could be a good or bad thing–that EP had much more interesting instrumentation and production, often with lively fiddles. I think some of that could have helped this record in places, and having Dave Cobb as the producer is certainly to blame for this. Having said that, personally, for this particular record, I think Dave Cobb handled it excellently, getting out of the way of Colter wall and his stories and letting them speak for themselves. I do think that going forward, Colter will have to expand his sound–we saw with Stapleton’s record that it wasn’t as interesting production wise as Traveller. But as far as this record goes, I don’t have any major complaints with the production. And for me, it’s actually quite an improvement from Imaginary Appalachia for Colter Wall himself, as on that EP, I felt he was singing too often in higher registers; this record shows off much of his lower range which suits his voice, as well as these songs. I would say that while he may be still developing his sound and style, he’s also come quite a long way in that aspect on this album. So I agree the concerns of production are valid, but something we should hold off on for the 21-year-old Wall until his next project.

There’s also the concern that by singing in this throwback, sometimes dated style that Colter Wall could develop into a niche performer, and that’s also something I’d argue it’s too early to speculate about. If it turns out to be the case, I’m proud to be one of the throwback types that enjoys this music. if not, I think there’s a conviction and heart in Colter that, combined with that kind of voice, can impact people on a much larger scale. I see a tremendous amount of potential in this 21-year-old Canadian folk singer, and only time will tell if he lives up to that potential. For now, this is a pretty incredible album, and rather than speculating on Colter’s future, we should all just go listen to it.

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