We’re
about to the end of the journey here, at least as far as taking things
year-to-year here. Maybe I can think of other angles to write from that’d still
make sense on a country music blog called “Heartache Number One.” But circa
2012 the chart methodology changes up again and between that and my general
intentional ignorance of recent mainstream country music I think that’s a good
spot to cut things off.
Taylor
Swift had swooped in around 2006 as a smiley, sunny, surprisingly young
harbinger of change. Having a singer-songwriter still in her mid-teens hit the
spotlight could’ve just been a novelty. Another Lee Ann Rimes maybe, who’s
managed to maintain a career but wasn’t a meaningful game-changer. But unlike
Lee Ann Rimes, who first broke through with retro stylings, or the
now-legendary Tanya Tucker who’d shook things up with dark-edged material that
seemed a bit shocking coming from a kiddo, Taylor Swift was making fresh-faced
country pop that fit both her age and the moment. Alternately bubbly and
wistful songs about age-appropriate romance and longing, written (at least at
first) with guileless simplicity. Whoever was helping her shape her image
steered clear of the queasy underage-sexpot stuff that got the likes of Britney
Spears more attention than they could handle; Taylor was pretty, sure, but a
modest-seeming kid with her head on straight. It all seemed a little too good
to be true but – barring any unfortunate latecoming revelations now that she’s
more or less the most famous woman in the world – it seems like it was all as
wholesome and cheerful as presented. “Our Song” sounds exactly like high school
country-pop, and – back to back with a winsome Carrie Underwood ballad at the
end of 2007 – gave the impression that mainstream country was about to make
another serious play for young audiences again. It wouldn’t be all they would
do – that wholesome self-congratulatory suburban lifestyle country wasn’t going
anywhere – but it’d loom heavier in the mix than it had for over a decade.
Relative
old-timer Brad Paisley split the difference by writing a warmhearted “Letter to
Me,” reassuring and advising his teenage self. It’s warm, not too gimmicky, a
bit self-congratulatory in spots but balanced out with some humility. Rodney
Atkins, meanwhile, steered into the slightly-unsettling dad-joke trope on
“Cleaning This Gun (Come On in Boy),” a supposedly humorous song about being on
both ends of the ol’ girl’s-dad-implicitly-threatens-her-date-with-a-firearm joke.
After a promising first single, pretty much all of Atkins’ material boiled down
to him cramming his forced folksiness down your barrel with a ramrod. Not that
Paisley was totally innocent of this, but at least he could nail the charm
quotient reasonably often. Meanwhile, Carrie Underwood came blaring out of the
gate again with “All-American Girl,” another big-production vocal showcase with
lyrics that felt like they’d taken five minutes to write. It’s just a big
sticky anthem celebrating beautiful happy people instead of anyone who actually
needs the encouragement.
Something
kind of weird happened with Alan Jackson in 2008; he’d consistently fallen
short of #1 for about a half decade at this point, although he was doing better
than just about all of his old ‘90s peers. At his peak he’d really only taken a
backseat to maybe Garth Brooks, and his knack for consistency and – far as I
can tell, anyhow – personal stability kept him from ever really alienating fans
or industry types even as his stone-steady approach to modern country fell out
of mainstream fashion. But he managed to get on an unexpected roll with his 2008
album Good Time and hit one last hot streak on radio before sliding back
down the charts gracefully with his legacy secured. Funny thing is, even if he
didn’t tweak his sound he pretty much met the moment (for better or worse),
material-wise. “Small Town Southern Man” was yet another round of telling the
audience that what they were was exactly what they should be, although in
Jackson’s dignified hands it went down easier than usual. Lines about kindness
and humility, a more quiet sort of pride than a lot of the unsubtle
chest-beating going around. Jackson self-penned every song on Good Time so
it’s not like some suits at the label were wringing this out of him in hopes of
making a few more bucks; he’d been famously (if measuredly) outspoken a few
times through the years on Nashville’s steps away from country tradition, so
it’s not like he was some cynical trend-hopper. Then again, Jackson had always
had songs about small towns and good times and blue-collar folks in the mix, so
maybe the rest of the industry was just doubling down on lamer, noisier
versions of what Jackson was already doing. No wonder the O.G. was back in
business.
Another really tall dude with a twangy voice was doing fine as well. Trace Adkins has always personified mainstream country music pretty well: a tough dude with some soft spots, larger than life yet relatable, capable of heartbreaking warmth and honesty but also some of the most cynical novelty-song b.s. you ever laid ears on. “You’re Gonna Miss This” veered way closer to the former, thankfully, a friendly admonition not to let minor frustrations make you start wishing time would fly along even faster. Reliable old George Strait wanted you to cherish the moment too, although his angle on it was more spiritual with “I Saw God Today.” Looking for the divine in the ordinary is a worthwhile task we’d all do well to practice, but despite my long history with both God and George Strait I don’t get a ton out of this well-meaning but kind-of-flat song.
The
more modest ambitions of James Otto’s “Just Got Started Lovin’ You” were met
and exceeded, though. I don’t remember hearing this back then – I really don’t
remember scruffy country-rock dude James Otto at all – but this feels like a
hit that earned its stripes. Otto was in on the whole MuzikMafia clique with
Big & Rich, Gretchen Wilson, etc. but (at least here) he avoided their
penchant for gimmicky numbers and just knocked out a soul-infused romp. It
neither had nor needed big lyrical ambitions and the groove felt hearty but not
overstuffed. Otto didn’t go on to be a huge deal, but this is one of the very
rare late 2000s songs that makes you wonder if the whole album’s this good. And
then you got Brad Paisley trying too hard to be cute again with “I’m Just a
Guy,” which I don’t remember and I’m kind of sorry I revisited. There’s a
couple of clever lines somewhere there in the manufactured swagger but they’re
subsumed by clunkers, cliches, and a weird little rant about metrosexual guys there
at the end that leaves a sour, dated aftertaste. Granted, I don’t embrace the
whole excessively-well-groomed thing either, but it doesn’t seem worth writing
a whole song just to make fun of them.
I
guess Carrie Underwood was going for comedic swagger too on “Last Name,”
another long-forgotten (at least by me) #1 that I guess was meant to balance
out all her wholesome kid-friendly balladry with an “edgy” arena rock pastiche
about hooking up with some stranger in a Vegas bar and waking up married to him
(hence making room for one last “last name” punchline). Still technically
avoiding premarital sex even when blackout drunk … image more or less intact,
despite all the blaring electric guitar and Journey-esque wailing. Kenny
Chesney, meanwhile, didn’t have vocal pyro in his arsenal so he played it
subtle and sentimental on “Better as a Memory,” a new entry in that long
tradition of songs about a restless dude telling his fling she’s probably
better off without him as he loses interest and skips on down the road to his
next adventure. It was written by Scooter Carusoe and Lady Goodman, who both
have pretty fun names, and as wistful soft-rock goes it’s not half bad. Couple
of pirate references thrown in to keep the whole trop-rock gimmick going too.
Montgomery
Gentry continued to crank out assembly-line slabs of vaguely rocked-up country
like “Back When I Knew it All,” distinguished from most of their other big hits
by being presented as more of a traditional duet, going back and forth on
verses about brash, impudent younger years thankfully giving way to the sort of
middle-aged complacency they and many of their peers wanted their audience to
aspire to. Blake Shelton, who usually shared similarly downhome ambitions, went
surprisingly urbane and worldly on a song called “Home” that I don’t remember
at all but is worth a listen if you’re not busy; a big-production ballad with a
sophisticated, vaguely Paul Simon-ish melody, it follows a weary and
disillusioned traveler around Europe as he longs to get back to his roots. It
feels personal even though a modicum of research shows that it’s a cover of
Michael Buble, the smooth-voiced traditional-pop star who sort of took over
Harry Connick Jr.’s old job of bringing pre-rock nostalgia back to the modern
masses. Shelton nails the tricky vocal pretty well; just a few years down the
line he’d end up with a long-running gig starring on the network TV
singing-competition smash The Voice and he’d be one of the bigger stars in
music. Circa 2008 he was a hit-and-miss country star who was never guaranteed a
trip up the charts, but “Home” was a gamble that worked.
“Good
Time” shot rejuvenated veteran Alan Jackson back to #1, and it lives up to its
name … Jackson changes up his usual laconic delivery with some fast-talkin’
hooks but keeps the arrangement simple, fiddles and Tele and piano taking turns
jamming between standard-issue but likable lines about Middle America weekend
revelry. Looking back it might’ve been a much-less-obnoxious precursor to the
bro-country wave that was about to wash away most of the credibility that guys
like Alan Jackson had rekindled in mainstream country music. I imagine that
Sugarland was trying to be similarly charming on the lighthearted “All I Want
to Do” but the bouncy tune leans on Jennifer Nettles’ whoo-hoo-hooing vocal
exercises for a chorus too long until it crosses the line to annoying. Taylor
Swift didn’t have that sort of vocal dexterity, at least not back then, but
even as a kid she knew a hook when she heard one; I don’t recall “Should’ve
Said No” from back then but it’s held up pretty well, even in retrospect after
a decade and a half of ever-more-sophisticated (and inescapable) Swiftie
songcraft. Blending a rustic banjo line with a crunchy post-grunge rock dynamic
and some believable but not-overbearing late-teens romantic angst, it’s the
song equivalent of an old high-school photo where no one can spot your awkward
phase.
Keith
Urban had an awkward one with “You Look Good in My Shirt,” a weirdly earnest
but entirely unconvincing stab at playful sex-rock from a guy who presumably
did fine with the ladies in person before settling down with one of the most
famous and beautiful actresses of their mutual time. Newcomer Jimmy Wayne was
mining a similar vein of earnest, kinda for-the-ladies country-pop; a hard-luck
foster kid and former prison guard who was nonetheless one stylist away from
modern country pretty-boy status, he’d knocked around Nashville as a songwriter
and aspiring singer for about a decade before having the Top 10 breakout “I
Love You This Much,” a father-son-Jesus ballad that hits pretty hard even if
you don’t share his tough childhood background. But what got him to #1 was “Do
You Believe Me Now,” not to be confused with the Vern Gosdin heartwrencher but
solid enough on its own merits. It’s a big, vaguely rocked-out ballad that
paints a painful-enough picture of a guy replaced by some jerk his girlfriend
had told him not to worry about. Believable song about real-people problems.
Closer than most hits got circa 2008. Wayne and Brad Paisley traded the #1 spot
back and forth for a few weeks, with Paisley’s “Waitin’ on a Woman” giving him
another warm, vaguely humorous slice-of-life hit. It’s one of those
well-structured vignette songs with nice attention to detail and character and a
hooky lyrical through-line that’s satisfying enough once, but it’s a little
like doing a puzzle … once you’ve done it, do you really want to do it over and
over?
Not
to get all identity-politics on anyone who’s still reading this, but it was a
pretty big moment in October 2008 when Darius Rucker became the first black artist
to score a solo #1 country hit since Charley Pride’s long run of them finally
petered out in 1983. Not counting the special exception of Ray Charles guesting
with Willie Nelson on “Seven Spanish Angels,” nobody else claiming black
heritage had come close. If you weren’t already aware, Rucker had one hell of a
pop-culture head start; he was the lead singer of Hootie & the Blowfish.
Their enormous 1994 hit debut album Cracked Rear View was briefly among the hottest things in music, going platinum twenty times over.
They were sort of an alternative to alternative, an earthy bunch of nice dudes who
liked beer and sports and gave counterpoint to the grubby angst of the Pearl
Jam and Nine Inch Nails types who’d gotten so big that almost every rock act of
the ‘90s was marketed as “alternative” whether that fit or not. It’s
easy to see why it initially worked … I still like that album, but perhaps they
were overexposed (I guess that is an easy band name to get tired of hearing) because
a couple years later it was hard to find anyone that admitted to listening to
them. It probably didn’t matter that much to a band whose money was already
made, but frontman Rucker was eager to prove himself in another arena. He had
always had an affection for country music (he was particularly a champion of
Texas singer-songwriter Radney Foster) and his regular-dude persona was a good
fit for modern mainstream country circa 2008. “Don’t Think I Don’t Think About
It” would’ve fit in fine on a Hootie record with a couple of tweaks, but
instead it was his first country single, the first of several #1s and a welcome
ongoing presence in the genre he chose for the second act of his career.
Kenny
Chesney technically managed to get black artists atop the country charts too
with “Everybody Goes to Heaven” featuring reggae act The Wailers on backup.
I’ve had trouble nailing down who exactly was performing as The Wailers circa
2008; I don’t know how much overlap there was with the version that backed up
the legendary Bob Marley in the ‘70s, and the track’s a bit too
Nashville-sanitized to let that much distinctive sonic personality bleed
through beyond a pleasant island bounce. But I’m sure it was still a coup for
Chesney’s beach-dude image to collaborate with a band associated with the only
reggae artist the average white listener has probably ever heard of. Meanwhile,
Toby Keith sounded like he’d hired Nickelback to be his backing band on “She
Never Cried in Front of Me,” a pretty decent song despite his attempts to match
the crunchy guitars by pushing his usual baritone twang into something
resembling a post-grunge yarl of a vocal.
Carrie
Underwood swung back to the top with “Just a Dream,” and although I’ve been
perhaps a little rough on her material, this one seems way more fitting than
most for her big rangy wail of a voice. Kind of elliptical by country music
standards, you can still suss out that it’s the story of a young woman
fantasizing about a wedding day that’s not meant to be because she’s actually going
to the funeral of her beloved husband or fiancée who was killed in military
action. Dramatic stuff, and with all the sincere vocal bombast it comes off
like flat-out psychic implosion. I don’t exactly love it, it’s really not my
style, but I can’t say I’m not impressed. Taylor Swift’s “Love Story,” which
had a way happier ending, was kind of a trifle by comparison. But fifteen years
later, it’s the one everyone actually remembers and sings along to; I guess
part of this is because of Swift’s world-beating fame, and maybe part because
she’s rerecorded a lot of her older material to free it from the domain of her
old label boss. It’s not like Underwood faded away or anything, she’s still a
huge star, but Swift has pretty much created her own category.
The
Zac Brown Band has been a little tough to categorize over the years too,
dabbling in various shades of modern pop and jam-band rock, but on their
breakout hit “Chicken Fried” they sounded like natural heirs to the old Alabama
(the band, not the state) approach, mixing downhome sentiments and touches of
country pickin’ with a sense of arena-rock bigness; this thing was everywhere
for a while. And it was total lifestyle country, complete with shoutouts to the
troops and lots of small-town wholesomeness, studiously engineered to basically
congratulate listeners for being who they were. Catchy stuff, though. Montgomery
Gentry was thematically similar but more downbeat closing out the year with the
kinda-sleepy “Roll With Me,” another simple tune about small-town values, a
chill good ol’ boy narrator landing somewhere between self-acceptance and
self-improvement. Like many of the year’s other #1s, it made you wish Nashville
songwriters were doing more of the latter.
THE
TREND?
Lots
and lots of little folksy slices of life going around, leaning hard on pride
and positivity and uncomplicated emotion. There’s still a strong whiff of that
suburban family-friendly radio country in the mix along with some safe-but-at-least-upbeat
good-time anthems, a blend that I’d call “lifestyle country” because of how
carefully it all seems engineered to define and reinforce exactly what a
suburban/rural country music listener should value, believe in, support and
participate in. There’s obviously a kind of listener that appreciates this sort
of thing and feels validated, and another kind of listener that resents getting
their strings pulled even if they’ve got a lot of overlap with that way of
life. For my money the year’s best songs – Darius Rucker’s “Don’t Think I Don’t
Think About It” and James Otto’ “Just Got Started Lovin’ You” – are the ones
that zero in on the ups and downs of love, whether earnestly or playfully. Telling
the listener how you feel is almost always a better bet than telling them how
they should feel.
THE RANKING
- Don’t Think I Don’t Think About It – Darius Rucker
- Just Got Started Lovin’ You – James Otto
- Good Time – Alan Jackson
- Small Town Southern Man – Alan Jackson
- You’re Gonna Miss This – Trace Adkins
- Just a Dream – Carrie Underwood
- Home – Blake Shelton
- Should’ve Said No – Taylor Swift
- She Never Cried in Front of Me – Toby Keith
- Better as a Memory – Kenny Chesney
- Love Story – Taylor Swift
- Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven – Kenny Chesney with The Wailers
- Waitin’ on a Woman – Brad Paisley
- Letter to Me – Brad Paisley
- I Saw God Today – George Strait
- Do You Believe Me Now – Jimmy Wayne
- Chicken Fried – Zac Brown Band
- Back When I Knew it All – Montgomery Gentry
- Our Song – Taylor Swift
- Roll With Me – Montgomery Gentry
- All I Want to Do - Sugarland
- You Look Good in My Shirt – Keith Urban
- I’m Just a Guy – Brad Paisley
- Last Name – Carrie Underwood
- Cleaning This Gun (Come On in Boy) – Rodney Atkins
- All-American Girl – Carrie Underwood
No comments:
Post a Comment