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Song Review: Darius Rucker – “Come Back Song”

Jim Malec June 27, 2010 5

darius rucker Song Review: Darius Rucker – “Come Back Song” Editor’s note: This review was originally published on our new country-only site, AmericanTwang.com.

After selling 16 million records as the lead singer of 90s rock band Hootie & the Blowfish, Darius Rucker suffered a 10 year drought during which his biggest claim to fame was being the pitchman for a western-themed fast food sandwich.

But lightning struck twice for Rucker, a gifted and soulful vocalist who found a way to channel his highly commercial, lite-rock creative tendencies into consumable Nashville country music for the masses. Rucker’s 2008 country debut Learn to Live spawned three consecutive chart toppers (and one that climbed up to #3), sold Platinum and quickly established the singer as one of the genre’s top-tier hitmakers. That, while becoming the most successful black country singer since Charley Pride.

Indeed, if anyone knows a thing or two about come back songs, it’s Darius Rucker. It’s just too bad that the lead single from his upcoming sophomore country project—titled “Come Back Song”—pays only lip service to his epic climb from music industry has-been to hotshot. How refreshing would it have been, in this genre the parades as intrinsically genuine and deeply authentic, to hear an artist address his own rise, fall and resurrection?

No such luck here, however, as “Come Back Song” predictably settles for typical mainstream country fodder. Take a heartbroken (but functional) ex-lover who sees the error of his ways, toss in some non-descript acoustic rhythm guitar and top it all off with a dash of na-na-nas, and you’ve got all the substance you need for a hit. Couple all of that with a relevant, engaging artist, and the project’s as damn-near “can’t miss” as you’ll find.

But it’s still disappointing to hear such a talented artist settling for so little. Lyrically, “Come Back Song” is dumber than dirt, offering up compelling gems like, “I didn’t know I needed you so/And letting you go was wrong.”

Elsewhere, the song contorts itself to buy a cheap rhyme, while attempting to score some cuteness points with one of those cheesy and awkward, “I’m implying a bad word without actually saying the bad word” moments. Of course, the line ends up making absolutely no sense. In fact, the first time I heard Rucker sing, “You’re on the feel good side of leaving/And I’m the back side of a mule,” I had to think back to my college Zoology class—was there something on the back side of a mule that I had forgotten about?

Nope. It’s an “ass” joke. Donkey, mule, ass. Get it?

Musically, “Come Back Song” is a groovy little track that Rucker delivers with such ease and fluidity that he practically embarrasses—and completely overwhelms—the song. So controlled and precise is his performance here that it just seems too easy—literally. Rucker somehow stays focused, invoking emotional juice in all the appropriate places, but he just doesn’t seem all that interested. And how could you blame him? He does his best to sell the soul of this song, but there’s just not much soul to sell.

Hearing such a devastatingly good singer sing such a depressingly bad song is one of music’s least rewarding experiences.

Album Review: Doug Burr – O Ye Devastator

Kelly Dearmore June 10, 2010 4

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Is it folk? Is it rock? Stop—you’re both right.

O Ye Devastator, the latest album from Denton, TX, troubadour Doug Burr, is a study in how people should simply give up when it comes to attempting to categorize an increasing number of artists who like their folk and rock separate from one another, as much as they do when its rolled up into one insanely pleasing concoction.

Burr brings the noise, but he does bring the folk, as well. There’s a plucky, rambunctious quality to “Red, Red,” where the banjo bounces giddily across the tune, and “Do You Hear Wedding Bells” is a pastoral, orchestral number that is as sweet as it is heartbreaking.

Does the inclusion of a few, quiet numbers make a folk record? I think not. Especially when, of all things, an instrumental—the contemplative, electronic and atmospheric “All Our Lives”—finds it’s way into all of the commingling of elements, both folky and revved-up.

Similar to Joe Pug, Josh Ritter and even Cory Chisel, Burr can go from introspective to anthemic in a few seconds flat with not only ease, but believability to boot. As evidenced on not only this latest release, but his On Promenade album from a couple of years ago, Burr and other artists like him occupy a sneakily varied space of the musical universe where literate tales of love and courtship can rock out with reverb-drenched fervor, as does “At the Public Dance“.

When that tune ends with a spacey, fuzzed-out jam that boasts all of the bombast of an Explosions in the Sky number, it can be hard to see where folk truly fits in.

Hint: it really doesn’t. And that’s okay.

Album Review: Twistable, Turnable Man: A Musical Tribute to the Songs of Shel Silverstein

Kelly Dearmore June 9, 2010 3

Tribute albums can be tricky little divas. Often, these ragamuffin collections lack a certain cohesion, and are generally void of the indefinable mojo that made the artist being paid tribute worthy of the praise to begin with.

A dearth of cohesive brotherhood isn’t an issue with the superbly compiled and masterfully interpreted Twistable, Turnable Man: A Musical Tribute to the Songs of Shel Silverstein. Outside of the appropriately skuzzy and rollicking Black Francis and Joey Santiago (Pixies) contribution (“The Cover of the Rolling Stone”), the album—lovingly produced by both Bobby Bare Sr. and Jr.—careens with a peaceful, folk-laden country stride that seems to understand just exactly what fantastical path it should be heading down.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that above even the album’s unifying sonic threads, it is the otherworldly and unmistakable pen of Silverstein that truly binds these selections together with a delightful wit and presence.

Andrew Bird’s title cut, My Morning Jacket’s country weeper “Lullabyes, Legends and Lies,” and Lucinda Williams stark, haunting “The Ballad of Lucy Jordan” are among the album’s banner tracks, and that is saying much, given the depth of gold this mine has proffered.

The combined, considerable quirk factor is high for Dr. Dog’s take on “The Unicorn,” which is the album’s most harmonious marriage of subject matter and artist. The whimsy with which Dr. Dog frolics walks in lock-step with the fairy-tale of the stubborn, mythical creature.

While having “Boy Named Sue” tackled by Todd Snider surely seems like a good idea—given that Snider is quite the accomplished sing-talker—his listless and typically laissez-faire delivery offers little to the iconic tune that has been covered to death, and provides little reason for anyone to ever reach for this new version of the Johnny Cash classic. Even if that’s not the goal, it’s clear that Snider isn’t reaching terribly high himself.

Speaking of artists that have employed the poetic words of Silverstein in order to create their own legend, Bobby Bare Sr., who definitely knows how to deliver a Silverstein line or two, aches and mournfully croons to the aptly titled, “The Living Legend.” Couple the elder Bare’s song with that of his son, Bobby Bare Jr. (who duets with his own precious-toned daughter, Isabella on “Daddy What If,” a tune that he famously performed with his father many years ago), and you have a tender twin-pack of songs that effectively sum up why this album was not only artistically necessary, but successful.

Much like the way in which the best sports movies aren’t actually about sports, a similar sentiment can de translated into the realm of the tribute album. The reason this tribute album is such an exemplary specimen is that it isn’t a tribute album after all, but an immensely intimate thank you letter to someone who‘s gifts will continue to give generously, much like a certain tree Silverstein once told us about.

Song Review: “Take Everything” by Greg Laswell (Featuring Ingrid Michaelson)

Kelly Dearmore June 1, 2010 0

greg laswell take everything Song Review: “Take Everything” by Greg Laswell (Featuring Ingrid Michaelson) You know the climactic, dramatic final scene of your favorite, weekly prime-time drama? The one where a slow rolling montage of tear-inducing clips show the various characters engaging in all sorts of episode-ending activities, such as: making sad faces while gazing into the sky, helping with heroic rescues that just look cooler in slow-mo, tightly embracing a child, lovers tumbling slowly into bed, or even laughing while holding back tears, thanks to a joyful, relieving resolution?

Yeah, you know the one.

Greg Laswell does, too. He knows all about how to properly nail that final scene with some musical melodrama. “Take Everything,” featuring the appropriately sweet and balancing vocals of fellow Hotel Café vet Ingrid Michaelson, is actually a fine example of what has almost become its own genre: The tailor-made-for-Grey’s Anatomy-track.

The lead single from Laswell’s latest record, Take a Bow, is exactly what fans of his will cherish–and will also give the people who haven’t found a reason to get into his work…well, even less reason to do so.

To be sure, this track is catchy, snappy and rife with the emotion that one expects from their favorite sensitive, literate songwriters. While the song doesn’t succeed in distinguishing itself from Laswell’s back catalog (or that of say, Cary Brothers or Mat Kearney, for that matter), this number still has its charms and subtle highlights.

With the redundant plea to simply “take everything,” Laswell understands that straight-forward doesn’t have to be overly simplistic. To that end, earnest simplicity shouldn’t be mistaken for shallow, in this case, either.
Laswell’s defeated, resigned appeal is significant in that there is nothing left to say once someone has reached the point of giving everything up, leaving nothing more with which to bargain. The restraint of the lyrics serve to corral any unnecessary melodrama, leaving the focus on the sacrifice at hand.

Dawson’s Creek could’ve learned a thing or two from such discipline.

Deer Tick Digs Deep on New Album The Black Dirt Sessions

Kelly Dearmore June 1, 2010 3

deerticksmall Deer Tick Digs Deep on New Album <em>The Black Dirt Sessions</em> “South by Southwest as a whole just seemed different to me this year,” says John McCauley, lead singer/songwriter for Deer Tick, Rhode Island’s best rock band. “It wasn’t as exciting, and we didn’t have a real reason to be there this year.”

Perhaps if the annual Austin, TX, music conference had been pushed back to the summer, the grizzled beyond-his-youthful-years McCauley would’ve enjoyed a greater sense of purpose. The band’s much anticipated new album—which has been in the pipeline since 2009—will finally be released on June 8th.

Deer Tick has become adept at spreading the word when there is one to be spread, leaving fans clamoring for the group’s third full-length studio album, The Black Dirt Sessions.

“Black Dirt” is a reference to New York’s so-called Black Dirt Region, a 26,000 acre swath of dark, highly fertile soil left over from an ancient glacial lake. Recorded at Westtown, NY’s Black Dirt Studio, the album’s title grew symbolic as the project developed.

“We had been using Black Dirt Sessions as the working title [of the album] for a long time,” says McCauley. “We got used to calling the record that and decided to keep the name.”

Outside of the regional specificity of the phrase, “black dirt” may not carry much heft. But the sounds and lyrical content of Deer Tick’s new album have more than enough to spare. The album boasts a concerted effort by the band to explore the darker recesses of its creativity, all in an effort to lend its songs heart—even if that heart is broken.

McCauley says he sees The Black Dirt Sessions as a total group effort, and that pointing the band in a new direction has empowered its members. “We’ve kind of stepped away from what people are used to hearing from us, and it’s opened up some new territory. We’re just asserting ourselves as musicians, that [we] can kind of do whatever the [freak] we want.”

“We just didn’t want to put the same record out, you know?“

According to McCauley, the album has a weightier direction than the band’s previous entries. “The record has a darker, moodier vibe. And the songs are different, too. They’re not folky, pop numbers. The new record has got more weight to it. More balls.”

Song Review: Darryl Worley – “Keep The Change”

Jim Malec May 27, 2010 0

Daryl Worley Keep The Change Song Review: Darryl Worley Keep The Change After a string of seven singles that failed to break the Top 10, Darryl Worley goes back to the well of “common sense” populism he’s best-known for. With songs like “I Just Came Back From a War,” “If Something Should Happen” and “Have You Forgotten” among his most memorable touchstones, the subject matter of “Keep The Change” should come as no surprise–Worley’s not afraid to write about issues that are in the news, and he certainly doesn’t shy away from espousing his political views.

A logical addition to that series of politically charged narratives, “Keep The Change” uses then-candidate Obama’s campaign slogan from the 2008 presidential election (“Change”) to hammer home its message: America was founded on certain principles that should never be toyed with. To that end, the song hits on all the right talking points in order to be an anthem for the Tea Party crowd; there are mentions of freedom, God, “those who died” and the pledge of allegiance, a subtle nod to the founding fathers and a subtle knock against progressivism (Worley slyly disavows the nation’s supposed “progress”).

The trouble is that “Keep The Change” relies on much of the same dubious logic that has underscored similar songs from country music’s recent history. Like Worley’s “Have You Forgotten” (which linked Iraq to 9-11) and John Rich’s “Shuttin’ Detroit Down” (which criticized the government for “shutting Detroit down” while implying that the government shouldn’t have bailed out the banking industry), “Keep The Change” builds the case against its political and ideological adversaries on purported actions and accusations that aren’t supported by fact.

Worley cites the bailouts of the nation’s financial institutions as one of his prime examples of out-of-control government. But that example offers little weight in a song clearly directed at President Obama and his supporters when the bailouts the song refers to weren’t initiated by President Obama, but by then-President Bush.

It’s not the politics of the particular issue that are cause for unrest here, but the way in which Worley consciously twists the truth in order to support his central theme. It would be one thing if this song was a protest against what Worley sees as out of control government and spending, but it’s not; this song is about how liberalism is bad for the country. That’s why the entire lyric is tied together with the slam-dunk hook of “keep the change,” a direct rebuttal to the President’s core message.

And, if Worley’s going to make the case that liberalism–and, specifically, that liberalism supposedly espoused by President Obama–is bad for the country, he should not use as his prime example something that was initiated by a different (and conservative) president.

“Keep The Change” also perpetuates the fallacy that “change” means something like communism; by saying, “Gonna keep our God, our freedom… y’all can keep the change,” Worley’s implying that someone intends to take those things way. It’s difficult to have a meaningful political discussion when the dialog quickly devolves into little more than, “Liberals are trying to take away my freedom!” and when “those who died” becomes nothing more than a catchphrase used to inspire some feeling of nondescript patriotism.

To that end, this song celebrates the same dismissal of knowledge and thought that has been steadily creeping into the genre in recent years. When Worley preaches that he’s “Just an average joe/So [he’s] smart enough to know…,” he’s downright reveling in the fact that he’s not an intellectual. The sentiment expressed is that it’s better to be dumb and faithful than educated and inquisitive.

Finally, one has to wonder this: if everything in America is so good that nothing needs to be changed, why does Worley spend so much time in this song talking about what’s wrong with America? He says that the country could end up in “a pile of rubble,” and that “America’s in trouble,” and that the little man is drowning, and that the people are angry, and that the “fat cats on the hill” are “busting out the blocks that were laid as a foundation of this nation.”

Sounds like a lot of things need to be changed…

…unless, of course, he’s implying that all of those ills have come upon us in the last two years.

“Keep The Change” attempts no solution to any of the issues Worley raises. The song simply assumes that if we could hold on to some idyllic (but undefined) point in our history, we’d be better off.

Political statements like “Keep The Change” make it easy to rally behind a banner of patriotism, but they offer no help in developing a national discourse that encourages respectful, well-reasoned debate. To the contrary, songs such as this stir up fear and resentment while offering little hope for the future; if, after all, the answer is “do nothing”–if the answer is to change nothing–then it seems we can never hope or expect to be better or more than what we once were.

Song Review: The Band Perry – “If I Die Young”

Jim Malec May 26, 2010 0

the band perry Song Review: The Band Perry If I Die Young The Band Perry’s debut single “Hip to my Heart” was a sprightly, effervescent sliver of youth-laden pop country–a pleasant sounding droplet so light that it quickly evaporated into the ether. For its follow up, the sibling trio delivers a track with significantly more narrative volume: Written solo by lead singer Kimberly, “If I Die Young” is a weighty, introspective take on life’s evanescence.

Fittingly, the song opens to the sound of Kimberly taking in a breath. Gentle fiddle and guitar accompany her raspy, almost-hushed delivery of the song’s chorus up until a banjo and drum track join in for the first repeat of the refrain. “If I Die Young” remains mostly acoustic throughout, boasting a series of delightful arrangements that underline Kimberly’s beautiful vocal performance–she has a rich, slightly weathered voice that really brings home the song’s melancholy.

In addition to that great vocal, Kimberly’s songwriting demonstrates a command of language and craft that allows her to construct thick, interesting lyrics. “Lord, make me a rainbow,” she pleads in the song’s opening verse. “I’ll shine down on my mother/She’ll know I’m safe with you when she stands under my colors.”

Throughout the song, Kimberly shows that she has a unique perspective and a knack for resonant phrasing. So it’s unfortunate that “If I Die Young” loses its way a bit as it tries to be two songs at once—either one of which, alone, would have made a more powerful and less disorienting statement.

At the outset, the song’s narrator seems to be presenting the hypothetical situation outlined in the title. “If I die young,” she sings, “Bury me in satin/Lay me down on a bed of roses.”

But by the second half of the first verse, Kimberly employs such strong language that it’s hard to tell whether or not the song is meant to ponder the hypothetical or to speak prophetically. Lyrics that refer to the ring on the narrator’s “cold finger,” the image of a mother burying her daughter, and morbid lines about earning respect after she’s “a goner” make it seem like the narrator actually expects to die.

And that’s quite a bit different that the “what if?” rumination set up by various parts of the song. We’re left to wonder exactly what’s going through her head–what’s causing these thoughts of death? And what’s the ultimate point she’s trying to convey to us? The concept is murky, at best, and although many of the individual pieces are well drawn the whole is difficult to follow.

Without a sense of direction threaded throughout the narrative, “If I Die Young” offers neither hope nor resolution==what’s left is a series of exceedingly dark, loosely connected statements.

Still, it’s a surprisingly interesting and creative entry from a band that at first appeared to be aiming for very little. Here’s hoping this is only the beginning of Kimberly’s songwriting journey==and that future efforts bring all of these pieces into alignment.