The Texas-bred Josh Abbott Band scored its first Billboard-charting single earlier this year with “Oh, Tonight,” featuring former Nashville Star contestant Kacey Musgraves.
Like a slightly unpolished Miranda Lambert, Musgraves spends the song trading conflicted thoughts with Abbott about giving into suppressed feelings. Their final agreement to “set the world on fire” sounds enticingly splashy against the otherwise simplistic lyrics.
The real fire behind the song, though, is Abbot and Musgraves’ unspoken organic chemistry. They lay out their desire more coolly than, say, Jason Aldean and Kelly Clarkson, but they perform with just enough urgency and rough-around-the-edges honesty to get under your skin. The unassuming acoustic arrangement serves as a soothing complement to their interplay, creating a vibe that feels sweet and primal all at once.
Ultimately, it’s tension that fuels their chemistry – Abbott and Musgraves tread realistically between pride and instinct, caution and reckless abandon. There’s a rugged believability to Abbott rationally delivering “so tell me what you want me to do” in one breath and hastily throwing it out in the next: “Oh, it’s too late baby/I’ve already fallen in love with you.”
How refreshing to hear a moment of passion in modern country music treated so gently and so effectively, without theatrics. Here’s to hoping “Oh, Tonight” serves as a reminder that sometimes raw emotion is better left to breathe –-and shine– on its own.
But this gospel number brings out the very worst in Lee Ann Womack as a singer. She simply sounds terrible when she tries to get too soulful. She tries to do the Reba McEntire curlicues at some points, the Dolly Parton vibrato at others. She can’t pull either one of them off.
It’s not a good thing when the Blind Boys are singing to Womack to “forgive yourself”, and all I’m thinking is that if she was really sorry, she’d stop stretching two-syllable words out over fifteen seconds.
The slightly perceptible shift to more traditional-sounding music on mainstream country radio carries on with Craig Campbell’s debut self-titled album, which was produced by the venerable Keith Stegall. Campbell may not be a household name just yet, but his album’s lead single is being warmly received so far and will likely continue to be at least for the near future.
The promising debut album from which the domestic “Family Man” comes is rife with very strong elements, but still suffers from some weaker moments that keep it from being a full on success.
With fiddle and steel guitar aplenty, Craig Campbell embraces a crisp neo-traditional sound that is refreshing to hear on an album marketed as country. Moreover, Campbell’s voice is strong and nicely melds with Stegall’s pleasant productions.
The combination of Stegall’s spot-on arrangements, Campbell’s commanding baritone, and the songs’ sing-able melodies provides a very fulfilling sonic experience for the listener who longs to hear unapologetic country music in the mainstream again. In fact, the brightest spot on the album is a severe, though sincere, indictment on the current state of country music that simply concludes, “If you gotta tell me how country you are, you prob’ly ain’t.”
Fortunately, while Campbell sings songs that celebrate innate country-ness (“Makes Me Wanna Sang”, “That’s Music to Me”), he largely avoids hypocrisy by using more subtle imagery instead of pulling out the stops with empty in-your-face proclamations. Furthermore, he does some name-dropping in “That’s Music to Me” as well, but does it respectfully with appropriate instrumentation to support it.
As to be expected from a country record, Campbell ably covers the common themes of love, lost love, family, and rural living. Among the most interesting of the themes, however, is when he touches on barely getting by. In “When I Get It”, Campbell matter-of-factly tells his bill collectors (including ex-wife), “When I Get it, you’ll get it / Times are tough / Get in line and wait / When I get it, you’ll get it / That’s all you’re getting’ today.” Similarly “Family Man” begins with “I’ve been working as a temp at the local factory / I hope they hire me on full time / I’ve got shoes to buy and mouths to feed.”
Despite all of its notable strengths, however, the album as a whole is weighed down by lyrical and content deficiencies that cannot fairly be overlooked. In many places, the lyrics are simple and often border on rudimentary, including “na na nas” (“When I Get It”) and humming (“Makes You Want to Sang”). The biggest pitfall, however, is the album’s tendency to attempt cleverness, which wouldn’t even be worth mentioning if it happened only once or twice. Unfortunately, cutesy wordplay is employed enough times on an 11-track album that it becomes a glaring distraction, which might too easily result in an album that is too gimmicky to enjoy longevity.
For instance, “I Bought It” runs through the times that he bought his woman things she wanted just because she showed interest in them, to buying her line about needing space to figure things out, to finally revealing that the tables were turned when she bought that he was excited that she’d decided to come home. Additionally, The more obvious attempts at clever wordplay can be found in “Fish” and (groan!) “Chillaxin.” “Chillaxin” needs no explanation, but the word “Fish,” let’s just say, shouldn’t rhyme with words like “truck,” “up,” “enough,” “love” and “luck,” which all precede it with added dramatic pauses for good measure.
In spite of this criticism, Craig Campbell is an album that shows tremendous potential for an artist who will hopefully mature with time and experience. It would be a shame to see such a talented artist either fall off our radar or ride on such mediocre lyrics for an entire career, because he’s clearly better than either scenario.
During the first decade of the twenty-first century, the antiseptic depictions of faith that have dominated contemporary Christian music began to seep in to country music.
This perception created records both good (“Jesus, Take the Wheel”) and bad (“The Little Girl”), but most of them were bland, adding going to church on Sunday or praying as just one of the token traits of southern life, no more or less significant than the fried chicken or football game that followed the morning services.
In one of the genre’s great ironies, Randy Travis had crossed over to contemporary Christian music, having had little luck on the radio since the late nineties. He brought country music’s love of fallen angels along with him, and with “Three Wooden Crosses”, he managed to found his way back to the top of the country charts without even trying.
It starts off like an off-color joke that shouldn’t be told in polite company, let alone on the radio dial next to Martina McBride’s “Blessed” and Craig Morgan’s “That’s What I Love About Sunday”: “A farmer and a teacher, a hooker and a preacher, ridin’ on a midnight bus bound for Mexico.” The story that unfolds reveals that one of these four travelers will be instrumental in spreading the Good News for a long time to come.
But because it manages to humanize all four of them along the way, revealing how each of them helped make the world a better place, its ultimate message is that our lives are best defined by what we do when we’re at our best, not by the labels that may be assigned to us through occupation or personal choices.
This is going to be an unfair criticism, but here it goes.
“Staying’s Worse Than Leaving” is an awesome song. As good as anything I’ve heard lately in terms of lyrics. Mature, realistic, insightful. It’s good stuff.
The production is effective in that “stay out of the way of the song” kind of way, as it is on so many great country records.
It’s so good that it’s something I could imagine a nineties woman singing…which makes Sunny Sweeney’s delivery sound disappointing in comparison.
It’s not that she doesn’t sing it competently. But given that this sounds like something that Patty Loveless, or Pam Tillis, or Trisha Yearwood, or even Sara Evans could’ve knocked out of the park, I can’t help but be just a little disappointed.
So, one of the best songs of the year, without a doubt. But still a little disappointing, for reasons beyond the control of anyone involved.
Written by Jay Clementi, Radney Foster and Sunny Sweeney
Few songs have come along that serve such a valid sociological purpose as “Dirt Road Anthem.”
With this single, Jason Aldean pulls back the curtain on the mysterious ways of rural southern society. How fearless of Aldean to allow outsiders this rare glimpse into the social mores and recreational activities of southern youth.
For the first time, we learn that country music legends are so revered that their name need only be mentioned to evoke a deep-rooted value system. I was shocked to discover that this subculture of American society thrives beyond the paved roads provided by federal and state governments, a stunning statement of independence from the restrictions that we have attempted to construct around such resilient communities.
With voyeuristic intimacy, Aldean allows us to walk in the shoes of small town men and women. Hopefully, “Dirt Road Anthem” will be only the beginning of songs that tell us about the country lifestyle and what it means to those who live it. I can only imagine how vindicating and empowering it will be for these folks to finally hear a song about them on the radio.
I don’t usually root for a song to be successful, but it is imperative that this one makes an impact, so other artists are encouraged to tell us, in detail, what it means to be a country person in modern society. I know that country music’s aversion to formulaic songwriting makes such a scenario unlikely, but in this case, it is absolutely necessary.
What a tragedy it would be for the story of an entire people to be lost in time, leaving future generations in the dark about what it was really like to be a son of the south in the early 21st century.
They started out as a gospel group in the forties, but it was their country-pop hits of the early eighties that made them superstars.
First formed as Wally Fowler and the Georgia Clodhoppers in 1943, they became the Oak Ridge Quartet when they found that they were performing their gospel songs in that area of Tennessee more than in any other place.
The lineup would change over the next thirty years, but their focus on Southern gospel did not. Renamed the Oak Ridge Boys in 1961, they slowly gained national prominence. In 1971, they won the first of four Grammys in the gospel categories, for the song, “Talk About the Good Times.”
Singing backup for Johnny Cash and the Carter Family in 1973, they earned their first country chart appearance with the minor hit, “Praise the Lord and Pass the Soup.” That same year, the lineup that would make them country superstars was finalized: Duane Allen (lead), Joe Bonsall (tenor), William Lee Golden (baritone), and Richard Sterban (bass). High-profile appearances with Roy Clark and Paul Simon soon followed, but their first major label deal was a bust, as Columbia didn’t understand how to market them to the gospel market.
Switching to ABC, they quickly became country stars with their 1977 breakthrough hit, “Y’All Come Back Saloon.” The song was such a big hit that they were soon country radio staples, winning Vocal Group honors from the CMA in 1978 and the ACM in 1979.
In 1981, “Elvira” launched them into the stratosphere, powering their Fancy Free album to double platinum. They won a Grammy and Single honors from both the ACM and CMA for that platinum-selling hit. They remained top-selling artists through 1984, thanks to big hits like “Bobbie Sue” and “American Made.” And while album sales began to slow in the second half of the decade, they remained in heavy rotation at country radio.
Golden exited the lineup in 1987, replaced by Steve Sanders until 1995. Album sales weren’t as high during this period, but they did score another pair of signature hits that topped the charts: “Gonna Take a Lot of River” in 1988, and “No Matter How High” in 1989. They enjoyed their last top ten hit in 1991, “Lucky Moon”, their only successful single during a short tenure at RCA.
Personal problems led to Sanders exiting the group, and Golden returned in 1996. In the years since, their original country lineup now intact, they’ve continued to record and to tour, as they approach the band’s seventieth anniversary in music.
This post, originally written on September 19, 2005, seems to have disappeared from the Country Universe archives when we switched over to self-hosting. I’m reposting it today for the sake of posterity.
I’m starting to wonder if the people I like and can get along with all fall into one category and the people I can’t stand to be around or have a conversation with fall into another. The categories?
1 – You believe that you have a moral obligation to other people, and live your life accordingly.
2 – You look out for yourself primarily, and what you feel is best for you informs any obligation you feel to other people.
I’m sure I’m oversimplifying this, but as I’ve cemented my foothold into adulthood, I find I can’t stomach selfishness anymore. I can’t have a calm conversation with somebody who reveals a complete lack of concern for other people in the process. I can’t stand people who voice opinions without having enough information, or basing beliefs on incorrect information. Yes, I do believe that if you’re a member of a society, you have a moral obligation to be an informed one; indifference to ignorance can cause a tremendous amount of damage.
I thought for a long time that being a good person meant you have to be as nice as possible and as patient as possible with everybody you meet. I thought that being a good friend meant overlooking faults and allowing yourself to be the one with hurt feelings so you don’t hurt anybody else. I thought that being outwardly sensitive meant not being inwardly sensitive.
I forgot the lesson my greatest teacher taught me: “Avoid toxic people.” If someone is affecting your mental well-being, cut them off. It’s a nice lesson. But I’ve adjusted it. For me these days, it’s “Confront toxic people.” Stand up for the truth. If somebody is revealing a complete lack of humanity and/or knowledge, call them on it. They are a poison to society.
Toxic people will single out what makes you special and try to convince you it makes you inferior. Toxic people will take more than they ever give, but when they do give, they’ll make you feel guilty about it. Toxic people will do their best to invoke pity, the most pathetic and selfish emotion there is to invite. Toxic people won’t kill you, but they will drain your love of life.
I’m all for compassion and sensitivity. But if it comes at the expense of your own well-being, you’re being used and exploited.
Yes, this is geared toward some people close to me who are dealing with people like this right now in their lives. You deserve better. Walk away, or confront, but don’t endure those people any longer. You’ll be much happier in the end.
The story of Emmylou Harris is well established, the stuff of legend at this point.
She could’ve been Gram Parsons’ harmony singer for the rest of her career and been happy, but she ended up carrying on his legacy instead, becoming a Hall of Famer with the most consistently excellent catalog in country music history.
She’s addressed Parsons in song before, most directly with the grief-stricken classic “Boulder to Birmingham” from her 1975 classic Pieces of the Sky. Whereas that was a statement of heartbreak to a lost friend, “The Road” is a letter of gratitude, thanking him for starting her on a journey that she never would have embarked upon alone.
For future music historians, this song will be a goldmine. For listeners, it’s pretty good, too. Harris is a solid songwriter and her lyrics are closer to poetry than standard Nashville writing. Her voice is showing signs of wear, but much like on the later work of Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash, that works to her advantage.
Is it as good as the best tracks on All I Intended to Be or Stumble Into Grace? Not quite, especially if you don’t know the back story and can’t fill in the gaps. But even very good Emmylou Harris is better than most of what’s out there today. Still, I hope the rest of her upcoming album is more than just very good Emmylou Harris.
The Texas-bred Josh Abbott Band scored its first Billboard-charting single earlier this year with “Oh, Tonight,” featuring former Nashville Star contestant Kacey Musgraves.
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