By now, “Any Man of Mine” has become such a familiar Shania classic that it’s easy to take for granted what a bold artistic move it was at the time.
Though feminist viewpoints previously had surfaced in country music at times through the likes of Loretta Lynn and Kitty Wells, they were the exception rather than the rule in 1995. In the early to mid-nineties, it was more common for female artists like Reba to be topping the charts with sad songs that often cast the woman as the victim.
Then here comes Shania with a rousing, fiddle-burning, boot-stomper in which she firmly proclaims that a man should strive to be worthy of his woman’s affections, and that a woman accepts nothing less. Her point was delivered through clever, witty lyrics that ranged from “Any man of mine’ll say ‘It fits just right’ when last year’s dress is just a little too tight” to “When I’m cookin’ dinner and I burn it black, he better say ‘Mmm, I like it like that.’”
Releasing a song like “Any Man of Mine” had to take some guts. Shania had already seen her first album flop, and had just previously scored her first significant hit with “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under.” One could easily understand if she wanted to keep up her newfound momentum, and groom her relationship with country radio by releasing some safe, middle-of-the-road bit of nineties schmaltz.
But she didn’t. She stayed true to herself, and made a genuine artistic statement of her own. And what do you know? It worked! With “Any Man of Mine,” Shania kicked, turned, and stomp-stomped all the way to the top of the charts, with “Any Man of Mine” becoming her first U.S. number-one hit. Since then, the tune has deservedly gone on to become one of Shania’s most enduring, best-loved hits.
It’s just so unmistakably Shania. No wonder this song is so fondly remembered by her fans.
Written by Robert John “Mutt” Lange and Shania Twain
After the loud, thumping, controversial nature of “Indian Outlaw”, it’s a good thing that Tim McGraw had another trick in his bag to be found on that second album, which needed to be successful after his debut album, as he has stated, “went wood.” There’s little doubt that the sappy, three act single is what catapulted McGraw’s status to the superstar level that he’s enjoyed since.
The story goes from an eight-year-old Johnny begging his father not to include “the Girl” in their fishing outing to the same boy, now a young man, willing to do anything to protect the, presumably, same girl. the simplistic pull-at-the-heartstrings story song was not the type of single that was dominating country music at the time of its early mid-nineties release. What’s more, McGraw’s early exaggerated twang and an amped up production to match helped to make the sing-able song even more attractive to country music listeners whose emotions had been easily stirred by the touching story of Johnny and “the girl” with no name.
Patriarchal implications aside, “Don’t Take the Girl” was a perfect recipe for a quick heart melting experience. And while it is likely considered one of McGraw’s signature songs that must be sung at every concert to this day, it is too simplistic and, ultimately, predictable to have a lasting effect beyond the first few experiences of hearing it. Instead, it’s become more of a cringe inducer than a tear jerker.
It’s fun to imagine the looks on the radio DJs’ faces when they got this one in the mail. That pretty, weird-named lady whose records they’d brushed aside before, now looking all bizarro-sexy in a red “executive jumpsuit” thing on the cover, and with that song title.
It was a smart introduction to the Shania-Mutt Lange machine, in retrospect. “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?” has all the sugary hooks and goofy feminist pluck that would come to define the singer and producer’s joint legacy, but it still sounds more or less like a “normal” country song, an easy little addition to the mid-nineties radio format. Who’d have guessed that as soon the pair got their foot in the door, they’d take over the whole building?
Written by Robert John “Mutt” Lange and Shania Twain
Perhaps the least satisfying Wagoner & Parton singles are the ones that fall in the “let’s pledge our true love” category.
This shouldn’t be a surprise. Stop and think about the very best solo songs by Parton and by Wagoner. How many of them are sweet love songs?
Nah, we’d all rather hear them hurtin’, bickerin’, losin’, and leavin’. Or even better, spinning a good third person yarn about characters even more outsized in personality than these two singers.
So this isn’t a bad song, but it simply doesn’t play to their strengths.
“Marina Del Rey” was an early attempt by George Strait at recording a pensive and thoughtful ballad.
He wasn’t quite ready for it, yet. The lyrics are appropriately longing and sentimental for times gone by, but Strait hasn’t yet developed enough as a vocalist to pull off the mature performance required.
It’s basically the inverse of the problem at country radio today, where veteran artists are recording songs that they’re too mature for. Back in the early eighties, you actually had younger artists trying to sound older so they’d fit in.
A frighteningly candid depiction of Parton’s impoverished childhood.
Going to bed hungry. Watching her mother suffer with illness because they can’t afford a doctor. Working from sunrise to sunset, only to see a hail storm destroy your crops.
This isn’t the charming idealization of “Coal Miner’s Daughter”, or even the dogged resilience of “Coat of Many Colors.” This is poor people trying to get by against insurmountable odds, walking the tight rope without a safety net.
It’s the same story that could be told by any one of the 44 million Americans today who live below the poverty line.
There will be a lucky few who beat the odds like Parton did, and her words will surely ring true: “No amount of money could buy from me the memories that I have of then. No amount of money could pay me to go back and live through it again.”
This is one of those times when Reba really needs to start acting her age.
She’s fifty-six years old. She’s lived. She’s been married, and she’s been divorced. She’s become a mother, and watched her child grow to adulthood. She’s risen to superstardom in a male-dominated genre format. She has an added level of age and experience to bring to the table, which should be especially evident when she puts pen to paper to offer a lyrical composition of her own.
“Somebody’s Chelsea” is a story-song in which the female narrator meets an elderly gentleman on a plane, and listens to him reminisce over sixty years of happy marriage to his late wife Chelsea. What profound insights does this middle-aged woman bring to this conversation?
“I wanna be somebody’s Chelsea Somebody’s world Somebody’s day and night One and only girl….”
That’s it? All she can do is spit out a few clichés? The story almost had me interested at first, but the narrator’s conclusion offers a weak listener payoff that rings hollow and insubstantial.
Unfortunately, “Somebody’s Chelsea” sums up to a great extent what’s wrong with Reba’s All the Women I Am album as a whole. In her constant struggle to maintain commercial viability in a youth-obsessed market, she’s become so preoccupied with chasing current trends that she’s lost the heart, authenticity, and artistic focus that shines through in all her best work.
On the occasions when Reba has sung from her full-grown woman perspective, magic happens. Look at past classics like “The Fear of Being Alone,” or even more recent cuts like “When You Have a Child.” The former finds Reba feeling out a new romance with caution, warning herself not mistake fear of loneliness for love. With the latter, she puts into song the conflicting emotions that a mother experiences in having a child, and watching the child grow up and leave home.
Could Carrie Underwood pull off either of those songs? How about Taylor Swift? No, of course not. But Reba can because she has the life experience that allows her to deliver such sentiments with authority.
Truth be told, this song still wouldn’t be very interesting even if it were coming from a younger artist. It sets the listener up to expect something profound, but it never fully developes its concept, instead regressing into superficiality. Still, it’s a particularly disappointing entry coming from a seasoned legend who should have so much more to say.
This newly-inducted Country Music Hall of Famer is not helping her artistic legacy with these late-term single releases. Her efforts at downplaying her age may prolong her hitmaking streak, but there’s no way around the fact that the quality of her music has suffered as a result.
Written by Reba McEntire, Liz Hengber, and Will Robinson
On his new album, Eric Church sings that we need “Some longhaired hippie prophet preaching from the book of Johnny Cash/A sheep among the wolves there standing tall/We need a country music Jesus to come and save us all.”
Bear in mind that he’s singing these lines on an album loaded with distorted vocals and sound effects, guitar solos closer to Three Doors Down than Cash, and a song about Bruce Springsteen.
That’s not to say that Chief is a bad album, because there are a lot of keepers in its 11 tracks – some of them are even country songs. It just seems odd to be calling for Country Music Jesus when you’re acting like one of the money-changers in the temple.
Church’s willingness to incorporate different stylistic elements does keep things interesting. “Creepin’” kicks the album off with a swampy vibe and ends up being even catchier than “Smoke a Little Smoke.” “Homeboy” unexpectedly includes a harp flourish or two with the hard rock guitars, while “Springsteen” manages to capture that Springsteen sound without sounding like a ripoff of one of The Boss’ hits. On the flip side, “Keep On” attempts to blend the bravado from a Toby Keith song, a guitar lick possibly lifted from an episode of “CHIPs”, and some guy in the background repeating random words from the verses. It just doesn’t work on any level.
Fortunately, all the production tricks don’t often get in the way of a strong collection of songs. The two best ones, “Over When It’s Over” and “Hungover & Hard Up,” were written by Church and Luke Laird and tackle the aftermath of a failed relationship. In particular, “Over When It’s Over” nicely expresses the frustration of having a good thing fall apart.
“Homeboy,” written by Church and Casey Breathard, is the most interesting lyrically. In lesser hands, this could have been about a farmboy wooing his wayward brother back home with a list of wonderful things about country living (sweet tea, parties in the barn, etc. etc.). Instead, Church gives a much more realistic portrayal (“Ain’t a glamorous life but it’ll keep you out of jail”), and he and Breathard deserve credit for creating characters with depth and for avoiding a simplified happy ending.
Then there are the requisite drinking songs like “Drink In My Hand,” “I’m Gettin’ Stoned” and “Jack Daniels.” There’s nothing inherently wrong with them, but they all have a retread feel about them and aren’t nearly as compelling as the other tracks. The lyrics have just enough of an edge to help bolster Church’s outlaw rep but not enough to be actually controversial. So expect to hear Church singing about shoving overtime up his boss’ can or how Jack Daniels kicked his ass on the radio soon.
If you’re looking for Country Music Jesus, Chief may not be the answer to your prayers. On the whole, though, Church has put together one of the most ambitious and interesting albums that mainstream country music has seen all year.
It’s hard to dispute that Blake Shelton possesses one of the strongest and distinctive male voices in country music today. Likewise, he has proven to be a more than capable interpreter of the songs that he writes and chooses to record. He knows when to sing with soft sensitivity and he knows when to sing loud and hard.
However, his interpretive abilities and vocal prowess does not always translate into the highest quality songs, as has been the major weakness of his last few projects, particularly Startin’ Fires and his two “six-paks.” The trend continues with Red River Blue, even though this album is a solid improvement.
The album wisely kicks things off with the popular lead single, the mid-tempo “Honey Bee.” The positive tune sets the tone for the remainder of the album, which reflects where Shelton is in his life thanks to a finally-exploding career and newly-married status to Miranda Lambert.
Among the other mid-tempos, the bluesy “Ready to Roll” is the most straight arrow. Its rolling baseline is pleasant, infectious and completely inoffensive. “Drink on It” is also a bit bluesy, but carries the line “He sounds like such a prick,” which turns out to be the song’s only memorable aspect. Continuing on the status quo scale, “Good Ole Boys” is pretty much summed up by its title: “Where did all the good ole boys go?” Apparently, good ole boys are synonymous with country boys who are the only people who are polite and hold doors for women and say “Yes, Ma’am.” Shelton’s infamous offbeat humor shows up at the end of the track when he banters, “I’ll even go pick up some of those feminine products for you. That’s what a good ole boy would do.” While the lyrics are inane, the Jennings-influenced arrangement is one of the most sonically satisfying on the album.
As he’s proven on previous albums, some of Shelton’s most memorable and brightest moments are when he fully embraces the ridiculous, which shows up in the form of “Hey” and “Get Some” this time around. Both songs have delightfully funky lyrics and interesting productions. “Hey” more successfully illustrates country living than many other songs of its ilk, the random “baby Jesus” reference notwithstanding. The premise of the charming “Get Some” is reminiscent of Toby Keith’s “Getcha Some”, but with a toned down, tasteful production that showcases engaging honky tonk piano and acoustic guitar solos.
While Shelton has proven capable of elevating substandard songs to higher levels in the past, he is not able to work his magic on most of the ballads on this album. Despite reliably stellar vocals on songs like the quality “Over,” decent comeuppance ballad “I’m Sorry” and the schmaltzy “God Gave Me You,” the tracks are all but ruined by tasteless eighties guitar solos and drum machines that turn them into power ballads rather than good country songs.
Not all of the ballads are mired in bombastic productions, however. In fact, not only does “Red River Blue” make a cool album title, the song with its name happens to be the standout track as well. Because it’s the quietest song on the album, tucked away at the end (not counting the two bonus tracks that include the island-flavored “Chill” and a cover of Dan Seals’ “Addicted), it’s easy to overlook its strength. Along with a subtle production, Miranda Lambert’s quiet background support helps to solidify the song’s mournful tone.
The songs on this album are more than well performed, but the album as a whole is weighed down by some blandness and far too many overwrought productions. While this album is a definite step back in the right direction from Shelton’s last three projects, it still has a long way to go to equal the quality of his first four.
You can go ahead and shoot me if you want to, but I actually kind of like this one.
For once, I don’t mind that the Flatts are overdramatizing things the way they always do (nor the fact that there’s absolutely nothing country-sounding about it), since it seems to be more or less in character with the song. The lyrics are simple, but effective at telling the story of two ex-lovers who are in denial of the strong feelings they still harbor for one another. Nathasha Bedingfield’s presence turns out to be a worthwhile addition to the song, giving the story an extra layer. We find out that, as this brokenhearted man is trying desperately to conceal his true feelings from his former flame, she is likewise trying to conceal similar feelings from him. The British Adult Contemporary star has a unique voice, and she adds a special touch to the song that makes it more interesting.
As the song nears its end, things really do get over-the-top, right down to the signature overdramatic guitar solo (After all, this is still a Rascal Flatts song). But it mercifully doesn’t approach the sheer self-indulgent mediocrity of past artistic flops like “Here Comes Goodbye.”
A little restraint could have improved it. But overall I like this Rascal Flatts power ballad about as much as I could possibly like a Rascal Flatts power ballad. Anyway… into the guilty pleasure playlist it goes.
1995 | Peak: #1
This is one of those times when Reba really needs to start acting her age.
You can go ahead and shoot me if you want to, but I actually kind of like this one.
on 
on 
on 
on