If you had a friend who was a tightrope walker, and you were walking down a sidewalk, and he fell, that would be completely unacceptable. – Mitch Hedberg
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Emotional Traffic is a collection of poor choices.
First and foremost, the material is shockingly weak. Yes, McGraw has been slowly slipping over the last couple of albums, but the bottom has completely fallen out here.
Take a song like “Right Back Atcha Babe”, for example. It’s a hodgepodge of little details in the same vein as “Something Like That,” but none of them are believable. And why are they having the conversation anyway? It’s not like they’ve suddenly run into each other after a really long time. Why is he recapping the events like he’s got to get her caught up before this week’s episode?
“One Part, Two Part” and “I Will Not Fall Down” are Nashville songwriting at its laziest. They’re not even songs so much as they’re song titles. It’s all packaging and no product.
The album is polluted with that bizarre inversion of modern country music: The less a song has to say, the longer it takes to say it. Songs go on forever on this album. The bloated opener, “Halo”, doesn’t contain a single intelligible moment, despite five minutes of trying. “Touchdown Jesus” is a ridiculous concept to begin with, and could’ve made its point in two minutes instead of four, had McGraw had the good taste to cover Bobby Bare’s “Dropkick Me, Jesus” instead.
Look, you know you’re in trouble when nine tracks in, it’s a relief to hear “Felt Good On My Lips.” Sure, the melody’s so blatantly derivative of “Video Killed the Radio Star” that it makes Lady Gaga sound fresh and original. But at least it has a pulse, even if I’m still bewildered by the Incredible Machinery of it all.
And to be fair, there are some decent moments scattered throughout, like “Better Than I Used to Be” and “Die By My Own Hand”, but it’s all ground that McGraw’s covered before, and better, too. They’re just not worth sitting through Emotional Traffic for.
Had I not committed to writing this review, I don’t know that I would’ve listened to this album at all, certainly not for a second and third time. This level of work from this level of talent is nothing short of completely unacceptable.
I guess that the best way to remind us that Alan Jackson hasn’t put out a great song in a long time is for him to put out a great song.
A deeply moving spin on the same concept that anchors “Blame it On Me”, “So You Don’t Have to Love Me Anymore” is the story of a man who loves the woman leaving him so much, he’s even willing to say she left him so she can save face.
As with many great country songs, the devil is in the details. All of the direct consequences of a relationship’s end are explored, and as they get more mundane, the song becomes more powerful. In great country music, reality always trumps fantasy.
I fear that Jackson’s remarkable run at radio may have already drawn to a close, but if there’s any justice, this will reignite his presence on the radio dial. His new release ranks among his best work, and given that he’s one of the genre’s all time greats, that’s heady company for it to be in.
Loretta Lynn might’ve been able to make something useful out of it, a dime store take-off of “One’s On the Way” or something.
But there’s nothing domesticated about Dolly Parton. Amazing how she’s much more believable as a lady of ill repute or a runaway teen than she is as a housewife.
Two singles isn’t a lot of information to go by, but a couple of things about Kip Moore are becoming clear.
First, he really is about as country as Bruce Springsteen. That’s a compliment. Springsteen’s working class ethos has more in common with country music greats of days gone by than anybody on the country radio dial today.
Second, Moore sings with equal parts of authority, sincerity, and conviction. That’s what made “Mary Was the Marrying Kind” heartbreaking, and what makes “Somethin’ ‘Bout a Truck” invigorating.
Sure, it’s a laundry list of the small town lifestyle, and we’ve had more than enough of those lately. But Moore doesn’t sound like he’s pandering.
No, if anything, he sounds like he’s reveling in the pleasures that await him at the end of the week after forty hours at the factory. That’s a welcome change from those who sound like high schoolers who hit up that back country road on their way home from the mall.
The song is about how we use vacations and spirits and such to escape the mundane lives we’ve settled into.
It’s a strong concept. But the fairly flat delivery and a production that never takes off keeps things a little too grounded in reality for it to actually sound like the escapism it celebrates.
“You’re Something Special to Me” is so laid back that it’s easy to miss the craftsmanship. As Strait channels a young Merle Haggard, a slow western swing arrangement surrounds him with warmth.
When people say he’s country music’s Sinatra, this is what they’re talking about.
This is one of their most beautiful duets, largely because Parton is at her peak as a singer and a songwriter.
She gets Wagoner to up his game in return, and he sounds fantastic singing the first verse. But as was becoming the norm even outside of their duets, she simply outclasses him, taking the melody to new heights as she perfects her signature sound.
Tim McGraw
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