Of all the crossover mega-hits from Shania Twain’s wildly successful Come On Over album, “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” is arguably the most iconic.
The single was an across-the-board international multi-format smash that ensured Come On Over continued selling like hotcakes, and even helped Twain grab the coveted Entertainer of the Year trophy from both the CMA and the ACM.
An insanely catchy, danceable girl power anthem, “Man!” reels the listener in quickly and easily. The distinct, easily recorgnizable synth hook ensures that the song will stay stuck in your head for days after only a few listens. It’s the kind of song that you just fall in love with, and then get tired of, only to go right back to loving it in a short while. The hilarious, eye-popping music video – a gender-flipped parody of Robert Palmer’s classic clip “Addicted to Love,” is every bit as memorable.
But perhaps the biggest reason why the song has held up so well over time is that, of all Shania’s memorably up-tempo romps, “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” is one that captures her infectious energy and priceless personality most effectively, right from the opening call of “Let’s go, girls!” Only “Any Man of Mine” rivals it in that department.
There’s just no other song that defines her like this one does. “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” is Shania Twain.
Written by Shania Twain and Robert John “Mutt” Lange
The title track got most of the love, and deservedly so, but the first single from Parton’s Coat of Many Colors album is a strong effort in its own right. Backed by Appalachian-flavored acoustic instrumentation, Parton mourns her lost love while expressing a desire for nothing more than solitude.
To the bluebird singing a sad song, she says “Spread your blue wings, and I’ll shed my blue tears.” To the bright sunshine, she says “Waste not your warmth on the coldness in here…. Go light your blue sky, and I’ll shed my blue tears.” The song’s brisk tempo belies its sad lyrics as Parton sings with an emotive quiver in her voice.
A minor Top 20 hit, “My Blue Tears” doesn’t stand quite as tall in Parton’s catalog as classics like “Jolene” and “Coat of Many Colors,” but its understated emotional qualities make it a gem worth hearing.
John Anderson’s early 1983 hit, “Swingin’”, is the song that propelled his mainstream country music career. The quirky song that chronicled the mundane details of young infatuation is more loved for its unadulterated cheesiness than for being anything akin to a masterpiece. In fact, it sounds deliciously dated today, which only accentuates its cult appeal.
On her upcoming album that is dedicated to covering love songs, LeAnn Rimes energetically revives the old Anderson classic. Charlotte is replaced by Charlie, the horns and organ are replaced by masterful guitar slinging from producer Vince Gill, and the obnoxious peanut gallery chorus is completely eliminated. As a result, we are treated to a jaunty, open performance that sounds like a skilled jam session rather than a stuffy studio affair.
As the lead single to a covers album of love songs, “Swingin’” proves to be a welcome lead off to an album with an admittedly dubious concept on paper. Then again, Rimes has already assured us that”it’s not just a covers record where I’m covering the songs from front to back where it sounds exactly the same.”
Fortunately, with probably the best single that we’ll hear this summer, that assessment seems to be dead on accurate.
Look, Nashville’s got its issues. And a song that delves into its yin-yang core of image and art could be interesting, if not entirely original. It could be any combination of honest, clever, biting and entertaining. It could make sense.
Or, it could be sung by Jason Aldean, an artist who’s arguably risen to success not in spite of the industry’s flaws, but because of them. That’s not to say Aldean hasn’t put in the work to become a multi-platinum recording artist; it’s just that claiming to have conquered the evils of Music Row requires a decent amount of artistic credibility, separate and apart from the mass appeal that drives the careers of many Nashville artists. Aldean has shown glimmers of this, but his legacy thus far is a brand of pulsing country-rock that’s heavy on the production and light on the vocal and lyrical substance. Case in point: “Crazy Town.” The song, then, feels more like an ironic autobiography than a commentary.
But put artist context aside, and “Crazy Town” still fails to serve its purpose. A tribute to a love-hate relationship only works if you’re able to show that the love is worth the hate – that there’s a pay-off somewhere amidst the craziness. So what makes the years of free concerts, smoky bars, and “bang, bang, bang”-ing what one can only hope is a guitar worth it? A “honky tonk destiny,” sings Aldean, and we’re left to conjure our own image of the deep fulfillment such a destiny offers. The blanks certainly aren’t filled in by Aldean’s performance, which trades any specific emotion for smothering, empty aggression.
Any way you look at it, “Crazy Town” is an insubstantial miss.
A Grammy and CMA winner for Album of the Year, T-Bone Burnett’s O Brother soundtrack is perhaps the most widely revered country album of the last decade. If you haven’t picked it up yet, you could hardly do better than dropping $2.99 on it on this fine Super Bowl Sunday.
It’s always disappointing when a good song is tainted by mundane lyrics, and I fear that’s the case with “That’s How Country Boys Roll.” Like most of Currington’s singles, the song –lyrics aside– is charming and endearing, and the vocal performance rich and distinct.
But we come away from the song learning what, exactly, about country boys? That they like fishing, suped up cars and working real hard? Granted, there are a few deeper messages in the mix, but none are expressive enough to actually paint a picture of a multi-dimensional country boy.
Of course, I’d much rather have Currington tell me how country boys roll than have Jason Aldean preach to me how country girls roll… but then again, I’d much rather hear Alan Jackson’s genuine story of a small town southern man than listen to either. In the pack of “country folks” songs, “That’s How Country Boys Roll” sits somewhere in the middle. It’s inoffensive and unmoving – and that’s disheartening, because with one of the most interesting voices in country music, Currington’s capable of so much more.
Written by Billy Currington, Dallas Davidson & Brett Jones
Singer-songwriter Mindy Smith’s latest offering, Stupid Love, is streaming online at Paste Magazine‘s website. It sounds like a poppier effort than her previous two albums, but reviews are strong, and Smith is a great talent. Check it out!
The Greencards are a trio consisting of Australians Carol Young and Kym Warner along with U.K. native Eamon McLoughlin. Up-and-comers with talent to spare and an eclectic range of influences, they have earned spots opening for both Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson. They were awarded an Austin Music Award in 2003, an Americana Music Award in 2006, and, in 2008, earned a “Best Country Instrumental Performance” Grammy nomination. Their albums have incorporated blues, world music, and jazz, and have been labeled roots music, modern bluegrass, and Americana.
This brings us to their Sugar Hill debut, and the question, what is Fascination?
Fascination integrates elements of folk, country, modern bluegrass and Americana, and often draws upon elements of blues and world music one would expect only to find on National Public Radio. Yet, apply any of these labels to their latest album and they seem not only to fall short, but to feel completely inaccurate. Some will make comparisons to Nickel Creek or The Duhks, but The Greencards, while also technically breathtaking and acoustically driven, inspire comparison primarily because they have consistently moved towards a sound of their own.
With Fascination, The Greencards are held together by adventurousness and fueled by tight musical arrangements and the brilliant cadence of Carol Young’s vocals. It is also notable that Fascination marks the first time the group has worked with a producer, as it appears Jay Joyce (Patty Griffin, John Hiatt, The Duhks) has helped solidify a sound that has sometimes been muddled in past
The Greencards shine on the instrumental “Little Siam,” deliver up some indie-pop immediacy with acoustic rhythms on “Fascination,” delve into world music with “Chico Calling,” and finally flirt with their modern bluegrass roots on “Outskirts of Blue” and “Rivertown.”
This range is more impressive when one considers all but a single song on the album were written or co-written with a member of the Greencards. “Davey Jones,” a hauntingly sung tale of the dangers of the sea, serves as an excellent example of the strengths of Carol Young’s vocals and is the sole outside creation on the album. “Three Four Time” and “Into the Blue” are the only sleepers, somewhat cerebral and inaccessible at first listen.
With Fascination, The Greencards move away from eclectic sampling and into a sound that is intellectually and emotionally theirs. Fascination is an argument for music without borders; a melding of influences held together by fine lead vocals, ethereal instrumentation, and a sense that musicians don’t have to be anyone but themselves.
I’m not sure what section of the store you will find The Greencards new album (most likely bluegrass, Americana, or perhaps even country), but I am sure you should seek it out all the same.
In May of 2004, Bill and I were excited about the prospect of seeing Willie Nelson in our small town, in Maine, of about 13,000 people. We knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to see such an icon without even having to travel ten minutes to reach the venue. Furthermore, he was on both of our lists of people to see before we died.
Sadly, we did not get to see Willie after all. On the same week he was supposed to visit our small town, he had to get carpal tunnel surgery. We had the option of either getting a refund or using our tickets for the rescheduled show in September. Once again, our luck was bad, because we were moving to Michigan the month before Willie’s make up date.
If you can’t tell, I still haven’t completely recovered from that disappointment.
We, alas, haven’t given up our dream of seeing Willie in concert someday. However, we are fully aware that time may be running out, since Willie’s, frankly, not getting any younger.
We’ve already missed our chance to see Johnny Cash in concert, so we hope Willie will work out before it’s too late.
What artist do you have to see in concert before it’s too late?