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 delightfully dated today, which only accentuates its cult appeal.
Country, blues and rock ‘n’ roll – mostly the lattter two – combine for a hearty serving of frat boy fun on Jack Ingram’s latest single. “Barbie Doll” has been a fan favorite since its initial release on Ingram’s 1999 set Hey You, but this latest iteration boasts a driving arrangement that may finally get the track on mainstream radio.
The song marries Ingram’s straightforward hook sense to Todd Snider’s rambling barroom-sage style, wringing as much talk as it can out of a pretty slight premise (“dude, that girl you’re checking out is a total B-word”) and culminating in a big group shout-a-long.
If I follow the metaphor correctly, Toby Keith’s the dog and his lady is the bone that’s been tossed in his direction.
“Every Dog Has Its Day” approaches “Bad Dog, No Biscuit” in the pantheon of horrifically cheesy and terribly executed country metaphors. It should be beneath the dignity of one of the genre’s finest male vocalists ever.
It’s such a welcome relief to hear Patty Loveless doing something outside the mountain soul/classic country vein that I’m going to overlook the fact that this sounds modern simply in comparison.
“Drive” doesn’t approach the sonic euphoria of her work for Sony, but it’s fun to hear her do something that could’ve been entertaining filler on one of her late eighties MCA albums.
Keith Urban makes everything sound so effortless that it can be easy to overlook songs that legitimately could have used more effort.
This song sounds great, and will certainly pop on the radio. But for all his enthusiasm and the occasionally clever line, this doesn’t even approach the excellence of his earlier Radney Foster cover, “Raining On Sunday.”
In one of Alan Jackson’s most revered songs, “Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)”, he describes himself as “A singer of simple songs.” As proof of his sharp sense of self-awareness, Jackson can submit the greater part of his music catalogue as hard material evidence to support his claim.
Fortunately, in his case, “simple” has mostly translated to “transparent” rather than “amateur”, which is surely a difficult balance to strike. And while he has been successful at it more often than not, even he hasn’t always gotten it right.
Let’s be real: to most core readers of this blog, it’s probably old news that Miranda Lambert is releasing this unusually good song to radio. And it’s probably old opinion for me to proclaim that she’s playing a more sophisticated game than just about any mainstream artist out there. You know: “she’s real, everyone else is a phony!”. Is there some amount of truth in that? Sure. But you don’t need another country music Caulfield to tell you. You just have to listen to the song. The difference between this record and most of the others at radio can be felt within seconds.
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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.