We bounce back this week with four outstanding new records.
“Ain’t My First Rodeo”
India Ramey
Written by India Ramey
Jonathan Keefe: She’s no relation that I can confirm, but it sure doesn’t sound like a coincidence that India Ramey shares Patty Loveless’ birth surname. For years now, she’s been throwing down some phenomenal trad-country cut with a punk edge, and it’s baffling to me that she hasn’t caught on bigger in both purist and Americana-leaning circles.
“Ain’t My First Rodeo” is indicative of what she does well: “These ain’t just boots / They’re bull-shitkickers” is such a perfect line to capture Ramey’s specific brand of unapologetic country. There’s a whole lot to Wanda Jackson in her phrasing, too, and this dressing-down of a would-be suitor is a cowpunk riot of a way to start this week’s roundup. A
Kevin John Coyne: She established her bull-shitkicker bona fides so quickly that I had to double and triple check that she sang buckin’ broncos in the chorus.
Ass kickin’ cowgirls is apparently our theme this week. “Ain’t My First Rodeo” is a fiery kiss off anthem that draws from the same well that gave us “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels,” “The Pill,”and “(If You’re Not in it For Love) I’m Outta Here!”
What Ramey does here is a version of what those records did, too. In plain talk, new rules of engagement are established. “Rodeo” gives a generational update on the female perspective, introduced within the comforting context of familiar musical arrangements. A
“Yee Haw Stuff”
Roberta Faceplant
Written by Kathryn Anne Feeney
KJC: What if a Philly band fronted by an absolute firecracker of a woman twanged up a CBGB flavored punk rock sound?
You’d get the deliriously delicious “Yee Haw Stuff,” which has folks who are as city as they come getting their country on and loving it. There ain’t nothin’ like the fire of the newly converted, and few are as in your face about discovering country music as us northeasterners. Just ask my poor high school classmates.
I love how the lead singer’s love for country kitsch is rightly presented as a statement of individuality, and how she filters it through a very Philly sensibility:
I sure like pickin fights, Late nights,
Dancin’ up an appetite,
Leather, spikes,
Shootin’ Dice
Hoppin’ onto motorbikes,
Bandanas and Louisiana
Conway and Loretta, babe, whenever we’re together a-ooooo
That’s how I do
It’s a celebration free of the chip on the shoulder resentment that we see so often in the “I’m country and you’re not!!” songs on the radio. Roberta Faceplant’s single is a garage band’s love letter to country, and it comes from a place of joy that too many mainstream artists can’t seem to locate today.
This is rough and ready in all of the best ways, and its unabashed sincerity has left me grinning. Next time I’m in Philly, I’m keeping an eye out for an urban cowgirl on a Harley wearing assless chaps. A
JK: This reminds me of Neko Case’s The Virginian record in all the best ways: You can’t get away with treating country as kitsch unless you’re basing that on a genuine affection and an understanding of exactly what makes the genre’s conventions tick. And wow, does Roberta Faceplant seem to get that.
I’ll nit-pick that all chaps are, by definition, assless– that’s what makes them chaps and not pants– but it’s hard to find another complaint to lodge here. I just love the fast-talking delivery and the whole-hearted embrace of what seems like an entire century’s worth of country signifiers.
“I know what I like / No need to ask me twice.” Damn right, Roberta Faceplant. And I know I like this. A
“Empty Trainload of Sky”
Gillian Welch and David Rawlings
Written by David Rawlings and Gillian Welch
JK: What a remarkable image to build a train song around, and what a way to capture both a sense of loneliness and the ways the culture has shifted. There’s a train track not far from my home– I hear the whistle, I hear the rumbling at 2 AM outside my door, and all that– and I’m always struck by how many of the freight cars are bare or empty from what looks like years of disuse and disrepair.
Welch’s languid phrasing and Rawlings’ nimble guitar-work are the perfect pairing to set the stage for just such a locomotive’s ambling across a trestle. I love how Welch’s narrator views this train and it triggers an epiphany of how she’s also been chugging along, feeling empty, and there’s a quiet resolve for change. This might be the most low-key of this week’s singles, but it’s the most hopeful of the lot, and how great it is to have this duo back. A
KJC: “We don’t need another train song” becomes “What a brilliant and very necessary train song” by the end of the first verse.
It makes me think about the power of visual art, and the old saying that “a picture is worth a thousand words.” What a feat of alchemy “Empty Trainload of Sky” is, painting such a haunting and evocative mental picture with just words, some vocals, and acoustic instrumentation. All of the silliness and sadness of it rolling down the track, moving with purpose without a purpose.
These two bear witness to a dying Americana, every song a little vigil for a way of life that isn’t coming back. A
“Hot Rod Pipe Dream”
Ashley Monroe
Written by Brendan Benson and Ashley Monroe
KJC: I guess this is the week of super cool chick records.
Well, that’s true most weeks at Country Universe, but it’s especially true this week with Roberta Faceplant and Ashley Monroe making raw and groovy records that subvert expectations.
Monroe’s usually such an emotionally expressive singer who is earnest in her delivery. You won’t find that Monroe here. “Hot Rod Pipe Dream” sounds like the confident inner monologue of a biker gal leaning up against the Dairy Queen, not looking directly at the Hot Rod Pope Dream but knowing he’s got his eyes locked on her.
And then, just when the cool sense of detachment flirts with boredom, the music drops out and we get the most surprising country music outro since “Any Man of Mine.” I won’t spoil it, but make sure you listen to it all the way to the end. A
JK: This immediately reminds me of “Steve McQueen,” one of my favorite Sheryl Crow singles, in both the aesthetic and the playful lyrics that are nowhere near as vacuous as they might seem on first blush. As Kevin notes, this is something of a pivot from Monroe’s usual delivery, but she’s one of the few country artists of her generation who truly leans into sexual agency, so I can hear a definite throughline to her prior work.
It’s as fun as any of Monroe’s singles have ever been, and then that outro takes it to the stratosphere. God, Ashley Monroe is just a treasure, and she should’ve been a superstar countless times over. A
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