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.
As someone who enjoys a relationship with a warm father who’s always been quick with support and affirmation, it’s a testament to a good song that I can feel an emotional connection to Bucky Covington’s latest single, “A Father’s Love (the Only Way He Knew How)”, which depicts a father with less demonstrative sensibilities than mine.
What to make of a single that does Kenny Chesney better than Kenny Chesney does these days? Sure, it’s derivative and completely unnecessary, but I’d rather here this than “Ain’t Back Yet.”
I like a lot of the lines, too, particularly the imagery of “got my thinkin’ cap hangin’ on a scarecrow.” But hearing the song as a whole makes me wish I was listening to “Beer in Mexico” instead.
Actually, that’s a lie. Hearing this sent me in a completely different musical direction, one that goes a little something like this:
Kellie Pickler has quietly become one of the most played female artists on country radio, the unthinking man’s alternative to fellow top twenty regular Miranda Lambert. She’s done it largely with fluff, but there’s no real shame in that. Sylvia made a whole career out of it an won a Female Vocalist trophy along the way. Granted, it was from the ACM, but a mantle decoration is a mantle decoration.
So the question is, how good is this fluff? As the man who trashed both “Red High Heels” and “Best Days of Your Life” but eventually added them on to my favorites playlist, I say with caution that it’s mediocre. I can’t see this one growing one me. Just not enough of a hook. It’s like they got the color and the texture right but forgot to put the sugar in the cotton candy.
When a song could double as a compilation title for the artist in question, it’s hard not to go in with clear expectations before you even hear it. Eye-catching title aside, this is not new territory for Gary Allan. If anything, it’s his most charted territory.
So you get what you expect here. A wailing vocal with some ragged trimming, driving electrical guitars, and a lyric about being despondent but digging it.
I’ve gotten so used to being bored by mainstream country music that listening to “Little White Church” was a bit of a jolt. Thematically, it’s essentially the country spin on “Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)”, though it could hardly be called derivative.
I’m having trouble singling out what I like about the song the most. First, it’s refreshing to hear those harmonies again, which quite frankly make Lady Antebellum sound like amateurs in comparison. But the instrumentation is just as fresh as the harmonies. They both zig when you expect them to zag. Hand claps appear out of nowhere but don’t sound out of place. There’s a guitar riff before the final verse that just sounds so frickin’ cool, but before you can fully digest it, the vocals are back and suddenly incorporating a dry whisper. It sounds pretty frickin’ cool, too.
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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.
