It's been almost a decade since Loretta Lynn's last record, Van Lear Rose, hit the shelves. A lot has gone down in those nine years. We've seen some of the worst natural disasters in history (BP anyone?), and we've also seen a further-magnified shift from music being played on LP devices to almost exclusively digital formats. Yet that's one of the great things about a record—it has the power to take you back. Back to where? That depends on the person, but the whole premise of a good album rests on the fact it doesn't lose its touch as the casing weathers or when the charts don't signify its importance, as it once did.
So, why is Loretta Lynn's latest record so important? Take for instance the fact that she released the album when she was 72. And, instead of having country music aficionados take the reins in the production booth, she enlisted the help of contemporary garage-rocker Jack White (most famous then for his work in The White Stripes). Seeing these two walk down the red carpet at the Grammys together might seem odd out of context, but having listened to the album, it makes perfect sense. The bond created during the recording of these 13 tracks isn't something that disappears once the lights go out and the track is deemed fit for airplay. Because if you listen to this record, you can hear the molding of this friendship manifest in the way Lynn sings—with the same vibrant twang that made her a household country name—and the way White offers a rock and roll background, letting Loretta shine amidst electric guitars, booming drums and the quieter, softer moments; see “Miss Being Mrs.”
Van Lear Rose is one of those albums that are meant to be played all the way through—no skipping. It tells a story: from the time Lynn was a girl, sitting with her coal miner father, listening to him tell the story of how he met her mother (“Van Lear Rose”) to reflecting on what made her life so joyous, but at the same time wondering where it all leads (“Story of My Life”). Looking back, I'm not surprised it won the Grammy Award for Best Country Album or ended up in the top 10 of so many year-end “best of” lists. It's a gem. Simple as that.
Part of the reason the album hit so hard is that Loretta Lynn is still that hard-talking, freewheeling, lovable woman she started out as—with her classic hit “Coal Miner's Daughter” and other notable songs like “You Ain't Woman Enough” and “Rated 'X.'” Even in her golden years, she is the same person, and she covers the same emotional ground that made her famous in the first place, ie. cheating husbands, childbirth and motherhood and struggling to make ends meet. Just listen to tracks like “Mrs. Leroy Brown” or “Family Tree,” where she takes her kids to the home of the woman their dad is cheating with and asks the husband to come out and see what he's doing to their family. That's real talk.
But it’s an album that couldn't exist without the confluence of measure. What I mean by that is the importance of knowing your limits and knowing when to let someone help out. I’m not saying Lynn has limits; maybe she does, but they're not shown on this record, and she wrote all the songs. But she knows when to let White work in his expertise, particularly on lead single “Portland, Oregon.” A drunken love song in every sense of the word, the lead guitar moves through the track like a forceful river yet calms down enough for the duo to shine—while asking the bartender for one more sloe gin fizz and “a pitcher to go.”
But don't take my word for it. I'm not even that into country music, but I’ve had a soft spot for Loretta Lynn since I watched Coal Miner's Daughter as a toddler. She was just one of those singer/songwriters who always had a presence in my childhood. This is not only one of the best albums of 2004. This is one of the best albums ever recorded, and I’ll stand by that like a man whose britches are in sync with love for all kinds of music. It’s a masterpiece. Enough said.
Alibi alum Michael Henningsen and Mark Lopez, our beloved copy editor and staff writer, listened to new releases from Shining, Dew Scented and George Strait. Read their micro reviews in this week’s Sonic Reducer. Peep related A/V below.
Indulge your wildly eclectic taste in music—hip-hop, bluesy rock and roll, country, post-rock, prog and post-metal art-rock—with a smidgen of assistance from this week’s Music to Your Ears. Check out related A/V below. Sister • Talib Kweli • Zoology Crew • Sat Feb 23 • 10 pm • $35 • 21+ • sisterthebar.com
My obsessive-compulsive aural tendencies have undoubtedly been noted by careful—and dare I say, patient—readers who’ve been inundated with Halloween, Xmas, Valentine’s Day and themed playlists of all demoninations during my brief tenure. And now ... cover songs. Whether you love ‘em or hate ‘em, they’ve been around forever and appear to be here to stay. Nihil novi sub sole, eh? Refresh your cover memory with this week’s music feature, The Art of the Cover Song. Below, listen to a playlist of covers created by New Mexicans like Veery (Jessica Billey), Mama Coma (Marisa Demarco), The Rondelles, Steve Hammond, Cobra//group, Treadmill, Mistletoe, The Handsome Family, The Rivet Gang, Ant Farmers, Knife City, The Morticians, Sad Baby Wolf and Strawberry Zots.
Leeches of Lore is a three-headed monster responsible for disassembling brains far and wide with its warp-speed metal stylings. Steve Hammond (guitar, vocals), Noah Wolters (organ, Mellotron) and Andy Lutz (drums) complete the pulchritudinous trio, which is releasing dual albums at Launchpad on Friday. We asked Lutz to take his music library for a spin and see what random tracks might surface. Below are the results.
Two very different local acts are releasing shiny new recordings on Saturday, April 23. Read all about it after the jump.
Ben Wood plays banjo in The Porter Draw. He’s also a woodworker and projectionist, knows how to grow a fine mustache, and is descended from Jewish cowboys in Arizona from way back when. Below are five random tracks from his music library.
These days, country music, which was long ago swallowed into the homogenizing pop culture machine, is like any other element of entertainment media: It lacks decorum, glorifies wealth and is geared toward the basest concerns of the masses. The only thing that distinguishes it is a Southern accent and that boot in your ass. Once upon a time, though, country music had its own identity, one that was far from the artless, soulless corporate goo oozing out of your radios and televisions. It was proud, pastoral, working class and sometimes a little rowdy. Long associated with that kind of country (and the right wing), these days the legendary Merle Haggard seems a bit pained by the country's corrosion. A few years ago, the Okie from Muskogee, who is now in his 70s wrote and sang, "What happened, does anybody know? / What happened, where did America go? / Everything Wal-Mart all the time / No more mom and pop five and dimes." See Haggard, poet of the common man, shun artifice down in Mescalero tonight.
Hi, my name is Juan Maloso and I live nowhere.
I am what you call a city slicker, but my chosen line of work has taken me to small towns across America. I move more than Mongolian sheep herders. I never get to really know anyone outside of work, and before long, I move on.
Most of these locales are at the very least semi-rural and at the most, the country.
Since I was born and raised on concrete, the country is often a source of amusement—the amusement of the country residents at me.