The success of Maddie and Tae’s “Girl In a Country Song” wasn’t just the result of women tiring of the stereotypical role country radio had placed them in, it was the result of country radio itself, and male country artists, tiring of it as well. This week, five new country singles debut, all by men, and not one of them trades in the usual bro-country cliches. There are no tailgates, no daisy dukes, and a truck is only mentioned once, and only in passing. A couple of them even seem to intentionally flout the old way of thinking. This doesn’t mean that the men who run country have suddenly changed their ways, it just means one trend has burned itself out and another is appearing. As much as I’d like to believe that Nashville took one listen to Florida Georgia Line and said, “My God, what have we done?”, there’s no reason to think that happened. They don’t feel guilty about what they did, they just see the inspiration and the money running out and are moving on to something else. Everything is exactly the same, only different. It’s possible that some progress in terms of sexual politics will be made, but it will be incremental, and, as usual, far behind the culture as a whole. From here, it looks like the hard-assed, sweet-talking, hard-rocking country bro will be replaced by the laid back, smooth-talking, soft-rocking country bro. Whether this can be considered an improvement depends on your point of view, but I try to hope for the best.
Kanye West featuring Paul McCartney—“Only One”
#35
Talk about a meeting of minds: Kanye West and Paul McCartney are a matched pair of over-confident pros who believe their instincts are always gold, even when they work them over and over in the studio to get that just right off-the-cuff feeling. Comparisons to John Legend are an insult: even at their worst—and this is nowhere near their worst, if far from their best—these two reach for more than Legend can ever imagine. The real marker is Stevie Wonder, who McCartney attempts to channel through his electric piano while West does the same with autotune. The end result sounds like something Wonder would dash off in an hour and then archive, but that doesn’t make it bad, it just doesn’t make it great. This is basically tabloid pop—the song only works if you know the backstory; the music itself doesn’t generate enough emotion, and McCartney’s doodling at the end adds nothing. If you believe, though, that West’s true genius is autobiography (as he certainly seems to), then this is worth your attention, because it explains a lot: if West’s mother really spoke to him this way, is it any wonder he has a head as big as Chicago and a pool of self-esteem larger than Lake Michigan?
Rae Sremmurd Featuring Nicki Minaj & Young Thug—“Throw Some Mo”
#92
Nicki Minaj and Young Thug put their hosts in a bit of a bind: Minaj’s hook is so simple and clean, Young Thug’s rap so complicated and messy, that Rae Sremmurd are left with nothing but the middle ground to work with, where the opportunity to make an impression is severely limited. They do fine, considering, but this is no “No Type” or “No Flex Zone”, and Minaj and Young Thug walk off with it easily. Rae Sremmurd are a promising, impressive duo, but they may have put themselves in comparison with the best a little too soon.
Sam Hunt—“Take Your Time”
#93
If there has to be country-rap, this is what it should sound like, just a guy talking in his own moseying way, without trying to echo hip-hop flows or beats. I’m not as impressed by Hunt as some others are—his songs and his music lack resonance—but this is an above average step away from bro-country, with a good chorus and a lyrical conceit that stresses honesty and respect. There’s no preening, no cheap romanticism, no empty promises. He just wants to get laid and figures maybe she does too. And if he’s wrong he won’t make a big deal about it. He’ll just step away with a nod and a courteous smile and try somewhere else.
Jake Owen—“What We Ain’t Got”
#95
Some people should never try to be serious, at least not in a philosophical sense, and Jake Owen is one of them. The banalities of the first verse lead straight into the cliches of the second, and Owen sings both as if they were the word of God weighing on his soul. It doesn’t help that the payoff that reveals the personal aspect of all his musing comes too early, forcing Owen to soldier on in his heavy-handed way without telling us anything new or deepening our perspective.
Tyler Farr—“A Guy Walks Into A Bar”
#97
I like the way the chorus circles back to the beginning of the story—you can almost see him turning away from those fading taillights and walking straight back into the bar where he met her looking for someone else. And Farr uses his limited, ragged voice to good effect. But the verses don’t say much of anything, and after the first chorus the song is essentially over. I though they knew something about song construction in Nashville.
Chase Bryant—“Take It On Back”
#98
This is like Florida Georgia Line without the swagger, and without the swagger Florida Georgia Line is nothing at all.
Cole Swindell—“Ain’t Worth The Whiskey”
#99
If Swindell sang with any intelligence or irony, this song would be almost revolutionary, intimating as it does that good ol’ boys’ devotion to country music, friendship, and even their patriotism, is nothing but cover for the fact that they’ve never been able to get the girl, and by extension, the life, that they really want. It could explode any number of country cliches while exploring romantic connections in a way few country songs ever had. But irony is not Swindell’s forte (I’ll refrain from comment on his intelligence). He sings this straight, as if there wasn’t a sarcastic bone in his body—though there are plenty of mean ones. It’s rare to find a singer, and songwriter, who so obviously doesn’t understand what he’s saying.
G-Eazy Featuring Remo—“I Mean It”
#100
All white rappers stand in the shadow of Eminem (not to mention Vanilla Ice) whether they like or admit it or not. G-Eazy tries to dodge the issue by creating a flow that is devoid not only of Eminem’s self-conscious technique, but that’s so white, so flat, so seemingly devoid of emotion that he comes close to being a machine. Instead of overcompensating by trying to sound tougher than any human could possibly be, he sounds disaffected, like the narrator of a film noir told from the point of view of a corpse, a guy who’s seen more bad things than anyone could ever imagine. It’s a vision as bleak as gangsta, only with—if such a thing is possible—even less hope. He’s as much a braggart as any rapper, but he doesn’t get puffed up about it. He’s done what he’s done, he’s seen what he’s seen, and tough shit if you’re not on his level. This is just an introduction, but if G-Eazy can fold this character into scenarios that mean something, he could have a very impressive career.