Friday, November 18, 2016

"The Weight of These Wings" review--finding peace and finding yourself

The lasting image of Miranda Lambert in many people's minds is the Miranda Lambert we met on her first two albums--the one who would burn a cheating ex's house down, kill an abusive husband, or fight an ex's new flame in a bar. But her more recent albums showed a steadier side, as she settled into a long relationship and began feeling comfortable in her own skin.

"Four the Record" definitely contained some sassy numbers ("Mama's Broken Heart," "Fastest Girl in Town"), but it also contained the heartbreaking "Over You," which she wrote with ex-husband Blake Shelton.

On "Platinum," we began to see how self-aware Lambert is of her celebrity status and of her role as a mentor to younger artists. She muses about aging ("Gravity's a Bitch,") about teen pregnancy ("Babies Making Babies,") about staying in a lasting celebrity marriage ("Priscilla,") and about the good ol' days growing up, when life was a little less hectic ("Automatic").

Here, on her sixth studio album "The Weight of These Wings," we find a woman who endured a very public heartbreak at the pinnacle of her career. We find a woman who was broken and who has dragged herself back into the light after what surely were some of her darkest days. We find a woman who, to borrow a phrase from Lin-Manuel Miranda, wrote her way out--and gave us a double album in the process.



The lead single, "Vice," should tell you enough--it's told from the perspective of a woman who is drinking, sleeping, and driving her way through her own personal hell. That theme continues, with hazy musings about living a vagabond life and spending too much time at bars, as the woman behind it all re-learns who she is and what she wants out of life.

In the buildup for the album, Lambert hasn't said much. There were no big sit-down interviews about who wronged who in her past relationship. Her Instagram is full of dog photos and musings about making music. She could have gone the old route, burning old bridges with glee and stopping to think about it later. But she's older now, and perhaps the temper has tempered--or perhaps she just doesn't think it's worth the effort to confront her demons with fire and steel.

(Photo: Daniela Federici via MirandaLambert.com)


"The Weight of These Wings" doesn't contain any collaborations with big names. It's a mostly subdued epic, a tour de force from someone who will be remembered as one of country music's greatest. It's raw and it's heavy at times, and you hear it in the way Lambert's voice breaks and soars over 24 tracks. It feels familiar to those of us who have ever been heartbroken. It feels like a smoky bar and a taxi and a morning sipping coffee on your front porch before the sun is up. It feels like waking up after a night wrestling with demons--unsure how you're going to move forward, but determined to do so however you can. 

Thursday, November 3, 2016

What happened last night at the CMAs?

Man, I'll tell y'all what.

We were saved. 


The 50th anniversary of the CMAs offered country music an opportunity to dig deep into its (whitewashed) recent past and bring some of the genre's most storied names back on stage.

You almost forget about whiny pop-country acts like Luke Bryan, Florida-Georgia Line, and their ilk when Reba, Clint Black, George Strait, Alan Jackson, "Mr. and Mrs. Yearwood," and Randy Travis pop back out there and sing. It's a heartening reminder for those of us who feel like we are drowning in white boys in white t-shirts, embroidered jeans, and snapbacks. Dolly Parton picked up a lifetime achievement award. Garth Brooks won entertainer of the year. Randy Travis sang after his stroke. This was a good year.

And then Beyoncé G. Knowles-Carter showed up. And she brought the Dixie Chicks, whom country music hasn't really forgiven for bashing George Bush back in 2003.

Texas. 


Image Group LA/Getty Images


Even country music doesn't exist in a vacuum, so I'm sure this audience knows a few songs off of "Lemonade." We know Miranda Lambert does, and her love for her fellow Texan has been well-documented.

If you have been living under a rock, "Daddy Lessons" is a stomping, brass-led beauty of a song that touches upon some of country music's favorite standbys--guns, bad relationships, and advice from your daddy.

The online reaction was mixed. Celebrities and Beyhive members were floored, inspired, enthusiastic, and ready to crown Bey queen of Nashville.

Some country fans, however, were less than impressed--perhaps still smarting from Beyonce's purported anti-police views, they feel it was "disrespectful" for country music to welcome her to the stage. Simply wade into any of the posts on the CMA Facebook page, and there you have it.  

On the surface, some of the complaints are that Beyonce's music does not belong on this awards show. But any country music fan--or artist--who scowled during this crossover simply based on its musicality is kidding him or herself. How can you allow Taylor Swift back on stage in 2016, then, if country music is suddenly such a sacred entity? Why do we allow Luke Bryan and Florida-Georgia Line to infuse hip-hop, and even make call-outs to hip-hop, in their music, without batting an eye? How are Sam Hunt and Jason Aldean permitted to rap in their songs and still win awards? Aldean even has performed on stage with Ludacris! Nelly has re-done Thomas Rhett's "Die a Happy Man." And last year, Justin Timberlake (a southern boy, yes, but no country artist) sang on stage with Chris Stapleton at these very awards.

Suddenly, a black woman performing a country song on her album is such an egregious offense?

Surely, given all that country music has taken from hip-hop lately, this argument is null and void. And thus, we get to the heart of the argument--it's political at best, and racial at worst.

I think the Associated Press sums it up nicely (emphasis mine):

Not everyone was prepared to welcome Beyonce with open arms. "Let me have my country music in peace" wrote one critic on Twitter. Another suggested that whoever had invited her should be fired. Still another threatened: "I was going to watch, but not now." 
But many others sounded thrilled, including country singers Brad Paisley (who tweeted "Welcome") and Cassadee Pope (who said, "I'm gunna explode."). The CMAs have previously invited non-country artists before, as they did last year with Justin Timberlake.
Jennifer Nettles was just happy to hear the song: "Everybody loves the harmonies, loves the music. Don't get it twisted. It's about the music. If you make it about it about something else, you're wrong," she said after the show. 
Beyonce has been criticized by some for her half-time show at the Super Bowl that referenced the Black Lives Matter movement, Malcolm X and the Black Panthers, as well as her video for "Formation" that includes images of a hooded black child facing police and graffiti scrawled on a wall that reads "Stop Shooting Us."
The problem, if there is one, is not with country music. It's with its fans. As referenced above and in some earlier media coverage, country artists responded well to "Daddy Lessons."

The fans are the ones with a problem. The fans are the ones who can't let go of what Natalie Mains said in 2003. The fans are the ones who can't stomach someone on stage who feels differently than them. The fans, also, are the ones who continue to buy and request country crossover songs by Bryan, Aldean, Hunt, FGL, Chase Rice, and a whole host of other men desperate to cash in on the latest trend--appropriating a traditionally black sound for their traditionally white audience because it "sounds good."

Does it really sound good?  

If country music is looking to hip-hop, "Daddy Lessons" is the song to look to--and after all, let's not forget that the roots of country music run much deeper than the last 50 years with Dolly Parton. And, some of the original trailblazers look a lot different than the white-bread fellas and gals we see at every country awards show.