AĪnderson loves a good lyric the way David Johansen loves a good lyric, the way Willie Nelson loves a good tune-and he loves a good tune, too. And as you soon learn from lyrics like "Black Sheep" and "Swingin'," he's unlike Skaggs in another way as well: he's not a moralistic tight-ass. Unlike Skaggs, he plays at innocence rather than striving for it, which is why there always seems to be something comic bubbling under the eager warmth of his voice. B+Įxcept maybe for Ricky Skaggs, this folksy eccentric sings fewer embarrassing songs than anyone in country music. I prefer him a little less doleful for sure. As distinguished from, say, labelmate Gary Morris, he's blessed not just with a great instrument but with what'll pass for a great natural instrument-its intensity seems completely informal and rarely even hints at mannerism. In which Anderson exercises his rights as a major country star and does nothing but show off the reason he's a major country star-his tonsils. Suggested follow-ups: the hapfully plaintive "Look What Followed Me Home" and the undefiant public service announcement, "Let Somebody Else Drive." A. Or maybe it's the first to make the filler sound hitbound-his defiant "Haunted House" surprised Warners by stiffing before his defiant "Black Sheep" took off. B+Īll the People Are Talkin' Īnderson's slur manages to suggest comedy, sex, and rock and roll successively and sometimes simultaneously, and his fifth album in three years is his finest yet-the first to surround great hits with uniformly high-grade filler. But his gift for ballads is still a little soft, which means he comes up a touch short on the ones you know and can't quite turn filler into the staff of life. This kind: BĪnderson is Ricky Skaggs without Jesus-his voice lowdown rather than angelic, his roots in the honky tonks rather than the mountains, his album wild and blue, a sexier way to say (and sing) highways and heartaches. Which should tell you what kind of B plus it's worth. His instinctively sentimental reading of "Don't Think Twice" establishes the limits of baritone, smarts, and honesty all at once, and I spent enough time pondering whether this was worth a B plus to conclude that I'd have known in a jiffy if I was as familiar with the Frizzell and Delmore covers as I am with the Dylan. He's smart, he's honest, but what makes him a country comer is the edge on his husky baritone, too indistinct and decorative to be called a vibrato or even a burr. Unlike, let us say, Eddie Rabbitt, he knows the difference between traditionalism and conformism, sentiment and bathos, makin' love and makin' out, fiddles and strings he has the guts to attack "the power of the almighty dollar." A. In the right's first flush of power, as Nashville nostalgia merges revoltingly with El Lay schlock, Anderson's modest regard for the verities becomes not just a virtue but a treasure. Convincer: Buddy Spicher's fiddle break on the definitive "She Just Started Liking Cheatin' Songs." B+ fell off his mountain and Gary Stewart fell off his barstool has anybody put so much vocal muscle into unadorned hard stuff. The songs fade on side two, but not since Hank Williams Jr. I Just Came Home to Count the Memories B.
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