It’s been Brantley Gilbert’s year for a while now; his
songwriting credits for Jason Aldean only gave him a leg up to the big time,
where he belongs. Along the way, Gilbert has undergone quite a transformation —
one which can best be seen by giving his first album, A Modern Day Prodigal Son, a spin. I expect that many of his new
fans, familiar with Halfway to Heaven,
will be reaching back to pick this one up, so even though MDPS was released in
2009 (it was scheduled to hit stores in 2006), a review feels necessary.
The biggest change folks will notice is that the Brantley
Gilbert of six years ago was a quieter, gentler guy. The spitting image of a
farm boy, he has a sweet voice and sings sweet songs, accompanied by his able
and melodic guitar playing. There are only a few up-tempo numbers, notably "G.R.I.T.S," a paean to Girl Raised In The South, which has predictably remained
a live show fan favorite.
Listen to “Play Me That Song,” which showcases his talents
beautifully — especially his knack for writing songs with natural hooks that
draw you in.
If you’ve only just heard of Gilbert because he’s hawt right
now, you should take a look at this footage of a show he did at a small club where
the crowd shows him some serious love. He wrote this song — "Picture On The Dashboard" — when he was just 17.
This is the album on which appears Gilbert’s song “My Kinda Party,” which became a monster hit for Aldean. Hearing the original, you’ll
appreciate how closely he kept to it. Perhaps it was this very aspect which got
Gilbert fans hot under the collar, thinking, mistakenly, that he’d sold the
song to a bigger star. He explains the situation here.
As Gilbert makes the transition to productions with far more
money, firepower, and wattage behind them (the kind that makes “Kickin’ in the
Sticks” sound the way it does), he brings along some of his mellower songs for
the ride. The title track is a good case in point: it sounds great run through
some big stacks. The Inky Jukebox hopes that Gilbert continues to showcase that careful ear and
ability to end on a soft note even as he gets harder musically.
The Inky Jukebox
has some advice for country’s newest bad boy on the block: Dude — toss the dip
and questionable goatee. It puffs your lip out in an unattractive manner. I don’t
care how smokin’ your current girlfriend is (and she is), there’s plenty of
ladies at home who’re put off by tobacco teefs.
That being said, The
Inky Jukebox LOVES this guy, and strongly recommends you pick up this lovely
and overlooked first album. It’s only $6.99 on iTunes. What a steal.
Last night in Pittsburgh, Eric Church and Justin Moore,
country music’s new bad boy vanguard, put on a master class in kicking ass. If
the 13,000 capacity crowd wanted their faces rocked off with
hit-after-blistering-hit, that’s exactly what they got. Apart from one girl I
could see (more on her here), every single person there was a devotee of the
kind of hard-living, hard-partying, leave-your-guts-on-the-floor lifestyle
preached by these two ministers of Outlawism. If you remove the crutch the R
leans upon, you’d be left with EPIC CHURCH, which is what the CONSOL Energy
Arena turned into — one big revival tent. In case you didn’t know that’s what
you’d signed up for when you bought a ticket (more on that here), then the High
Priest made it clear in his opening song, “Country Music Jesus.” And boy, if
you had any doubts that American music was all out of soul, then your soul was
saved.
Let’s start with Justin Moore, which is always a good idea
any time of day. The only thing that differentiated him from the “main act” was
that his set was shorter. It needn’t have been; he could just as easily have
rolled on through both his albums in their entirety and the crowd would still
have not wanted him to leave the stage. Instead, he was limited to a roll-call
of his singles (all hits), plus the crowd-pleaser “I Could Kick Your Ass,”
which he’ll never be able to leave out of a set list for the rest of his
career. The crowd belted along to every single word, sometimes drowning him out
— except for those times when he switched into high gear and delivered one of
his signature upper-range long notes, which are enough to prove that he’s the
best male singer in country music. Perhaps that’s his real gift: it’s not just
that he has the song, the look, and the attitude: dude’s got a pair of lungs
and ability to deliver melody like no-one else.
Moore’s covers are so good it makes you wish he’d release an
album of them; his delivery of “With A Little Help From My Friends” was a
perfect example of this done right — hearing a song you know inside out as if
for the very first, and best, time.
Justin Moore demonstrates why he's the best singer in country music
Anyone who’s seen Eric Church before knows that when you
hear the thomping strains of Clutch’s “Electric Worry” come over the PA system,
he’s about to take the stage. It’s a good intro — a perfect blend of old-time
stomp and metal shred, just the sort of thing Church’s band excels at.
Eric Church wants you to know that he doesn’t give a shit, a
damn, or a single solitary fuck about, as he put it, “anything that’s happening
outside this arena.” It’s that attitude that both sets him apart from the rest
of the country pack, yet ties him to it, in the grand tradition of the
old-school stars he worships. He’s unapologetic about pretty much everything he
does on stage, which is a good thing. When he thumps his chest or pumps his
fist in the air or gives the crowd a wide-mouthed howl, you know he means it,
dammit. Eric Church can do this because Eric Church has the balls to back it up
with pure talent. Does he need the bank of flamethrowers behind him, letting
off great rips of fire to punctuate choruses? Of course not. But he knows this
is a magic show-cum-sermon, and that tricks that make it seem the devil is
biting at your heels are all part of the act.
Pyromania
As far as stage shows go, it’s a treat to see him finally
design his own, after playing the opener for so long. The revolving backdrop of
huge painted curtains doesn’t feel out of place alongside a forest of
spotlights bursting from the stage, and the billowing clouds of thick smoke
that illustrate “Smoke A Little Smoke” seem less a gimmick than an in-joke. He
swigs his Jack Daniels from a red Solo cup just like you expect him to, and you
hold on of your boots in the air like leather lighters when he sings his peon
to them, “These Boots.”
See the crowd wave their boots
The real lighters are few and far between these days;
during the closer, “Springsteen,” he asks the crowd to flash their cell phones
instead. Sure enough, the arena becomes a twinkling universe of screens that is
a sight to behold, and you’re in no danger of getting your hair or the brim of
your hat singed.
In getting to call his own shots, Church delivers many
things he believes in, including that whole albums deserved to be played in
their entirety. This is easy for him to do, given that none of his albums
contains a single fluff song. He spread every song off Chief out over the show,
with liberal helpings from Carolina and Sinners Like Me along the way. It
doesn’t matter if only a handful were ever singles; such are Church’s records
that every song feels like it must have been a hit you sang to on the radio.
Acoustic brilliance: sing along now, y'all
Half way through, the black curtain came down on the stage,
and he gave the crowd a mini, stripped down acoustic set that recalled (for The Inky Jukebox, at least) the way
early YouTube videos captured him
giving impromptu performances sitting on tailgates in parking lots.
Eric Church: 2009 (parking lots)
Just the
man and his guitar and a song — that’s all he needed, and all he still needs.
He is a good enough player to make it sounds like three guitars at once — his
notes and riffs sparkly and rhythmic at the same time. You know you’re on to
something good when everything else can be peeled back to the bare bones.
Eric Church: 2012 (arenas)
This is not to say that the full-on experience of the band
is less satisfying: he says he “likes his country rocking / how ‘bout you?” and
the answer’s an emphatic yes. At times you could be forgiven for thinking you’d
wondered into a hard rock or metal show — that’s how loud they crunch and
shred, fairly melting your face off in the process.
The show draws to a close with the heartfelt “Springsteen,”
during which he breaks into a countrified “Born To Run,” to everyone’s delight.
Behind him, a giant American flag hangs, an unsubtle notice that this country
has a new hero troubadour to worship. He stood for a long time after the rest
of the band left the stage, looking out at his disciples cheering. What a view
he must have had.
In the porno video for his new single, “Come On
Over,” Kenny Chesney helms the largest, shiniest waterborne penis
motorboat you’ve ever seen in a country music video. It’s the kind of metal
yacht that only rap stars billionaires rent own. He’s all alone, moodily
piloting it dressed like a GQ model guy with a stylist. The stylist is
probably responsible for getting him to ditch his eponymous cream straw hat, so
that we see his bald noggin.
The storyline appears to be that a very rich lonely guy
wants a girlfriend — specifically the comely brunette seen swimming in a
bikini. Somehow she magically appears on his boat, where they have fun jumping
into the water, paddling on surfboards, making out on a bed and having sex in the
shower.
Hang on, Kenny’s having sex in a shower? You heard right.
He’s getting up to all sorts of intimate shenanigans in this one. It’s like his
publicist said enough’s enough with the
gay rumors already! Get Kenny boy laid! In between he plays piano!
Earnestly! Damn!
If you’ve ever seen Kenny Chesney in real life, you’ll know
he’s a little, sweaty, tight nubbin of a guy with a cut-off shirt, jeans and a
hat.
Exhibit A
Here at The Inky
Jukebox, we kinda like black and white Kenny-on-a-boat. Keep up the good work,
Blue Chair Records! Or just keep it up.
(In case you were wondering where the title came from, it's this classic:
