Don't Rock The Jukebox, Indeed-- The Top 10 Country Albums of the 1990s.Aug 28 '03 Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line The Bottom Line doesn't apologize for being so long-winded. Don't Rock the Jukebox, Indeed. Or, How the Country Music of the 90s Became the Adult-Contemporary of the 80s: A Cautionary Tale. "Identity crisis" is a phrase that earns quite a bit of mileage from music journalists. Ever-mounting pressures of celebrity status, burdens of expectations from the recording of a landmark album, and the drive for sometimes unreasonable sales figures to justify one's status on ever-shrinking label rosters are just three common factors that can lead an artist to question his or her direction. Musicians ranging from Prince to Linda Ronstadt, from Radiohead to Shania Twain, are commonly expected to defend individual singles or albums within the contexts of both their own career and genre conventions. And, when those attempts to justify their product are deemed unsatisfactory or questionable (Ronstadt's forays into spanish-language recording, the anti-rock of Radiohead's Kid A, etc), artists may find themselves stuck that dreaded Scarlet Letter label of an "identity crisis" or a "loss of direction." A far more unusual case, then, is for an entire genre of popular music to suffer from such an apparent identity crisis. But that's precisely what's been going on in country music for nearly fifteen years now, to the point that the "traditionalism vs. pop" debate that has come to dominate discussions of country music has almost certainly passed its relevance. Realistically, there's simply no point in trying to trace a direct lineage from the Hank Williamses and Wanda Jacksons of country's so-called "Golden Era" to the Lonestars and Martina McBrides currently ruling Nashville. At their core, their only true common thread is that the "casual" country fans of the 1950s and 60s would likely name Williams, Johnny Cash, and Patsy Cline as exemplars for the country genre, just as McBride, Toby Keith, and Lonestar are the torchbearers for mainstream country in today's market. That McBride has built a lucrative career wasting an almost inhuman vocal talent on cloying human-uplift treacle and Keith has turned country radio into a reprehensible boys-club with his shallow "patriotism" and blatant misogyny is beside the point. The bottom line is that my initial reaction to the "I hate country music" statements that I've heard literally thousands of times since I was old enough to care was to become militantly defensive of the genre. But I've grown tired of doing that. And I honestly don't care if admitting that I find the likes of Kenny Chesney or Jo Dee Messina utterly devoid of even a modicum of talent, let alone of anything to do with the country music that I value, makes me some sort of elitist or wannabe-hipster. And, having explored the topic of what's wrong with mainstream country music in at least half of the writings I've contributed to this site, I intend for this essay to be my final statement on the matter. There's just a ton of great music I'd rather review that won't turn into an ultimately futile exercise in trying to explain why Faith Hill just isn't a very good singer. Now that I've accounted for what should be a change in my own direction, I'll get back on topic. Country music in the 1980s, while lacking a signature sound like that of the Williams-Cline-Cash era, did boast an exceptional diversity for which the decade is seldom credited. While the genre's veterans-- Glen Campbell's post-"Rhinestone Cowboy" recordings, the corn-pone of those Dolly Parton / Kenny Rogers duets-- were the artists pushing country toward a more polished, pop-leaning sound, two divergent schools of artists laid the groundwork for what would become country's real identity crisis in the 1990s. Alongside Emmylou Harris, power-couple Rosanne Cash and Rodney Crowell attempted to build on the introspective, folk-rock recordings of artists like Gram Parsons and The Flatlanders. Meanwhile, a generation of neo-traditionalist acts like Ricky Skaggs, The Judds, Randy Travis, and Clint Black attempted to find balance between the pop sheen of Nashville's "countrypolitan" sound and the artistic integrity of Golden Era acts. The most curious aspect of this diversity was that all three styles enjoyed mainstream commercial success for the better part of the 80s. By the decade's end, though, the combination of the neotraditionalists' success and the breakup of the Crowell-Cash marriage / production team pushed the mainstream country establishment more definitively in one direction, alienating the vital artistic community inspired by Crowell and Cash, and pushing the genre into a no-man's land of bland, interchangeable acts with an emphasis on profit, rather than artistic integrity. All of which begs a very important question of the country music industry that thrived during the 90s: is it really fair to fault Garth Brooks for his shrewd marketing and his theatrical sense of showmanship, or Shania Twain for her aspirations for crossover success? When the final product conveys a genuine artistic vision and integrity-- Twain's The Woman in Me still trumps every single imitator it spawned-- then of course it isn't fair. But when Capitol records pinches off yet another George Strait clone, questioning what's truly driving the Nashville establishment is more than fair. When said Nashville establishment refuses to promote, or even to give a single radio spin, to a song that might appeal to a folk or, more daringly, to a rock audience, all the while encouraging acts like Lonestar to sound even more like REO Speedwagon and Journey, you have to find fault with that clearly flawed system. That said, writing off the mainstream entirely would be short-sighted, and country music in the 90s certainly demonstrated, at times, a Darwinian tendency for truly excellent music to rise to the top. But that also means that finding the best country music of the decade, regardless of mainstream genre boundaries, requires considerably more effort than it rightfully should. Which, of course, is why I decided to compile this list. So. If you hate country music, I'm no longer of the inclination to tell you that you're wrong for doing so. It is my hope, however, that discriminating listeners will be willing to disregard their expectations of the genre to give some of this exceptional music a chance. Looking mostly to the genre's outskirts, the 90s continued in country music's fine tradition of heartfelt, intelligent artistry. The 10 Best Country Albums of the 90s: 10). Gravity, Alejandro Escovedo. 1992. Escovedo's storied career can be demarcated into two distinct acts. During his first fifteen years in the music industry, he performed with three separate indie bands-- punk band The Nuns, then country-leaning band Rank and File, and finally with neo-folk group The True Believers. Drawing from those varied influences and years of experience, Escovedo then embarked on the second, more vital chapter of his career with the release of his solo debut, Gravity. What this groundbreaking album reveals-- and what that first act of his career only suggested-- is that Escovedo possesses what is undeniably one of the most distinctive, hyperliterate songwriting voices currently recording in any genre. If Gravity, in and of itself, is a shocking introduction to Escovedo's remarkable talent, the opening track "Paradise" simply condenses that effect. Not many artists would dare attempt to write a song from the first-person perspective of a man about to be hanged. Even fewer are the ones who could pull it off as effectively as Escovedo does. The album's production speaks to the diversity of Escovedo's experience, ranging from subtle, piano-driven arrangements to blistering rock numbers, all coming through with a clarity and professionalism that belies Gravity's low budget. Standout Tracks: "Paradise," "Broken Bottle," "She Doesn't Live Here Anymore." 09). What A Crying Shame, The Mavericks. 1994. One of the most unconventional albums ever released by a major Nashville label, The Mavericks' What A Crying Shame was a surprise commercial success and, even more shockingly, garnered the band their first of several consecutive awards from the Country Music Association. Although, listening to What A Crying Shame, it's clear that MCA Records spent quite a bit of money on its production, the album still retains The Mavericks' trademark quirkiness-- namely, their peerless blend of contemporary country and 1950s-throwback pop stylings. Despite the long list of guest songwriters and musicians, What A Crying Shame is definitively The Mavericks' album, the sound of an exceptional band at its creative peak. Standout Tracks: "O What a Thrill," the cover of Springsteen's "All That Heaven Will Allow." 08). Come On Come On, Mary-Chapin Carpenter. 1992. On the heels of her stellar commercial breakthrough, Shooting Straight In The Dark, Mary-Chapin Carpenter built on her initial successes to an unprecedented degree. Until Carptenter dropped Come On Come On, most major labels in Nashville released albums on a "3 single" contingency-- artists were expected to come up with three viable singles per album, which would be released in an "uptempo-uptempo-ballad" sequence. Nashville thrives on habit, after all. Come On Come On, a polished album that blended Carpenter's country-folk and pop talents with notable contributions from Shawn Colvin, Rosanne Cash, and Indigo Girls, certainly bucked that particular trend-- the album spawned no less than seven Top 40 singles, a feat not even Shania Twain's bajillion-selling Come On Over could duplicate. Initially resistant to her Ivy League, feminist background, radio and the powers-that-be in Nashville had no choice but to embrace all Carpenter achieved with Come On Come On, an album that sounds as fresh today as it did eleven years ago. Standout Tracks: "He Thinks He'll Keep Her," "The Rhythm of The Blues," her Grammy-winning cover of Lucinda Williams' "Passionate Kisses." 07). Anodyne, Uncle Tupelo. 1993. It's something of a rock cliche that internal conflict often drives many bands to their best work, and Uncle Tupelo's Anodyne surely gives that statement considerable weight. The final release of an obviously divided band, Anodyne is one glorious last gasp. Anodyne finds Uncle Tupelo attaining a perfect balance in their country-rock hybrid, with influences as disparate as Hank Williams and The Ramones on clear display. What makes Anodyne such a landmark album is how Jay Farrar's drive towards traditional country and Jeff Tweedy's pop aspirations somehow work together on such songs as "Give Back the Key to My Heart" and "Steal the Crumbs," even though the band's eventual fate makes it clear that the two frontmen weren't necessarily working together behind-the-scenes. A decade removed from their demise, Uncle Tupelo's status as one of the 90s most influential bands is secure, as Tweedy's Wilco remains a deserved critics' darling and Farrar has embarked on a solo career. Standout Tracks: "Acuff-Rose," "Anodyne," "Steal the Crumbs," "Chickamunga." 06). Living With Ghosts, Patty Griffin. 1996. The story behind Griffin's astonishing debut release speaks volumes about one of the most powerful voices to emerge in the 90s. Executives at A&M Records were so impressed by Griffin's demo tape-- just Griffin's competent but unremarkable guitar-work accompanying her evocative, pure voice-- that they didn't hesitate to sign her to a production deal. Hearing the slickly-produced studio version of her demo, then, these same A&R executives decided to scrap the polished version of Griffin's debut and to release a remastered mix of her original demo tape. Needless to say, this may have been the only time that A&R Records had Patty Griffin's best interests in mind. Because that demo, released as 1996's Living With Ghosts, is truly one of the 90s most stirring albums. That A&R later subjected Griffin to some Aimee Mann-style label politics is criminal. Then again, it should be criminal for anyone to sing as well as Griffin. In terms of pure vocal technique, the only 90s album that compares to Living With Ghosts is Jeff Buckley's Grace. And this is to say nothing of Griffin's gifts as a songwriter. Outside of hip-hop, where this skill is most critical to the best artists, Griffin may have the best command of the natural meter of language-- and how that meter can be put to its most effective use in song form-- of any songwriter working today. Her songs have been recorded by everyone from the Dixie Chicks to, of all people, Bette Midler. But, with her own superlative voice, Griffin's material is rarely better than when she performs it. Standout Tracks: "Every Little Bit," "Time Will Do The Talking," "Poor Man's House," "Sweet Lorraine." 05). Mutations, Beck. 1998. Unlike Odelay! or Mellow Gold, the release of Beck's Mutations was never intended, either by Beck or Geffen Records, to be a commercial success. Which is an unfortunate decision that both short-sells what a fine album Mutations turned out to be and suggests that Beck and the execs at Geffen may have a cynical perspective on what the public will believe. After all, this is the same guy best-known for the songs "Loser" and "Where It's At," and now he's releasing a country album? So, I can understand the skepticism about the album's marketability. But with Mutations, Beck, never one to stick to the conventions of any particular genre anyway, recorded an album that truly showcases what a first-rate songwriter he is. Standout Tracks: "Nobody's Fault But My Own," "Cancelled Check," "O Maria." More Beck! 04). Gone, Dwight Yoakam. 1995. A decade into a career that balanced critical acclaim with commercial viability, Dwight Yoakam had precious little left to prove. He'd never recorded even a single mediocre album, and he'd dropped three unqualified masterpieces (Hillbilly Deluxe, Buenos Noches From a Lonely Room, and This Time), always incorporating his distinctive interpretation of 1960s Bakersfield sound into an ingenious take on contemporary country. With Gone, Yoakam broadened his scope, daring to "fix" a style that was anything but broken. The result, 1995's Gone, stands as the high-point of Yoakam's already brilliant career. Those who avoided Yoakam's earlier work for his blatant honky-tonk leanings will find plenty to love about Gone, which brings in mariachi horns, 60s-worthy psychedelic guitar trills, and heavily-layered 12-track backing vocals, among countless other new additions to Yoakam's repertoire. Standout Tracks: "Sorry You Asked?," "Nothing," "Heart of Stone." 03). Kim Richey, 1995. Already a successful songwriter-- she co-wrote "Nobody Wins," a #1 hit for Radney Foster-- Kim Richey's self-titled debut formally announced the arrival of a major talent. That the album failed to make Richey a huge star, while not necessarily a surprise in light of the commercial failures of other such artists (Joy Lynn White, Kelly Willis), is easily Nashville single biggest mistake of the entire decade. That claim would be more than presumptuous, except that Richey's songwriting couldn't possibly be more deserving of a wider audience. She possesses an exceedingly rare gift-- Richey's unrivaled knack for turns-of-phrase never crosses that all-important line separating "clever" from "cheap." Backed by some of Nashville's best studio musicians, Richey's songs are rich and vibrant, never twangy, buoyed by her lovely soprano, which alternates between a tender whisper and a defiant wail as her perfectly-crafted situations demand. Standout Tracks: "Those Words We Said," "Just My Luck," "From Where I Stand," "Let The Sun Fall Down," "Echoes of Love." 02). Car Wheels On a Gravel Road, Lucinda Williams. 1998. While far from the 90s most prolific songwriter-- that title belongs to Guided by Voices' Robert Pollard, hands-down-- Lucinda Williams undoubtedly has the decade's highest quality : output ratio. Six years in the making, largely due to Williams' notorious perfectionism, Car Wheels... was immediately and deservedly hailed as a folk-rock classic upon its hotly anticipated release. Lacking the thematic coherence of 1992's Sweet Old World, Car Wheels... most notably updates Williams' trademark stripped-down sound by aiming for and achieving a more polished rock production. The album's sonic punch-- the guitar-work Steve Earle contributes to "Joy" outright smolders-- is a perfect complement to the gut-check power of Williams' lyrics. And songs like "Drunken Angel" and "2 Kool 2 Be 4-gotten" easily rate among the best of her stellar career. Standout Tracks: "Car Wheels On A Gravel Road," "Joy," "Metal Firecracker." 01). American Recordings, Johnny Cash. 1994. I've had mixed reactions to the high profile The Man in Black has developed in response to his heartwrenching cover of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt." On one hand, the video is genuinely devastating. On the other, the track is the high-point of an album that, in comparison to the other albums in its series, simply doesn't measure up. I suppose I should be thrilled that Johnny Cash is winning legions of new fans-- what with six nominations for the MTV Video Music Awards and all-- but I shudder to think that these fans will take American IV: The Man Comes Around as representative of Cash's immeasurable contributions to popular music. Not only does that album pale in comparison to Cash's first creative peak in the 1960s, but it isn't even the best album of his late-career renaissance. That distinction goes to the first album Cash recorded with producer Rick Rubin, 1994's American Recordings, an album that quite simply towers over all other country releases in the 1990s. Rubin's role in American Recordings is minimal: he gave Cash an acoustic guitar, set him in front of a mic, and then just let Johnny Cash be Johnny Cash. While later albums in the series are marred by gratuitous guest appearances-- Fiona Apple's husky alto just doesn't mesh with Cash's ragged baritone-- and by gimmick-driven choices of covers (Tom Petty's "I Won't Back Down," Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus"), American Recordings is an album without a single misstep. His cover of Nick Lowe's "The Beast In Me" is one of Cash's best-ever performances, and the mix of original songs with material from Kris Kristofferson, Glenn Danzig, and Tom Waits makes for the rare album that is best enjoyed in its entirety. Standout Tracks: "Delia's Gone," "The Beast in Me," an excellent live recording of "The Man Who Couldn't Cry." And, truthfully, when you get right down to it, you just can't argue against Johnny Cash. If you've read my "Best Films of 2003" essay, you know I'm nothing if not thorough. Hence: Also Noteworthy: 11). Wynonna Judd, 1992. A truly spectacular collection of songs allows Judd to establish a unique identity as a solo artist. 12). Too Far To Care, Old 97s. 1997. The beginnings of their Wilco-like forays into power-pop territory. 13). Infamous Angel, Iris Dement. 1992. Sterling debut from the most distinctive voice to emerge in the 90s. 14). Can You Fly, Freedy Johnston. 1992. Rock critic Robert Christgau praised this as "a perfect album." Hyperbolic praise, to be sure. But not by much. 15). What I Deserve, Kelly Willis. 1999. The queen of alt-country ends the decade on her own terms. 16). Sweet Old World, Lucinda Williams. 1992. America's best contemporary songwriter's most thematically consistent album. 17). Tough All Over, Shelby Lynne. 1990. An album showcasing Lynne's genre-blurring tendencies a full decade before her breakthrough. 18). Train A'Comin, Steve Earle. 1995. Perennial outlaw Earle's final blistering kiss-off to Nashville. 19). Planet of Love, Jim Lauderdale. 1991. An album of the kind of quirky, offbeat songwriting typically lost on country's target audience. 20). Hearts in Armor, Trisha Yearwood. 1992. Between this and Real Live Woman, Yearwood's artistic peaks come on the heels of her divorces. 21). This Time, Dwight Yoakam. 1993. He's Raoul. 22). Hollywood Town Hall, The Jayhawks. 1992. Like The Eagles, but good. 23). Wrecking Ball, Emmylou Harris. 1995. Working with rock producer Daniel Lanois (U2, Peter Gabriel), Harris drops perhaps her most challenging, diverse record. 24). Road to Ensenada, Lyle Lovett. 1996. Post-Julia, Lovett records his most tightly-focused album and actually sounds like he's having fun. 25). Bitter Sweet, Kim Richey. 1997. Copyright issues aside, could aptly be retitled Acoustic Soul. 26). Bloomed, Richard Buckner. 1994. Former bookstore clerk redefines "literate" songwriting. 27). Did I Shave My Legs For This?, Deana Carter. 1995. A well-deserved left-field success story. 28). Fly, Dixie Chicks. 1999. Shake ya tailfeather. 29). Plastic Seat Sweat, Southern Culture on the Skids. 1997. Song titles include "Carve That Possum" and "Banana Puddin'." Infinitely smarter than you'd think. 30). Step Right Up, Todd Snider. 1996. Finding a near-perfect balance between political satire and outright fun. ------------------ And, because I'm entirely too committed to this decade-in-review thing, an added bonus. Yes, this is considerably shorter than what preceded it. The Top 10 Country Singles of the 1990s: Or, 10 Brief Arguments in Favor of File-Sharing Technology. 10). "Strawberry Wine," Deana Carter. 1995. You know you've done something right when a 5-minute waltz with a heavy steel guitar as its lead instrument somehow becomes a #1 song. Songwriter Matraca Berg is at the peak of her craft here, and Carter's sensitive phrasing established her as one of mainstream country's best vocalists. 09). "Tempted," Marty Stuart. 1991. Arguably the most innately gifted of those 1980s neo-traditionalists (Ricky Skaggs is the other contender for that title), the uber-mulleted Stuart offered up a fine Roy Orbison-ian single with the title track from his best album. 08). "If It Makes You Happy," Sheryl Crow. 1996. Pity that so many female artists can have a single cross-over from country to pop radio, but that the opposite seldom occurs. 07). "Delia's Gone," Johnny Cash. 1994. So good that even Beavis and Butthead didn't change the channel. Here, the man who so famously sang, "I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die" toys with his own larger-than-life image. 06). "Drown," Son Volt. 1995. Somewhat unfairly considered the lesser half of the Uncle Tupelo split, Son Volt developed a decidedly morose lyrical bent on standout tracks like "Drown." If nothing else, "Drown," in contrast to Wilco's comparably sunny pop compositions, brings into sharp relief the creative differences that split up Uncle Tupelo. 05). "Planet of Love," Mandy Barnett. 1996. Anyone who ever mistakenly compared LeAnn Rimes' caterwauling to the work of Patsy Cline should give Barnett a listen. Her cover of Jim Lauderdale's (#19 album, above) "Planet of Love" is an example of simply perfect vocal technique. 04). "Excuse Me While I Break My Own Heart Tonight," Whiskeytown. 1997. From the wildly uneven album Strangers Almanac, "Excuse Me..," accolades from Sir Elton John notwithstanding, still ranks as the absolute pinnacle of Ryan Adams' career thus far. 03). "Those Words We Said," Kim Richey. 1995. That a song this flawlessly executed would fail to crack radio's Top 50 simply because it lacks a certain... how to put this?... twang speaks to everything that's wrong with country radio. Richey is most widely-acclaimed for her songwriting, but "Those Words We Said" showcases what a dynamic singer she is, as well. 02). "Neon Moon," Brooks and Dunn. 1991. Yes, they're singly responsible for the mid-90s line-dancing craze. But before "Boot Scootin' Boogie" reduced them to a career of deplorable honky-tonk anthems, Brooks and Dunn managed to release the decade's purest country ballad. And Ronnie Dunn is possibly the best male vocalist signed to a major label in Nashville. 01). "Maybe It Was Memphis," Pam Tillis. 1991. Unconvinced that country music can, at its best, claim intelligence as one of its virtues? How else explain that a song-- even one so perfectly produced and powerfully delivered as this one-- that name-checks both William Faulkner and Tennessee Williams was a #1 radio hit? So, there we go. One bitter southern boy's take on an entire decade of a genre hellbent on devouring itself whole. I still intend to review worthy country albums, but I'm just tired of complaining about an industry that largely marginalizes the music I respect in favor of faceless, interchangeable products, then has the audacity to wonder why music journalists continually gripe about those products' lack of artistic mettle. I repeat myself enough as is.  |
| Read all comments (38)|Write your own comment |
