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Single Review: Carly Pearce "Every Little Thing"

by Jonny Brick

Off on the latest round of Bobby Bones's Funny and Alone tour, Carly is the latest new hot 'girl singer' or, as they are now called, Anyone But Carrie.

It is quite horrific that Carly has entered the charts with this song and, excluding boy-girl duets (Craving You, Speak to a Girl, The Fighter) sits alongside only THREE (tres) other women singing on their own: Kelsea, Maren, RaeLynn. Carly made this point on social media. It'll change, but maybe not in Willie Nelson's lifetime.

At least Carly, on Big Machine, has bucks and Borchetta (that’s a songtitle…) behind her. The big marketing push must centre on her experience singing at Dollywood, but there’s less Dolly in here and more Crystal Gayle, a pretty and pure voice that will certainly leap out on the radio among our friends [insert least favourite act].

There are so few great female voices from the post-Shania era: Taylor obviously but she’s a writer first and a singer second, Karen and Kimberly, Hilary, Maren, Miranda (more attitude than beauty, and that IS just the voice), Angaleena and Ashley, the other Pistol Annies...Then Carrie obviously, Kelsea who is fun [editor's note: NOPE], RaeLynn who has The Voice, and now Carly. Being uncharitable, I could say Cam is on the line and wants her burning house back.

I love, as I am sure you will, the twang of the dobro (I think it’s a dobro). The song opens with a sense impression: ‘the scent that you left on the pillow, the sound of your heartbeat’. In fact, Carly remembers everything, ‘the shine, the stain’, but she has now turned her back on the guy. Then, as often happens, the last verse flips the narrative: ‘I’d die to not remember every little thing’. What a super song.

Every Little Thing fits the template of Maren Country (can I coin that?): confident, tender, beautiful (the song AND the act), traditional with lots of contemporary edge. Sounds like a hit.

7.5 out of 10

Album Review: John Moreland - Big Bad Luv

by Matthew Martin

The first thing I noticed about the latest album from John Moreland was the generally positive and upbeat tint to the album.  Where other Moreland albums burn and singe their ways into your soul, this album boogies its way in.  That isn't to say that this particular outing from John Moreland doesn't have those same gut-punch moments.  It does.  The man writes songs that are written, it seems, in the dead of night with not a lot going on- just your thoughts either haunting or taunting you.

The next thing I noticed was just how damn soulful and bluesy Big Bad Luv is.  I know that's always been there with Moreland, but on this album it's much more pronounced.  The album is such a throwback Americana album to me.  It's something that Steve Earle would have put out.  There's a hint of Full Moon Fever-era Tom Petty.  It's an album that will certainly grow as the Summer heat begins to intensify.  The laid-back bluesy songs such as "Love Is Not An Answer" or "Salisaw Blue" are perfect soundtracks to Summer.

So, the album is a damn good album.  It's a growth even if it, in reality, is a step backward for Moreland.  Sure, his last two albums were more somber in tone, but those weren't his first albums.  He's always had bands and this album is more or less a return to those earlier days.  I think that this is an artist who is happy, who is comfortable with the artist he is, and has found a group of musicians that has helped him realize his vision.

Let me get back to the positivity for a moment.  Yeah, there are some crushing lines on the album ("If we don't bleed, it don't feel like a song"), but those feelings of despair are mostly in the past and nearly every song has a moment of clarity for Moreland, acknowledging his love has more than made him happy- she's made him better.  He's a married man now, and that new truth colors his new music.

Yeah, there's a lot to think about in our pasts, but sometimes we get lucky and we have someone come along who makes those past experiences seem worth it.  Those experiences led us to this point.  And, it's not so much dwelling on those past experiences.  It's more acknowledging them.  That's always been Moreland's strength; turning a sharp, unblinking eye on those pasts and the feelings they conjure late at night.  He makes us confront what we may have been disregarding.  That's what makes us love him and his songs.

Every John Moreland album always ends up being one of my favorite albums of the year, and I don't see a way this album won't also be in my favorite albums list.  If not at the top, then damn near it.  If you've never seen the man live, he's going on an extensive tour this Summer and you should do all in your power to get out and see and support him.  The show is unreal.  It's stunning.  While you're there, or before, pick up Big Bad Luv and all the previous albums if you don't already have them.


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Big Bad Luv is available everywhere you consume music, except like, Walmart probably.

Kane Brown Fan eCards: May '17

These are actual YouTube comments from Kane Brown fans. Language warning.

Break That Cage, Chris

by Robert Dean

I remember the summer of 1994. I was 13. I was stuck in an emotional paradox of figuring myself out in this kaleidoscope of so many feelings, and so much going on internally. My grandmother had passed away and coupled with the death of Kurt Cobain. My world was on its goddamned head.

My grandmother had passed away from ovarian cancer at 54, and because we were so close, the loss shook the foundation of my being. Losing Kurt Cobain was my 9/11 – my favorite singer was gone, and it made the death of my grammie feel that much more real. To this day, I compound the two as the same loss, and both of their memories are inter-connected. Everything I saw, felt, and experienced was internalized, processed through a childhood rage that didn’t manifest in ways that were destructive, but bled out through what I consumed.

I’d already been a kid into rock and roll, metal, grunge, punk – but, because no other music captured that spirit, the tangibility for emotion, there was no going back. The sound of a guitar cranked to the ceiling with booming drums and a singer wailing their hearts out became the lynchpin to how my emotional process.

At 35, losing Chris Cornell hurts because he’s a mile-marker for that time, for my generation. We had front row seats to his rise. We watched the band become a part of the lexicon. Losing some of the other incredible artists of our lives hurts in their own, signature ways. We process death with a sense of ownership in relationship to our lives and personal experience with that person. Soundgarden’s music was a part of my childhood and remains a part of my culpability as a growing human. There’s poetry in those phrases – they stick with you, they imprint the bones with an aloof suffering. It’s not on purpose. It’s just symptomatic of the generation. There’s always a little tinge of suffering for the Gen – X that’s inescapable, no matter how happy someone may be.

Losing Chris Cornell feels odd. We didn’t expect his death. Losing Layne from Alice in Chains or Scott Weiland from Stone Temple Pilots was sadly not surprising. We wanted them to get better, to regain their forms as idols and icons. But, that would never come to pass.

We mourn him because he was someone we were excited was back with Soundgarden, keeping the flame of rock and roll alive. Despite being elder statesmen in the game, they’re a meat and potatoes band that everyone can carry in their pocket as uniquely “theirs.” Losing Cornell is another showcase of mortality, but also that when our icons die, the feeling like you lost a page of your personal narrative is just too real. For a lot of us, we include the songs we love as psychological footnotes in our greater story. Soundgarden carries that weight for me.

Soundgarden was and is different. They’re a band who crossed the lines of so many styles and categories. Those riffs are powerhouse, sludgy masterpieces. From the vocal range to the destructive, bombastic drums, or the in the shadows, but totally amazing bass playing, Soundgarden was a band of pure players. They’d dabble in metal here, or define a notion of grunge, and I may be mistaken, but I think one song might have some banjo.

There’s an inescapable presence to their music. It’s timeless, and kids will always be into them.

One memory though, it sticks out anytime I think of Soundgarden. I remember they’d dropped Superunknown and the world was at their feet in the wave of Black Hole Sun. While I saved my pennies to buy a cassette, some of my friends weren’t so keen. I remember one of the first experiences in diversity was connecting with a Mexican friend because his world was hip hop and mine was rock and roll. We had the cultural exchange of him showing me Warren G and Nate Dogg’s Regulators and me showing him Soundgarden.

It seems small, but I remember that time of innocence where things like the music you liked didn’t define your friendship, like so many do. I’m a nerd. I obsess about music, about records, about every aspect of the artform. I connect with people who feel the same.

In this memory, the exchange was pure. We took something from one another and accepted it. We defined that summer by trading my grunge or punk or metal, for hip hop. I now liked Snoop Dog or Cypress Hill, and he now liked Metallica or Nirvana.

But, it was Soundgarden that opened that door. I grew as a person because of one song and one summer. It may seem insignificant for most, but I like to remember those pure moments, the ones that exist on the axis of absolute joy and now, so many years later, I still do.

Thanks for that time in my life Chris. See you on the flip side.