When I was young, I stayed at my grandmother's house (which is now my house) most weekends. I don't remember much about what I did (other than read comic books) while I was there, but my most vivid memories recall Saturday mornings. I'd wake up and walk into the kitchen. Maw and (my aunt) Bernice would be sitting at the table drinking buttermilk, and when they'd see me approach, one or the other would, without fail, begin making me sugar biscuits. I'd sit down at the table in the spot vacated by whoever was readying my breakfast, and I'd stare at the old, rustic gas heater with the ornate grill, my grandfather's socks resting atop, the amber glow transfixing my eyes, allowing me the comfort of slowly warming up to the day. A small radio (which now sits in my attic) rested on the counter near the heater, and my aunt always kept it atuned to WOKK, the country station out of Meridian.
The country songs that station played in the mid '70s differ greatly in style from today's Music Row records, though the two eras of country music share one similarity: the homogenity of production--the Nashville Sound. Thirty years ago, the Nashville Sound was Countrypolitan, a loping blend of steel guitar; lush strings; rim clicks; prominent fiddles; mellifluous voices; and lyrics either melancholy, inspirational, or playfully, eye-winking, garsh-m'am flirtacious (verging on bawdy, but never quite crossing over). Almost every single song those radio stations played used that exact same style (the Outlaw Movement records were played with much less regularity), as country music has almost been as resistant (almost hostily at times) to change as has the blues. Heard one country song, heard 'em all, right? All country music sounds the same, right? Well, there's some truth in those axioms (much more in the latter than in the former), but that doesn't mean that mainstream country music is inherently bereft of creativity; one can still create lasting works of art (be it music, or painting, or writing, etc...) using a tried-and-true template. I mean, Da Vinci still used a simple seated posture and oils to create his masterpiece, right? It's (often) what's created within that framework that leads to art; breaking the mold is not a necessity.
In "Change of Heart," Teddy Thompson (son of the innovative and influential Celtic/folk/rock guitarist/singer/songwriter--and former Fairport Convention member/founder--Richard Thompson...but more on him later up the countdown) doesn't break the mold; in fact, he adheres to it strictly. The younger Thompson uses the Countrypolitan style and all its traditional elements to elegantly heartbreaking effect. The record's arrangement and production (by Thompson himself) are clean and crisp, but not too slick; graceful, not glossy. At first listen, the production seems spare, yet a closer listen reveals several instruments (bass, drums, acoustic guitar, steel guitar, mandolin, and a string section) used concurrently; however, Thompson knows how to smoothly segue from one set of instruments to the other, one beginning just as the other fades, overlapping to create a courtly sway.
Thompson's tenor is as wistfully lucid as his production, recalling the easy grace of Ray Price. Moreover, the entire record sounds like a Ray Price number, not just the voice and production, but the classic song structure as well, which makes sense, as the song was orginally written for the Everly Brothers by husband-and-wife songwriting team Boudleaux & Felice Bryant, who penned much of the Everly Brothers' top hits (as well as clogging classic "Rocky Top"). Thompson's version tops Phil & Don's, as he slows down the tempo a bit and gives the music (and his vocals) space to breathe, allowing it to seep down the soul like buttermilk down the throat on a cold, sugar-biscuit, Saturday morning and warm the body like socks to a flame.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment