Review Summary: An archetypal country pop album
Barbara Mandrell was one of country music's most seminal entertainers in the late 20th century. Though she sometimes gets the short end of the stick when discussing the pillars of the genre in the 1970s and 80s, her influence and impact is ostensible and hard to overstate. She's one of only two women to win the CMA Award for Entertainer of the Year twice. Her 1979 album
Just for the Record, despite having achieved only minimal commercial prestige upon release, is a perfect exemplar of her vocal powers.
Before the arena rock stylings and relentless production found from artists like Keith Urban, Rascal Flatts and Carrie Underwood, no one mastered country pop as an artistic vision and chart format like Barbara Mandrell. The opening cut "Fooled by a Feeling" glides in on bouncy keys, shimmery guitars and fleeting synth washes. Mandrell, something of a pleading romantic, laments that she's been taken in by her man's advances, that she expected their physical closeness to facilitate a deeper emotional transference between them. "You whispered 'I love you' all through the night. You made love so easy to believe," she reluctantly admits. Following that up the stirring ballad "Years." Here, Barbara finds herself still yearning for a muse who left her behind a long time ago. What makes this one so brilliant is that even Mandrell's most resounding and sonorous vocals don't undo the song's intimacy. "I still see your face like it was yesterday," she plainly but
purposefully proclaims. Backed by sporadic string arrangements, she vows to "leave the hall light on" as the stanza continues. "Years of hanging on to dreams already gone, years of wishing you were here," she cries out. This is honestly one of the best country music songs of
all time and deserves so much more praise than it's gotten.
"My Love Can Do No Wrong" is much sunnier than its predecessors. Subtle percussion paves the way as Mandrell now slips into the role of a woman who's found the perfect lover. There's almost a playfulness at work ("He's soft like a baby"), but nothing to suggest she doesn't mean every word. "If you could see my baby through my eyes, you'd see the one who hung the moon and the sky," she sweetly rejoices. Her R&B-esque runs on the chorus are a treat as well. On "She's Out There Dancin' Alone," Barbara weaves a tale from a distance of a woman waiting to be swept off her feet, but isn't concerned with those who might judge her for having enough fun for two people. As Nashville icon Charlie McCoy fills in the final chorus with his signature harmonica playing, Barbara reveals she's the protagonist of this contemporary fairy tale. Her ability to poke fun at herself underscores her wisdom and clarity.
As we trek forward, Barbara gets back at a physically abusive ex on "Using Him To Get To You." The song isn't
all about revenge or score settling, so much as it is about the unintended consequence of falling for the rebound. "He got to me," she simply states. "Love Takes A Long Time To Die," meanwhile, is our bookend closer; this one illustrates the paradox of being unable to just turn off your emotional connection to someone like a light. "It's not over when you stop crying," Mandrell cautions. Though the track is three minutes and change, it doesn't reach a crescendo its seemingly building towards and ends rather abruptly.
Though Mandrell toys with a wide berth of ideas and emotions, and there's next to no rhyme or reason to how the album plays out thematically, it's still a well produced and beautifully performed body of work. I'd say the portents of this album are early versions of country pop, with synthpop-esque and adult contemporary stylings. It wasn't a game changing album. But it's pretty damn close to being a flawless masterpiece, and its both highlighted by a few moments of absolute perfection, and authored by one of country music's most capable and esteemed voices. It's steamy, neon-tinged and easy on the ears.
Just for the Record is a criminally underappreciated and archetypal country pop album.
