| ||Ratings (5)
||Give your Rating|
|3.5 great||TheManMachine | August 8th 17|
She'll never be as darling as Kacey Musgraves or the perfumy-n-cosmetic gal Mama wanted -- her thankfully-thoughtful country has rock appeal first and pop appeal second albeit compels in both, rebel status patent but striving to be more reasonable. Not to say tude has therefore subsided. Opens with a pair of what could be grim Grease b-sides, then out roll those lingeringly clear-cut well-worded matters at hand: a preacher's perishment at the hands of his suspiciously wooed wife, a phony priss's blessing resulting in a nice hard smack, the blues via merch slingin' and tour travelin', the confinement+chagrin of domesticity on the particularly phenomenal title track, a vehement hootenanny called "Country" that all at once is parodic and rowdy and fit for sports arenas and has a Yelawolf rap that shouts out Sturgill Simpson. Closest you'll get to religion is being chock full-a bourbon-n-birr and opening that motel's bedside drawer. "Suck on that", indeed.
|2.5 average||jtswope | November 13th 17|
|4.0 excellent||Brandon | October 10th 17|
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