It's considered rare for a band to win a CMT award, perform at Austin City Limits and appear in an independent film about transsexuals, but that's just a little insight into an unorthodox band in a genre defined by tradition.
Last Tuesday, Nashville-based group Old Crow Medicine Show released its fourth studio album, "Tennessee Pusher". After releasing its self-titled "O.C.M.S." (2004) and "Big Iron World" (2006) under producer David Rawlings (who has worked with the likes of Gillian Welch, Bright Eyes and Ryan Adams), the band opted for esteemed producer Don Was (Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, Elton John) to stir up its latest down-home concoction.
The lyrical versatility in the bluegrass album, "Tennessee Pusher" is unparalleled. Redefining grassroots music, the already popular band has taken a new-age platform - alt country, grungegrass, Americana, pick your blasphemy - and transformed its poignancy across the board.
At first listen, and even first glance, it might appear to be another glorification of drug use and late night partying (see "Cocaine Habit" off Big Iron World). You might even have fun with the fast-paced drug trafficking tell-all "Alabama High-Test" or the advice in tracks like "Methamphetamine" ("Just find a crooked cop ... I'd rather sell him a line than be dieing in the coal yard"). With such fantastically devious references, notoriously popular among young listeners, OCMS still maintains their grassroots nostalgia with catchy banjo strums, fiddle strains and old-time harmonica tunes Neil Young would appreciate.
So how can a group manage its beyond-ruffian image with such benevolent comparisons?
But despite its toe-tappin' outlaw indulgence, the somber and desolate mood of the album's more topical songs seems to give it some grounding. The social round table is nothing new to OCMS. Their song "Big Time in the Jungle" is a somber anti-war cry about Vietnam and "who was to blame" for it all.
Similarly, in "Tennessee Pusher," the band of thirty-somethings offers 1960s-themed sentiments with "Motel in Memphis," a ballad about the assassination of Dr. King. Not forgetting the ladies, "Mary's Kitchen" comically appeals to the lusty appetite and almost comes off as pro-prostitution in its suggestions.
Almost too similar to each other, songs like "Evening Sun" and "Crazy Eyes" tell stories of tramping and remind us of the band's regard for the ruffian archetype. Each describes a lonely vagrant appreciating what he's got, but they don't give the hope we yearn for as listeners. The latter even goes as far as, "I'll be alright if I can just get high." Perhaps a bright closure to these two, the track "Lift Him Up" evokes a gospel tone with, "Let [the fallen] know that you are walking by his side."
With its backyard, 2 a.m. vocals, easy melody and support offerings similar to an Alcohol Anonymous sponsor, it sums up an album that is having fun in its moral confusion while looking for the righteous way.
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