Garth Brooks
"Driftin' Away"
(excerpt)
Garth Brooks
"Right Now"
(excerpt)
(Files require RealPlayer)
Garth Brooks has funny ideas of what rockers are supposed to be like, which is just fine; rockers have had funny ideas about country singers for ages. On Nashville Skyline, Bob Dylan thought singing country was as simple as being articulate. On Reckoning, R.E.M. thought it was a matter of guitar jangle and muttered vocals. On No Depression, Uncle Tupelo figured punky guitars would accentuate a twang, and on Almost Blue, Elvis Costello was thinking ... well, it's still hard to figure what he was thinking on that record. On In the Life of Chris Gaines, Brooks devises a fake rock 'n' roll persona (Gaines) and biography, complete with plane wrecks and Grammys. He gets one thing right about rock stardom -- he's mastered the publicity stunt.
If any mainstream country singer could pull this off, it's Brooks, whose biggest songs have always had a sense of drama to them anyway -- vis-a-vis "The Thunder Rolls" and "Standing Outside the Fire." Kiss booster that he is, Brooks also has a bit of rock in him. Not to mention a healthy sense of ego, given his we-are-the-world belief that a song can change things ("We Shall Be Free"). And certainly he has enough clout (read: money) at this point to take a calculated risk. But what's surprising, and ultimately disappointing, about In the Life of Chris Gaines -- purportedly a greatest-hits set -- is just how limited the risks are. If the made-up bio presents him as an Australian-born rock 'n' roll wild man, musically Gaines sounds like James Taylor in a frisky mood. While the song credits cite collaborators with Gaines, "Driftin' Away" and the single "Lost in You" are pure Babyface (co-producer of the upcoming movie based on the Gaines character), all finger snaps and tasteful acoustic guitar and love sweet love. The record's ballad-heavy, an opportunity for Brooks to show off a falsetto he doesn't get to use otherwise, and nicely processed by producer Don Was.
But there's precious little rock, excepting "Cry," a hidden track (très rock, that) that's a "Penny Lane" knockoff, and the funk-lite of "Way of the Girl" and "Main Street," which have beats, albeit none one would dare call the songs visceral. And for social conscience, there's "Right Now," which staples together the Youngbloods' "Get Together" and Cheryl Wheeler's talking-folk anti-gun rant "If It Were Up to Me," a hit in adult-contemporary circles post-Columbine -- except that Brooks excises the anti-gun parts. That's calculated risk for you. Now that Brooks has rock 'n' roll out of his system, there's nothing left for him to do except what many bored and ambitious rock stars eventually do: go country.
