Sex and Gasoline is Rodney Crowell's first record in three years, where he goes further inside but pulls out accessible and jagged observations on the conflicting poles in what it means to be a conscious human being who struggles with unconscious urges. In these songs he also investigates what it means to be a man who tries -- and fails a lot -- to empathize with and respect women in a culture that, whether it admits it or not, hates them. Produced by Joe Henry and performed by his own nearly ubiquitous sound-painting crew of drummer Jay Belleros, bassist David Pilch, keyboardist Patrick Warren, pedal steel, mandolin, and dobro master Greg Leisz, and guitar boss Doyle Bramhall III, this is Crowell at his most direct and dense: he channels many other songwriters, but as always he remains completely his own man. The title track opens the set with a mutant acoustic blues; it works with a culture-jamming sense of poetry, with images as angry as Steve Earle's (without the autodidacticism) yet as dense and raggedly elegant as Bob Dylan's. Henry's killer band adorns Crowell's blur of images with a strident yet warm piano, a mandolin, strummed layers of acoustic guitar, and a throbbing upright bassline walking the snare toward his indictment of how we view women, what we expect of them, and an exhortation to admit it. This is underscored on the ballad "Moving Work of Art," where Crowell implicates himself as one who objectifies women despite his intentions -- that he can use the language employed here points to his guilt. He tells a story, but uses the most poignant images to offer its truth -- he doesn't expect you to take his word for it (even when he flips the coin and shines a light on those who understand this objectification but seek it for personal gain). The fat, warm bassline, fingerpicked guitars, and pedal steel offer an instrumental mix that invokes reverie, a look through the mirrored glass darkly. Rounding out this amazing consecutive trio is "The Rise and Fall of Intelligent Design." Pulsing with fingerpicked steel, shuffling chunky acoustics, soft toms, and a blanketed bass drum, we get this: "If I could have just one wish/Maybe for an hour/I'd want to be a woman/And feel that phantom power/Maybe I'd want to stick around for awhile/Until my heart got broke/Maybe then I could find out if I'm a half decent man/Or if I'm just a joke..." There are less topical offerings here as well, the duet with Henry on the stunning "I've Done Everything I Can," populated by two protagonists on complementary sides of a conversation on regret, grief, and the difficulty in starting over after surrendering to loss. Henry's delivery is philosophical and empathic; Crowell's is bewildered and broken, but resilient. Conversely, "Funky and the Farm Boy," is a swaggering, strutting, good-time blues groove about sexual obsession, and the band gets to cut loose a bit, thanks to Bramhall's guitars and backing vocalists Nikki Harris and Sister Jean McLain. Clocking in at just under 50 minutes, Sex and Gasoline is the record Crowell's been striving for since Houston Kid in 2001. The wisdom, humor, and literate, biting world view, is all balanced with the wisdom of tenderness, and a poetic sense of the heart's own aspirations and disappointments. With Sex and Gasoline Crowell makes emotions almost visible -- how many songwriters can achieve that? ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
Rodney Crowell's The Outsider is a natural extension of his last two offerings: The Houston Kid and Fate's Right Hand. Where The Houston Kid was Crowell's autobiographical confessional and Fate's Right Hand was deeply philosophical and influenced by everything from Zen to the working through of anger, The Outsider digs deep into social and political consciousness. The album rocks harder than any Crowell record in the past, as evidenced by "Don't Get Me Started," which is an anti-war anthem that takes aim at the war in Iraq. Immediately following is "The Obscenity Prayer," written from the point of view of a hypocritical right-wing pleasure seeker whose positions are not only indefensible, they are, at worst, obscene. Conversely, the Zen-like advice in "Dancin' Circles Round the Sun" is a tough country rocker with killer rockabilly guitar lines by Stewart Smith and Hammond B3 grooves by John Hobbs. It is a testament to personal responsibility and awakening that exhorts and admonishes but never preaches. There is great tenderness here, as well, such as in the acoustically driven "Ignorance Is the Enemy," with its prayer-like cadence and spoken-word vocals by Emmylou Harris and John Prine. "Glasgow Girl" is as fine a country-rock love song as has been written in recent years. The album closes with "We Can't Turn Back Now," a rousing call for acceptance, forbearance, and perseverance, whose guitars and big bassline is graced by a stellar fiddle line and a beautifully delicate tin whistle winding through it all. Crowell -- still writing hits for "Hot 100" country artists to help finance and keep creative control of his recordings -- has matured into an artist who has the of hard-won experience that displays itself as poetically wrought wisdom. His work is full of humor, light, poignancy, and killer hooks. He's now written and recorded three big topic records, all of which surpass his early work. The only thing missing here now is a record on the other big topic: Love. Perhaps that's coming. Until then, The Outsider is the Rodney Crowell recording to listen to, debate with, and be inspired by. ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
Fate's Right Hand is one of those albums that couldn't have been written or recorded at any other time in Rodney Crowell's career. Two years after his monumentally acclaimed The Houston Kid, Crowell has laid out his autobiography in sight and sound. His track record of hits -- written for himself as well as for other artists -- could have just gone on untarnished. But Fate's Right Hand is the flip side of The Houston Kid. Whereas the latter album is about the past, the former is about the present, not only in the artist's life, but in the lives of those around him, and in the question of life itself: why is it worth living and how can suffering be alleviated? While many will think this is blasphemy, Fate's Right Hand is the finest record Crowell has issued since Diamonds & Dirt and may turn out to be the finest of his entire career -- and that's saying a lot. Crowell and Pete Coleman produced this outing and enlisted the help of friends old and new: Steuart Smith, Pat Buchanan, Michael Rhodes, Gillian Welch, David Rawlings, Richard Bennett, Béla Fleck, Carl Jackson, Marcia Ramirez, Charlie McCoy, Kim Richey, and Will Kimbrough, to name a few. Crowell wrote the entire record himself; he digs deep for the ugly stuff in order to uncover what shines beneath it. The opener, "Still Learning How to Fly", is a song about living in the moment because the moment is all you have.Crowell claims he wrote it based on conversations he had with a friend dying of terminal cancer; about what comes in the afterlife. With dobros, electric guitars, and acoustic six-strings wrapping around each other in a big, airy mix painted with a Hammond B-3, it is one of Crowell's transcendent moments. Remember Diamonds & Dirt? Yeah -- like that. The title track ushers itself in around some warm, rounded bass tones, an organ, and maracas, as Crowell begins a series of seemingly unrelated non sequiturs. It's a pissed-off song that is as close to punk as Crowell will ever write. The notion of the transcendent is again present as it drenches Fleck's banjo riff in "Earthbound." Crowell makes the argument for living day-to-day in a world full of death and cynicism: where surrender is not an option until its time. All of this points to the most naked song Crowell has ever written: "Time to Go Inward," with both spoken word and sung refrains over fingerpicked acoustic guitars and electric dobros. It's a folk song about seeing; a country song about acceptance; a human song about the fear of what you might find when you look so deeply inside yourself. "The Man in Me" is about the negativity found there. It's a country-rock song that looks deeply into the mirror, doesn't like what it sees, and can't escape. Crowell penned "Preaching to the Choir" as an answer to "Time to Go Inward," but it's another mirror he sees: it's a bluesy rock tune touched by country gospel and bluegrass, and it smokes. There are a couple of other thoughtful moments here, cuts where Crowell is trying to make sense rather than preach -- which is what this album is all about: making sense of things rather than preaching about them. But it all comes to a head in "This Too Will Pass," a country song with a rockabilly shuffle that expresses the wisdom of those who believe and practice what Buddhism's Four Noble Truths and the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous teach (no claim is made or intended for Crowell being part of either): impermanence, suffering, and joy -- and everything in between -- are merely the stages of cyclical existence. Happiness is possible. There is a way out, but you have it discover it for yourself. ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
At least impressionistically, this is a soundtrack to a documentary about the life of Rodney Crowell, who grew up in East Houston (the same neighborhood as the Ghetto Boys, but 25 years earlier), a rough and rumble neighborhood lying in the shadows of downtown Houston. It also happens to be the finest record Crowell has recorded since Diamonds & Dirt, and it's better than that one by a mile. After being tossed off by the major labels, it took a big-time indie like Sugar Hill -- a label founded to showcase bluegrass artists (but also home to many fine singer/songwriters including Crowell's running mate and inspiration Guy Clark) -- to release The Houston Kid. The album comes off as a song cycle; first, in "Telephone Road," the atmosphere is painted onto a backdrop. Showcasing the dark underbelly's finest sights, smells, sounds, and tastes, it's a country shuffle that moves ahead straightforwardly offering the stage for the creation of a rounder. On "The Rock of My Soul," Crowell tells all about the boy growing up in such circumstances. Fact and fiction are interwoven in a moving narrative that has plenty of twang and punch. Steel guitars and acoustic Fenders carry the melody along until the story reaches its nadir. "Why Don't We Talk About It" is Crowell's "accept me as I am because this is the real me" narrative. The band sounds like Rockpile playing country music. Truly, the backing vocals and the mix could be pure Dave Edmunds and Nick Lowe. Crowell has always hidden his brashness under a sheen of Nashville style, which is why his songs always sounded truer coming out of other people's mouths. But that's not the case here. It feels raw and immediate, full of something he's never revealed before. "I Wish It Would Rain" is a folk/country song so down and out that it could have been written by deceased writers Townes Van Zandt or Blaze Foley (both Texans and both friends of Crowell). It's a confessional. There is no braggadocio, no posturing. It's a song of regret but not remorse. The guitars are spare, just enough of a skeleton to hang the lyric on, and as he spills his tale of woe, the listener becomes as haunted as the protagonist is hunted. The craziest moment is Crowell's rewiring of Johnny Cash's "I Walk the Line." With an electric country-blues shuffle (à la Merle Haggard), Crowell tells the story of how he first heard the song, and then Cash himself comes in on a completely rewritten narrative and chorus! Cash reportedly told Crowell he had a lot of nerve to rewrite his classic song, to which Crowell brazenly replied, "Yes sir." Though the record closes two songs later, "Banks of the Old Bandera" is where it could have -- and maybe should have -- the first song Crowell ever wrote. Author Tom Robbins told him he should write a bunch more songs and tour them in art galleries! Thank God he didn't. The Houston Kid offers listeners Rodney Crowell the performer in a way they've never heard before; the songwriter who has been been missing in Nashville for quite some time is back. ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
Crowell tries to stretch out a bit too much on Jewel of the South, but it remains a fine album, nonetheless. Featuring guest performances by the Mavericks' Raul Malo, Bela Fleck, Vince Gill, Kim Richey, and Billy Joe Walker Jr. among others, the album tries to do too many thing, but it does enough of them well enough to make it an entertaining listen. ~ Thom Owens, All Music Guide
So much of Crowell's best work has been co-produced by MCA executive Tony Brown, it seemed inevitable he would wind up at MCA himself. This, his first release for his new label, emphasizes Crowell, the thoughtful songwriter, over Crowell the neo-honky tonk bandleader. It's a fair trade, but requires repeat listening to fully appreciate. ~ Dan Cooper, All Music Guide
After the commercial falloff of Keys to the Highway, Rodney Crowell took two and a half years crafting his seventh album, Life Is Messy, in the interim going through a divorce from his wife, Rosanne Cash. The most notable characteristic of Life Is Messy was that it marked a complete return to his original style. With nary a steel guitar or fiddle to be heard, and featuring top pop session musicians as well as a slew of pop guest stars (Linda Ronstadt, Don Henley, Steve Winwood, etc.), Life Is Messy wasn't really a country record at all. A couple of songs had a country-rock, honky tonk feel, but the dominant musical style was a pastiche of late-'50s/early-'60s pop. The title song was a somewhat abstract meditation on romantic discord and career disappointment that was followed by the equally despairing "I Hardly Know How to Be Myself," which actually had been co-written with Cash. These songs sounded so pained and deeply felt that some of the more uptempo songs came off as trivial, even if they made for a change of pace. But other songs came up to their standard without being quite so low in mood. "Alone But Not Alone" found the singer beginning to find his way, and "It's Not for Me to Judge" revealed the noncommittal feelings one can have when emotional certainties are uprooted. Taken together, the songs on Life Is Messy made for a fascinating portrait of an artist at a personal and professional crossroad -- but it didn't have much to do with commercial country music circa 1992, which is what it was primarily marketed as. After a few months, Columbia Records pulled the plug on promotion and parted ways with Crowell, who moved on to MCA Records. ~ William Ruhlmann, All Music Guide
The success of Rodney Crowell's Diamonds & Dirt was a surprise, if only because Crowell had been making records for ten years with only modest sales. It was more country-oriented and less challenging than his previous recordings, but the album threw off a record-setting five number one country hits while remaining in the charts more than two years. Keys to the Highway, therefore, should have consolidated Crowell's status as a major country star; instead, it was a commercial disappointment from which he did not recover. Though Crowell had bowed to a traditional approach somewhat on Diamonds & Dirt, he remained essentially a stylist as interested in folk, rock, and R&B as he was in country. At the same time, emboldened by his success, Crowell apparently wanted to try to recover some of his critical standing, and he also seems to have been influenced by the death of his father to be true to himself. Momentum pushed the leadoff single, the slow, thoughtful folk-rock ballad "Many a Long and Lonesome Highway," into the country Top Five, but it was not what fans of Diamonds & Dirt were expecting, and despite the neo-Nashville sound of second single "If Looks Could Kill," which reached the country Top Ten, Keys to the Highway failed to make the country Top Ten or go gold. It's a much better album than that history suggests, however, carefully balanced between exercises in early rock & roll and rockabilly, country-soul, mainstream '60s-style rock, and even dyed-in-the-wool country. Keys to the Highway didn't have the songwriting depth of Crowell's early albums, but it was more substantial and more varied than Diamonds & Dirt, and if handled well, it might have been even more successful. Instead, it remains an album yet to be really discovered. ~ William Ruhlmann, All Music Guide
Of the four records Rodney Crowell cut under his name before 1988's Diamonds & Dirt, three of them are still regarded as classics of the progressive country genre. The Houston native was well established as a songwriter (Emmylou Harris cut a slew of Crowell songs on her first five records), producer, and performer. Along with then-wife Rosanne Cash, he brought elements of new wave and early rock & roll into the genre, giving it a much needed kick in the rear. But as good as those albums were, Diamonds & Dirt put him on the map for good. In the 21st century, Crowell makes his living primarily as a hit songwriter, though he still records independently, cutting one critically acclaimed album after another. Co-produced by Crowell and Tony Brown, Diamonds & Dirt yielded five chart-topping singles, including "It's Such a Small World," a duet with Cash (who provided backing vocals throughout the set); a burning rockabilly version of pal Guy Clark's "She's Crazy for Leavin'"; the switchblade swagger of "Crazy Baby" (which sounds like Dave Edmunds and Nick Lowe backing Jerry Lee Lewis); and the stellar ballad "After All This Time." That said, there is something else afoot here, too. A listen to "I Know You're Married" reveals that Crowell was a real fan of the early Beatles, and, on "I Didn't Know That I Could Lose You," of Roy Orbison. The only other cover on the set is a stellar swaggering honky tonk cum pub rock version of Harlan Howard's "Above and Beyond (The Call of Love)," which could have been recorded by England's Brinsley Schwarz. The remastered Legacy version of the album also includes three previously unreleased demos from the Diamonds & Dirt sessions and a wonderfully intimate set of liner notes. For contemporary country fans, this disc is such an important part of the development of modern music that it has virtually influenced everything that's come after it, making it impossible to ignore. ~ Thom Jurek, All Music Guide
With Street Language Rodney Crowell created an awkward country-soul hybrid. Working with organist Booker T. Jones, Billy Joe Walker, and John Hiatt -- who he also covers -- Crowell doesn't quite realize his concept. Although the songs are usually quite good, the sound of the record is forced and hamfisted. At the very least, the album suggested that Crowell was at his best when he was at his most direct. And he became direct on his next album, Diamonds & Dirt. ~ Thom Owens, All Music Guide