13) Caroline Herring - Camilla
Steel-guitar drenched, socially conscious country-folk doesn't get much better than this, and Herring's voice is transcendent.
12) Kasey Chambers and Shane Nicholson - Wreck & Ruin
Heavy on banjo, fiddle, and excellent songwriting, this married Australian duo is more in touch with American country music than just about anything you'll hear on mainstream country radio.
The Turtles ease up on the ferocity (though its still here) and focus on great songwriting, creating modern, melancholic folk-bluegrass that is timeless.
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Bluegrass that has it's foot planted solidly in tradition but is nowhere close to being shackled by it, this album from the group that has a "side job" as Steve Martin's touring band is full of stunning musical precision and modern songwriting craft, and isn't afraid to take a few risks along the way.
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The only thing one can say about this album is that it's neo-traditional songwriting and sound at its very best; in other words, it's pure Alan Jackson, classic and enjoyable as ever.
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This group is otherworldly when it comes to playing their instruments (you can most appreciate this with an excellent pair of headphones), and mandolin virtuoso Chris Thile's songwriting only gets better.
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The Avetts are ones to surprise with every album, smartly reigning in the piano-drenced anthemic quality of I and Love and You and trading it for what they do best: acoustic country-folk with excellent lyricism and pop sensibilities.
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Chris Knight rocks out and reigns in in equal measure on his latest album, solidifying the truth that he is one of the most underrated artists and songwriters working today.
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This modern Appalachian folk album is riddled with beautiful harmonies and restrained yet skillful instrumentation, not to mention it takes balls to end an album with an instrumental and an old traditional sung acapella.
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Mayer self-reflects, gets personal lyrically, and surprisingly eases up on the guitar-solo breaks that used to color each of his songs, on this album inspired by the sounds of seventies classic rock and modern Americana. (FULL ALBUM REVIEW HERE.)
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Bingham wanted to experiment with the sounds he could get from a guitar on this album, approaching it as a kid who just discovered the instrument would, and Tomorrowland not only straight-up rocks but also contains poignant, introspective songwriting that's unsurprising to hear coming from the guy who penned "The Weary Kind."
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As good as this album is, you'd think these ladies from Texas had been playing and writing together for years upon years and not just two or three; a truly stunning achievement. (FULL ALBUM REVIEW HERE.)
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I can't imagine 2012 without this album. This is country music that takes its cues from the best of old country, bluegrass, and rock and roll. Lyrically clever and deep when it's called for, Evan Felker is a poetically-inclined songwriter with something to say, and one of the best heart-on-your-sleeve vocalists I've ever heard. Keep your eye on these genre-defying fellows.
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10) Ryan Bingham - "Too Deep Too Fill" (from the album Tomorrowland)
The final cut on Ryan Bingham's Tomorrowland album has its eyes set on love of a woman and perhaps more importantly, love of the natural world. It's a brilliant, sparsely-written and picked tune, and Bingham's voice, per usual, is a force to be reckoned with, conveying longing and weariness while sounding like he's got gravel grinding way back in his throat. He bookends lyrics about his disillusionment with people who are apathetic or downright hostile toward the notion that we should care for the natural world, which literally sustains us (And I'm going out to the forest/ I'm going to see if I can find out why/ People all around are still cutting it all down/ But I hope to be on home for suppertime), with lyrics about coming home to his woman (Oh baby, oh sweet baby/ Will you kiss these poor lips of mine/ Tell me that you love me/ and your heart is forever mine). Of course, if you were to ask Bingham why he wrote a political song or a song with an agenda, he'd tell you he was just writing about something that he profoundly cares about. And isn't that exactly what we ask of artists and songwriters? (Here is a video of Bingham talking about the cause of conservancy, and here's a great video someone made putting the song to images of the natural world.)
9) Chris Knight - "Hard Edges" (from the album Little Victories)
For a man with such a rugged voice, Chris Knight sure can write a tender song, and this might be one of the tenderest in his long catalogue of great songs. The narrator tells the story of Lisa, who's led a difficult life--mostly due to circumstance--but she's always maintained a dream deep down for something better, happier. The hand she's been dealt has made her a little rough around the edges, a far cry from her true nature. Just let the following lyrics sink in:
Lisa's in a club downtown where the neon burns 'til dawn She calls herself Tina now but she dances to the same old song Slowly spinning 'round and 'round in the smoke and the smell of rye She takes off all her clothes so they don't look in eyes Her scarlet rouge and her blue tattoos They're only painted on But underneath the dark drumbeat A ballerina dances on
The story of Lisa's is specific, but it's one we can all relate to: the innocence of childhood and the harsh realities of trying to grow up and become adults in a world that can seem stacked against us. This is Kentucky's own Chris Knight, one of America's best songwriters, at his most heartfelt and nuanced.
I can't find a YouTube version of the song, but you can listen on Spotify here. Better yet, just purchase the entire album Little Victories. It's worth it.
8) The Trishas - "Strangers" (from the album High, Wide & Handsome)
Each song on The Trishas debut LP is striking in its own way, but it was "Strangers" that struck me first. I wrote about it and the rest of the album recently on the blog:
** Truly as good as country music gets, and by that I mean that this is a
beautifully sad song. Savannah Welch takes the lead here, imbuing lyrics
like "I miss the me I used to be" and "I barely recognize myself" with a
vulnerability and sense of tragedy that brings the truth of them home,
allows them to be feelings rather than just words. It's a song about the
dark side of marriage, about being with someone for a time and then
realizing it's gotten to a point where you don't know them, they don't
know you, and you don't know you. The second verse attempts to put words
to this unexplainable disconnect: "Sometimes when the light's just
right/ It's you who's kissin' me goodnight/ When the morning comes it's
her I find instead/ Who are these strangers in our bed?" On top of that,
memories are conjured up by detailed imagery ("Wedding pictures on the
TV set") and the line that encapsulates it all ("There's nothing
stranger than being strangers"). In short, this is a song that goes on
that playlist you have of songs you listen to by yourself with a bottle. **
Just listened to the song again. Going to get that bottle now.
Check it out on Spotify here. And go ahead and purchase High, Wide & Handsome in its entirety too.
7) The Avett Brothers - "Ferbruary Seven" (from the album The Carpenter)
After the--and I hate to use this world--novelty of "Paul Newman Vs. The Demons" wore off, this became my favorite song on The Carpenter. It mixes what has made the Avetts great from the very beginning with that Rick Rubin sheen. It's about something specific that happened on the day of February 7th, but there's enough great lines to make it sweepingly profound and broadly appealing. Take the phenomenal chorus for example:
There's no fortune at the end of a road that has no end There's no returning to the spoils once you've spoiled the thought of them There's no falling back to sleep once you've wakened from the dream Now I'm rested and I'm ready I'm rested and I'm ready to begin
There's a sweet piano melody that comes in just before the music of the chorus takes those words to epic heights. "February Seven" also contains one of my favorite lines of the year:
Sooner than my fate was wrote A perfect blade, it slit my throat and beads of lust released into the air When I awoke you were standing there
It's the Avetts doing what they do best: anthemic, acoustic country-folk that's catchy as hell.
6) Great Lake Swimmers - "The Great Exhale" (from the album New Wild Everywhere)
Tony Dekker, lead singer for Great Lake Swimmers, is a poet if a singer-songwriter ever was one. His songs aren't so much stories as they are meditations on life, using images from the natural world to get his point across, bring everything back around full circle, taking in the scenery and dispensing wisdom on the wheel of life. His hushed vocals suit this song perfectly, and the harmonies sung by newest member of the band Miranda Mulholland (she's the fiery redhead) are gorgeous and haunting. This song makes death sound not only easier to come to terms with, but almost desirable (the luminous veil? I mean, come on). (Don't worry, I don't want to die, just listen to the song.) Here are some lyrics from the chorus:
And the world stops spinning when you stop spinning It sighs when you sigh when you sigh I'm coming home so leave the light on for me I'm drawing over the luminous veil And when I get in I will see you all there I'm drawing on the great exhale
5) Corb Lund - "September" (from the album Cabin Fever)
This song is so good that I already wrote about it several weeks ago. Here's the whole thing, and here's an excerpt:
** "September" plays upon the classic theme of
country-boy-pining-for-city-girl (in this case, a country girl who who
decides to become a city girl), but it contains a melancholy and a
desolation that plumbs deep below surface cliches and allows the
listener to really feel the anguish and pain buried in the narrator's
heart. He, the struggling cattle farmer staying behind, she, the woman
he loves moving to New York City to perhaps chase a long held dream. In a
way, he can't really blame her for leaving. In the quiet country "there
ain't much to do," "there ain't much glamor," and "the pace is kinda
slow," after all. But he is certain that no one in New York City could
need her as much as he does. "Stay with me through September," he begs...
...My favorite part of the song is the part without words, where Lund sings
"oooos" with an emotional heft that betrays an immense and piercing
loneliness, as if singing the very siren song of the relationship in
just those few notes. It sounds like a mix between Chris Martin's (of
Coldplay) falsetto and a modern twist on a high and lonesome yodel,
echoing in the valleys of the mountains he sings about, conjuring up the
image of a man standing by himself in a vast and wide open space.
Totally free but utterly trapped. It makes the loneliness of the
narrator more than palpable. How fitting that loneliness in real life
often leaves us struggling to express the feeling in words. **
"September" is also my favorite music video of the year.
4) Daniel Martin Moore and Joan Shelley - "First of August" (from the album Farthest Field)
"First of August" is the beautiful lead track from these two Kentuckians' album of duets, Farthest Field. I first became familiar with Daniel Martin Moore when he released a collaborative album with Ben Sollee (produced by Jim James of My Morning Jacket fame) entitled Dear Companion, which contained songs built around a theme of speaking out against mountaintop removal coal mining. My introduction to Joan Shelley, however, was this song.
It is a poetic tale of family and leaving and letting go, and its striking natural images and slow, hushed tempo lend to the song a feeling like floating on wind. The arrangement is so sparse and non-intrusive that you have to actually listen to fully appreciate it. Shelley and Moore's voices fit together as naturally as the shining sun, so much so that you'd think they were brother and sister. "First of August" is mostly sung in their restrained yet powerful and emotive harmony. Here's one of my favorite lyrics in the song, followed by a beautifully shot live video of the two performing it:
Pray you go with the sweet wind They'll be trees there that you know So careful not to harden Sure to make a letter home Down the road Where you shining Were last seen at the fork
3) Turnpike Troubadours - "Good Lord Lorrie" (from the album Goodbye Normal Street)
A number of songs from their 2012 album could have occupied this spot, but I'm too big a fan of alliteration not to go with this one. Not to mention that these guys know how to tell one hell of a story. Guided by lead singer Evan Felker's songwriting, "Good Lord Lorrie" is quite literally a song about love gone wrong ("Good Lord Lorrie, I love you, could it go more wrong?"), mostly due to outside influences. There are lyrical gems all over the place:
And I've been learnin' that believin' and the barely breakin' even It's just a part of life for you and me And I've been livin' with the loneliness It's got down in my bones, I guess It's just another phase of being free
and...
And if I ever set foot in Sevier County Well your brother said he'd break my jaw But here I stand with the dark-haired daughter of southwest Arkansas
Felker is a truly talented songwriter and vocalist, spouting out his homespun poetry at every turn, interpreting his own words with a twangy phrasing that never fails to surprise (the way he sings the word "good" in this song, with his heart seemingly breaking on his sleeve for all the world to see, is something you must hear). The rest of the members behind him layer the song with guitar, fiddle, harmonica, and drums, playing with a precision and cohesion that never once makes you doubt the notion that this is an actual band, one that was certainly my favorite musical discovery of 2012.
2) John Mayer - "Born and Raised" (from the album Born and Raised)
All year long I thought this was going to be my number one song of the year. That is until I heard what ended up becoming my number one song of the year in early December. I think this is the best song Mayer's ever written, and I've already written a considerable amount about it on this blog. Here's an excerpt:
** With the title track to his recently released album, John Mayer has
written what I contend to be his best song to date. "Born and Raised" is
somber, elegiac, melodious, hopeful, and contains some of the most
poignant lyrics I've heard this year. It is intensely personal, both for
Mayer and the listener.
There is no question why Mayer named the album after this song, as it
succinctly touches on the gamut of themes that run throughout the entire
collection of songs. These include getting older ("I cheat the light to
check my face/ It's slightly harder than last year"); losing the
childlike innocence and romanticism of dreams as you do, in fact, get
older ("I still have dreams, they're not the same/ They don't fly as
high as they used to"); and the pointless exhaustion of being somebody
you're not ("Then all at once it gets hard to take/ It gets hard to fake
what I won't be"). On this song Mayer showcases the rare ability to hit
you in the gut seemingly line after line. For the listener, that gut
punch represents the recognition of truth in the simple poetry of his
words. Perhaps even more impressive: he does it without any fancy
wordplay. **
"Born and Raised" also contains another of my favorite lines of the year:
I still got time I still got faith I call on both of my brothers I got a mom I got a dad But they do not have each other
1) The Honey Dewdrops - "Together Tied" (from the album Silver Lining)
Somehow or another I came across this band on a website or blog that was recommending duos to check out in the wake of The Civil Wars announcing their break-up (or whatever that announcement was). I listened to the album Silver Lining, The Honey Dewdrops' third, on Spotify, and as soon as those first notes of the acoustic guitar came in on track number eight, I paused what I was doing and listened. It's not often that I take to a song I've never heard before so immediately.
The Honey Dewdrops are Laura Wortman and Kagey Parrish, a married couple from Charlottesville, Virginia that play Appalachian-influenced folk music that is honestly and beautifully rendered. Both are unique vocalists on their own, and together their harmonies sound superb. While musically they may tip their hat toward the more traditional, in songs like "Together Tied" they are contemporary lyrical masters, Appalachian poets of the modern era. This is a song about home, about the strands of our memories of it that bind and bond families and people in a deeply emotional way, whether still there or not. And if you like your songs to have emotion, "Together Tied" has plenty of it. It's a song that makes you really feel, to the extent that it makes you grateful to be alive, embedded with tinges of sadness though the song (and life) may be. One of the many lyrics in the song that still floor me over and over again:
And what is home my brother? If not love and you and me If not a river between us Running restlessly
The chorus is:
Home like water Collects us by and by Reaches over distance To hold us together tied
There are no words here that you have to look up in the dictionary, but this is pure poetry that, when set to music as The Honey Dewdrops perform it, creates vivid imagery and stirs up some sort of unexplainable, profound longing in the listener. And whatever that longing may be for, it's a longing that inspires.
As if the lyrics and harmonies and all around excellent song-craftsmanship weren't enough, just try to get that guitar melody out of your head. It's stunning work that can induce a tear or two if you're not careful. I'm just saying. (The performance video of the song below is a must-watch.)
With the title track to his recently released album, John Mayer has written what I contend to be his best song to date. "Born and Raised" is somber, elegiac, melodious, hopeful, and contains some of the most poignant lyrics I've heard this year. It is intensely personal, both for Mayer and the listener.
There is no question why Mayer named the album after this song, as it succinctly touches on the gamut of themes that run throughout the entire collection of songs. These include getting older ("I cheat the light to check my face/ It's slightly harder than last year"); losing the childlike innocence and romanticism of dreams as you do, in fact, get older ("I still have dreams, they're not the same/ They don't fly as high as they used to"); and the pointless exhaustion of being somebody you're not ("Then all at once it gets hard to take/ It gets hard to fake what I won't be"). On this song Mayer showcases the rare ability to hit you in the gut seemingly line after line. For the listener, that gut punch represents the recognition of truth in the simple poetry of his words. Perhaps even more impressive: he does it without any fancy wordplay.
One such verse particularly affected me. I laughed a bit (in recognition) and got watery-eyed when I first heard it:
I still got time I still got faith I call on both of my brothers I got a mom I got a dad But they do not have each other
The devastation of that last line is what hit me like a freight train colliding with a brick wall. It's the rare instance when Mayer gets lyrically specific, referencing his parents' divorce in 2009 when he was 31 or 32 years old. It's also rare that a song touches upon parents' divorcing when the son or daughter is an adult. But if you have ever gone through that, this verse captures the aftermath and the years of confusing emotions, and puts them to song in a truly heartfelt and cathartic way.
Mayer's voice for the majority of "Born and Raised" is pure exhausted woundedness. He forces out a bit of hope on his delivery of some of the lines, but it's just enough to still keep the song grounded in reality. The narrator is still in pain, he's still hanging on, but it's no longer just barely. Harmony vocals on the track are provided by David Crosby and Graham Nash (you might have heard of a little band they were in), and the the addition of their gorgeously haunting vocals matched with Mayer's add to the melancholy while at the same time preventing the song from completely drowning in it. There is a point a little past halfway in the song when all their voices come together in a chorus of "Ahhhh, ahhhh, ahh-uh-ahh's," accentuated by the subtle sound of a harmonica. It's breathtaking in its wordless beauty, and for the hope it symbolizes.
After hearing a song like this, I don't see how a listener could sit back and call Mayer a hack. He has certainly written many other great songs in the past, and sure, all music is subjective. But even haters would have to admit that a song like "Born and Raised" showcases a songwriter at the top of his game, and they would have to respect that whether they personally like the song or not.
For my part, a song like this is inspiring, capturing how difficult life can be yet holding out hope that our best days aren't all in the past. It is a song that reminds us, no matter how bad it gets or bleak it looks, to "line on up, and take your place/ And show your face to the morning." Life is punctuated by ecstatic highs and debilitating lows, and the best music covers both ends of that spectrum and everything in between. The best songs cover it all within the same four minutes.
Rating: 10/10
For a full album review of Born and Raised,click here.
Lyrics:
Now and then I pace my place
I can't retrace how I got here
I cheat the light to check my face
It's slightly harder than last year
Then all at once it gets hard to take
It gets hard to fake what I won't be
'Cause one of these days I'll be
Born and raised
And it's such a waste to grow up lonely
I still have dreams, they're not the same
They don't fly as high as they used to
I saw my friend, he's in my head and he said
"You don't remember me, do you?"
Then all at once it gets hard to take
It gets hard to fake what I won't be
'Cause one of these days I'll be
Born and raised
And it's such a waste to grow up lonely
I still got time
I still got faith
I call on both of my brothers
I got a mom
I got a dad
But they do not have each other
So line on up, and take your place
And show your face to the morning
'Cause one of these days you'll be
Born and raised
And it all comes on without warning
Listening to John Mayer's new album, it is difficult not to be reminded of his tumultuous year in 2010, when media and public vitriol was leveled at the singer in heaps over some choice comments he made in a Playboy interview. I do not need to regurgitate what was said here, but I bring it up because the backlash he received over those comments seems to have caused him to take a few steps back in the years since; to self-reflect, as it were, at the man that he was and the man he thought he wanted to become, if he, before then, even knew. The comments made in Playboy are obviously part of the narrative of this record, as are the relationship highs and lows so well-documented in photos and in the celebrity gossip blogosphere engined by that classy lot of journalists, the paparazzi. But these storylines are never so specific as to make Born & Raised any less thematically universal. The album is a great example of an artist suffering (whether self-inflicted or not, it doesn't matter), examining his life in the context of that suffering, and producing something precise, personal, and relatable. Not to mention pretty damn good.
Perhaps where Mayer, who is known in some circles (outside the realm of teenage fangirls) for his blues/rock guitar prowess, proves most successful on Born and Raised is in his ability to dial it down, not just a little bit, but almost completely. The electric guitar licks are subtle throughout the record, with nary a guitar solo to be found. It's made clear that the central focus here is the songwriting, which is some of the best Mayer has ever done. More mature than Room For Squares, more substantial than Battle Studies, and more soulful than any studio album he's ever recorded, Continuum included, Born and Raised is Mayer facing the sometimes harsh realities of growing and growing up, and creating something truly memorable.
Much of the hype that surrounded this album upon release had to do with the singer's adoption of a more country and americana influence, which is certainly present, what with plenty of steel guitar and a plethora of promo pictures of Mayer in a cowboy hat. (An aside: I think once you've donned the cowboy hat, you're officially telling people that you could give a shit less about naysayers anymore, as the hat will surely only intensify any naysayer hatred.) But along with country and americana, this Mayer also resembles the classic rock sound of the 70s. The singer produced the album along with the help of Don Was, the man who was at the helm of the glorious--some would say glorious failure--that was In the Life of Chris Gaines, Garth Brooks' failed attempt to take on an edgy pop/rock alter ego. With Was' help Mayer transitions into this new sound with natural ease. And Was' resume is actually rather impressive. He has worked with a wide array of
artists including Bob Dylan, Bob Seger, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings,
Travis Tritt, Hootie and the Blowfish, Barenaked Ladies, Old Crow Medicine Show, and Amos
Lee, to name only a very few. And his experience shows.
"Queen of California" starts things off breezily, and is catchy as hell. It's reminiscent of his groovier, bluesier work, but right here in song number one is the sweet sound of the pedal steel guitar, signaling to the listener that we may be in for something a little different. Mayer himself is also looking for a fresh start: "Goodbye cold/ goodbye rain/ goodbye sorrow/ goodbye shame." The song contains references to both Neil Young and Joni Mitchell, whose past artistic output seems to have been heavily on Mayer's mind during the recording process. Following the first track is "The Age of Worry," which sounds like an ancient Irish jig, what with it's cascading rhythms and immense singalong potential. One can picture a group of drunks hoisting up their pints and singing loudly in an attempt to defy that pesky, debilitating beast--worry--that can at times get the best of all of us. Thematically, the song is fairly standard but the lyrics do reach poetic heights in several lines ("Don't be scared to walk alone/ don't be scared to like it" and "Dream your dreams but don't pretend/ make friends with what you are").
That brings us to "Shadow Days," the first single released from Born and Raised. It's a song that has Mayer directly addressing his experiences of the last few years. About midway through he sings, "Well it sucks to be honest/ and it hurts to be real," but that is exactly what Mayer is striving for on this album, and this song in particular: authenticity. When he sings "I'm a good man with a good heart" it doesn't come off as boasting but rather as a realization arrived at after some genuine self-reflection. He has indeed said and done some asshole-ish things in the past, but honestly, who can cast the first stone in this regard? "Shadow Days" is also a perfect example of what many songs on the album do so well; that is, address specific moments in Mayer's life while still maintaining their universal appeal. It seems what he wants most is not to redeem himself in the eyes of the public (that's ultimately up to the individual; no amount of "I'm sorry, I've changed" songs is going to change anyone's mind), but for the public, for us as individuals, to actually relate, even identify, with what it is he's saying.
"Speak to Me" is a sparse acoustic number that recalls the type of songs Mayer is most popular for. But even so, on this album that formula somehow sounds different, fresher. He is partly criticizing a music industry that has been bastardized by commercial corporate radio. It's rare, the narrator opines, to hear songs on the radio anymore that inspire because of their trueness to life ("You can tell that something isn't right/ when all your heroes are in black and white"). While criticizing the industry and corporate wheel he's ultimately a part of, however, the singer also recognizes that it simply is what it is ("I'm not that mad about it"), and maybe one day things will change (Mayer certainly does his part with this record). Transitioning from acoustically laid back to soulfully groovy, "Something Like Olivia" recalls the giddy lightness of opener "Queen of California." It's simple yet heartfelt, and a girl named "Olivia" seems like a right-named girl to sing about. It just sort of rolls off the tongue.
At the midpoint of Born and Raised is the title track and the album's best song. And, at least lyrically, it is the best song of Mayer's career. The pace is slow and seeped in genuine sadness, as acoustic guitar, pedal steel, and harmonica work together perfectly to compliment--I will go as far as to say profound--lyrics that touch on themes like the loss of the romanticism of dreams, family, parents divorcing, and, of course, growing up. It's too much to dissect here (I plan on doing a longer write-up about it soon), but suffice it to say that Mayer outdid himself with this one. (EDIT: See my review of the song HERE.)
Tracks seven and eight build up to satisfying refrains at the end of their respective songs. "If I Ever Get Around To Living" has driving percussion and some wonderfully subtle electric guitar work. It has an almost ethereal feel to it and sounds like something you might hear in a Cameron Crowe movie. It builds into a refrain of "When you gonna wise up boy," Mayer here obviously addressing himself. "Love Is A Verb" is probably the song that stands out least on Born and Raised, as it is musically and lyrically simple, but it clocks in at less than three minutes and ends with the admittedly fun refrain of, "So you gotta show, show, show me." He is, of course, talking about love. Also, though they are completely different songs, when I hear Mayer's version I automatically think of this one as well: "Luv Is A Verb" - DC Talk.
The most interesting song on the album is "Walt Grace's Submarine Test, January 1967." To say it is the "most interesting" is certainly not to say it's bad or boring. In fact it has grown on me the most since I've been listening to Born and Raised. It's great because it tells the story of a man with a dream (albeit a bit of strange one), and it's a story that people could have varied interpretations of for days. For example: it seems to be a song about the romanticism of dreams on an album that wants to bring dreams back down to reality; and also, what is the meaning of the line "'Cause when you're done with this world/ you know the next is up to you"? It's one of those songs that reveals itself to you listen by listen. "Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey" is another highlight on an album full of them. In it the narrator is at a point in his life where it's the same routine every night: "Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey/ water, water, water, sleep/ Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey/ wake up shake it off and repeat." Harmonica, pedal steel, and nuanced licks of electric guitar provide instrumentation for the lyrics, which contain one of the best verses on the album: "Every night around this town/ my friends and I we treat it like a race/ But when I really start to break it down/ I wouldn't trust a girl who knew about this place." So much about the narrator is revealed in those four short lines.
The second to last track (though it feels more like the closing track, as the real last track has the feel of an epilogue of sorts), called "A Face to Call Home," is about finding true love and, once you do, working to build a home together in this world, attempting to take all the struggles that entails in stride. The narrator carries his lover's face with him wherever he goes, for the memory of her familiar face fuels him, and feels more like home than any building or piece of property. And when you find a girl about whom you can say, "You never look at me/ like I'm a liability/ I bet you think I've never been at all," perhaps you have found one worthy enough to build a life with, indeed. The song crescendos into a beautiful barrage of chiming guitars, ending powerfully with a sound reminiscent of early Coldplay. Truthfully, it would make a great ending to the album as well.
But closing the record is a reprise of the title track, although in melody and emotion they are completely different. Even so, it feels like a very fitting ending in all its hopeful, slow-paced hoedown glory. There is still some of the darkness and somberness that's peppered over most of the songs ("I was born in brighter days," implying things are a little dimmer now), but it ultimately allows the listener to come away from the album on a joyful note. It also drives home the point that Mayer has been trying to get at throughout: he's found peace with who he's been in the past and is ready to embrace whatever the future holds with a better understanding of grace and the benefit of maturity. As an artist and musician, his sound and inspiration on this album reaches back for what was good about the past, even as he sings about some of the most painful parts of his own, while as a person Mayer also seems ready to reach back and embrace the good about the things he was raised on growing up, as perhaps there is more wisdom there than he'd otherwise given credence to. On Born and Raised, by looking both backward and forward at the same time and getting to know the person he's found somewhere in the middle, Mayer seems to be a man who's beginning to work out the pieces of his own redemption. In other words, he's working on becoming a better person. And that is something we can all relate to.
