I don’t know much about country music. I am of the generation that grew up thinking Garth Brooks and LeAnn Rimes were the be-all end-all of the genre. Know that asshole that said “I listen to everything. Except country.” That was me. Maybe it was you (If you are still that asshole, well, stop being an asshole).
As a result, I know very little. No knowledge of the terminology. Still in the “getting to know Johnny Cash” phase. Didn’t know what a steel guitar sounded like until a couple of years ago. So I can’t wow you with the startling insights or pinpoint descriptions a diehard might.
“Donny, you’re out of your element!”
This immortal quote from The Big Lebowski has been running through my head all week as I’ve been working on a profile of Tierra del Fuego’s Eagle Stew.
But I can tell you that Eagle Stew is a fucking great album.
For the sake of telling you how the music makes me feel, let’s get general, shall we? I mean really, disgustingly “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.”
Ever seen (or been) a guy talking to his friend, and one of them mentions, offhandedly, something horrible that happened to him? And the other guy just nods? Then they go back to playing Xbox, or talking about the local football team’s ineptitude?
The point is, this whole album had me nodding. These ten songs exude the comfort of shared experience. I don’t need a doctorate in country music theory to know that listening to this album reminds me of chillin’ on a few beers with my buddies and shooting the shit.
“South Side of Forever,” despite its upbeat tempo and feel, is about just being tired. Not from a long day of work, but from life. All the way through to “I Pity the Poor Immigrant,” the Dylan song that ends the album, Tierra del Fuego molds their twang to perfectly create an atmosphere of comforting melancholy.
Just buy the CD. It will make you feel good like a dive bar with your favorite song on the jukebox.
