Renowned country artist Loretta Lynn has released a new album. Of all the releases that would seem to not matter this year, certainly a seemingly posthumous album from one of country’s original voices would only carry a small blip on the radar screen.
Jack White of the White Stripes was tapped to produce the album and now, legions of people who may have never heard her name — this one included — find themselves listening to Loretta Lynn on her new album “Van Lear Rose” (Interscope).
As much as it’s easy to be cynical about the capitalism that pervades the music industry with its slick packaging, lack of artist songwriting and frankly creepy PR photos (evidenced by one of White sitting in Lynn’s lap), this collaboration is far more striking than a normal publicity stunt.
Despite White’s current popularity, he’s not your average country adversary. As it turns out, White is such a Lynn enthusiast that “White Blood Cells,” the first of the two White Stripes albums, is dedicated to her, and she opened for the White Stripes in New York last year.
What he brought to her sound is also striking. Favoring simple arrangements based on a rootsy blues feel — which both country and rock stem from — White’s sound could lend itself to a striking country aesthetic, if used right.
Then there’s Lynn, whose rags to riches story and Kentucky hills patter prove refreshing in those same frustrating pop and country mainstreams too focused on packaging. Simultaneously, her lyrics focus on her very real experiences of growing up poor, marrying at 14 and balancing motherhood with a successful career. They resonate far deeper into society’s collective psyche than your average “man, I feel like a woman.”
And as promising as this bridging between time periods and musical styles is, it delivers on both the pair’s talents, and more. Part of the reason the album is able to shine so much is because of the down-home aesthetic White injects from his producer-plus’ chair (he slays lead guitar, contributed voice on a duet and arranged all the songs). All of the songs were recorded in one take in a small house outside Nashville. So, while the relatively small band of five pieces, including Lynn’s voice, are not quite equaled out the way they would be in a huge studio, the relatively primitive recording method accents the rich arrangements varying between blues, folk and country, as well as Lynn’s unique drawl in the sense that they sound like they’re being performed in the country. Tracks like the group vocal-injected spiritual “High on a Mountain Top” and pedal steel-rich “Trouble on the Line,” are as much transporting to the bluegrass as they are foot tapping.
The loose one-take feel also reveals the energy at the session, as the band juts out a raucous blues riff on “Have Mercy,” and a casual laugh between White and Lynn ends the feedback-laden female angst of “Mrs. Leroy Brown.”
Lynn is on form as ever, moving from the opening folk-tinged narrative of “Van Lear Rose” to the soulful “Women’s Prison” with versatile ease. At her best, she fuses trademark country sass with a true consciousness of womanhood in the changing world. “I’m in a woman’s prison/with bars all around/I caught my darlin’ cheatin’/that’s when I shot him down” can’t help but evoke both introspection and some snide laughter.
And for a woman pushing 75 years old, she still has a remarkable amount of emotion left to convey. Although roughly half the songs were written long before this album was conceived, she delivers with such urgency that they might as well have been recent. Only on the closer, “The Story of My Life,” does she fully tread into nostalgia, and even then, she applies a witty matter-of-fact style about the events of her life, singing “Well some big shot from Hollywood/thought a movie about my life would be good/it was a big hit made a big splash/what I wanna know is what happened to the cash.”
For those not usually into country, this album is still worth a listen for its snapshot of both a strong figure in musical history still on form and uniquely quaint feel that brings the music right to the back porch. Just don’t call it a comeback.
