Tuesday was the release of Jerrod Niemann’s dumb new album High Noon, and before we’ve even had a chance to really delve into just how much of a mockery it makes of country music, Niemann’s already out there on the defensive, preaching to us how country “purists” really don’t know what the hell country music is all about, and how he’s just carrying on the traditions of Willie and Waylon.
Down with Pop Country
Like one of those stationary rides in the front of Wal-Mart for toddlers, “This Is How We Roll” makes a lot of noise, has a bunch of flashing lights, bumps up and down a little bit, but in the end, goes absolutely fucking nowhere. The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers soundtrack has more sincerity, depth, and nutritional value than this explosion of diarrhea in country music’s bikini cut man briefs.
You knew with the huge success of Florida Georgia Line that doppelgangers of the pop country duo would be coming down the pike. Well ladies and gentlemen, welcome to country music Cole Swindell; not even 9 months into his record deal, and he already has a #1 hit. Cole Swindell is the most not-having-any-bit-of-soul-or-culture human being I think I have ever observed on God’s whole creation.
What kind of fresh hell has Tim McGraw unearthed here? Apparently the once high-flying country star has been inadvertently inoculating himself with inebriating bronzer agents from his incessant chemical tan treatments that have now seeped into his blood stream. “Lookin’ For That Girl” isn’t a cry for relevancy, it is a barbaric yawp, a banshee scream, a cacophonous ode to the onset of monoculture and wholesale mediocrity.
Yes folks, you read that right. According to media personality Larry King, Billy Ray Cyrus, King of the Atomic Mullet and father of devil spawn Miley Cyrus, is recording a hip hop version of his everlasting, demonically evil, and historically bereft scourge of Western Civilization known as “Achy Breaky Heart.” “Just spoke with @billyraycyrus on the phone – he’s recorded a hip-hop version of ‘Achy Breaky Heart’, Larry King tweeted out.
Such a gift from heaven it has been to not have Brantley terrorizing us with new music for a good long while. But apparently Brantley was just resting up, refining his putrid exploration into the very innermost reaches of human vanity and self-ingratiation to then unleash his new diarrhetic single “Bottoms Up,” and it’s accompanying video.
Reports have Jamie Lynn Spears, famous teen mom and sister of Brittney Spears, releasing a debut country album soon. I’m sure that Jamie Lynn Spears is a very sweet girl, and by all accounts she is blessed with remarkably white teeth and excellent skin. But the simple realities of running a website like Saving Country Music is that you can’t listen to every single piece of recorded music released in the greater country music pantheon.
Tyler Farr’s “Redneck Crazy” isn’t for jilted male lovers looking for solace, it is for socially awkward, introverted, creepy-ass chronic masturbaters that hold a minor in megalomania. This song doesn’t need a rant, it needs a restraining order and ankle bracelet. True rednecks ride their problems out, rub their wounds in the dirt and move on, not whine about them like a panty waist…
Luke Bryan and his other bro-tastic pop country pseudo-rapping laundry list-espousing pretty boys may love to sing about big ol’ pickup trucks, but it has always been circumspect if they could even pilot one in a pinch. Luke Bryan’s ride ended up in the drink a few days ago. Luckily the matching henna tattoo he got with Jason Aldean did not get wet in the incident.
Who gives a shit what Zac Brown has to say? I do. We do. Are we the minority? Maybe, but the statistics show that our numbers are growing every day while mainstream music continues to circle the toilet hole of financial insolvency, trying to shore up their golden parachutes by instilling this sugar rush of completely vapid and talent-less hack acts that amount to nothing more than a harey carey maneuver.
Luke Bryan’s music has the nutritional value of notebook paper, and is the clinical result of when an entertainer spreads his arms wide in a submissive pose and relents his entire will to the country music industrial complex, saying “Do your worst.” Luke Bryan has no soul. He is more machine than man. He has the integrity of a Guatemalan mule bridge with a squadron of M1 tanks trying to cross it.
So many of pop country’s celebrities have such a vacuous amount of life skills, without being propped up as pretty faces by the country music industry, they’d be clueless in the real world. Others probably have some skills outside of singing into Auto-tuners at concerts, and that’s probably what they should be doing instead of trying to be artists.
Blake Shelton, Brantley Gilbert, Brian Kelley, Colt Ford, Dave Haywood, Florida Georgia Line, Gary Levox, Gretchen Wilson, Jason Aldean, Joe Diffie, Justin Moore, Lady Antebellum, Luke Bryan, Rascal Flatts
If a truly good country song is represented by a delicate pair of supple female breasts, then Montgomery Gentry’s “Titty’s Beer” would be a rack of cellulose-addled man boobs replete with coarse and graying disheveled chest hair, pock marked with skin Cancer and bisected by a grizzly double bypass scar. This isn’t a cry for relevancy folks, this is a blood-curdling scream.
These dudes are on the mother of all tears. Their song “Cruise” threatens to be the biggest country song in 2013, and has already set multiple records, including spending 12 weeks at the top of Billboard’s Hot Country Songs chart—the first time this has happened by a duo in the 69-year history of the chart. “Cruise” has already been certified triple-platinum.
We all know them and we all hate them, those ubiquitous and ridiculous pop country songs that make us hang our heads in shame, embarrassed to call ourselves country fans, constantly making us having to explain that no, we don’t listen to that type of country. They pursue us doggedly, on the radio, over the speakers at the grocery store, blaring from a car full of high school kids at a red light.
1994, Achy Breaky Heart, Bad Country Songs, Big & Rich, Billy Ray Cyrus, Blake Shelton, Boys 'Round Here, Brad Paisley, Brown Chicken Brown Cow, Corn Star, Country Girl (Shake It For Me), Craig Morgan, Cruise, Dirt Road Anthem, Florida Georgia Line, Honky Tonk Badonkadonk, I Wanna Talk About Me, Jason Aldea, Kenny Chesney, Luke Bryan, Red Solo Cup, Save A Horse (Ride A Cowboy), She Think's My Tractor's Sexy, Stuck Like Glue, Sugarland, Taylor Swift, Tim McGraw, Toby Keith, Trace Adkins, Truck Yeah, Worst Country Songs of All Time
If equality is what Blake Shelton was looking to strike in the video for “Boys ‘Round Here,” then he deserves a big pat on the back. Because anything and everything about this eye-raping edifice to the universal monoculture and hyper-driven consumer excess mixed with vomit-inducing racial tokenism is as equally repulsive as it is embarrassing.
Just when we thought the American public was finally getting wise to the fact that country rap is a Cancer of Western Civilization, needing to be cut out and radiated like the grapefruit-sized, puss-filled tumor it is, here it comes roaring back like a raging case of bleeding hemorrhoids. It’s the audio equivalent of sneaking out of your mom’s house to smoke pot behind a Pizza Hut.
Blake Shelton, Boys 'Round Here, Brantley Gilbert, CHarlie Sheen, Florida Georgia Line, Grand Ole Opry, Jason Aldean, Listen to Blake Shelton's Boys 'Round Here, Pistol Annies, puss-filled grapefruit-sized tumors
In direct violation of every single rule of country music and the State Department’s South American travel warning, Florida-Georgia line flies down to fake Mexico to participate in a music video that becomes one of the most “WHAT THE HELL?!?!” moments in country music history. This music video is only a couple of quaaludes away from a tasteless Girls Gone Wild installment.
Wagon Wheel” isn’t the “Free Bird” of our generation, it is our generation’s sonic equivalent of inserting a corkscrew into your earhole and giving it a nice good healthy turn. The song, initially stolen from a Bob Dylan demo by Old Crow Medicine Show’s Ketch Secor with a “better to ask forgiveness than permission” approach, officially holds the title of the most ubiquitous song in the history of mankind that nobody’s heard.
I’m not going to go as far as to call it sacrilege, but Thomas Rhett’s song “Beer With Jesus” proves that when it comes to trying to write a pop country hit, nothing is sacred. But if we’re going to say that’s okay or even creative songwriting to “have a beer with Jesus,” where do we draw the line? Here’s some suggestions of other things that might be fun to do with the Son of God.