Chasing Liberty

Five years ago, Terri Clark took a break from her tough-chick shtick—the one that effectively cut ex-boyfriends to the quick with tunes like “Better Things to Do” and “You’re Easy on the Eyes”—and took a sharp left-turn into rootsy folk-flavored country with the aptly named Fearless. A combination of inspired collaborations with artists like Mary Chapin Carpenter and Beth Nielsen Chapman, and well-chosen covers like Jann Arden’s stunning “Good Mother” and the Emmylou Harris classic “Easy From Now On,” Fearless seemed a bold declaration of a new direction, and Clark sounded very much at home. But Fearless earned mixed reviews and tanked on the country charts, a response that seemed to deflate some of the moxie that had come to define the popular Canadian singer. Her efforts since have felt slightly schizophrenic, as she struggles with a desire for both commercial success and a grittier, more direct sound. After an 11th-hour retooling when the original single, “I Think the World Needs a Drink,” failed to spark, her new album Life Goes On feels not only disappointingly unadventurous, but also splintered and unfocused. The striking of the original title, Honky Tonk Songs, in favor of the banal Life Goes On serves as an unwitting metaphor for the changes to the album—which, however subtle, indicate an almost desperate grasp at the mainstream. Originally the album’s opening statement, “Honky Tonk Song” gets shuttled to the middle of the disc to make room for the new title track, a carbon copy of Clark’s earlier, attitude-laden hits. It’s followed shortly by the current single, “She Didn’t Have Time,” a paint-by-numbers ballad wherein a tire-changing, baby-loving Mr. Right rescues a single mom from her dreary domestic existence. It’s hardly surprising that these are two of the three tunes added at the last minute—imagine the guys in marketing shouting into their speakerphones that the album needs more Clear Channel-friendly fare. Like it or not, this seems to be a deal many major-label artists strike nowadays—record enough safe, don’t-rock-the-jukebox songs and you might get a couple cuts of your choosing. Clark plods halfheartedly through the first two-thirds of Life Goes On, delivering tunes that follow well-worn formulas—meet-cutes, breakup blues, cautious consumption of alcohol, seize-the-day clichés—set to sanitized, mid-tempo melodies. But everything changes when we hit the outstanding “Travelin’ Soul,” a robust, revelatory ballad that describes a woman searching for a partner who will embrace her independent spirit: “If I rest here in your arms long enough to let you in / Without ever asking why, will you let me run again?” Suddenly, Clark sounds much more invested, as though she sees herself in the heroine “chasing after words and melodies.” Even more notable, “Travelin’ Soul” reveals a gorgeous, full-bodied voice in its glory. Clark’s typically conversational vocal style has its charms, but after hearing what she really can do, it’s hard not to feel cheated on the rest of the record—or by extension, the rest of her career. “Travelin’ Soul” leads into the final three tunes on the album, all co-written by Clark, and together they form a palpable shift in both skillfulness and tone. “Slow News Day” provides further evidence that Clark longs to reach deeper. A delicately restrained ballad, it first appears to be a standard-issue attack on the overzealous media, but winds up ruminating on the country’s distressing polarization, an almost hippie-chick call for peacefulness in all things. And the closer, “Tear It All Down,” shakes up the album with a groovy, assertive riff that underscores the story of domestic bliss crumbling to bits. None of these tunes are as subversive—or as good—as her songwriting on Fearless, which makes it all the more irritating that they were banished to the back end of the record. They’re far superior to the earlier cuts, but not so radical that they’d seem out of place on the radio. It all points to a pervasive reluctance on the part of major labels to push any boundaries. Which is why some of the most interesting albums in recent memory have come from former chart-toppers who escaped to independent labels, tired of walking that line between popularity and integrity. Dolly Parton went back to her roots with bluegrass label Sugar Hill, where she’s turned out one astounding effort after another. Former “It Girls” Chely Wright and Deana Carter both recently released more conceptual indie efforts to solid reviews. Then there’s Kathy Mattea, a staple on the country charts in the late ’80s and early ’90s, who jumped ship to Narada, a label known primarily for jazz and world music. Having flirted with Celtic and gospel sounds on several of her mainstream albums, Mattea clearly wanted to push boundaries further. Her first album for Narada, 2002’s Roses, even included an instrumental Irish jig. After a 2003 Christmas album, Mattea returns with Right Out of Nowhere, by turns folk, country, Celtic and gospel and another statement of independence from the country mainstream that once embraced her. At times, as when Darrell Scott’s “Love’s Not Through With Me Yet” gets spruced up with a Celtic fiddle riff, Mattea seems to be gleefully flaunting her defection from the singles-driven world. Which is not to say that freedom necessarily guarantees an artist’s best work—in fact, sometimes having too much results in an air of self-indulgence. Mattea’s Right Out of Nowhere teeters precariously on that line, the hodgepodge of musical influences sometimes not quite gelling. And in what’s perhaps a reaction to the common criticism that mainstream albums like Clark’s are overproduced—layers upon layers of instrumentation topped by vocals so tweaked they bear little resemblance to reality—Right Out of Nowhere could benefit from a bit more spit and polish. There are too many moments when Mattea’s throaty voice threatens to overpower the spare instrumentation, resulting in a rough, unfinished quality that grates on even the most minimalist tastes. Still, the overall effect is far more bracing than the take-no-chances records that the Nashville machine churns out like clockwork. Mattea sounds relaxed and at home, as though the songs she’s chosen and their performances represent the particular artistry she’s cultivated over her career. There is a comfort here with these songs and what they say that imbues the entire album with a lovely, lived-in quality. That’s the voice we heard from Clark on Fearless—engaged, at ease and effective. And while she once sounded by and large comfortable on her butt-kicking brand of popular country, whenever Clark is given the chance to explore her folk fascination, it becomes clear it’s where her talent lies. Barring another MuzikMafia-style revolution at radio that might allow her to explore those leanings in the mainstream, it seems inevitable that she’ll someday go the way of Mattea, Parton and the others and make an independent record closer to her heart.