Gretchen Wilson would have a lot to discuss with John Anderson. For one, their new albums—Wilson’s One of the Boys and Anderson’s Easy Money—share producer John Rich of Big & Rich, who sets them at the louder, funkier, boozier edge of modern country-rock. Both artists have been crowned as saviors of country music for tilting Nashville back toward blue-collar swagger rather than middle-class softness. And both forgo celebrity grandstanding in favor of hanging with friends in out-of-the-way places and getting their hands dirty on their respective farms.
But their conversation would grow more interesting if they began comparing their careers. Wilson, like Anderson, rocketed to stardom with a monster hit that, while instantly imprinting her name with country fans, was all but impossible to equal. Wilson’s “Redneck Woman” was to 2004 what Anderson’s “Swingin’ ” was to 1983—a massive, inescapable hit embraced by fans and critics. But as much as Wilson and Anderson helped alter country music’s direction, they also struggled to stay on the radio and to create another song that carried the force of their self-defining smash.
“Swingin’ ” didn’t change Anderson. He kept singing low-down country funk with a wink and a deep groove, his one-of-a-kind voice dipping and tugging on lyrics that highlighted his working-class background while showcasing his talent. Hits like “Let Somebody Else Drive,” “Honky Tonk Crowd” and the outstanding “Down in Tennessee” were among the country gems of the mid-1980s, each further establishing Anderson as a soulful good ol’ boy who connected with both the traditional country audience and those who liked a little muscle in their guitars and rhythms.
But, unlike peers George Strait and Reba McEntire, Anderson didn’t follow “Swingin’ ” with a string of hits that air-lifted him into arenas. He didn’t have another No. 1 hit for eight years, when the undeniable double shot of “Straight Tequila Nights” and “Seminole Wind” put Anderson on the charts at the start of the ’90s boom. But that newfound residency didn’t last long, and Anderson scored his last top 10 hit in 1994 with “I’ve Got It Made.”
But Anderson still draws a honky-tonk crowd with his elastic Southern drawl and reputation for solid bands and performances. Rich, a longtime fan, pulled Anderson off the road and paid for studio sessions to record songs the two had co-written, and those tunes provide the foundation of Easy Money. The collaboration works, as Anderson meets the challenge of Rich’s penchant for pile-driving country rock and tradition-leaning ballads by bending the songs to fit his own style.
On the energized stompers, Anderson greases the rhythms with funky chords and backbeats, putting his fingerprint on the self-referential country-can-rock theme that Rich has emphasized in his collaborations with Wilson, Jason Aldean, Cowboy Troy, Big & Rich and others. The title song and “Funky Country” both rise above their inherent clichés because of the personality Anderson brings to them.
But Anderson’s at his best on the ballads, especially in the Levon Helm-like Southern iconography of “Bonnie Blue,” and the woman-drawing-the-line tension of “Something to Drink About.” The latter is set to the mid-tempo sway of a George Strait standard like “The Chair,” only here a woman issues her husband the age-old ultimatum of choosing between the honky-tonk and her. This side of George Jones or Vern Gosdin, no one delivers a classic country couplet like “If you like the nightlife / More than a good wife” as effectively as Anderson.
Similarly, “Weeds” probes the complex feelings of a man who knows splitting with his lover is best for both sides, but that doesn’t keep him from struggling with the pain, the meaning of love and how to deal with his ex-partner in the future. Anderson pulls all of the conflicting feelings into focus without over-dramatizing a line.
Country radio tends to ignore artists with gray in their hair these days, but that’s short-sighted, as one of the genre’s strengths is the how the music’s history gives fans a cultural lifeline to hold onto and explore. Anderson should be embraced by radio today, not because he’s a veteran beloved by more than one generation, but because he’s making music as relevant and as immediate as is any current hitmaker.
Wilson likely would agree. On her third album, One of the Boys, she shows a maturity reminiscent of how Anderson continued to grow and to expand his sound after his blockbuster hit.
The title may sound like another chapter in the continuing musical biography of Nashville’s leading redneck woman. But that’s misleading. Even the title track contradicts that idea: in it, Wilson implies that while she can hold her liquor, shoot pool and cuss as well any guy, she nonetheless has “this little girl inside of me” that still needs to be acknowledged, both by her and by men. As she sings in the chorus, “I’m more than just one of the boys.” Co-written with Nashville pros Rivers Rutherford and George Teren, it uses pop-rock harmonies and a catchy guitar riff in a manner Tom Petty would recognize.
Similarly, album opener “The Girl I Am” defines the singer in complex, sometimes contradictory details that avoid the broad-brush generalities of “Redneck Woman.” Co-written by Wilson and her former road guitarist, Dean Hall, the song unfurls with a cool-breeze rhythm and a relaxed melodicism that would fit with Mindy Smith or early Martina McBride. Wilson’s voice shows new shadings, employing the kind of sweet, intimate vocal tone she might use for confiding in her daughter.
And “Heaven Help Me” is as lyrically vulnerable as Wilson has let herself become. A contemporary country ballad, the song finds her feeling shame and losing track of who she is without turning into an anthem about drinking, sex or revenge. It’s just a prayer for inner strength, and it reveals how effective Wilson can be when showing weakness rather than bragging.
And of course, she still rocks. “There’s a Place in the Whiskey”—written by Del Gray, Shannon Lawson and Bobby Taylor—is a better song about going on a bender than “All Jacked Up.” Its jazzy, Allman-style dynamics should make it a concert favorite. “You Don’t Have to Go Home,” which trades on a familiar last-call shout-out used by bartenders everywhere, is more akin to Wilson’s characteristic style of country boogie.
But not every song moves her forward. “There Goes the Neighborhood” wastes a clever, swinging romp on a predictable list of redneck stereotypes based on a modern-day Beverly Hillbillies theme. Meanwhile, on “Good Ole Boy,” Wilson once again reminds everyone she prefers guys who can tie fishing lures and spit tobacco.
While Wilson’s last album, All Jacked Up, wasn’t a bad follow-up to her 5 million-selling debut, it seemed tentative in figuring out how to broaden her scope beyond songs about partying, cheating and redneck life. One of the Boys points Wilson toward a future where responsibility and self-examination are as important as spontaneity and pride. It also suggests that, like Anderson, we may still be talking about her music two decades from now.
