Explanation of ‘Both Sides of the Coin’ Reviews
Tails:
I thought about a lot things while listening to Ryan Bingham’s “Tomorrowland,” an embarrassing conversation about “Brokeback Mountain,” work, a cup of potato soup I ordered for lunch, what it would really been like to have become a professional baseball player – you know with the neck muscles and all that, the usefulness of Apple iOS 6’s Do Not Disturb app. I parted two window blinds, absentmindedly air-fucking the opening with my fingers. I thought about why I wasn’t wearing a t-shirt, then put one on.
I thought about a lot of things, but not “Tomorrowland.” The album reminded me of those people who keep on talking: it imparts that strain you have when you just can’t avoid cutting them off.
Now, I’m not anti-Ryan Bingham. I get that he’s a rare revivalist in a period where the country landscape is largely filled with many talent-less male models. He’s got chops, you can hear it here in the best moments, and his work on the “Crazy Heart” soundtrack proves it. But on songs like “Weary Kind,” his work is nuanced, the songs are subtle, the phrasing is adept and honest.
“Tomorrowland” could have used these touches, as it’s populated by the worst kind of music, the kind that isn’t meant to be danced to or analyzed but played at you. As I listened, I struggled to determine who this album was for and what exactly one would do while listening to it other than listen to it.
To his credit, Bingham draws on a number of different wells to water this album. The issue is the source of his inspiration is all but laid bare at every turn.
“Flower Bomb” sounds like the kind of downbeat, working class anthems Bruce Springsteen has been propagating on the airwaves in recent years, “Heart of Rhythm” bites Tom Petty’s “Runnin’ Down a Dream” almost to a T – though that may be implied in the name – and “I Heard ’em Say” starts with the most obvious Hendrix nod since Pearl Jam’s “Yellow Ledbetter.”
The sum of all the wrongs on this album is “Rising of the Ghetto,” a song that’s utterly preposterous as written. It’s a completely straight-faced eight-minute song about people of all colors and creeds rising up against… well that’s the thing, I’m not sure.
For a second, I thought there would be some potential. I relistened, just to analyze whether the lyrics were anti-Obama. I was hoping they were anti-Obama – I could have sympathized with anything at this point that would have piqued my curiosity.
Instead, I get a stupid song. If I haven’t heard stupider songs it’s because I keep my underground rap to a minimum and don’t review that many albums.
It’s okay though, I learned some things while waiting for “Tomorrowland” to end.
Did you know that in iOS 6 you can set up a list of VIPs? This lets you select certain contacts that can still call you in the event of an emergency and your phone is in Do Not Disturb mode. It also gives you the option to decline incoming calls and respond with a text.
There you go. At least it wasn’t a total wash.
Heads:
“Tomorrowland” is one stubborn leather glove of an album.
It doesn’t break in easy. It requires the slow cook of the oven, the application of oils, hours of catch in the backyard.
Slowly over time it loosens up though, and once it does, you can feel it molding to your ears, becoming one with your movements. And that’s what this album seems like it’s meant to stand up to, the hard work of a routine. It demands patience, even if the listener doesn’t want to give it in return.
The exact charm of Bingham’s fourth full-length album, and second highest chart debut, is hard to state, but I’d give the album the most praise for the way the instrumentation develops over repeat listens. While it sounds barren and bare on the first few passes, its players are actually adept at hitting their spots, shifting the tension from instrument to instrument like a gentle baton with a jagged cymbal smash or vocal turn.
You can hear this on the best songs like “The Road I’m On,” its every piece sliding together into something a bit more powerful as a whole. A conventional country stomper on the outside, the song slips slyly between different tensions, from jubilant to unsure, and the juxtaposition serves to highlight the subject matter of the song.
“Oh baby, it’s late at night, I see something in my headlights
Ain’t nothing but where I’ve gone
And the road I’m on…”
It’s a standout here for the way it plays with dated songwriting approaches and still seems to come out on top. But, the blend between old and new doesn’t always work. Other times, it seems like a chasm that’s too large for Bingham and his band to cross.
“Never Far Behind” starts with layered guitars, and showcases the charm of Bingham’s voice at its most accessible form, though its production shares more in common with something off of a recent Kings of Leon album than one would think a country artist, or at least the kind of artist whose lyrics are most readily accessible at CowboyLyrics.com, would feel comfortable presenting.
If the front half lays its influences a bit bare, the second half of this album seems to gel into something resembling a cohesive whole. But, overall its the lyrics from “The Road I’m On” that I can’t help but recall.
That’s what this album sounds like, the road. It’s neither a beginning, a stop or a destination, just something in between.
VERDICT:
Tails turns to Heads if you give it enough listens.
Pete Rizzo can be reached at prizzo@thoughtpollution.com.