Lyle Lovett has been creeping further and further into America's subconscious over the last dozen years or so. At first an instantly recognizable caricature--a Texas stringbean with a gravity-defying daring 'do, peering out from black and white CD-liner photos--he's become more comfortable, like a flannel shirt after you wash it a few dozen times. And if you've listened with half an ear, you probably appreciate the quirkiness of his songwriting and the self-pitying but strangely self-confident sound of his voice.
If you've really listened, you appreciate the fact that his recordings are beautifully crafted. When I first heard his straight-as-an-arrow rendition of the Tammy Wynette classic "Stand By Your Man," I was knocked out by the perfection of the arrangement, and by how close his voice comes to the edge when he holds that note while singing "...give him all the love you ca-a-a-a-a-a-a-n." After spending years trying to figure out his angle, I've finally come to realize that there is no angle. Lyle is simply a classic American craftsman, a songwriter who's a genuine and intelligent synthesis of influences, roots, and desires. He also works with great musicians and is affiliated with a record company that supports his vision.
Of course, there are those who sneer at musicians like Lyle and say "I don't like country music." Such people are like children whose palates are only used to three or four flavors, who can't appreciate foods prepared by a master chef. Anyone who claims any interest in popular music should be able to tell that Lyle is legit, and if they can't appreciate the quality of his work they should clean out their ears and try to empty their brains of pigeonhole prejudices. Besides, he's not country--he's country and folk and swing and rock-'n-roll and blues and gospel, all rolled up into one.
I saw Lyle on tour recently, and also purchased his 1999 Live in Texas album (although the recorded concerts were from 1995). I've come to appreciate one of his songs as a masterpiece of American symbolism and mythology. The song contains a line that always gets a great response in concert, and I hear it as a variation on the "Take This Job and Shove It" theme popularized by Johnny Paycheck in the late 1970s.
"If I Had a Boat" is, both in title and in the first few lines of its refrain, an escapist song, an underdog song. That great American Dream word--if. "If I had a boat, I'd go out on the ocean." A simply stated dream. But then the quirkiness emerges. "And if I had a pony"--the Texan's wild west influence, as well as the dream of zillions of young girls--"I'd ride him on my boat"--huh? What the hell? But when the refrain closes with "Me upon my pony on my boat," you're hooked and along for the ride.
The first verse delves into our collective memory bank, to the serialized TV westerns of the 50s and 60s that so many of us grew up with.
And if I were Roy Rogers
I'd sure enough be single
I couldn't bring myself to marrying old Dale
A not-very-nice smartass line--sorry, Dale--but what red-blooded American boy didn't think it at some point?
It'd just be me and Trigger
We'd go ridin' through them movies
Then we'd buy a boat and on the sea we'd sail
As Marv Albert would say, "Yes!"
The second verse is the killer, the one that always gets a roar out of the crowd, and it also references mythical heroes of the American West.
Now, the mystery masked man was smart
He got himself a Tonto
'Cause Tonto did the dirty work for free
But Tonto he was smarter
And one day said Kemosabe
"Kiss my ass, I bought a boat
I'm going out to sea"
Who among us hasn't desperately wanted to say this at some point in our life? Lyle was defnitely plugged in when he wrote that line. The third verse is a little loftier, about being powerful and independent as lightning, but also ends with the narrator "...upon my pony on my boat out on the sea."
What a great song this is--timeless in sentiment, and as finely crafted and recorded as a piece of Shaker furniture. On the recent Live in Texas album, wonderfully understated guitars and piano provide just the right foundation, and the crying pedal steel guitar, like a coyote in the night, is beautifully played by Buck Reid.
Lyle's album from 1998, a two disc collection, is a treasure trove of song as well as a loving tribute to the Texas songwriters who influenced him. You won't hear these songs on many radio stations, but they're well worth a listen.
For example, check out the achingly beautiful rendition of the title song, "Step Inside This House" by Guy Clark. In this song, a humble narrator itemizes his meager belongings for a girl he's taken a shine to. As each item is described, an insight is provided. For example, a painting by a friend
...doesn't look like much I guess
but it's all that's left of him
And it sure is nice from right over here
When the light's a little dim
and a book of poems from an old girlfriend that's
...all about the good life
And stayin' at ease with the world
It's funny how I love that book
And I never loved that girl
The arrangement primarily consists of acoustic stringed instruments, played by the crème-de-la-crème of studio musicians. Viktor Krauss on bass, Sam Bush on mandolin, Jerry Douglas on dobro and Lovett on acoustic guitar are complemented by Matt Rollings on piano and Russ Kunkel on drums. (Kunkel has been around a bit, to say the least; he played drums on James Taylor's "Fire and Rain" more than thirty years ago!) And Dean Parks' impeccable electric guitar fills provide a soaring but somehow wistful accompaniment to the sweet, simple sincerity of Lovett's voice.
Step Inside This House is one of the finest collections of American song I've heard in many a year. And Lyle Lovett is one of America's most accomplished musical craftsmen.