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Fightin' Words
New album by Nashville singer-songwriter Allison Moorer takes on big
topics and wins
By Michael McCall
Allison Moorer
The Duel (Sugar Hill)
Allison Moorer opens her new album, The Duel, with a lie: "I always
toss it in when things get heavy." With her sultry, drawling alto,
she pronounces each word with the clarity and weight that a practiced
stage actor might, and it's certainly an attention-getter. But she's
setting us up, for few modern musical artists tackle heavy subject
matter more willingly or more frequently than Moorer does. Many of
her new songs speak to issues of patriotism and religion, typically
using allegory or a person's story to explore some human frailty or
cultural or political quandary.
Moorer and producer R.S. Field make sure that the musical
arrangements reflect this hefty tone. Instead of her usual mix of
country and rock studio veterans, Moorer's stripped-down band centers
on two young guitarists, Adam Landry and John Davis, who provide a
raw backdrop that doesn't rock so much as slice with a spare edge.
Field plays the drums, an instrument he'd set aside years ago, and
his accompaniment is taut and fractured. With none of the softening
of the acoustic instruments Moorer has used in the past, the album's
dark, stripped-down sound threatens violence, but never explodes.
It's all sinewy tension, muscle and nerve without the release.
Moorer has altered her vocal sound, too. She has an amazing voice,
one that's fully rounded and always in the center of a note, and she
has a husky tone more akin to jazz singers than to modern pop or
country stars. Despite these strengths, she doesn't rely on the showy
flights that have become such a clichŽ in popular music, but rather
prefers subtlety, a mix of restrained heat and heartbreak. That heat
boils more than ever on The Duel, but it's more angry than desirous,
and the pain sounds more indignant than hurt. Like someone who's
p*** off but trying to stay in control, Moorer maintains an even
but impassioned tone throughout, rarely raising her voice or showing
off her range.
That said, people who hear The Duel won't be talking about Moorer's
voice or the arrangements; they're going to be talking about the
lyrics. The opening track, "I Ain't Giving Up on You," might be
addressing her audience, her muse or a lover. Moorer recently shifted
from major-label Nashville--which embraced her talent but never found
a way to market or expose it--to Sugar Hill Records, a leading
independent. Here, she seems eager to flex that independence, and she
starts by assuring people that, more than ever, she's singing for
those who prefer music that has higher artistic goals than fitting a
format or feeding the celebrity machine.
It's on four consecutive songs in the center of the album that Moorer
takes aim at the creative timidity that runs rampant in contemporary
commercial music. "Believe You Me" depicts a series of individuals
who pour themselves into dreams that fail them, while "One on the
House" details a rakish drunk whose yin-yang of eloquent charm and
pathetic pleading is reminiscent of a character from a play by Eugene
O'Neill.
With its slightly militaristic beat, "All Aboard" digs into the
danger of a particular brand of patriotism that's resurfaced in
America. "Sign up and get a flag / Wear it proudly, you can brag / To
the fools who didn't volunteer," Moorer seethes. "Some restrictions
do apply / Watch your mouth and close your eyes / And we allow no
yellow foreign queers."
Moorer is taking on those who would say that our nation and its
leaders can do no wrong, and that they should be supported without
question, even if it means giving up the freedoms and sense of
justice that the U.S. supposedly is going to war to protect. By time
she addresses "the old white studs pulling this country club," she
could be talking about the corporate executives ruling pop culture as
much as she is about our politicians--or anyone who values conformity
over dialogue and dissent.
The title track takes on a similarly heady topic. Backed only by
Steve Conn's gospel piano chords and some accents of harmonica
(presumably by Moorer's co-writer and husband, Butch Primm), the song
starts with a woman standing on a fresh grave, forsaking her
faith. "In this cemetery mist / Stands a newborn atheist," she
begins, "Even if you do exist / You're far from almighty."
Moorer then recounts previous acts of faithfulness in vivid verse,
rhyming "my polished shoes" with "your wooden pews" and speaking of
how she prayed and prayed for her loved one to be healed. She's
letting us in on the woman's conversation with a God that she, in her
pain and anger, no longer believes in.
It's hard to call The Duel a career moment, for Moorer's work has
been consistently strong throughout her six short years of recording,
but it's another high watermark, certainly as good in its way as
2000's remarkable The Hardest Part. Musically and lyrically, she's
clearly feeling free to follow whatever direction she feels like
taking.
Allison Moorer-"The Duel"
Moderator: SMLCHNG