Course, she’s not actually broken-hearted here, but I’ve got my theme and I ain’t letting go no way nuh-uh…
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[4.82]
Jonathan Bogart: If there’s one thing that irritates me more than anything else in modern country, it’s the near-dogmatic insistence on happy endings. It’s an old and grumpy complaint, sure: country used to be about heartache and busted marriages and girls murdered horribly down by the riverside, what’s wrong with kids these days, etc. etc. And who am I to begrudge America a first-wedding-dance song for new brides without dads? But America’s Sweetheart doesn’t do enough with the tritest, most facile lyric in ages to make it sound lived in, substituting vocal runs for emotion. Pretty chords are nice, but they’re no basis for a long-term relationship.
[5]
Josh Langhoff: Music for use! If people start playing this for Mother/Daughter dances at wedding receptions, because Dad’s not in the picture or whatever, I’m totally on board. I also like how Mama “gives away” the daughter, reclaiming the barbaric women-as-property tradition. Lovely and open-hearted, with a supportive crowd of background singers.
[8]
Anthony Easton: This is where the kitsch of sentiment becomes an earnest expression of emotion–and the idea of good becomes an ontological category. The problem is that she is so wrought on convincing us that this man is good, we are only convinced that he is anything but.
[6]
Pete Baran: I cannot help but think that, since Carrie is professing the man’s goodness so much, he is almost certainly a serial killer.
[5]
Renato Pagnani: How much of a bastard must Carrie’s pops have been for her to spend a whole track called “Mama’s Song” insisting to Ma Dukes that the dude she’s with now isn’t beating the shit outta her?
[3]
Martin Skidmore: One of her sweetest vocal performances in a while, but it’s on a rather wet song. It’s a simple reassurance to her mom that she’ll be fine because she’s found a good man. Trouble is, everyone is a cipher in this — the lack of specificity is particularly apparent after playing Taylor Swift’s new one — and there is no sense of ambiguity, of her maybe being wrong or whatever. Nonetheless, it is a rather lovely vocal.
[7]
Alfred Soto: He’s so good that he’s unbelievable, which is where Underwood’s voice – dusky, committed – carries the slack.
[4]
Frank Kogan: Could’ve been moving if a Karen Carpenter or a Gloria Estefan had taken hold of it and given it a quiet, uneasy stillness. Instead, there are too many expressive touches, too many instruments.
[3]
Zach Lyon: I try my best to keep my writerly side and my music-appreciating side separate from each other, for fear of destroying them both. I understand that the two media follow different dialogues and that lyrics can’t be held to the same kill-all-clichés(-unless-you’re-subverting-them) ideology that dominates prose/poetry culture. Certainly, if I held lyrics to that standard — ignoring the fact that, in the right song, from the right musician, in the right context, a now-meaningless phrase like our love will last forever can catch me crying on the freeway — then I’d be left with practically nothing outside of Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits and some Pharcyde tracks. I know this, and I hope I don’t come off sounding like an Creative Writing major when I say this shit is unforgivable: “Mama, you taught me to do the right things,” “so now you have to let your baby fly,” “you’ve given me everything that I will need,” “to make it through this crazy thing called life,” “and I know you watched me grow up,” “and only want what’s best for me,” “and I think I’ve found the answer to your prayers.” This is not writing. This is rearranging. This is a series of phrases that have been used by every living English-speaking person without a single original word. And it actually took Underwood three(!) additional(!) writers(!?) to come up with it. After the first couple verses, there was nothing the song could do to redeem itself. Not that it tries: for some reason the bulk of “Mama’s Song” is Underwood defending her new boyfriend in another unbearable series of faith-crushing clichés that may actually be about Jesus, because it sort of sounds like she’s singing about Jesus, which would actually make the song better because at least it’s something. But I don’t think that’s right.
[1]
Jer Fairall: In affecting a authentic twang in her vocals, she thankfully downplays her usual Idol showboating, and the pleasant wisps of acoustic guitar and piano never goad in the wrong direction. That’s not to say that she adds anything particularly fresh or insightful to this bit of Mama-I’m-a-big-girl-now sap, but she manages to sell it reasonably well this time out simply by virtue of ignoring her worst tendencies.
[6]
Michaelangelo Matos: It seems heartfelt and something about the arrangement catches me. But the song is another big pretty nothing.
[5]