The TSA is marking her name on the No Fly List as we speak…
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[6.42]
Alex Ostroff: Women scorned and the men that made them so are a well-worn topic for Miranda, and the titular metaphor is as uncomfortably on the nose as the dead flowers from her last lead single. Musically, however, this is something new: rootsier than anything we’ve heard from her yet, with a swing of the hips and touches of Hammond Organ that bring to mind Grace Potter. It’s a promising look, but the singer who once ignited kerosene and gunpowder with her sharp tongue sounds fed up, though not particularly angry; her threats to “blow it up in flames” no longer hold water.
[7]
Katherine St Asaph: This conceit makes Miranda what, exactly? She’s been dragging his specifically leather baggage around, making her a passenger; then she drops it off on the conveyor belt for him to retrieve, making her either a flight attendant or a kid who’s achieved her dream of crawling into where the bags come out. Then she threatens to “blow it up in flames,” making her a TSA nightmare, except she’s packing a car in a yard so all that is moot anyway. Her cheatin’ man (who’s somehow still behind her) is taking a business trip along with anthropomorphized drug addiction that’s immune to kicking, to see some dogs and ponies frolic metaphorically. At least “Judas” stuck to the gospels; no matter how well Miranda sputters her fresh-mixed vitriol, some things just aren’t spatially possible.
[5]
Zach Lyon: The metaphor is so extended that you never hear anything else. You absorb no information about the relationship or either of its members past that one fact. It ceases to be clever after the first thirty seconds of letting her bash your head in with it.
[4]
Brad Shoup: I’d be remiss if I didn’t note up front that this song completely disregards a post-9/11 reality. Namely, that you just can’t put someone else’s shit on an airplane and expect to walk away. That said, this is a fine way to cleanse the palate from the lightweight champeen “The House That Built Me.” It’s yet another entry in the scorned-woman’s-revenge genre, but unlike, say, Carrie Underwood, I can honestly believe Lambert’s tired of this shit. There’s a nice-enough riff, as well as stinging steel and fine bubbling organ work, but my favorite part is the male backing vocal. Kind of a rancid, inverse version of “Someday We’ll Be Together”.
[7]
Alfred Soto: Clean, crisp acoustic strummin’ (with the riff echoing PJ Harvey’s “C’mon Billy,” which I’m sure Miranda loves), fine organ work, Josh Kelley aw shuckin’ his way on harmonies I wish new hubby Blake Shelton had tried, and the bombast crippling half of Revolution a bad dream — maybe marriage does wonders for one’s art after all.
[7]
Michaela Drapes: Lambert’s voice grates a little; I’ve never been fond of her teeny yodels and her lack of dynamics (she’s rather Reese Witherspoon in Freeway about things). But that shift from the dueling acoustic guitars in the first half to the full on bombast of the pedal steel, organ and hot electric guitar in the climax is gorgeous textbook production that doesn’t feel hackneyed or trite in the slightest, exploded beyond the furthest limits of what’s been previously acceptable in Nashville. Nicely done.
[8]
Ian Mathers: You know, Miranda, if he’s got so much baggage you probably should have kicked him to the curb before he picked up that piece on the side. Cheating’s bad (mmmmkay?), but you don’t have to settle for some neurotic, needy mess even if he’s not sneaking around on you. Torture the metaphor a little less next time too, please.
[5]
Jonathan Bradley: Lambert’s give a damn is busted, though her chameleonic ability to occupy an endless train of new characters is as resilient as ever. “Baggage Claim” doesn’t come with much more detail than that offered by its central metaphor and excellent opening line — “I have been dragging around your sensitive ego” — but Lambert breathes life into it with a tough and pointed performance. There’s too little for her to work with for it to be one of her best, and the chorus could be stronger, but it’s nice to hear that she can shine even with a lesser tune.
[7]
Dan Weiss: In extra-spunky boogie mode, the first lady of gun-country nearly raps here, pointing at those with “sensitive egos” and extending the title metaphor from slight witticism to workaday smirk. But she used to flesh these out.
[6]
Edward Okulicz: With this much spunky swagger, “Baggage Claim” would have fit nicely on that Nancy Sinatra album from ’04, and I mean that as a huge compliment. Lambert’s songs vary in quality — though they are usually very good — but her ability to spit venom even when she’s not breathing fire never falters.
[7]
Jonathan Bogart: It’s possible I just haven’t been listening close enough, but when did Miranda Lambert start to sound like Dolly Parton? This is an enormous compliment, in case you’re wondering.
[8]
Anthony Easton: This single is great fun: amusing extended metaphor, nice energy, and a professional gloss. Not her best work, but glad to have her around.
[6]