Sweaty Nate ft. His Beard, more like
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[3.70]
Katherine St Asaph: The law of conservation of sync-eyed soul.
[3]
Josh Langhoff: Hey, Rateliff grew up in Hermann, Missouri! Shit, son, I got family down in Hermann, by which I mean they biked there on the Katy Trail and now they’re hanging out at a winery. I haven’t decided whether this newfound affinity excuses Rateliff’s appropriation of an African-American work song, but I’m pretty sure “S.O.B.” would rowdy up the folks in rural drinking halls just as well as it rowdies up my suburban AAA station, sandwiched between Lexus commercials.
[6]
Alfred Soto: Replace the claps with rimshots and the organ with guitar fills, accelerate the tempo, and you got a Brantley Gilbert single. The best drinking songs peer through the dirty window of the morning after; dwelling on the pain before the pleasure’s begun is tacky and not much fun. No wonder adult alternative types like it (what are adult alternative types?).
[4]
Thomas Inskeep: This sounds big and sweaty, like John Belushi in the midst of a cocaine binge, which makes sense since Rateliff and his band of merry men are clearly going for a Blues Brothers thing here. I’ll argue that they succeed, but in success they fail, because let’s face it, the Blues Brothers were awful, the worst kind of vanity project. I never, ever need to hear white guys playing their approximation of ’50s/’60s soul ever again.
[2]
Patrick St. Michel: A well-constructed bit of stupid fun, nothing more but solid for what it is.
[5]
Micha Cavaseno: It’s more a way of selling the stupid fake gospel stirring production and stompalong for the verses, culminating in Lieber/Stoller style goofiness on the chorus’s blow-out. This Nathaniel Beardface has nothing to offer as far as vocals; he’s been blessed with great mixing, not a great voice. And whereas The Coasters was a vehicle for zany teenage hijinks, there is nothing particularly exciting about white dudes obsessing over booze and acting like brats about it when they don’t acquire it with the quickness. Ho-hum.
[2]
Andy Hutchins: Dude can sing, as evinced by all three verses, so why is he buried in the mix in the hook? Stax Records returning to prominence and the charts is cool, don’t misunderstand, but a breakthrough live performance on Fallon that far exceeds the kinetic energy of what is ultimately put on wax didn’t really help the last crew that pulled it off.
[5]
Brad Shoup: This song was already the grit in my teeth before I learned that it’s got a friend-rending lyric. Can’t say that makes me angrier — I don’t know from the DTs, and maybe shaking off the shakes gets you reaching for comfort-food gospel and PG-rated cusses. But this is more corn than pone, relying on Rateliff’s opaque testifyin’ for whatever heft is here. I’m glad for the soul shouting — it’s better than the howls from the heels that’ve marked uplifting pop-rock of late — but it puts the motion in emotional.
[4]
Will Adams: I know that the live drums and harmonized vocals and guitars and finger snaps are super authentic, but not using a compressor on your vocals? That’s a new level of authenticity. Good job! Sounds uneven and distracting, but good job anyway!
[3]
Megan Harrington: Believe it or not (or not, or not) this guy, Nate Rateliff, managed to outsell undisputed album of the year Emotion in their mutual debut week. I know, right? Who even is this guy? Who are the 15,000 people who showed up and paid money to hear him yell “Sonofabitch!” like he doesn’t own a smartphone and read Reddit daily? I know he thinks if he was just born 70 years earlier he’d have some soul, but since he wasn’t, the least he could do is spare us.
[3]