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[6.17]
Patrick St. Michel: Maybe not the most daring take on the classic drink-the-pain-away song, but a completely serviceable bit of sad sackery.
[5]
Anthony Easton: The ambitious swing that introduces the song is aided by his voice, which is so nostalgic of ’70s outlaw he might as well draft himself as part of a Waylon cover band. The interesting thing is what happens in the chorus — the production picks up, and modernizes, so in track you can see the line between Hank (who he invokes like the saint he is) and Waylon (the first verse) and early Toby Keith (the chorus). The artists who do not market themselves as neo-traditionalist can move forward,by imprinting themselves on this history, then burying it in the middle of a pretty severe production and a kind of strut/front. I am not sure that this hiding its roots as an aesthetic choice makes the track more or less effective. I am genuinely confused about how I feel. He does, though, have an excellent voice, and the musicians are excellent.
[7]
Brad Shoup: The waltz is nice enough, and the mandolin pulls the right faces, but the lyrical hook isn’t there. And a drinkin’ waltz can’t survive bearing slant rhyme.
[5]
Katherine St Asaph: The tipsy vaudeville piano is a nice touch. But ultimately — as Tim would no doubt agree — this needs more whiskey and less pain.
[6]
Alfred Soto: Because Toby Keith is the patron saint of straight bourgeois recherche party animals — a master of endowing louts with pathos — he complicates things for wannabes like Jason Aldean and this guy with a marvelous name. The mandolins and rye-drenched voice flirt with conviction while the song remains an exercise.
[5]
Jonathan Bogart: Maybe it’s just that I was expecting a moldy, toothless British navelgazer when I saw the name, but this is maybe the strongest country ballad (male division) I’ve heard in three years of Jukeboxing. I love that it takes its sweet time, refusing to be rushed and letting the mandolin and piano fill in the pregnant pauses with their own drunken momentum. I love that it’s unapologetic about joining heartbreak and alcoholism in the grand country tradition rather than posturing as if whiskey is only for the good times. This isn’t hashtag country; this is the real thing.
[9]