This turns out to be quite a poignant observation. When I slide the disk in to stereo, instead of Kweller’s typical grunge rock, I am greeted with the sparse twang of steel guitar and soft bass. The first track, “Gypsy Rose,” is defined by this simplicity. Over the gentle back-and-forth of the strings, and an even gentler kick-and-snare drum rhythm, Kweller croons to his lady muse. the song is praising, yet it is also longing and sad. I consult the lyrics sheet: "Bring ya food, money, shoes just to lye here with ya 'neith yer sheets / I see hope in your life / it's the world that makes me cry." [verbatim]
I take a look back at the album cover, and think: Rodeo shirt.
Wait a minute….is this a country album?
The affirmative comes on track 2, “Old Hat.” Slide guitar laces through a slow, plodding drum rhythm while Kweller proclaims, “I never wanna be/that old hat you put on your [whoops! yer] pretty head.” The song builds into a modest crescendo, while Kweller sings the refrain in a higher register. Make no mistake, this is a country ballad.
Now, I'll be honest: I didn’t read anything about Ben Kweller’s upcoming album before buying it, nor did I see him when he came through DC, so I wasn't expecting a country album. But maybe it’s not all that shocking. After all, Ben Kweller’s talent centers on in his effortless sense of harmony, songwriting ability, and versatile voice—something like a hip version of a young Paul McCartney, or a simple man's Elton John—so branching out into new kinds of music was never out of the question. Nor is there any debate regarding Kweller's chops.
Most importantly, it’s not like the decision to produce a country album is anything novel. Three examples come to mind: Bob Dylan’s Nashville Skyline, Ween’s 12 Country Hits, and Beck’s Sea Change. Not to mention hundreds of individual songs ("Rocky Racoon"). Artists of all stripes love to co-opt the county & western style, either to explore it musically (Dylan), to mock it (Ween—see “Piss up a Rope”), or to mine its natural power in telling stories of love lost and sadness (Beck). Where will Ben Kweller fit?
In any case, it will be a tough sell, since so much of Kweller’s appeal is based on his stature as an indie rock figure of note. An understated wunderkind and a rock songwriter on his own terms, Kweller is (in my opinon) an unsung successor to the post-90’s rock mess. [Not to mention, the album cover for On My Way was one of my favorites in recent memory] His songs and albums are never groundbreaking, but they're determined, quirky, and independent in the literal sense. As a result, his music has always been an anthemic alternative for a generation that kills itself trying too hard to be cool. Which begs the question: can Ben Kweller change horses with his standard aplomb?
“Fight” and “Hurtin' You” are unsettling answers to this question. In the former, Kweller oddly juxtaposes cliche country motifs of lonely truckers and playing cards with the more urban image of an intern, frustrated by love. The song rallies to a boot-stomping chorus (“You gotta set yourself on the lord in your life/ you gotta fight til your dyin’ day”), but it seems forced and kitschy. In “Hurtin' You,” Kweller tries to cheer up an old friend whose “pretty point of view” has been dampened by generic sadness. Kweller speaks the right language, and plays the right notes, but on songs like these, he seems most like a rodeo-shirt wearing indie kid attempting to paying homage.
The strongest song by far is the album's first single, “Sawdust Man.” Laid over a piano riff that would make young Billy Joel and Elton John proud, Kweller belts out a song to a returning love from the top of a Greyhound Station. Here, Kweller finds his country groove: he is unpolished, energetic, quirky, and very endearing. It's ironic that amongst all the standard country themes on this album, it’s when Kweller puts himself back in his peculiar environs (on top of a bus station) that the listener finds his act the most authentic.
The second half of the album surges on this peculiarity. “Things I Like To Do,” a song in which the singer literally lists the things that make him happy ("I like talkin' in the diner 'stead of screamin' in the noisy bar"), wouldn't pass muster in Branson or Nashville. But when Kweller drops the pretense and just lets it flow, listeners find a pleasant marriage of his trustworthy talent and country ambitions.
Ultimately, Changing Horses is an inconsistent but harmless foray into country music, which will leave most fans hopeful that Kweller’s horse change is a temporary one. If that sounds harsh, it's useful to remember that Kweller remains in good company. Bob Dylan adopted a country voice to record Nashville Skyline that was nothing short of awkward. And Ween...well, they wrote a country song called “Help me Scrape the Mucous off my Brain.” Beck’s Sea Change is the most authentic example--in part because Beck fuses elements of the genre with his own musical style, and in part because the album is just so goddamned sad. Kweller gets this, and he certainly has his moments when form and function align, but by all measures this horse change is no sea change.
...but then again, there’s never been harm in having a little country fun.
