After a long career with Curb Records, singer-songwriter Lyle Lovett has finally made his last record under the oversight of a major label. The aptly titled record Release Me makes no effort to conceal Lovett’s feelings on his departure; the front cover of the album is a photograph of the songwriter standing with his arms at his side, wrapped in rope, as if he’s unable to move. With a 27-year career, Lovett’s vocal delivery is as developed as it’s ever been. With only two cuts on the album penned by Lovett, one might think that he’s making a not-so-subtle statement about major labels and their artistically restrictive tendencies. We have reason to question what’s wrong, because Lyle Lovett is a songwriter yet his contributions are minimal.
The record serves up a variety of styles the troubadour has covered in his lengthy journey like a sampling of musical tapas, but as with the varied cuisine, you oftentimes don’t get to explore the full weight and depth of one favored selection. The same is the case with Release Me. It introduces his Curb farewell with a bluegrass jam that is absent of any words, suggesting that maybe he wants to say more with silence than any lyrical stanza could convey. The second song and title track is the collection’s height of country, a song from the mid 1940’s originally made famous by Ray Price. He then flips the coin to the other side of America’s roots music with a 12-bar blues jam, which doesn’t feel as good as anything Muddy Waters did, but his vocal execution comes from the deepest part of his worn out soul. Then comes “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” which like the other songs, delivers well, but has been sung enough by Tony Bennett alone that it ought to be legally off limits. The following track is a more forgettable gospel tune, feeling akin to an unimpressive Robert Randolph deep cut.
Six tracks into the album, the listener finally hits some serious songwriter bedrock though still unfortunately not written by the man himself, but Eric Taylor instead. A few more lack-luster tunes: “One Way Gal,” the blues classic “Keep It Clean,” and a few other outstanding tunes like Chuck Berry’s “Brown Eyed Handsome Man,” Townes Van Zandt’s “White Freightliner Blues,” Sara Watkins’ folk-country ballad “Night’s Lullaby,” and the listener begins to wonder, “where’s the consistency?” There isn’t any, and it hurts anyone who knows Lovett’s talent as a songwriter.One of two tracks written by Lovett, “The Girl With The Holiday Smile,” becomes the twisted knife, the sad reminder of what he can and could do. The story of a friendly meeting with a hooker in a grocery store is funny, but seriously well crafted like a lighter B-side to Tom Waits’ “Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis.” Slow and bare, “Dress of Laces” feels like a song that could be sung by Alison Krauss, but he proves that a hard-worn voice can carry a ballad about a wounded girl as well as the angel herself. Finally, Lyle Lovett refuses to tie the album together on the last track, “Keep Us Steadfast,” an old traditional hymn he sings with its original somber melody and minimal instrumentation.
Release Me is not void of talent or musicianship. It’s not that one of America’s prized writers has lost his ability, but has he lost his inspiration? He can sing—after all— that is showcased on this record as clearly as it ever has. But when he writes, it’s the feature. He could always sing, but people didn’t rave about his voice; they listened to his words. And that is precisely why we would have a right to be concerned—that the opener of Release Me is a foreshadowing. It's not that we would have a man that doesn’t make records; rather, something worse. It's that we have a man who makes records, but who is silent.
Ben Israel Thompson
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