Brad Paisley
Mud on the Tires

THE REVIEW

Country has always been a little-regarded genre in Italy. Seldom broadcast. Seldom discussed, barely appreciated. Why? I suppose the cause is the strong geographical and cultural evocativeness it conveys. If one has never seen in life what a canyon is, what kilometers and kilometers of nothingness (to be poetic: of everything and nothing) that separate one inhabited center from another mean, what the desert is and what life is like on its margins, one probably has little chance of understanding country. Probably that's not even enough, you have to go live in America. No, no two ways about it, you have to be born there. And since I only meet the first prerequisite, I imagine I understand very little, in country, of what there is to understand. Understand, feel?

However, I certainly understand two things.

The first is that the distance of the "country culture" makes it tremendously fascinating to me.

The second is that even I, an ignorant Italian 'polentone', believe that I realize the third album by the rosy young fellow from West Virginia (less young than he seems in reality), Brad Paisley, is a great album. It is practically the only country album I have listened to in its entirety, but I have heard a sufficient number of songs by other artists to realize that good Brad is neither a caricature nor a soulless mimic, despite his age and the enormous legacy of the genre behind him. Does this comparison scare him? No.

And indeed, here we are: what does an American country musician convey to a 'polentone'? Relaxation. Intimacy. Carefreeness. Passion. From a purely technical and arrangement standpoint, these eighteen tracks are impossible to disdain: the party our guy sets up features electric and acoustic guitars, banjos, strings, percussion, white and not so white choirs, and above all stands his considerable charisma, his guitar weaving many memorable solos, and his warm voice that warms like the blazing sun on Route 66.

The melodic and festive masterpieces of "Mud on the Tires", "Celebrity", and "Little Moments" capture the listener when they're still fresh, it's a pity the album mellows as it goes on with some filler duets (memorable, though, is the one with Alison Krauss in the subtle "Whiskey Lullaby"), but in the meantime, it leaves something: and it's all joy. Will we ever truly understand a genre like this, so distant from Silvio, from Carfagna, from Monnezza, from our problems, from our preconceptions, from our head trips, so distant, so simple, and immediate... but perhaps only in appearance?