She owned her own theme park (which I’ve visited). She made random movie cameos. There was even a bit of a joke that she was more plastic than skin and bone.

​But lemme tell you what, suckers. Dolly Parton is a friggin’ saint.

Released when she was just 29 and including only one song she didn’t write, the sheer variety and consistency of this compilation speaks volumes to the quality of her body of work (my dad would make a punchline here. Something about work done on her body. Shut up, dad). 

She shows herself a master of dark, mournful ballads (“Jolene,” “Corner Store), tender love songs (the indelible “And I Will Always Love You”), and unbridled country-western jubilance (“Coat of Many Colors,” “When I Sing For Him”). 

There’s not a bad track on here. And while I famously dismiss greatest hits comps, this one doesn’t have a bad second of music on it. Nothing seems out of place. It’s just pure Dolly, through and through, and that’s all it needs to be.

They were using a bunch of old records as decorations—hanging them on walls, using them as chargers for plates, and other unsavory treatment that no good record should be subjected to.

So I went through the stack ahead of time and saved these. 

Especially important is the punk classic Easter by the Patty Smith Group. An absolute gem of a record.

I’ve derided him as a Paul McCartney wannabe who was far more concerned with making soundtracks for music videos than writing good pop tunes.

But that’s not entirely fair. Nor is it necessarily true.

This is an unusual live album: after The Stranger made him a huge star, Billy released an album of live versions of his old songs to introduce new listeners to his back catalog. In the liner notes, he specifically mentioned that he wanted to focus on lesser-known cuts: which means no “Piano Man.” 

But there are several gems on here. “Captain Jack,” a deep cut from The Stranger is played with a heavy hitting energy that the studio version lacked—including a shouted final chorus. “She’s Got a Way About Her,” the lead track from his ill-fated first album , finds new life here—this version became a charting single, and for good reason. 

Even besides these standouts, the entire tracklist is filled with gems. The best songs from a talented young songwriter played with the conviction and power of a star performer. The songs are lifted from the murky swamp of “potential” and given the performances they deserve.

We all assumed this was little more than an indie rock album filled with catchy songs. And there are hundreds of those released a year, but we aren’t still talking about them. But there’s something about this record that won’t let go of you. The earworms, synth lines, funky-as-hell bass riffs, and disaffected post-punk vocals are a Trojan horse for some incredibly fun and heart-tugging tunes. “Smile like you mean it” isn’t exactly an original sentiment, but Brandon Flowers sings it with an earnestness that makes you want to cry. Then he hits you with this verse: “Someone is calling my name from the back of a restaurant / And someone is playing a game in the house that I grew up in / And someone will drive her around down the same streets that I did…”

The album isn’t always this intimate though. Much of it is wrapped in the same irony that their new wave and post punk progenitors utilized. After all, is there any earnest way to sing, “Don’t you put me on the backburner” or “I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier”? If there is, would you even want to mean those lyrics?

Much of the album’s power is in Brandon Flower’s ability to flip from a bleeding poet to a snarky comedian to whom nothing is sacred. But if it weren’t for the band’s ability to craft exciting rock and roll around it, it’d be for naught. The band riffs on New Order and Duran Duran as much as it does the Rolling Stones, and each with equal conviction.

It’s worth mentioning that when I first bought this CD, I was disappointed that all of the songs didn’t sound like “Somebody Told Me.” What a fool I was. 

So its should come as no surprise to anyone that hip hop would eventually cross the aisle to meld itself with indie rock…

Even when the album leans more towards a pure hip hop, it’s musical center is far closer to 808s and Heartbreak than The Chronic (to the point that my wife thought this was Kanye from across the house). Most of the tracks are filled with a lush, synth-heavy atmospherics and deep, retro drum machines. Cudi doesn’t rap as often as he sings in an unassuming, nonchalant baritone. The one sore thumb is the Lady Gaga sampling “Make Her Say,” which is still enjoyable.

Oh—and did I forget to mention that this is a concept album? There are five acts, which are each introduced by a narrator. It’s a loose storyline: The Man on the Moon (who the narrator describes as the most introspective, revolutionary, and honest rapper of all time. Allow him his hubris) falls asleep and has to…battle through his dreams? I think? The acts are titled “The End of Day,” “Rise of the Night Terrors,” “Taking a Trip,” “Alive,” and “A New Beginning,” which gives a vague, but followable outline.  The tracks are organized more by theme than narrative, which keeps the concept from being too overbearing.

On the surface, it seems to take itself a little too seriously. After all, he doesn’t expect to us to believe that he’s the first rapper to express emotional vulnerability, does he? But it seems like most of it is played for irony. And if you can get past that, this is an excellent record from a young artist.

This record has been sitting on the shelf for years without me listening to it. My assumption was that I would only ever listen to it once, then get rid of it, so I might as well make that one listen the review.
​
I was wrong about a couple things…

But that’s not the case. The record gets far more mileage out of tenderness and balladry than honky tonk. Rogers’ voice is surprisingly delicate—nowhere near the booming baritone you’d expect from looking at him.  There are a few rock songs thrown in the mix here—and one disco tune (“Hoodooin’ of Miss Fanny Deberry”), but most of the songs are surprisingly restrained. And Middle Of the Road though they may be, they are more enjoyable than not.

And while Kenny Rogers is a star within the country music industry, this album is surprisingly absent of country music cliches. Kenny’s voice is not encumbered by a thick, manufactured drawl like so many country singers. The instrumentation is closer to soft rock than a country band. Most songs are led by an acoustic guitar and electric piano, strangely absent of twanging guitars or lap steels. The liner notes even credit someone with an ARP synthesizer, though I can’t readily identify it in the mix. edit: oh, there it is in “Morgana Jones,” the sole Rogers composition, which even has a break for a jazz fusion guitar solo.

The album isn’t all pleasant surprises though. A few of these songs did not age well. Most notably “Makin’ Music for Money” in which Kenny grits his voice and does his version of a rock and roll man. And not necessarily well, at that. But for the most part, the record stands up surprisingly well. It might not get many repeated listens, but I’m not ejecting it from my shelf immediately. And in this case, that’s a win.

​So naturally, I friggin’ love this movie.

But what hits me the most is how perfectly the gentler tracks capture the alone-but-not-lonely feelings of my own youth. Moments spent exploring the woods or sorting through action figures or pilfering through my dad’s tools and hacking at random pieces of wood with a hatchet (I was not a very supervised child). Tracks like “Igloo,” “Hidaway,” and “Food is Still Hot” perfectly capture the solitude of youth that surrounds some of my favorite childhood memories.

​It’s also worth noting that “All is Love” was my wife and my recessional in our wedding, and that she bought me this record for our first Christmas together. So it’s not just childhood nostalgia that this record brings up.