![]() ![]() And the LL Cool J rap is just a flat-out embarrassment. But a lot of the time he's trying too hard to say too little or trying too clumsily to say too much, sometimes even with his trusty guitar. Two or three great songs and a fair number of pretty good ones-I'm especially partial to "Karate," a bash-his-face wife-abuse song that deserves more attention than it's been getting, and "Those Crazy Christians," where Paisley fulfills his God quotient by stating his distance so admiringly it'll do evangelicalism more good than an entire sacred album. After those two openers comes one that defines hell as "payments you can't make on a house that you can't sell" (among other things). Horny for his wife but not horny enough, loving her like she's leaving because he thinks that might help, his songcraft is undiminished, and he remains the smartest and nicest guy in his world. But Paisley has always been Nashville-I'm more put off by the ones about drowning your sorrows in Mexico, a locale Nashville should leave to the Cancun crowd, and that hottie who's working on a tan, only unfortunately I can't stop humming it. Having touted multiculturalism and Saturday Night Live to open his 2009 album, Paisley cuts his sails, making nice to Nashville on a lead/title/theme track that touts salvation and Lee Greenwood (among other things), and then for an encore singing the praises of Alabama the group and Tennessee the state. Then watch the video and hope Paisley isn't wrong either. Listen carefully to "Welcome to the Future" and try to tell me I'm wrong. As woman-friendly as Garth Brooks without the emo overkill, Paisley seems happier than ever, and I don't think it's just about his wife and kids. ![]() Here's an album where the marriage ballads are so meaty and convincing that the two exceptionally well-turned breakup songs seem like formal exercises, where a comedy number about fishing and beer would sound just dandy if there weren't so many subtler laughs on the agenda-like when the title number ends up in Manhattan, or when "Welcome to the Future" ends up on a synth outro, or when Paisley's rowdy guy friends join in on a hearty "You wear the pants/Buddy good for you/We're so impressed/Whoop-de-do." In short, here's an album from the capital of hits-and-filler where the filler could be somebody else's hits. Getting set in his ways-"Online," ugh-but still smarter than the Nashville norm ("Ticks," "Letter to Me"). So much command of Nashville conventions he'd fool with them as soon as feel with them ("Little Moments," "Famous People") ** There's words in that there cowboy hat ("He Didn't Have To Be," "Me Neither"). ![]()
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