The Highwomen, Joe

"A strong woman is one who feels deeply and loves fiercely. Her tears flow as abundantly as her laughter. A strong woman is both soft and powerful, she is both practical and spiritual. A strong woman in her essence is a gift to the world." —Native American Saying

My goal for this review is to avoid getting an angry email from Sara B****** after this is published. It's a tricky tightrope to walk, because I get the importance of albums like this, and I get that anything negative that I say about it will reflect poorly on me and on all the other straight white males that also have something to say about this album. So I will do my best to temper and to equivocate and to over-explain.

I'd like to think that I am an ally in the fight for women's equality. I also am fully aware that every shitbag white male will willingly make that same claim, even if it's not remotely true. So I understand if that's not enough. I acknowledge that there is no way for me to "prove" that I am an ally through some fucking words in a fucking album review. If my actions have indicated that I am a sexist or don't take women's equality seriously, PLEASE be a good friend and tell me, because I now have two daughters and I need to get my shit together now.

But for the purposes of my opinion of The Highwomen, I'm going to have to accept that you will have your own opinion about me regardless of what I say here. I will accept that, because here's what I won't do—I will not proclaim that I like The Highwomen more than I do, or say that it's a better album than it actually is, just to perform some type of virtue signaling. That would be a disservice to myself and to the very small audience reading this.

The lede, unburied: This is not a good album.

It deserves this description: The Highwomen is the inspirational cross-stitch hanging in a foyer of an upper middle class suburban rancher. If I walked into my aunt's home, and saw a cross-stitch that said "Home is where the heart is!" I wouldn't hate it because of what the cross-stitch said. I would hate it because I find the idea of inspirational cross-stitchings appallingly lame. I can hate it, even if I agree wholeheartedly that home is indeed where the heart is.

There is plenty about The Highwomen that I agree with. The country music scene is grossly male-dominated, and so the fact that four powerhouse female voices in country could come together and sing in unison about why women are badasses in both large and small ways... it's fucking great. I agree. Go Highwomen.

(Those women are: Brandi Carlile, who just last week got nominated for some more Grammys and totally deserves 'em; Natalie Hemby, more of a country songwriter, and she has written songs for both great artists—Lee Ann Womack—and complete trash—Little Big Town—but regardless, clearly knows her shit; Marren Morris, who sang the hook on the very un-country-ish hit "The Middle" that even I know; Amanda Shires, who is my favorite of this group, who's last album was pretty phenomenal, and who, yes, has a quasi-famous quasi-country husband whom I also love, but who she is married to is totally secondary to why her music is good.)

But the way this laudable message is presented is, like the cross-stitch, fucking LAME. A lot of this country music wouldn't be out of place at Disney World's Country Bear Jamboree. They take country's classic tropes and do absolutely jackshit with them.

Maybe that's overstating it a little bit. There are moments of clarity among the muddled bullshit. I like Shires' curdling snarl during "Don't Call Me"'s outro. I like the different singers popping up from out of the mist for introductions in the lead-off track. I like mostly everything about "Crowded Table," because it has hopefully convinced Pam to have more dinner parties.

But most of the rest of the album is just run-of-the-mill country bullshit that I find so dull. It's a shame, because, again, I like what they are saying, but I can't get past the way they say it. "My Name Can't Be Mama" should be the type of song aimed squarely at my heart at this very specific time in my life. I should be lovingly playing this shit every time Pam starts tearing her hair out because of the little ones. But instead, it's the type of country song that could be featured in Adam Sandler's The Ridiculous 6. It's so cliché that it borders on parody.

I wish the Highwomen nothing but success. If they can take down the Toby Keiths of the world, then it will have all been worth it. But as far as listening to this album goes, I will pass.

Alright Sara, my email address is jmk1201@gmail.com. Send away.

GRADE: 2 pukes out of 5