"Nashville," the title of Nebraskan-born singer-songwriter Josh Rouse's fifth album, is more than a little misleading.
On the surface, Rouse's nod to the country music capital of the world would seem to suggest a full-scale country record, or, at the very least, a return to form after the strange but charmingly faithful "1972," a tribute to the popular music of Rouse's birth year. "1972" was an odd undertaking, especially when you consider that for some "1972" wasn't even cool in 1972.
However, "Nashville" is neither a country release nor a return to form for the songwriter. According to Rouse, the title is actually kind of a joke.
"It's an insider title, I guess, for us, musicians living there that don't really live in the world of commercial country music but know about what's really going on in town," Rouse said earlier this year in British magazine NME. "There's always been great things going on here musically outside of country, but no one really thinks of Nashville in that way."
Somewhat paradoxically, the album revisits a number of the antique musical themes of his previous album, while blazing a trail all its own.
And while this time around, there are no feel-good sing-alongs or Marvin Gaye-inspired sex tracks, there is still plenty of early-'70s sunshine to be found here. From the lushly arranged "Streetlights," to the gently suffering soul of "Saturday," "Nashville" goes down smoother than a John Edwards' stump speech. That is to say, it might take you a couple of listens before you actually take notice of what the guy is saying.
Yet, Rouse doesn't hesitate to deftly combine the sounds and ideas of one or two other decades with the soft-rocking '70s of "Nashville."
Take for example, the Paul Westerberg-influenced pop twang of the opening track, "It's the Nighttime," which sports an innocent schooldays vibe until the surprising punk cheekiness of one line in particular - "Maybe later on/After the Late Late show/We can go to your room/I can try on your clothes" - throws the song a curve.
Even the despondent, "My Love Has Gone," which finds Rouse contemplating his recent divorce, refuses to resort to Jackson Browne sentimentality, thanks to a few well-placed digital effects and an ominous guitar interlude that just about cuts the singer off mid-moan.
The second track and soon to be single, "Winter In The Hamptons," with its recurring Ba-Ba-Ba's, is a bouncy pop number in the style of the Smiths. And although Rouse is singing lines like "Sick of living here, we're such a mess/Cause the government, they're all liars," you'll still probably be clap-clapping along.
Perhaps even more impressive than Rouse's ability to build a catchy melody out of his own despair is the remarkable generosity the singer shows toward the female protagonists of these songs, given his recent marital woes.
In "Carolina," another upbeat track in the vein of gentle '70s guitar pop, he allows for the lonely dreamer to realize her dreams - essentially making them come true in song. "Middle School Frown," a pop song-length apology to a girl Rouse treated badly back in junior high, crescendos into a rousing chorus every time the girl walks down the singer's street.
By the time Rouse gets around to the starkly beautiful piano ballad "Sad Eyes," which finds the songwriter singing to a wife whose husband has "stolen all her happiness," the effect is downright startling. "I'm gonna get you into the light and make it okay," he sings almost knowingly.
However, the single greatest moment on the entire album occurs when the song speeds up, becoming a stirring goodbye to the protagonist's despair, and, with any luck, the songwriter's as well.
