Tonight I am truly blogging without a net. The “w” key on my keyboard popped off, so I am forced to copy/paste. However, because I care about my loyal fanbase, I have decided to brave this hardship. The sacrifices I make for rock journalism are staggering. Feel free to send me copious amounts of Mountain Dew as a sign of thanks.
Tonight’s blog was going to be another entry in my TRL series, but I got something more interesting in the mail today. Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves. I finally got Butch Walker’s new album in the mail. Try to contain yourself.
With every new Butch album, I face an ethical dilemma. Do I abstain from reviewing the new album because he is my favorite artist, or do I review the new album and try to remain somewhat objective? I pondered this for several hours before I realized that I would not be able to keep my big mouth shut. So, wish me luck as I attempt to be objective in my review of Sycamore Meadows.
Last November, Butch lost his house and all of his possessions to the California brushfires. Not surprisingly, Sycamore Meadows is about starting over. I thought this would be an introspective, somber record considering the subject matter. However, Sycamore Meadows isn’t somber. In fact, it’s downright hopeful. Walker has experienced tremendous loss, but he is moving on.
Butch Walker- The Weight of Her
The mood of the record is established on the opening track, “The Weight of Her.” The song is reminiscent of early Tom Petty, with lots of jangly guitars and a strong backbeat. The lyrics are about a breakup, but this time Walker isn’t letting the loss get to him. The pace slows down a bit on “Going Back/Going Home,” a twangy country number about appreciating what you have. Under normal circumstances, it would be a corny cliché, but it fits the theme of the record perfectly. The half-spoken part in the middle where he talks about his life is a nice touch.
Home is a recurring theme on Sycamore Meadows. Walker talks about every place he has lived, from Los Angeles (“a town of cocaine fiends and glitter girls”), to New York (“guys wear sweaters, even in the warmest weather”), to his beloved Atlanta. Atlanta plays a vital role in the structure of the record. Walker peppers his melodies with strains of “Dixie” and bluegrass guitars. Even when he is not overtly referencing the city, its presence is felt.
Walker’s love for Atlanta is the highpoint of the record. “ATL” is a stark piano driven ballad about how he never realized how much he loved the city until he left. When he talks about needing Atlanta, it’s not just because his family or friends live there. To Butch Walker, Atlanta represents his old life, a life without complications or responsibility. He wants to go back, but knows it can never be the same.
Sycamore Meadows is a great record, but there are a few problems. “Ponce De Leon Avenue” is a good ’70s-styled soul tune, but the arrangement is a too busy. The song is awash with horns, and they get in the way of the melody. The biggest issue is “Song For the Metalheads.” Butch comes off like the pretentious hipsters that he mocks in “Three Guys From Brooklyn,” singing about how people who enjoy metal are afraid to change. If this song is meant to be taken seriously (which I hope it isn’t), then Butch is not only a hypocrite, he will also alienate a large portion of his fanbase. Aren’t we forgetting something?
Fortunately, these are minor issues. Sycamore Meadows is another great addition to Butch Walker’s catalog. His songwriting has hit a new level of sophistication. I am left with the question I have everytime Butch releases something new: Where is he going to go from here?
