Published June 16, 2006
Shallow, pathetic and soulless country-pop without a hint of originality, the clichés run riot on this utter tripe, Darrell Scott’s sixth attempt to make music of his own as opposed to being Tim O’Brien, John Cowan or Guy Clark’s studio bitch. Maybe he should have stuck to his bitching because this is way worse than anyone could possibly have imagined. Bad, and I mean really, really bad: So bad, in fact, that I feel obliged to award it with a beer, because making music this bad takes talent, and for the fact the man has halfway-decent taste: The album contains a Raphaels cover, and is, incidentally, the only song worth listening to on this stale turd of an album.
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