Anyway. As I was saying, I suffer. To prove it, I'm listening to The Very Best of Sheryl Crow, a hits package from my third-most-despised artist in the history of rock music. (The list goes something like 1: Steely Dan; 2: Joni Mitchell; 3: Sheryl Crow; 4: Carly Simon; 5: Steely Dan.) But I'm listening, and I'm doing everything in my power to listen objectively, so I can give you the Fair And Balanced™ review that you've come to expect from Pratt Songs.
Music:
There's really nothing wrong with Sheryl Crow. Her songs are all memorable, her bands are made up of top-notch session musicians, and she's not a bad storyteller. The problem is, her music sounds like Los Angeles.
A writer named Michael Ventura wrote the most insightful thing I've ever read about Los Angeles. He wrote that the city has no innate personality. You can move to New York and become loud and obnoxious, or move to New Orleans and listen to jazz, or move to Baltimore and snort heroin while you call everyone "hon." But you can't move to LA with the expectation that the city's personality will supplement what you're lacking.
Every song on this album sounds like Los Angeles. These are songs whose personalities are so vague that you can dump your own experiences into them and let them become your personal soundtrack. These are musicians who can play anything under the sun, but who never succeed at developing their own unique sound. These are stories whose characters and plots are more than willing to step aside and let someone else's life story take over.
My problem is I love songs with personality. I love musicians who put emotion before proficiency. And while I love stories that have a universal appeal, I really love stories that are best told by the person who lived them.
I don't believe that Sheryl Crow lived a single one of the songs on this album. And if I don't believe in the truth of a song, there's nothing it can offer to make up for what it lacks.
Packaging:
This is a good package, particularly considering the lackluster inserts given to most best-of collections. There's an essay that talks about how Sheryl Crow possesses a truly unique and passionate voice (I'd take it more seriously if it weren't written by a guy who lists The Teen Choice Awards 2005 and Christina Aguilera: My Reflection among his TV writing credits) and about 8,000 photos of Crow. There are no lyrics, which is disappointing, but the overall design of the package holds together well and compliments the music.
Listen if you like: The Eagles, Joni Mitchell, Melissa Etheridge, Los Angeles
If it were food, it'd be: A late-night sandwich at "Rock and Roll Denny's" on Sunset and Vista in Hollywood. The place seemed exciting and genuine on the surface, but it was really just bad food and dull people, both claiming to be far greater than they really were. As far as I can tell, the place has closed down, and I can't say I feel one bit of nostalgia for it.
5: should be heard by all music fans; a "perfect" album
4: best of genre; sets a standard within its genre
3: just better than average; good for fans of the genre, and okay for everyone else
2: below average; listenable for fans of a genre, but only if there's nothing else to hear
1: poor, and whatever good qualities it has can't save it
0.5: no redeeming qualities whatsoever.
7 comments:
When I think of women singers in the 90s I immediately think of Crow and Alanis Morissette. The one who I would favor out of the two would be based on what you said in your review, because of her emtion. Morissette had some incredible passion in her work, for instance, "You Oughta Now" and that really made her music memorable and believable. Crow reminds me of Tom Petty, she has some catchy songs, but nothing that makes me want to hear more.
Dude, that was great. When we had that conversation about her, I remember thinking -- I hate Sheryl Crow, but I don't think I can truly articulate why. Well, thank you. (Un)fortunately for her, she's in a long line of not-so-subtle poetasters crafting pastoral vignettes on this or that or the other, all of which mean little to me or you, and somehow somewhere make sense to someone -- her adoring fans, I suppose. And I suppose that's why Sheryl Crow ranks high on my list of worst musicians ever -- because rarely do I dislike people based on their musical tastes, but I hate her so much and I find myself twaddling in silent agitation when I've discovered one of her sycophants. Hell, for fifteen minutes of my life -- to include any subsequent memory recall -- I hate my sister. Thanks, Sheryl. Thanks.
Oh, and I find the Steely Dan jabs extremely amusing. They feel like the jabs Roy Jones Jr. threw at Joe Calzaghe. Hrrrmph.
If it's any consolation for having sat through this bland platter, I saw Ms. Crow thoroughly dissed once. The lineup for the show was Butt trumpet (yeah, yeah, I know), Radiohead, The Jesus and Mary chain, The Cramps, and Sheryl Crow headlining. Well, the promoters took a look at the crowd and decided that if she headlined, 98% of the people were going to leave after the cramps' set. So she went on before the cramps and played, and about 12 people were paying attention, the rest turned their backs and occasionally shouted abuse at her. Then she fucked off and the whole place went apeshit for the cramps. This was what, 1993? The end.
That is a well-written comment for someone who is obviously incapable of either reading or comprehending.
I got the Steely Dan t-shirts.
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