Garth Brooks Is a Genius, and He Revolutionized Nashville
[Editor's Note: Fuck Guilty Pleasures celebrates the over-produced, commercial, artless, lowbrow music that we believe is genuinely worthwhile. Like, among the best music ever.]
Garth Brooks, four-sided polygon
Huey Lewis is a dick. It's not hip to be square -- it's square to be square, the thing that the hip will always fight against. Garth Brooks could never be hip, because he's a master of the square. And since as a music-loving society we're ready to admit in 2012 that hip does not necessarily equate to good, that means we're open to square, which is good because Garth Brooks is good.
Of course, we weren't always so open. In fact, Brooks has been savaged -- even by country fans. There's the studio-hack productions and his hiccuppy voice. His has often seemed to be arena rock that didn't scream it at all. At its wildest it covered Billy Joel and Aerosmith, and loved reverb and the soft-loud dynamics that permeated every single genre of the '90s. In these days where Taylor Swift has a record that flirts with dubstep, and Cowboy Troy has challenged genre barriers as well as racial ones, it's amazing to think that Brooks radicalized country at one point.
But he did.
For starters, his lesbian sister played bass in his band for years, occasionally on an anti-bigotry song called "We Shall Be Free," which contained the crucial inclusion "to love anyone we choose."
Lyrically, Garth revolutionized Nashville by updating its language and tropes. How do you make a rodeo seem new? By offering up vivid imagery ("It's the white in his knuckles/ The gold in his buckle/ And he'll win the next go-round") and then calling it "a thing." How do you spin new gold out of a song about honky tonk bars? Through the "American Honky-Tonk Bar Association," where "every local chapter has a seven-day-a-week available consultation."
Even though the song ultimately complains about your tax dollars going to "the welfare line," Garth had an eerie inclusiveness that presumably helped his sales in swing states. To wit, this paradox: "We don't reach for handouts/ We reach for those who are down."
On a purely musical wavelength there's the chord changes in "Callin' Baton Rouge" that justify its oversinging, the Bo Diddley strum of "Standing Outside the Fire" that make its melodrama fun. The all-time great anthem "Friends in Low Places," meanwhile, wouldn't be nearly as much fun if his voice didn't reach such comically low places itself, like the "don't talk back" basso profundo guy in "Yakety Yak." And then there's the tons-of-fun Santana-style soloing on over-the-top murder ballad "The Night Will Only Know."