I still consider myself a Columbus guy, but the calendar tells me I’ve now lived in Myrtle Beach for sixteen years. Perhaps inevitably, my fourteen-year-old son has become infected with the virus known as bro-country. What can I say? My son is not a Columbus guy. He’s a native South Carolinian. So when I’m driving him around the Grand Strand, we listen to a lot of new country music. Not only has this jacked up my Amazon Music algorithm, but I can suddenly parse the undetectable-to-the-naked-ear differences between Jordan Davis, Cooper Alan, and both Lukes (Combs and Bryan).
From my acquiescence to his bro-country phase, you might infer two things:
I love my son. So much so that last month I dropped five-hundred bucks for two four-day passes to next year’s Carolina Country Music Fest. Headliner = Morgan Wallen. Anybody else and the good people of Myrtle Beach might have burned down the boardwalk.
I now understand how well-crafted country songs are. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, there’s no denying the concise storytelling, ripped-from-real-life detail, and clever wordplay. (My favorite new country songwriter is a dude named Hardy, but that’s a topic for another time.)
Still, Nashville’s attention to craft doesn’t necessarily mean the songs are any good. A thing can be well-crafted and still suck (see: most M. Night Shyamalan movies). And something half-assed can nonetheless be totally genius. (see: “Wooly Bully”)
But when a well-crafted thing doesn’t suck? When it’s beautiful and true? That’s art, baby.
Every self-respecting rocker I know would bristle at being called an artist, including, I’m sure, my friend Quinn Fallon. But for more than twenty-five years —both solo and with his bands the X-Rated Cowboys and Los Gravediggers — Quinn has been cranking out tunes that boast the kind of skillful songwriting you find on Music Row, but far better, at least to my ears. Less formulaic, more interesting. Less sentimental, more honest.
On The Last Barstool in Hell, the X-Rated Cowboys’ first full-length album since 2005, Quinn’s songwriting chops are once again in fine form. Take, for example, “I Liked You Better,” the second track on the record. It features the ironic lyrical twist that’s a hallmark of country songs (“I liked you better back when you were worse”), but it transcends the Nashville template both in the singer’s self-aware admission that he and his friends have aged out of coolness (“Some people wear their past like a ragged old coat / a decade past its prime but they can’t let it go”) and in Quinn and Keith Hanlon’s groovy production vibe that, for a lack of a better term, I’ll describe as: gobbling edibles while strolling the Myrtle Beach boardwalk, thankful that the Morgan Wallen fans didn’t go ahead and burn it down anyway.
From his years spent behind the bar, Quinn knows lowlifes and loudmouths as well as anybody — except maybe Tom Waits and Paul Westerberg — and the album is populated with the sort of flawed but lovable characters that inhabit the Replacements’ catalog. (fittingly the album includes a faithful cover of “Skyway,” updated with the female voice, courtesy of Jessica Wabbit.) “Sad Country Song” is narrated by a barstool poet who thinks he’s a big deal because he once played in a local band. “Honor Among Thieves,” which is also the title of the X-Rated Cowboys’ 2001 debut, tells the story of a guy who’s barely outrunning the devil but doesn’t take the high road, because if he did, he wouldn’t know a single person on it. Both songs are smart, funny, and super catchy. I’m also smitten with the smoky, simmering “Can’t Save Myself” (and its rave-up of an ending) and the Brian Setzer-esque “Howl,” which features backing vocals from iconic Columbus singer-songwriter Lydia Loveless.
Throughout his career, Quinn has displayed an enviably high batting average. The guy doesn’t know how to write a dud, which is even more impressive given how prolific he is. (He probably wrote a new song in the time it took me to type this sentence.) All his tunes are good. But some — like “If I start . . .” and “Light Pollution,” the last two songs on the record — are special.
“If I Start . . .” is dense with quotable lines, but here are three in particular that warrant a chef’s kiss: “Singing harmony with the voices in my head,” “Never walk away from anything when you can stagger,” and the one that made me laugh out loud, “My family crest is a circle with a red line through it.”
As strong as “If I Start . . .” is, “Light Pollution” is my favorite track. It might be the best song Quinn has ever written. The lyrics are heartfelt without being cheesy, the lead vocal performance is stellar, and the backing vocals from the brilliant Joe Peppercorn are so damn well-performed & orchestrated — and perfectly suited to the song. I’m already running high on adjectives here, but believe me when I say the result is breathtaking.
Other special guests on The Last Barstool in Hell include jazz percussionist Troy Kunkler, vocalist Stephanie Ries, and longtime X-Rated Cowboys guitarist, backing vocalist, pre-producer, and all-around good-vibe-bringer: Andy Harrison. I know that Andy has been on the road in recent years teching for arena-level artists, but I’m thrilled that he found a place on the record.
I’ve talked a lot here about Quinn himself, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t heap praise on the Cowboys. Mainstays Bob Hite (keys) and Ben Lamb (bass) shine on “Can’t Save Myself” and “Howl,” respectively. And Jake Reis’s “Maggie May”-influenced solo at the end of “Cry on Command” is fantastic. (Then again, knowing Quinn’s love for KISS, maybe the solo is actually “Hard Luck Woman”-influenced.) And nifty contributions abound from drummer Dave Murphy (also of Ghost Shirt and Repo Pilots) and guitarist Mark Nye.
The band amounts to a finely-tuned vehicle for Quinn’s songs, and because of them, I have no doubt that the new tunes will kill in a live setting. I recommend you see for yourself at the album release show on Friday, September 29, at Natalie’s Grandview.
I wish I could be there. In fact, I might just scalp my son’s Carolina Country Music Fest passes and buy a plane ticket back home.
Joe Oestreich plays bass and sings in Watershed. He's the author of four books, including Hitless Wonder and Waiting to Derail (with Thomas O'Keefe).