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Review: Pairing of country royal,
wild-eyed rocker works
Loretta Lynn
Van Lear Rose
Four stars (out of four)
By Peter Cooper
The Tennessean
None of this should be all that surprising.
Of course, red-hot rock 'n' roll star Jack White of the
White Stripes wanted to produce an album for Loretta
Lynn. She's a monumentally important figure in American
music, and her finest recordings embody the honest
emotional directness that White seeks to deliver in his
own music.
Of course, they decided to record the album in a humble
little house in east Nashville. White seeks soul over
style, and Music Row polish often robs Lynn's voice of
its uniqueness. And, though Lynn now lives in a mansion,
she's no stranger to roughing it. She grew up in
Kentucky, without electricity or running water.
Of course, it doesn't sound like much of anything Lynn's
ever done before. The songs are hers, but this is a true
collaboration between a country royal and a wild-eyed
rocker. Greasy, amped-up guitars abound, and Have Mercy,
Portland Oregon and Mrs. Leroy Brown tread closer to
White's garage rock homeland than to Coal Miner's
Daughter. That's gonna tick off some of Lynn's longtime
fans, but it will probably earn her some fresh adulation
from others.
Of course, it works. How could it not? In the same way
that bearded rap mogul Rick Rubin helped spark new fire
in Johnny Cash in his American Recordings, White brings
out the agitator in Lynn. But — also like Rubin — White
clearly loves and respects the legend's artistry too
much to let her dangle from the creative edge.
It's strange to think of Lynn howling ''Have mercy on
me, baby!'' while sludgy guitars and pounding drums
create a soundscape that's half Elvis Presley and half
out-of-control strip joint. Strange to think, but
powerful to hear.
That's not to say that Van Lear Rose is a rock 'n' roll
album. There's plenty of country here, too, and it's
offered up in raw and real settings: Strings buzz, Lynn
sometimes gets a pace ahead or behind the beat, and
rhythms aren't metronome-perfect. Somewhere, a ProTools
system — the computerized recording setup that removes
blemishes for countless Music Row projects — is rolling
in the digital grave that Lynn and White are gleefully
kicking dirt over.
The recordings are jolting reminders of Lynn's strength
as a writer (she wrote everything on here) and of the
vocal intensity that she can bring to a song. Portland
Oregon, a duet with White, is positively salacious,
while Miss Being Mrs. is as forlorn as Lynn's historic
weeper Honky Tonk Girl.
During Van Lear Rose's first few weeks of issue, people
will dwell on the seemingly unlikely pairing of Lynn and
White and on the other supposedly improbable elements
that make up the album. Then, as has often happened in
Lynn's career, the music will win out over the hubbub.
This thing doesn't sound like a one-off, an experiment
or a surprise. It sounds like a meant-to-be.
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