In the late 1990s and early 2000s, when high-profile artists like Jeff Tweedy, Joe Henry, and Rhett Miller were abandoning alt-country for younger genre mistresses, Robbie Fulks only flirted with pop music over drinks, maybe shared an innocent dance or two, but stayed loyal to his roots-rock old lady. After a disappointing major-label debut-- 1998's Let's Kill Saturday Night-- he rebounded to Bloodshot with Couples in Trouble, The Best of Robbie Fulks, and 13 Hillbilly Giants, and now is releasing his sixth album, Georgia Hard, on which he finally and fully indulges his obsession with the 1970s countrypolitan sophistication of Roger Miller and Don Williams.
The problem with Fulks' fidelity, however, is simple: He doesn't have the voice for this kind of country music. It's too thin and textureless, with a nerdy nasalness that lacks the coarse grain of hard experience that marks so many of his idols. On Georgia Hard, he fares best on straightforward songs like "Where There's a Road" and "It's Always Raining Somewhere"-- both of which start the album on a deceptively strong note. But Fulks just can't sell the hard emotions of the country noir "Coldwater, Tennessee" or ballads like "I Never Did Like Planes" or "If They Could Only See Me Now". He attempts to compensate by emulating everyone from Charlie Rich and George Jones to Faron Young and even Jimmy Buffett (on "I Never Did like Planes"), but it sounds like mimicry and, over the course of 15 songs, feels a little disjointed.
As a result, despite some admittedly well-crafted tunes, there doesn't seem to be much of a personality directing these songs. Such emptiness, however, is better than the threat of irony: Occasionally Fulks' vocals sound as though they are delivered with a knowing wink, as if he's satirizing the genre from the inside. Obviously, Fulks is sincere in his love of country music (a genre that prizes earnestness and disavows ambiguity), but it doesn't help that he seems more invested in jokey songs like "I'm Gonna Take You Home (And Make You Like Me)" (a duet with his wife, Donna) and "Countrier Than Thou", both of which prove no more subversive than your typical Ray Stevens song. And he's clearly enamored with the flushed-from-the-bathroom-of-your-heart strain of country-music wordplay. But his old-hat puns-- like "All You Can Cheat", "Doin' Right (for All the Wrong Reasons)", and "Goodbye Cruel Girl"-- are long past threadbare.
As with so many recent anti-mainstream country albums, Georgia Hard sounds less clever and risky compared to what has come out of Nashville over the past year. Big & Rich's Horse of a Different Color is much more imaginative and playful, and albums by Gretchen Wilson, Julie Roberts, and Dierks Bentley sound more soulful and innovative even as they draw on older styles. Does this Nashville resurgence signal an end to insurgent country? Is now the time for all those artists who've been out in the alt- wildernesss to reconcile with Music Row? Fulks in particular might have some radio hits in him, if only he'll let someone else sing them.
