Caitlin Cary deserves at least one review that doesn't doggedly refer to her former Whiskeytown bandmate-gone-Gap-commercial-- the eternally-jean jacketed, pinching Mick Jagger's ass in Rolling Stone, now-awkwardly ubiquitous Ryan Adams-- but it seems unlikely (red handed, here) that she'll ever get it. I'm Staying Out, Cary's prompt follow-up to her 2002 debut While You Weren't Looking, is full of earnest, hipster-bucking countrified pop, thick with violins, keyboards and soft, plaintively breathed lyrics about obstinate women, girlish pining, and Sunday mornings spent curled tightly in bed. Adams' musical influence on I'm Staying Out is dismissible at best, but his smirking, messy-haired ghost seems destined to forever haunt Caitlin Cary's Carolina halls, grinning toothily, bobbing his head, and snottily-- if unintentionally-- distracting everybody from what's really going on.
At least stylistically, Cary's landed a fair distance away from the guy she now coyly (albeit affectionately) describes as "some kid I used to be in a band with." Whereas Adams has layered his post-Heartbreaker solo work with loads of dumb rock star swagger and some stupidly intentional Parsons-esque photographs of flags and pistols (and dark-haired models in bed? Cigarettes? Headphones?), Cary's is far less concerned with punk posturing, corporate sponsorship, or attracting the fickle affections of Winona Ryder. This is sweet, safely melancholic, pretty-but-benign stuff; perfectly competent, I'm Staying Out compensates for its lack of spectacular innovation by showcasing its players' technical prowess and busting out a handful of intensely sincere performances.
Cary's pitch-perfect alto seems alt-country certified: part-Natalie Merchant, part-Lucinda Williams, and occasionally-- see "Please Break My Heart"-- skewing a bit Patsy Cline. Cary's is a consistently rich and effortless croon, pushing through straightforward mid-tempo pop songs full of sub-fiddle flights for guitar solos, threaded-in keyboards and the occasional mandolin or clavinet with impressive, comforting ease.
With her indisputable violin chops, Cary had already brazenly bowed her way through Whiskeytown's two-deep discography, breaking up Adams' guitar pummeling with her subtle, satisfying coos. Here, with Jayhawk Jen Gunderman lending a solid foundation of organ, piano, and backing vocals, Cary's fiddling shines. "Cello Girl" mixes lite-rock electric guitar stroking with violin lines and steady percussion; the excellent "Sleepin' In On Sunday" is a gentle and soothing lullaby, restrained percussion and lilting, lazy vocals making its name feel awfully (if predictably) apt. Title track "I'm Staying Out" is riddled with sad-eyed, syrupy country twang and the obligatory lost-love lyricisms ("I know you are waiting for me to come home/ I hate to think of you spending this night all alone/ But I'm not coming back, dear/ Not never or now,") while the equally downtrodden "In A While" cleanly incorporates the wails of dobro, trumpet, and baritone/tenor sax.
Periodically Cary's songwriting evokes the semi-confessional, intermittently caustic women songsmiths of the mid-to-late 1970s (Carly Simon, Carole King, Stevie Nicks), weaving strong vocal melodies with pleasant instrumentation, and working, for the most part, within traditional verse-chorus-verse song structures. Cary occasionally hops out of 4/4, but she's not really kicking down any new sonic paths. It's all very fine and good, it's just not especially compelling.
No matter how different Cary and Adams' post-Whiskeytown outputs have been, neither has quite approached the tired, subdued beauty of alt-country landmark Pneumonia. So thank you, dismantled Whiskeytown, for stocking our shelves with plenty of perfectly capable, occasionally tiresome, bandless alt-country singer/songwriters. Now get on with that reunion, please.
