The song, the melody, the chorus is so George Jones or George Strait. It really is. Of course, I’m always going to have the haters and critics out there that say it’s not. But then, kiss my ass! I know more about those records than a lot of people.
No, Blake. How about you come to Texas and kiss my ass, you arrogant motherfucker?
As I said at Saving Country Music, after about a minute and a half of the song…
I really don’t give a shit what Blake Shelton likes to make everyone think he knows about George Strait, or Jones, for that matter. Can’t really speak as to the Possum, although I have heard a ton of his music, but I have George Strait’s entire catalogue. And I can tell you that if this song showed up on a George Strait album it would rank at or toward the bottom if I ranked my favorite songs on said album. I would also be incredibly disappointed in him for more or less completely giving in to the trends of the moment. I’ll admit I like Strait’s earlier stuff better, but even as of late he’s still miles above this sort of thing. “Neon Light” doesn’t even sound like something George Strait would do even on his most adventurous day. And there’s not enough Shiner Bock in the Spoetzl brewery to make that pablum sound anything like George Jones.
And yes, it is better than the likes of “Boys ‘Round Here” and “Doin’ What She Likes,” but that’s an incredibly low bar.
On another note, as I’ve put it here before, Marty Stuart has probably forgotten more about country music than Blake Shelton will ever know, but you don’t see him being a cocky asshole to his detractors, assuming he even has any. So who’s the better representative of country music? I know my answer. I bet you do too.
I think the reason women are looked at in that way — and it’s not in a negative way at all — I don’t think it’s degrading to tell a girl to get in my truck and let’s drive around. I think that’s just what we’re doing. I’ve got an ’85 Chevy Silverado, and I have a bench seat where the girl can sit right next to me. She can slide on over. That’s literally why we’re singing about it.
The replacement of traditional narrative songs in favor of “lifestyle songs,” once characteristic of commercial hip hop rather than country, made the objectification of the opposite sex in country songs inevitable.
Narrative songs feature characters with desires and intentions. “Lifestyle” songs list artifacts: bonfires, jeans, moonshine, country mixtape, girl, ecetera. Yes, the “girl” in the bro-country song is literally just another artifact.
On the other hand, when one is writing narrative songs about relationships, it is difficult to avoid alluding to the fact that the opposite sex are human beings that posses individual thoughts and feelings and the agency to make decisions. In fact, the existence of both love songs and heartbreak songs are completely contingent upon the fact that it takes two to tango. Even Hank Williams could never have been so lonesome he could cry if his woman hadn’t had the freedom of choice to dump his ass in the first place. The woman in a bro-country song doesn’t seem to have much of a choice at all.
“Git yer little fine ass over here, girl.”
I mean, sure, Rice might act like the girl in a bro-country song might have the choice not to “get (her) little fine ass on the step shimmy up inside,” but it’s certainly never come off like that. I mean, really…
“Slide that little sugar shaker over here!”
“Waiting on you to look my way and scoot your little hot self over here. Girl hand me another beer, yeah!”
“You’re shakin’ that money maker, like a heartbreaker! Yeah, gotta get me some of that!”
I mean, it’s like the alpha and the omega of objectification. And that’s far from the only thing wrong with this particular strain of virus “country” “music.” Not that I’d expect the likes of Chase Rice to grasp that, what with his limited brain wattage, but there you go.
(h/t Country California)