Tim McGraw’s “Emotional Traffic” arrives in stores as the most litigated album in recent musical/legal history. Imagine the missed opportunities for ad campaigns: Direct from the Tennessee court system to your sound system!
The real ad line is a laudatory quote found on a giant sticker on the CD shrink wrap: “'My Best Album Ever' -- Tim McGraw.” That opinion contrasts with the legal position taken by Curb Records, which contended in court last year that this recording, which was meant to wrap up his deal with the label, was substandard or already dated (since he turned it in back in 2010) and he should be held to the company for further recordings.
Now that a judge has declared the star a free agent, compelling Curb to finally release "Emotional Traffic," the label would much rather that you believed McGraw's cover blurb than their own court briefs, of course.
Here’s another judicial verdict: Neither is right. Probably even McGraw doesn't really believe this is his finest effort. But neither is the album the sonically antiquated throwback that Curb’s lawyers risibly contended with their legal Hail Mary. Rather, it's another solid B+ effort in a career that’s been full of them -- hinting at greatness when McGraw is trafficking in thematically complex balladry, settling for affability when those orange cones inevitably steer him toward good-timey rockers and humanist affirmation anthems.
No star in contemporary country has been quite so good or brave about picking songs that get at the real stresses of middle age ennui and the bitterness that can creep into long-term relationships, a la “Angry All the Time.” The new release is book-ended by a pair of terrific tunes in that tradition, and they’re strong enough that you can forgive some of the ephemera that passes in-between.
The opening “Halo,” in particular, sets a standard the rest of the album is often hard-pressed to meet. “I’ll clean up the mess, baby, you stand there and shout,” McGraw sings, playing the quieter partner in a combative relationship. “I’ll take it like a circus lion, silent in my cage… I’ll crawl out of my cradle down into my black hole, and you’ll just lay low under your halo.” Ouch! A hazy lap-steel guitar and hard-rock solo guitar do a pas de deux in the atmospheric fadeout, dancing around one another a little less passive-aggressively than the couple in the lyrics.
After that downbeat an opening, it’s no surprise that the album quickly takes a turn for the giddy with “Right Back Atcha Babe,” which goes so far in reaffirming romanticism that McGraw promises “that ring you been waiting for all these years.” It’s so over-the-top in its goofy sweetness that the best way to get through the song is by thinking of it as an ironic prequel about the doomed couple in the tune that came before.
That’s not to say that McGraw’s upbeat material always lacks the flair of his more somber fare.
