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Tyler: Travis, some months ago, I was browsing the secondhand country racks at one of my favorite shops, the Cincinnati mainstay Everybody’s Records.  I came across a startlingly cheap and good-looking copy of the album we’re to discuss today, Sturgill Simpson’s Metamodern Sounds In Country Music.  Simpson had been recommended to me at times over the years, and a quick double-check of Allmusic’s review—they gave Metamodern Sounds a rare five stars—convinced me to give the LP a shot.

From the opener, “Turtles All The Way Down,” my gamble felt rewarded.  I have a very particular rock-Americana-country sweet spot, and what I heard from Simpson on Metamodern Sounds stuck its landing there.  I’ve listened to it plenty of times since that day at Everybody’s, while also exploring the rest of Simpson’s tidy, versatile catalog.  I love the work.  I think it’s accomplished and smart and heartfelt, even when it rocks and talks about a “Life Of Sin.”  This is real modern country music.  Not just pop sheen with a slide guitar.

What did you think of this one, my friend?  Had you any curiosity about Sturgill Simpson before we settled on tonight’s subject?

Travis: I was curious about Sturgill Simpson, yes, though pretty cautious about that curiosity. I saw all the good reviews, but the hype I was seeing came mostly from the sort of people I follow on Twitter whose musical opinions I regard carefully, to be delicate, namely, male sportswriters over the age of 40. I like Jason Isbell and Bruce Springsteen as much as or more than the average bear, but they are not the entirety of my musical interest, so I was a little hesitant to dive in to Sturgill Simpson. I’ve been burned before; remember our Drive-By Truckers listen?

I also assumed Sturgill Simpson was a stage name (not just a guy going by his middle and last name) and the title Metamodern Sounds in Country Music made me think this’d be a little too smarty-pants or precious for me. Pastiche by a punk rocker with a sense of humor, maybe? Nothing I saw about him after the release of this or any of his other albums, including reworking his songs with bluegrass vets, really put any of those fears to rest.

Finally listening to it, what, ten years late? It’s not really any of those things I was worried about. It’s a good mainstream country album (I quibble with the “outlaw” tag it gets labeled with, more on that later maybe) that could have come out anytime between, say, 1971 and now? Musically, production-wise, even lyrically (for the most part) this is an album out of time. It’s well-crafted, some of the songs have really irresistible hooks, there’s even some flashy guitar heroics (which I think I wanted more of, actually). This album is good. I guess, though, I don’t get what makes it worthy of modern classic 5/5 status.

Do we differ there, Tyler? Is this, as The Source would say, a 5 Mic Album for you?

Tyler: Well, I think “out of time” is a terrific descriptor.  Given the genre and the economy—even with a “bonus track,” Metamodern clocks in at just over half an hour—the comparison that springs to mind is Dylan’s Nashville Skyline.  That’s not me likening Simpson to Dylan, mind you—I simply find that the brevity and easy momentum of both albums leaves the listener, not underwhelmed, but merely pleased.  When you see a romantic comedy or adult dramedy that hits all the right notes, you walk out of the theater feeling satisfied, not bowled over.  When we get into modern classic/masterpiece/all-timer talk, an album like Metamodern steps aside for something like, oh, I dunno, Gillian Welch’s Time (The Revelator).  There’s seemingly more “there” there.

What feels like comfort food doesn’t always feel like the best of all time.  So I dunno what I’d tell The Source.  I suppose that’s why we don’t use scores here at ol’ Writers’ Loom.

Travis: Fair enough. I think I did a good job of not judging Metamodern Sounds in Country Music based on what I thought it might be, so it’s probably not fair to judge it by what it isn’t, either. What it is is a pleasant half-hour of solid country tunes. Well-played, well-sung, with enough diversity between rocker and ballad to keep it from feeling monotonous.

Tyler: Agreed!  It’s just damn good music. I have plenty of capital-c classics, and many of them have songs worth skipping.  Contrarily, there aren’t any skippers on Metamodern Sounds.  Play it through, including the bonus track, and your time will feel well-spent.

Sometimes, when I’ve churned through the racks at a record store for a silly amount of time, turning up nothing striking, I consider that there are hundreds of LPs hiding in the stacks that I would love—I just don’t know what they are.  Digging out one like Metamodern Sounds was a shopper’s delight.

Having enjoyed this one, could you see yourself looking deeper into the Simpson discography?  Or is the pleasure here more of a one-and-done?

Travis: I might try out the Cuttin’ Grass bluegrass exercises just because I like Sierra Hull, a terrifyingly prodigious mandolin wizard, and imagine the rest of the players are along the same lines. I enjoyed this and think it’s good but your description of it as comfort food is helping me put into words why I probably won’t check out much else. This kind of music isn’t MY kind of comfort food. 

And that’s fine. If I hear this playing somewhere or someone has an extra ticket to see him live, I’d undoubtedly enjoy it. But I can think of a ton of other things I’d rather put on as comfort food. Some people love meat loaf. I don’t. Some people don’t like grits. I do.

For those whose curiosity is piqued by these Metamodern Sounds, what would you recommend as a next step?

Tyler: Simpson’s most plainly accessible album might be his debut, High Top Mountain, an exceptionally good nu-outlaw country LP.  A Sailor’s Guide To Earth, the followup to Metamodern Sounds, roared up out of left field to garner an Album of the Year Grammy nomination, and it too is a great piece of work.

SOUND & FURY, his fourth album, is a wild exercise in, if memory serves, soundtracking anime while producing a standalone odd-rock record.  Both of the Cuttin’ Grass albums are tremendous, the reimagined versions sometimes outstepping the originals. The Ballad Of Dood & Juanita is a brief concept album that I enjoy, but it is a real deep-cut devotee selection.

Finally, Simpson has since Dood & Juanita adopted the moniker Johnny Blue Skies.  That psuedonym’s first album, Passage Du Desir, is a lovely, melancholy quasi-reinvention.

Travis: Oh yeah! The soundtracking anime thing. I remember hearing about that. I think that super pushed me away now that I think about it. I’m glad I’d forgotten about that before we decided on this one.

Tyler: It’s bizarre.  I plan to go back to it, but so far have only made it through one whole time.

Travis: Anime: a thing lots of people really like now, and admit openly, that I am pretty much a “get off my lawn” old man about.

Maybe our next chat should be about Neon Genesis Evangelion.

Tyler: I’m gonna reckon that should be compared to neither meat loaf nor grits.