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There’s an ongoing debate about the state of the Avett Brothers’ music that begins with 2009’s Rick Rubin-produced I and Love and You. The Avett Brothers, a North Carolina-based group led up by Scott and Seth Avett, made a name for themselves in the mid-2000s with their brand of earnest and high energy roots ‘n’ roll, the kind that Mumford and Sons tried to deal in for two albums before giving up and admitting they were an alternative rock band all along. On I and Love and You, the grit and twang in the Avetts’ music – captured brilliantly on records like 2007’s Emotionalism — is smoothed out. The brothers don’t give up on their rambunctiousness, as the presence of jams like “Kick Drum Heart” and “The Perfect Place” evince, but Rubin’s production gleams the kind of gleam that only a big-ticket producer and a new major label can provide (the Avetts moved from indie Ramseur to Rubin’s own imprint, American).
I and Love and You is an excellent affair, but for some, the rough-around-the-edges approach in the band’s early music got lost in the Avett’s rise to prominence. Reviewing I and Love and You Pitchfork, Stephen Deusner writes, “Generally, there’s a refinement to I and Love and You that seems slightly out of step for a group that has built an audience on performances and recordings that sound rawly spontaneous and heartfelt.” For Deusner, the tunes on the album “are more purposeful, more written, more professional”; that is to say, less authentic. Rubin has stayed on as the Avett Brothers’ go-to producer, helming the studio knobs for full-length LPs The Carpenter (2012) and Magpie and the Dandelion (2013). The production has gotten glossier for the Avetts, though it’s worth noting that in a live setting, the band is as raucous as it’s ever been. The shine of the studio fades away when the Avett Brothers take to a crowd, resulting in poppy numbers like “Kick Drum Heart” becoming barnstormers. Having seen the Avett Brothers headline the 2014 Americana Festival in Nashville, I can say with confidence that even if one doesn’t like what happens to Avett Brothers tunes in the studio, she’ll be in for an exciting surprise when those songs are given new life in concert.
Rubin remains in the producer’s chair for True Sadness, the Avett Brothers’ ninth studio LP. A few months prior to the album’s release, Seth Avett penned a long, introspective letter about the state of the Avett Brothers in 2016, all the while dropping the announcement that True Sadness would be a “patchwork quilt.” The heart-on-sleeve emotionalism of Seth’s letter is at once par for the course for the Avett Brothers and a hint that there’s something special about True Sadness. If some speculation is to be believed, the “something special” has to do with the title itself. Billboard reports that this record comes after Seth unwittingly became a tabloid subject after his relationship with actress Jennifer Carpenter became the catalyst for his divorce from his first wife. The subject matter of True Sadness is too scattershot to boil down the album to that moment in Seth’s life, but it’s clear that there’s a new kind of reflectiveness on the part of the Avetts, who are already pretty reflective people. “The Avett Brothers may be the most heartfelt people I know,” says Rubin.
Seth’s letter and the title of True Sadness may give off vibes that this is going to be a serious and stately affair, all somber tones and introspective musings. Right from the outset, such a vision is thrown out the window: True Sadness kicks off with the stomp-and-clap of lead single “Ain’t No Man”, perhaps the poppiest thing the Avett Brothers have ever released. It’s easy to see the tune becoming a live sing-along favorite, but on the album it’s utterly milquetoast pop whose only identifiable tie to the Avett Brothers is the brotherly duet vocal and folksy lyrics. The music, driven by a bass riff played by core band member (and Rob Delaney lookalike) Bob Crawford, sounds like the backing number of a yet-to-be-released printer commercial. True Sadness, this ain’t. Of course, it’s not long before Seth and Scott are unspooling their heartstrings, but if there is a crystallizing case of the “Rubin Avett Brothers” overtaking the “rustic Avett Brothers,” it’s “Ain’t No Man.”
The rest of True Sadness is similarly glossy, albeit not identically poppy. Many of these songs here are classic Avett in their stylings. The wry “Smithsonian” relays the discovery to the titular museum that “Life ain’t forever / And lunch isn’t free / Loved ones will break your heart / With or without you / Turns out we don’t get to know everything.” Despite being cleanly produced, the banjo and yodel-led “Divorce Separation Blues” is a jaunty throwback tune. “Mama, I Don’t Believe,” which carries faint echoes of Warren Zevon’s “Splendid Isolation,” is ripe for belting out car windows on long road trips – not unlike many Avett songs before it. The plaintive “I Wish I Was” has been a live favorite in the years leading up to True Sadness, and it still shines in its studio incarnation.
The requisite materials of a great Avett Brothers record – anthemic choruses, unabashed earnestness, and an energetic, rock-inspired take on folk – are present in moments throughout True Sadness. But if I and Love and You tip-toed into the realm of overproduction, True Sadness dives headfirst into it. There is no better example of this than “Satan Pulls the Strings,” one of the best Avett tunes in recent years. The band has played it live for several years now, frequently as an opener, where it is a rousing, crowd-stoking call to arms. (An excellent live recording of the song can be found on Live, Vol. 4). The song begins with a drumbeat, after which the rest of the musicians come in one by one: fiddles, bass guitar, guitar, then banjo. After the infectious fiddle melody comes to a build, the whole group closes the song out on a foreboding harmonized line: “Satan’s ringing in now / And I gotta take the call.”
On True Sadness, some of the verve and catchiness of the live “Satan Pulls the Strings” remain, but several foolish choices result in the tune losing its punch. First, the song jumps right into the first verse, cutting out the buildup that in a live setting gives “Satan Pulls the Strings” its momentum. Secondly, and most damningly, Rubin produces the track like he’s working with Big & Rich; sonically, True Sadness‘ “Satan Pulls the String” is closer to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” than it is to the song the Avett Brothers have been playing for quite some time. Why the song needed to be produced this way is a mystery; while a live performance of an unreleased song is not a binding contract that it’ll remain the same once it’s recorded, “Satan Pulls the Strings” is nearly two different songs.
One could say the same about the Avett Brothers, who can be interpreted as a folksy rock group or a rocky folk group. (That’s no tyranny of small differences; there’s a clear distinction between the two.) Seth and Scott wear those hats and a few more on True Sadness, and for the most part they all fit. Only the symphonic waltz “May It Last,” which closes out the album, comes across as an awkward look for the band. When True Sadness succeeds, it reminds us what the Avett Brothers are best at. But even when it succeeds, the album coats its songs in a restrictive studio lacquer. Too often True Sadness sounds like a beast waiting to burst from its cage.
This is where the aforementioned debate between the music of the Avett Brothers’ early years and the music overseen by Rubin finds its resolution. The answer won’t be found in the binary of “overproduced” or “raw,” because it’s not in production where the Avetts find their truest expression. They, like Bill O’Reilly, are at their best when they do it live. There’s an inviting energy to True Sadness, but it’s an energy that has to struggle against production choices that too often fight against it. But just like the past several Avett Brothers LPs, this isn’t the final fate of True Sadness. The real home for these songs will be readily apparent to all those who are fortunate enough to see Seth, Scott, and their merry gang of pickers take to the stage.
2 Responses
Since the beginning of time, we wish every band/s next album sounds like their previous.
For those there since the beginning, this is a harder pill to swallow than those who are more recently on board.
Couldn’t agree more about Satan Pulls the Strings. I do like the studio version, but I almost wish they hadn’t played it live before releasing it. I would rather have been excited about how much better the live version was than the album version. Instead I am disappointed that the album version doesn’t quite measure up.