Song Review: Dierks Bentley ft. BRELAND & HARDY, “Beers On Me”

Beer has never been this boring.

Despite an illustrious career that’s spanned nearly twenty years, Dierks Bentley has never been able to grab a spot on country’s coveted A-list, and isn’t mentioned in the same breath as Bryan, Aldean, Rhett, or Thanos when someone lists the genre’s current stars. Part of this is by choice, as Bentley has been unafraid to sacrifice his Q rating in the name of passion projects (his bluegrass album in 2010, his Hot Country Knights alter ego in 2020), but part of this has been a noticeable inconsistency in his mainstream releases, with a periodic drift towards mainstream blandness (such as his previous single “Gone,” or most of his 2016 album Black). Unfortunately, despite teaming up with the genre’s flavor-of-the-month HARDY (hasn’t he ruined enough songs lately?) and the genre-blending artist BRELAND (good grief, not more all-caps names), Bentley finds itself stuck in the same old rut with his new release “Beers On Me,” a paint-by-numbers snoozefest whose only value is as a PSA for sobriety.

The production here is a limp, lifeless mix that works against the ultimate goals of the track instead of supporting them. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: This is same old guitar-and-drum mix that everyone else leans on, and outside of a steel guitar that buried in the background and barely audible, that’s pretty much all you get. With its simple riffs, neutral tones, and slower pace, the sound winds up feeling incredibly heavy and lethargic, and lacks any of the punch, groove, or energy that might catch a listener’s ear and draw them into the story. Instead, the vibe is dull and gray, and makes the song feel like more of an extension of the listener’s daily slog rather than an escape from it. In turn, it makes the audience skeptical of the song’s offer: Why would they go to a bar and drink themselves into a stupor when the experience sounds this boring, and they could go do nearly anything else and have more fun? In other words, this mix is a terrible choice for the song, and it makes the track more of a grind to get through than it already is.

My first question about is vocal is this: Who on earth thought it was a good idea to put three singers on this track? It’s only written for a single performer, and neither HARDY nor BRELAND add any value to the song with their presence. (At least BRELAND’s not-quite-a-rap breakdown on the bridge is ultimately a wash; HARDY’s irritating persona/baggage and weak, disinterested delivery do more harm to the song than good.) There aren’t any technical issues with Bentley’s performance, but his lack of energy and enthusiasm makes him sound like he’s reading the lyrics off of cue cards and would rather be anywhere else in the world than the bar he’s supposed to be touting. He sounds like he’s trying to dissuade people from joining him instead of persuading them (which, to be fair, would be exactly what I’d sound like if I knew I would have to pay for everyone that showed up). The overall level of apathy on this track is just astounding, and if the listener is still awake by the time it’s over, they’re left wondering “If these three can’t be bothered to care about this track, then why should I?” A charismatic performer like Bentley should never be this boring or uninvested, and whoever let this slide as an album cut (much less a single) should be embarrassed.

The lyrics here are about as simple and cookie-cutter as you could get: The narrator’s buying, so bring your troubles to the bar and beer yourself to death because “the beer’s on me” (the fact that the title is missing the apostrophe bugs me far more than it should). Once again, alcohol gets pitched as a snake-oil cure for all of life’s troubles, and this time they don’t even bother to make the pitch that the experience will be fun or exciting (we get one line about “feel-good standard time,” and that’s it). In general, the writing is really bad here: We’ve got a lame “that’s on you, ’cause the beer’s on me” hook that’s neither witty or clever, groan-inducing lines like “leave the sweatin’ to the beer” and “I like my drinks like my roof: On the house,” and even some sleazy-sounding stuff like “I could be your sponsor if you like how that sounds.” (Spoiler alert: We don’t.) With their exclusive focus on beer, the lyrics don’t even offer the usual generic amenities to the listener: We hear nothing of music, dancing, or even the shoulder of a fellow patron to cry on. With so many places from so many other songs that offer a better atmosphere and more things to occupy your time, why would you ever waste your time at a place like this? You wouldn’t, and you shouldn’t bother with this halfhearted sales pitch either.

I’ve heard a lot of drinking songs in my time, but they’re rarely botched as badly as “Beers On Me” is. Everyone from the writers to the singers to the producers just goes through the motions here, leaving us with a hollow shell of a track that all the lager in the world could never fill. No one walks away from this mess looking good, least of all Dierks Bentley and his all-caps collaborators BRELAND and HARDY, and the best thing I can say is that if they’re lucky, no one will remember this drivel even exists in a few months. Bentley remains an effective artist when he’s really invested in the material, so if this is the most feeling that he can muster for a radio single, maybe he should stick to his passion projects instead.

Rating: 4/10. Next!

Song Review: Brantley Gilbert ft. Toby Keith & HARDY, “The Worst Country Song Of All Time”

Well, at least they’re being honest with us.

2020 turned out to be a rough year for Brantley Gilbert: After his #1 collaboration with Lindsay Ell “What Happens In A Small Town” generated some badly-needed momentum for his career (it was his first #1 since 2015), he proceeded to squander every last bit of it, with “Fire’t Up” stalling outside the Top 40 and “Hard Days” barely cracking the Top 30 on Billboard’s airplay chart. Apparently Gilbert decided he needed to take a big swing to get back into the country music conversation, because he and Valory closed the book on the Fire & Brimstone era, brought in HARDY (Mr. “REDNECKER”) and Toby Keith (Mr. Irrelevant), and dropped “The Worst Country Song Of All Time” on us, a backwards attempt at an “I’m so country!” song by trying to tell us what isn’t country. The irony is that though the title is intended to be tongue-in-cheek, the song is exactly as bad as advertised: It’s a lazy, ignorant, exclusionary track with a reheated Bro-Country sound and some truly terrible vocal performances from all three singers involved. It’s not the worst country song of all time, but there’s a pretty good chance it winds up as the worst country song of 2021.

For a song that’s trying so hard to differentiate itself from its peers, its production is disappointingly cookie-cutter. From its hard-rock electric guitars, deliberate tempo, and in-your face percussion (which is mostly real rather than synthetic this time), this unimaginative drivel sounds like a rejected mix from the Bro-Country era. (The dobro fills the role of the token banjo, and is buried so deep in the background that it’s hardly noticeable.) The one deviation from the script is handing the bridge solo over to a saxophone (which one performer labels a “tube whistle” for no reason), and based on Keith’s lines I think it’s supposed to be another signal of how “not country” the song is…except that some of country’s biggest stars, including Keith himself (and I’d include Garth Brooks’s “One Night A Day” here too if the man wasn’t allergic to YouTube), have included the instrument in their songs. I’d argue that the saxophone is the only redeeming feature of this mix, as the song’s vibe is stuck in an awkward spot that’s not bright enough to be fun yet not dark enough to be angry, leaving it without much of a tone at all and preventing the listener from feeling like they’re in on the supposed joke (we’ll talk about that later). Overall, this mix is generally stale and uninteresting, and doesn’t provide any meaningful support for the subject matter.

None of the three vocalists here acquit themselves terribly well, and their deliveries are loaded with malicious intent rather than good-natured fun. Keith is the easiest target of the three, because he sounds awful: With his tired, disinterested tone, his performance is so mailed-in he should reimburse the label for postage, and it should have never been included on the track in the first place. Gilbert and HARDY at least seem interested in singing the song, but while Gilbert stumbles a bit on the first verse (he struggles to fit in all the songs he wants to name-drop), the biggest problem with both men is the irritating attitude that permeates their performance. A song like this would be hard to redeem under any circumstances, but with a little charm and a lighter touch, you could maybe have some good-natured fun with the concept of what is and isn’t thought of as stereotypically “country.” Instead, Gilbert and HARDY adapt a caustic, mocking tone and come across like generic Bro-Country meatheads, and their underlying message comes through loud and clear: If any of our descriptions match you, you’re not “country,” and you’re not one of us. It’s only a few steps from this track to Robert Count’s tire fire “What Do I Know,” and the bitter flavor and exclusionary mindset of these performances wind up pushing the audience away rather than drawing them in. In the end, all three artists combine to make a bad song even worse, and frankly, they should all be ashamed of themselves for doing it.

Speaking of an exclusionary mindset: A lot of songs have tried to define “country” by what it is, but this track flips the script by trying to create “the worst country song of all time” by listing all the things that they believe country isn’t. (You can tell that HARDY had a hand in writing this junk, because it features the same awful, misguided sense of humor that plagued “REDNECKER.”) At its core, the song is nothing more than an inverted laundry list of tired, overused country tropes: It takes things like beer, trucks, and dirt roads, and declares them to be bad things in its quest for awfulness. Not only is the approach incredibly lazy, but by framing these attitudes as “un-country,” it draws a hard line between “real” country fans and the rest of the world, and goes even further by insinuating that those outside the country bubble are only worthy of hatred and scorn. I tend to be a big-tent kind of person when it comes to musical genres, and nothing drives me up a wall more than taking an “us vs. them” approach and projecting supposed moral superiority over those on the other side of the fence. (The fact that it tries to hide its malice behind the paper-thin “It’s just a joke, bro!” defense doesn’t help matters—in fact, it makes them look worse.)

The main question I have with defining “country” in such a sense is “Why?” Why can’t people who “hate beer,” “think trucks are a waste of gas,” and don’t happen to “know the words to ‘Family Tradition,’ ‘Folsom Prison,’ or ‘Walk The Line'” be country fans? (Spoiler alert: The first two statements apply to yours truly, and I only know the words to one of the songs in the third.) Macy Gray recently proposed changes to the American flag; would Gilbert, HARDY, and Keith permanently bar her from the country music community? Even statements that you might think would be unassailable fall apart upon closer scrutiny: There are definitely people in Russia and North Korea who “support Kim Jong-Un and Putin”—why should that disqualify them from being fans of country music? (The song also gets explicitly political with references to cancel culture and hating the Constitution, which bothers me because demonizing people they disagree with in this manner is also the modus operandi of the modern Republican Party, which is working really hard to subvert our entire form of government right now…) The only requirement for being part of country music is liking country music, and people are allowed to do so no matter who they are (for example, while I think throwing Morgan Wallen off the radio was the right call and I would keep him off the radio until he demonstrates a change in attitude and behavior, I wouldn’t take away his stereo or make him throw away his Hank Williams Jr. CDs). Country music should be a place for anyone who’s experienced the highs and lows of life (the joys of a romance, the pain of a loss, the stories of people and their times, etc.), and the last time I checked, no one died and made these three losers the gatekeepers of the genre.

Simply put, I hate everything about “The Worst Country Song Of All Time.” I don’t like the generic sound, I don’t like the pretentious, closed-minded writing, and I don’t like the condescending, exclusionary attitudes of Brantley Gilbert, HARDY, or Toby Keith. In fact, the only good thing I can’t say about this track is that it didn’t quite provoke the angry, visceral reaction that Michael Ray’s “One That Got Away” did (it was darned close though). What aggravates me even more is that this review is exactly what the singers and label are looking for: This song is for the subset of country fans who subscribe to this backwards line of thinking and want to build a metaphorical wall between themselves and everyone else, and baiting uppity critics like me to rip the song to pieces will serve as confirmation that “those people” don’t understand “country” folks and want to destroy everything they treasure. The truth is that there are far more things to treasure besides beer, trucks, and “Mama’s homemade fried chicken,” and we should be able to celebrate all of them regardless of who we are or what instruments we prefer to hear. If Gilbert and his collaborators don’t understand that, they’re still free to enjoy country music, but I’m not sure I want them making it themselves.

Rating: 2/10. Complete rubbish.

Song Review: HARDY, “Give Heaven Some Hell”

Is Bro-Country redeemable through spirituality? Your answer will likely predict your feelings about this track.

Michael “HARDY” Hardy has only been on the mainstream scene for a few years, but he’s hasn’t made a great impression so far. His debut single “REDNECKER” wound up as the worst song of 2019, and despite “One Beer” eventually becoming his first #1 single, it wasn’t much of an improvement in my book. For his third single (the second from his weirdly-titled debut album A Rock), HARDY is taking a more-conventional (read: generic) approach, mixing faith and death with his usual Bro talking points to give us “Give Heaven Some Hell.” While I wouldn’t call this a terribly good song, it’s a clear step up from his previous work thanks to the work of the producer and the artist.

By the numbers, the production here is nothing to write home about: It’s pretty much the same guitar-and-drum mix that’s dominating the airwaves these days, with some spacious backgrounds synths thrown in to give the track an arena-ready vibe. The guitars aren’t as in your face as you might expect, however, and the reverb added to the moderately-bright electric axe that opens the track and carries the melody gives the song a surprising reflective and weighty feel, combining with the synthesizer and typical “slow Bro” tempo to move the listener to ruminate on the lyrics (whether such rumination is worthwhile, however, is up for debate). The drums don’t have much punch, but they do enough to help push the song forward and keep it from bogging down or feeling lifeless. There are a lot of minor chords here, but the lighter, brighter touch of the arrangement keeps the song feeling serious without getting too dark or pessimistic. In short, it accentuates the feel of the lyrics rather than getting in their way, which is lot better than the sonic messes we’ve been getting from HARDY up to now. It’s not great, but it gets the job done.

After his past performances ranged from lifeless to obnoxious, I didn’t expect much from HARDY’s vocals here, but I actually think he does a decent sales job on this track. Part of the reason for this is that the narrator here is essentially the same guy we heard on “REDNECKER,” albeit with a bit more decorum to meet the solemnity of the moment, and it’s a rough-edged persona HARDY has been cultivating over the last two years. There’s still a hint of defiance in his delivery, but it feels more relatable this time around: When someone passes on, we tend to tell ourselves that their spirit will survive and live on in some version of the afterlife. HARDY brings just enough believability to the table here to feel credible as a run-of-the-mill Bro shaken by the realization of life’s fragility, and while it’s still not the most likeable of characters, the audience can still understand where they’re coming from and sympathize with them. Again, he won’t be winning any Oscars for his performance, but we won’t be blowing raspberries at him for it either, and that’s a step in the right direction.

I’m not a fan of the lyrics here, because underneath all the song’s trappings of piety, both the narrator and the person that dies are just run-of-the-mill bros who want to do generic Bro-Country things: Play loud music, burn rubber in parking lots, go four-wheeling through mudholes, and drink potent alcoholic beverages. There’s detail here, but it’s the same old stuff that’s Nashville’s been shoveling at us for years, and while I get that everyone’s perception of what constitutes “heaven” is different, the activities here (not to mention the hook) seem to contradict the whole point of what such an afterlife is supposed to be. (In particular, that “hide your beer, hide your clear from the man upstairs” seems kind of dumb when said upstairs man supposedly “views the ends of the earth and sees everything under the heavens.”) The audience may feel for the departed and the narrator, but they’re not terribly interested in the story, and the production’s supplementary approach means that the writing’s shortcomings are on full display.

In the end, I view “Give Heaven Some Hell” roughly the same way I viewed Tim McGraw and Tyler Hubbard’s “Undivided”: The heart’s in the right place, but the execution leaves something to be desired, especially with lyrics like these that generate more questions than answers. It constitutes HARDY’s best work despite its flaws, but it also gives me the sense that his ceiling is relatively low: He’s a Bro-Country artist, and doesn’t seem likely to move on from that frame of reference for a while. There are better songs to celebrate the passing of a classic gool ol’ boy (may I suggest Joe Diffie’s “Prop Me Up (Beside The Jukebox If I Die)”?), but it’s not a terrible addition to the airwaves, and given the precarious state of the Pulse, we’ll take any good news we can get.

Rating: 6/10. It’s worth trying on for size to see what you think.

Song Review: HARDY ft. Lauren Alaina and Devin Dawson, “One Beer”

When your song tries to be two different things, it usually winds up being neither of them.

Given that Michael “HARDY” Hardy’s debut single “REDNECKER” earned the distinction of being the worst country single of 2019 en route to a mediocre #26 Billboard airplay peak, you have to figure the dude had nowhere to go but up with whatever he chose as his follow-up release. Now that he’s finally given us “One Beer,” I can officially say that the song is not worse than “REDNECKER”…but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. This song, which mashes three singers (HARDY, Lauren Alaina, and Devin Dawson), two goals, and several musical genres, is the sonic equivalent of taking five different jigsaw puzzles and trying to put them all together into one giant picture, and the result is one big mess that leaves the listener more confused than anything else. There may be things to like and things to hate, but there’s nothing here worth remembering.

For the sake of comparison, let’s start by revisiting a track that plowed this same ground back in 2003 and got things mostly right in the process: Kenny Chesney’s “There Goes My Life.”

Let’s start with the differences in the sound. Chesney’s track  opens with a soft, reflective piano, transitions to an acoustic guitar and subdued snare drum that pushes the lyrics to the forefront, slowly builds in volume and complexity (steel guitar, electric guitar, a full drum set), and builds to a perfect crescendo at the end of the bridge. The tempo was deliberate, the noise level was careful not to trample on the writing, and that mix had a real warmth and humanity to it that accentuates the emotional impact of the song.

In contrast, HARDY opens with a mind-numbingly simple guitar riff marinated in audio effects, tosses in a drum machine on the chorus, and makes them the primary focus of the arrangement for the rest of the song. While the producer eventually adds a few other instruments here and there (pianos, guitars…actually, many of the same pieces from Chesney’s song can be found here). The result is a song that feels as sterile as a doctor’s office, and it generates a limp club-beat vibe that doesn’t fit the subject matter at all. This sound is not inviting enough to be thoughtful and not energetic enough to be danceable, which pretty much makes it good for nothing.

Speaking of nothing, that’s pretty much what HARDY brings to his vocal performance. His flow is basically his only redeeming quality: His voice is monotone and flat, his range is so limited that he’s uncomfortable when the song pushes him into his lower register (he voice tails off and gets raspy at the end of nearly every line), he delivers his lines with less feeling than an Amazon Echo, and worst of all, he doesn’t breathe any life into his characters and make them sympathetic. Where Chesney really made you feel for the protagonist as their dreams disappeared (and then brought his charisma to bear to make the rest of the song adorable instead of cheesy), HARDY never gives you the sense that he cares about the characters here, so why should the audience care? (What’s even more jarring is that the lyrics try to make a point about how alcohol consumption has unintended consequences, but HARDY’s stoic monologue explicitly refuses to take the same stand.)

You would think the track would make more use of the featured singers to prop up HARDY’s lackluster lead, but Alaina only shows up of the chorus harmony work, and Dawson is…er….well, I’m sure he’s here somewhere, but you’d never know it from listening to the song. The song squanders the talent of the singers who actually have talent, and make us sit through HARDY’s ear-grating performance, one that makes us pray to every spirit we can think of that the song is over when he reaches that long pause on the bridge.

And then we get to the subject matter, and…*sigh*. It may be the same story that Chesney tells about two people who get surprised with an unexpected pregnancy and discover that it’s more of a blessing than a curse, but the lyrical construction of this song is vastly inferior. For one thing, the verses are nothing but disjointed laundry lists featuring choppily-sequenced snapshots:

Seventeen in this small town
Weak knees in a CVS
Door locked in the bathroom
What’s it gonna be waitin’ on that test?

Sesame Street on the TV
A race car rollin’ on a cardboard bridge
Crayon stick figure family
Stuck right there front center on the fridge

The detail is there (and it’s actually impressive), but the thread between the images is missing, and the song feels more like a context-less photo album than a true story. (The song also stops short at this point, while Chesney’s tune at least sent the kid to college and tied the ends of the tale together by having the kid fulfill their parent’s dream.) To their credit, the writers try to use the “one beer” hook to point out how alcohol can change the course of someone’s life, but the point lacks enough punch to overcome HARDY’s nonchalant reading of the text. (To their discredit, the extended schoolyard “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” song reference feels more lazy than clever.) In the end, the writers seemed to have good intentions, but all they do is keep the devil’s paving company in business.

The only good thing about “One Beer” is that it is, in fact, a better song than “REDNECKER,” but then again, so is the sound of a cat running its claws across a chalkboard. The writing has some flashes of competency, but neither HARDY nor the producer actually care about what’s being said, and the sound does it own thing while HARDY does nothing at all. (Lauren Alaina and Devin Dawson could have added a lot to the track, but they’re criminally underused and are reduced to bystanders gawking at a train derailment.) It’s a mess of clashing ideas wrapped in a layer of sheer indifference, and instead of convincing me that HARDY deserves a more-prominent place in the genre, it tells me we need to throw him out before he can do any more damage.

Rating: 4/10. No thank you.


Is this what country music has become? Has the genre really devolved into a buck-measuring contest?

I was already getting tired of hearing artists like Luke Bryan, Chris Young, and Easton Corbin prattle on about just how “country” they were. The last thing I wanted was for some offended good ol’ boy to step up to the mic and declare that they, in fact, were the redneckiest redneck that ever rednecked, and that you were a soft little city slicker in comparison. Unfortunately, that’s just what we got from HARDY, a Mississippi native and the genius behind Morgan Wallen’s all-time classic “Up Down,” who operates under the Big Loud record label. I don’t know what they were shooting for with “REDNECKER,” but it’s about the dumbest declaration of countriness I’ve ever heard, sung by the most insufferable narrator who completely fails at making the track sarcastic, fun, or worth listening to.

Let’s start with the lyrics today, because frankly I hate everything about them. It’s not enough that the narrator has to proclaim how country they are just like every other song on the radio; no, they are offended that you think that your own redneck credentials measure up to theirs, and must point out in painstaking detail why yours are inferior. It’s meant to be sort of a “proxy song” where the listener imagines themselves saying this to someone else, but in my experience, people don’t fight over this kind of thing, they bond over it, and picking a fight where it’s not warranted or prudent just seems stupid to me. You could also try to make the argument that the narrator is being sarcastic or tongue-in-cheek, but there’s not enough hyperbole in the writing to stick the landing: Outside of the “my tick hound’s a little more blue” line, everything here sounds like it was ripped straight from HARDY’s competition: small towns, loud trucks, hay bales, sweaty brows, etc. (If they had gone really over the top with the lyrics—”I took a selfie with Hank Sr.! I gave Willie his first joint!”—then I might have bought this argument.) This narrator comes across as both dead serious and seriously annoyed that you would have the audacity to call yourself “redneck,” and while there’s no hard and fast definition of the term, I also take issue with claiming that having “got it on a tailgate” or being able to “piss where i want to” are valid criteria. To top it all off, the whole “rednecker” hook is the opposite of clever or witty, and stands as further proof that making up your own words/phrases for a hook (“singles you up”, “alcohol you later”) is not a viable strategy. This is the dumbest song I’ve heard in a looooong time, and this and “Up Down” form a strong case for never letting HARDY touch a pen, keyboard, or typewriter for the rest of his days.

Writing this awful would be near impossible to redeem for the best of singers, and HARDY is nowhere close to having that sort of stature. The song is neither a range-tester or a tongue-buster, but it requires a huge amount of charisma and skill to make the narrator seem endearing or sympathetic. Unfortunately, HARDY (who sounds like yet another off-brand Florida Georgia Line clone), has neither charisma nor skill, and delivers his lines with such an aggravated seriousness that he makes you think he’s actually annoyed that you think you’re more redneck than he is. Given the absurdity of the discussion and the fact that the narrator is addressing his grievances towards “you”(at least A Thousand Horses had to decency to include the audience on “Preachin’ To The Choir”), the performance causes the listener to recoil at the accusation and wonder what the dude’s problem is. (Much like Brantley Gilbert, HARDY “doth protest too much, methinks.”) There’s no twinkle in the eye, no tongue placed in cheek, no knowing smile…he just comes across as an angry individual who feels the need to put you in your place for no good reason. As bad as the lyrics are, HARDY’s delivery manages to drag them down even further.

At this point, there’s no hope for the production to save this sinking ship, so it just goes with the flow and doesn’t even bother to try. The mix opens with a swampy electric guitar and real drum set, and doesn’t really move much from that spot (it brings in an organ for the choruses). With it’s slower tempo and darker instrument tones, the producer seems to be shooting for the same “outlaw” vibe that Justin Moore captured in “Kinda Don’t Care,” but it only reflects the worst qualities of that spirit, channeling all of the status-quo irritation and I-do-what-I-want-no-matter-who-it-hurts nihilism without any of the endearing charm and underlying self-awareness. It certainly fits the serious vibe of the vocals and writing, but at some point blind adherence to the party line at the expense of listenability becomes more trouble than it’s worth. The song’s structure and riffs are also paint-by-numbers simple, suggesting that the producer is just here so they don’t get fined—if HARDY and company want to go down this rabbit hole of defiance and isolation, they can at least sound like a mediocre Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band as they go.

There aren’t many songs that I would choose a Mitchell Tenpenny single over, but “REDNECKER” is definitely one of them. The sound is generic and uninspired, HARDY is angry and unlikable, and the writing is so putrid that not even Greenpeace would dare clean it up. It’s a early front-runner for my worst song of 2019, and if anything good can come out of this, it’s that hopefully this song will make people realize that the”I’m so country!” trend has been played out to its logical conclusion, and the genre can finally get over itself and move on to something more substantive and interesting.

Rating: 2/10. Absolute garbage.