Let’s just say Willie Nelson is no stranger to collaboration. His rolodex extends from Bob Dylan to Toby Keith. The 73-year-old troubadour is as active as ever, having released the quietly charming Cindy Walker tribute You Don’t Know Me earlier this year. (And leave him alone, Louisiana, he’s an American hero, for goodness sake.)
As for Ryan Adams, it seems like only yesterday he was a snotty kid playing something known as “alt-country” with Whiskeytown. But, like Nelson, Adams has proven himself to be a true seeker, experimenting with a range of musical styles. Thanks to a few shared bills, Adams found his way into Nelson’s rolodex. So, Nelson grabbed his trusty harmonica sidekick, Mickey Raphael, and jetted up to New York City to record with Adams’ band, the Cardinals, handing production reins to his labelmate.
The results are a bit of a mixed bag. Graced with Raphael’s delicate shadings and a gospel chorus, Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” takes on the majesty it deserves. The straight honky-tonk of Harlan Howard’s ballad “Yours Love” is also effective, as Nelson seems eager to dig into a true country weeper, and Gram Parsons’ “$1000 Wedding” receives a vigorous reading. The understated “Back To Earth”, the one new Nelson composition, features tender pedal steel work from Jon Graboff.
There are also updates of three older Nelson originals. “We Don’t Run” benefits from a vibrant country-rock arrangement, while the classic “Sad Songs & Waltzes” returns to firm honky-tonk ground. “Rainy Day Blues” begins as a jazzy shuffle before settling into a more straightforward electric stomp.
Not everything works, and Nelson’s voice can’t stand up to some of the more robust musical settings. The jangle-rock of Fleetwood Mac’s “Songbird” doesn’t play to Willie’s interpretive strengths. He seems intrigued by the chord changes and lyrics of the Grateful Dead’s “Stella Blue”, but the squall of guitar distortion detracts from what could have been a beautifully low-key performance. An ominous, minor-key version of “Amazing Grace” puts a new twist on the old spiritual, but it’s unclear whether it really needed one.
Songbird doesn’t achieve the alchemy of, say, 2004’s Loretta Lynn/Jack White collaboration, Van Lear Rose, an obvious reference point. That album benefited from a strong set of Lynn originals and a near-seamless fusion of both participants’ visions. Here, the edginess feels forced in a few places, pushing Nelson in directions he doesn’t always seem completely willing to go. There are enough bright spots to make this a worthwhile detour, though it’s not much more.