Bentley's Bandstand
Country music is like the Texas weather. If you don't like it, sit still a minute because pretty soon it will change. The Nashville scene seems to go through permutations in ten-year cycles, and often circles around back on itself to end up near where it began: Countrypolitan, outlaw, new traditionalists, music mafia, fill-in-the-blank here. It just keeps on rolling, except for artists like James Hand because the chances of someone like this shifting for anyone are way less than zero. He probably sings because it's the only way he's found that lets him stay above ground, and writes songs that come from a broken heart and hurting soul. You can feel it in just about every word he sings, even the almost-happy ones. Hand has a way of looking at the world of trouble lurking outside his door with a dead-on honesty very few musicians can express. Maybe it's because he's stayed close to his home in Tokio, Texas, touring the honky tonks around the Lone Star State with the fervor of a true believer. He likely couldn't get past lobby security of a single record label on Music Row, and is probably proud of it. Country music like this doesn't need any help; it just needs to be heard. So whether it's "What Little I Got Left" or "The Pain of Loving You," it only takes about ten seconds of each song to get the gist: there is serious sadness coloring James Hand's world, and nothing really to be done about it but endure. That is why he is so believable. There are no tricks or shortcuts on Shadow On The Ground, and by the time the last song, "Men Like Me Can Fly" comes around, we're ready for the heavenly roll call, realizing all the suffering only ends when our time on this earth is over. What a sport.
