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Though he's reluctant to vary his sound, the end results are far too magnetic, far too majestic and far too masterful to even allow a twinge of disappointment.
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God Willin' & the Creek Don't Rise has a natural feel, comfortably ranging from bar-band rave-ups to contemplative acoustic numbers, with master pedal steel player Greg Leisz leading several tracks into the expertly unfussy territory of blue-chip Nashville country rock.
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LaMontagne has surrounded himself with the best possible company, and long-time fans should find that the payoff is something to marvel at.
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Thankfully, his shot-to-pieces, Joe Cockeresque rasp entirely suits songs that seem to give more of themselves with every listen.
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UncutHe's rarely sounded so utterly engaged. [Oct 2010, p.99]
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Q MagazineAs he switches from the blues shuffle of Repo Man to pedal steel laments, country rock, and even lovelorn soul, you can't help but marvel at the knack Ray LaMontagne has for really inhabiting his songs. [Oct 2020, p.111]
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LaMontagne is a complex man who won't talk about his personal life, so we don't know how many of these songs are autobiographical, but they touch upon universal themes and they touch deeply.
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It's his most country sounding CD yet, with lovely pedal steel and banjo and harmonica backing his melodious vocals. There's no mistaking it, Lamontagne's target audience is not the tween-agers nor the youth market at all. This recording will reach a largely under appreciated adult contemporary market.
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Since the album finds LaMontagne working without producer and multi-instrumentalist Ethan Johns for the first time, it isn't terribly surprising that the singer is a bit unsteady in taking the reins. Still, it's the things that LaMontagne gets right on God Willin' & the Creek Don't Rise that make it his strongest, most cohesive album to date and a deeply soulful take on contemporary blues and folk.
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There's not much emotional nuance in Ray LaMontagne's fourth album, which maintains a brokenhearted downer elegance, similar to Neil Young at his most somber and sepia-toned, sung in a beautiful wail that Van Morrison might envy.
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Every ounce of pain and acceptance rings true, not only through his raw vocal virtuosity but also thorough very live, immediate-sounding production that leaves deliberate, closely guarded space in otherwise active arrangements.
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It doesn't take long for the singer to retreat into his beard for some Laurel Canyon-style sensitivity exercises. With a band this agile, it's a shame he doesn't dance a little more.
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His simple songs come closer to eclipsing their cliches and becoming classics when they aren't buttered with dobro and pedal-steel arrangements that sound like afterthoughts. But when you're allowed to get close to the raw artist, you witness something truly special.
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The better songs here don't quite rescue the disc, but they do suggest that LaMontagne can step outside his comfort zone when he chooses to--it's just a shame how rarely that occurs.
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This one has missteps, but for Mr. LaMontagne it's those songs that feel the most honest, those where he says what he means, not what he hopes you'll think.
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It doesn't always hang together, but LaMontagne's growl makes everything sound menacingly sexy. Lock up your daughters.
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God Willin' & the Creek Don't Rise is a mixed bag. There's fine stuff here to be sure, but as a whole, it feels unbalanced; too much of one sound makes it drag a bit. Given that this is his debut as a producer, it's not unexpected; but after his previous trio of fine recordings, this one feels anticlimactic.
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Yes, it's pleasant escapism, but when there's nothing genuinely heartfelt at stake, who's going to care after the credits roll?
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God Willin', while a pretty record and certainly head and shoulders above so much of what has been released this year, it is nearly completely bereft of the emotion that we've come to expect from LaMontagne.
User score distribution:
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Positive: 11 out of 13
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Mixed: 2 out of 13
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Negative: 0 out of 13
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Nov 5, 2010
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Aug 27, 2010