This column comes by request from Nic. He called Bilmuri’s American Motor Sports “country metal” and “the first country album where [he] listened to the whole thing.” I have thoughts. Thanks for the request, Nic. If you have a suggestion for a Heck Record, hit us up on socials, by email, or in the comments. 

For the record, I don’t hate country music. I like it when its lyrics are well-written, as they always are by Kris Kristofferson or John Prine. I like it when it’s sung by someone whose voice I enjoy (yes, Emmylou Harris; no, Waylon Jennings). And I like it when it’s played by a hot shit band, like Bob Wills & his Texas Playboys. And I definitely like it when it’s all three: all hail St. Willie. But like Nic, I admit that country isn’t my favorite genre. 

 

Much of this has to do with the country establishment, Nashville’s hidebound institutions that have forced slop on an undiscerning public for decades, the monolith that today’s best country artists (Sturgill Simpson, Jason Isbell, Steve Earle, etc.) spend their social media time railing against. Paradoxically, my favorite country albums probably have the least amount of country in them. 

 

Uncle Tupelo’s Anodyne, Songs: Ohia’s The Magnolia Electric Company, and Lucinda Williams’ Car Wheels on a Gravel Road could probably best be described as “alt-country” (whatever that means). The Mekons’ wonderful Fear and Whiskey is probably the only album inspired by Hank Williams and Throbbing Gristle (can it even be country if it’s sung in a Yorkshire accent?). And although Gram Parsons’ whole oeuvre could be classified as ”country,” he insisted on the more trippy “cosmic American music.” Far-out, maaaan. 

 

Needless to say, I don’t spend much time spinning Garth Brooks’ No Fences, which puts me at odds with some 18,000,000 members of the record-buying public. (Although I admit that “Friends in Low Places” is a bop.)

 

So, Nic, I think I understand the appeal of American Motor Sports. It’s a country album, but not country country. Bilmuri (not the actor) writes country songs, but decorates them with metal and hard rock affectations. In short, it’s the two genres of music the trashiest people listen to stacked on top of each other. 

 

Honestly, I’m kind’ve surprised we haven’t seen more country/metal mash-ups. If you grew up in the sticks, you probably spent time in an F-150, whose tape deck alternated Clint Black’s Greatest Hits with AC/DC’s Back in Black. What makes American Motor Sports so interesting (and by interesting, I mean weird) is that Bilmuri not only includes elements of mega-selling pop metal (like shreddy solos, giant chorus, and fat riffs), but also elements of the underground scene (cookie monster vocals, some thrashy breakdowns), and, uh, some stuff that isn’t really metal or country (saxophones). 

 

American Motor Sports is also instructive in how much emo and country have in common. Most, if not all, of the songs on this record have to do with heartache or fumbling relationships, or being an otherwise miserable piece of shit. Even the song named after the Cleveland Cavaliers’ championship team, 2016 Cavs (Ohio)” is about a relationship that has run its course. (It also equates their home state to hell and subtly references the stoner supreme local cuisine of Cincinnati, Skyline Chili.) 

 

In another hell song, “Better Hell,” when pointing at the person who hurt him, he points to himself, but thinks of you. Which, to me, sounds like an awful lot like whining. It doesn’t help that Bilmuri – given name Johnny Franck – has a plaintive, Midwestern singing voice that’s common in both emo and country bands that I don’t like to listen to. Sorry. I like what I like. I can absorb a lot of self-pity, but it needs to be screamed at me with a lacerating howl. So, for me, American Motor Sports doesn’t pass the Waylon Jennings test. (Seriously, Jennings’ sounds like he’s pulling his groin every time he opens his mouth.)

 

However, Bilmuri is a good songwriter, and he’s funny – which goes a long way. On “EMPTYHANDED” he tells us that he has three things to say: “God bless our troops, God bless America, and, gentlemen, start your engines.”

 

Word.

 

I mean, how could he not be funny? His music is a country/metal/emo hybrid and his stage name is freaking “Bilmuri.”

 

Anyway, thanks for the Heck Record recommendation, Nic. However, considering that you produced a country album, I find it somewhat disconcerting that you’ve never listened to one all the way through before American Motor Sports.