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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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Sheryl Crow
C’mon, C’mon\r\nA&M Records
By Matthew Smith
Sheryl Crow, like too many others, manufactures textbook, OK-for-radio filler — meaning her pleasant pop, built on trite aphorisms and ho-hum guitarwork, fills a need for drive-time background noise and lacks the substance to ever be anything more. Crow’s is essentially music for those who don’t really like — or pay much attention to — music. Vicarious thrills for soccer moms and accountants.
Crow trademarked her sound early on and, with minimal variation, has proceeded to piledrive it into the ground ever since. Crow is hardly music’s worst offender; her routine isn’t really awful, but it sells by the ton — and that’s what, I guess, really pisses me off. This is all kind of a roundabout way of saying, if you own any of Crow’s other albums, you basically own C’mon, C’mon.
Though the name and song titles are new, everything else is pretty much the same. Whatever slight spark Crow initially possessed has long since dissolved into pure craftsmanship. And C’mon, C’mon’s laundry list of bland celebrity guests (from Stevie Nicks to Don Henley to Lenny Kravitz) is just show. No one does anything extraordinary or anything Crow couldn’t have done herself. Like I said, filler.
What’s a shame is that some of C’mon, C’mon is situated on solid sonic architecture. “Safe and Sound”’s beautiful, lush wall of sound presentation would make the perfect James Bond movie theme. It also hints at the talent Crow could display if she cared enough to really push herself. The c.d.’s cover shot — a sun-drenched, post-hippie Crow strumming her acoustic — recalls those dismal mid-’70s days of lite rock. It will doubtless help move millions of units. Apparently, that’s all that matters.
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