In a sense, the Americana and pop-country world is unsaturated since the death of true country on American airwaves. Ever since then, old school country and some other movements have become rooted in a quest to find the mix between martyrdom and marketability. The up-and-comers in this war are aging or dead (Chamberlain—having toured with Pearl Jam—died in 2001, Johnny Cash's comeback being, um, over, and Ryan Adams churns out records that are accepted but rarely played on mainstream air, for example) and the new breed are still making the folly of the destitute sound like the frivolous and god natured radio rock somehow.
Not to be lost in all this is Limbeck and Doghouse Records. The latter has been latched on to numerous movements otward the mainstream and the former is now poised to try and lead one out of "obscurity." The match is perfect. The rougher sounding and unmarketable (but actually listenable) Limbeck is officially dead. Doghouse has packaged a sleek-cartoonish band in it's placed—overproduced, overvalued and underappreciated for their past. Now, instead of a fun countryish pop record, we get a forced fun; a pointless batch of failed love stories that foible any plans to become an underground hit. The listener is treated to accessible but seldom realistic songs—the message being the a love feigned is better than a love gained. Shortsighted stories lacking any great detail or even catchiness in most cases are trotted out in an attempt to fool rather than pleasure the listener.
Of course, in a year's time, Limbeck will be on big bills and successful tours. They will be having their bands biggest success and Doghouse may even see some profit. I have no idea how this sort of thing really works. I just know that the faux-Americana movement has a lot of legs to last this long. I remember being a Chamberlain man—the poetics of rainstorms, open fields and Nebraskan imagery can only go so far. Talent and scope have to play a part too. In Limbeck's case, those two terms may have jumped ship reeling in, instead, a lust for popularity unfounded. Such is life, I suppose. It's the Americana dream.
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