It feels like 2024 was finally the year Charley Crockett got his flowers. After a live recording at the Ryman amidst a hurricane of tour dates, something shifted. It came quickly after the release of his blues-laden, outlaw-driven $10 Cowboy and its follow-up, Visions of Dallas. The lights got a little brighter, and suits on the top floor of every label building in Nashville began to lick their chops at the sight of this new anti-establishment, self-made, bonafide gunslinger from San Benito, Texas. You wouldn’t know it by listening to Lonesome Drifter almost a year later. At this point in the game, it’s clear that a Texas two-step kicking dust in the face of The Man is his bread and butter. The formula is simple, and in a world of wanting ownership over “the moment,” Crockett’s far past the point of flirting with investors trying to buy stock in him. He sounds tired of it.
His hunger can largely be attributed to the fact that he was so dialed in during his early years and that work ethic never really wore off. A lot of the scribbles on notepads in between street corner sets are still shoved in the crevices of old guitar cases, waiting to be unfurled. It’s certainly the case for this new record’s first single and title track, which Crockett said was jotted down during a wait for the next subway while performing with his first band, the Train Robbers, in New York. It’s also the case for “Game I Can’t Win,” of which inspiration came from a shriveled record executive trying to sell him on a “Coke or Pepsi world” idea of himself that she preaches as if it were gospel in the record business. That sort of rigidity can offend such a stubborn one-track mind such as his. As triumphant as the track sounds, you can imagine he still hasn’t let that comment go yet.
Almost in protest of what preceded it, what follows is a new cut of Tanya Tucker’s “Jamestown Ferry,” which Crockett has recently taken ownership of. It’s now his decade-old, standout cult hit got that busker into barrooms. It’s a moment that, while full circle for the performer, feels a little too flamboyant to be a seamless fit among the rest of these grimy adages. The sonic addendums we get, a glitzy backtrack of horns and Bourbon Street-style sleaze, come across a little more tacked on amidst the swinging saloon doors and racing tumbleweeds the rest of Lonesome Drifter is so engrossed in. It’s a fun detour that reveals a dead end once you’re about half a mile down the road.
Otherwise, the record is steady at the wheel. If you weren’t already aware, it doesn’t take long to realize Crockett is most in his element when he’s finding the morbid glamour in the underworld. “Easy Money” picks up on his upbringing, paralleling the tale of a woman finding a sinful life with righteous money. He sings, “The young are often desperate and hardly take their rest,” as he commiserates with the weekday afternoon strip club crowd. If he’s at his best when the pressure is on, this new LP goes to great lengths to pull those memories back to the forefront. There are a lot of demons still within our weary traveler, and maybe no amount of roses or dollars can change that.
Though still a boastful victory gallop of an album, Lonesome Drifter still gives plenty of time to let its hero dwell in the traumatic valleys within his psyche. “This Crazy Life” focuses solely on Crockett, his low rumble of a voice warbling over existential worries. It’s a poignant reminder of the stoic and simple presence that poor boy begging for change sold so many pedestrians on in his early days. A decade later, he’s no closer to getting the answers on how to make it or what to do when you get there. But again, the challenge is his forte.
The latter half of the troubadour’s LPs have often seen him smashing together previous phases of his sound to craft that long-sought feeling of an eternal voice that still spoke to the cutting edge. That connective tissue of licks and bellows of a down-on-his-luck fella remains as he plays an audial game of Operation, carefully picking those modes and mentalities from country music’s past that suit him best. That lust for greener pastures with an unwillingness to waver in his process has created a more satisfying dichotomy to watch the closer he gets to the top.
Part of that static mindset is simply in his blood. It’s hard to wash out Texas, and most that hail from it wear that Lone Star proud, Crockett being maybe the biggest example of such. Tracks like “Never No More” and “One Trick Pony” are profoundly suggestive of the grit and the grind that swallows most acts just north of the border. On the latter, he utters, “A one-trick pony knows that it’s all about the show,” a deeply self-aware line of the game he plays. There’s no getting around what he’s got going for him now. But the charming part is that, amidst all the turmoil, showcasing the struggle is the part he doesn’t seem to mind. Thankfully, no matter how tough it gets, he’s still not gonna write or sing the way the label wants him to.
