There’s a lot of talk about what is and isn’t considered ‘country music’ these days, and the troupe from Mobile might be the first group with a CMA award to try and actively shed the label as much as they can. There was very little boot-scootin’ to be found on a record like Moment of Truth, where the world was first introduced to the delta drawl of Brandon Coleman and a backing band that still had flecks of swamp algae in the crevices of their instruments. You won’t find a great deal of fiddle or steel on Made by These Moments, where the group takes gospel motifs and plops them in front of some southern gothic scenery. The group may be devoid of felt hats and spurs, sure, but the pieces complement a definition of the genre that’s as abstract as it’s ever been.
So what does a third, post-cultural takeover Red Clay Strays album sound like? Comfortingly familiar, if not a tinge overplayed. Grateful is a lot more confident than its two predecessors, knowing how to properly reel in dramatics for the sake of poignancy while toning down some of the self-seriousness that consumed the group’s previous efforts. For every preachy pulpit moment like “Demons In Your Choir,” there’s a Skynyrd B-side like “Down South” soon to follow.
The group is keen on hitting all their deep south boxes, but the variations never read as scatterbrained. It’s becoming branded by nature as the band delves into household-name territory. Still, there’s a concerted effort to keep the feeling concentrated and free of commercial caveats or dime-store nostalgia bait.
Even the band’s more heavy-handed numbers feel rid of much of the melodrama that held their first two records in a perpetual overcast climate. “Walkin’ Away,” complete with Coleman’s signature raspy reach, reads like a classic juke joint closer on a sweaty August evening. “Can’t Fix You” feels like it parts the clouds in realization rather than pout in the puddle over lost love. The tighter and more comfortable they get with each other, the more confident the Red Clay Strays show.
Bouncing between what used to be sky-shattering feelings on their past projects, they now seem to be looking at them with a new lease on life and a fresh perspective. “What are you gonna do today, ’cause the sun’s calling your name?” Coleman croons on “Do Today,” where that brooding bravado seems to have given way to something much more holistic, even in a song about accepting death. Subject matter is one thing, but the band’s most gospel-minded effort yet declares itself in its uncompromising optimism.
In what feels like a victory lap record, The Red Clay Strays seem to epitomize the notion of genre being obsolete in all the best ways. Turning algae-laden rock jams into a long list of praises before belting out sweet nothings just a moment later displays their individual and collective talents with deep, succinct force. The band embodies the South from its Saturday sins to its Sunday repentance and all the little emotions that get felt in between those cultural touchstones that have made their way into the zeitgeist below the Mason-Dixon.
There’s no real regard for what specific styles will define this record in retrospect, and it may be all the better for it when the dust settles on this era of ‘country’ music. The music is all substance, and all the better for it.
