Last week, Emotional Traffic by Tim McGraw debuted at No. 2 on the Billboard album chart. It is McGraw’s best album ever. How do I know that? There was a sticker proclaiming as much right on the album cover. And what was the source of this high praise? That venerable publication Rolling Stone? Perhaps AllMusic.com? Could it have been Brooks and/or Dunn?
No, the words came from Mr. Tim McGraw himself.
Are you allowed to say that? I mean, every musician thinks it (and writer, and artist, and director, and architect, etc. etc.). And the proud thought is expressed in interviews now and again. But to put it out there in print?
For one, he’s setting himself up for failure. The law of diminishing returns often applies to veteran musical acts. It’s hard to recapture the magic or energy of those early recordings. But the critics are madly in love with the idea of a late-career masterwork. (Well, except for Pitchfork, which gives a 5.7 to any album by an artist over age 50.) The comeback album. The return to form. Rolling Stone promised me all this for Bob Dylan’s 1986 release Knocked Out Loaded. Wait, which album? Exactly. And we loyal fans are suckers, always holding out hope for another classic, and usually being underwhelmed by yet another lackluster effort.
Which is not to give the impression that I am a loyal fan of Tim McGraw. I’m not even 100% sure who he is. He’s a country guy, I know that. (Cowboy hat.) He is or was married to Faith Hill, who is… blonde and… also a country artist. With crossover appeal! I think he is the son of Tug McGraw, relief pitcher for the Mets and Phillies who said “Ya gotta believe” and jumped up in the air after winning the World Series, and later got a brain tumor and died, which was sad.
So I can’t definitively say whether Emotional Traffic is indeed Tim McGraw’s best album ever, having never heard any of his albums. I’ll leave that decision to those most familiar with his work. But Tim, you’re a bit too close to the material to judge it fairly.
Clearly, we are well into the Age of Shameless Self-Promotion. This is partly out of necessity: Many traditional publicity channels have dried up, forcing creative types to toot their own proverbial horns. But also, we’re all really, really fond of ourselves, aren’t we? We share anything and everything, without much regard whether anyone will actually care. I’m just as guilty as anyone. Soon I’ll be clicking “Share” on this essay—without running it by any sort of gatekeeper—with hopes that you’ll read it, like it, “Like” it. Hoping to entertain, yes, but feeding that ego as well, feeding that gnawing need for attention.
Soon, every item everywhere will have a sticker on it:
• “My best turkey sandwich ever” — short-order cook Tommy
• “My best double-yellow line ever” — Ed on the road crew
• “My best my-best sticker ever” — Mr. Stevenson, CEO, Acme Sticker Company
I’m hoping that Tim McGraw’s next album—no doubt a stripped-down, back-to-his-roots affair—will be titled Just Shut Up and Do Your Job, Willya?
I recently created “my lamest attempt at a fried egg ever.” Boy, I should have taken a picture of that ugly thing.
Anyway, we are great! GO US!!
That should go in a museum devoted solely to your kitchen projects!
Are you sure he isn’t quoting the lyrics from the track that is also advertised on the front of the album – Better Than I Used to Be?
I was surprised no one posted their best comment ever, so I will.