REVIEW: Ruston Kelly’s "The Weakness"
trying something new...
What if Michael Keaton killed himself in Multiplicity? / Would that be genocide?
Ruston Kelly has been one of my favorite country songwriters for years now — his work keeps shelter under the Americana umbrella, but has always hinted at a broad variety of influences: electro-pop, alternative rock, and the subtlest hints of pop-punk and emo. He wore these influences most proudly on 2019’s cover album, Dirt Emo: Vol. 1, but his latest effort sees him finally integrating them into explosive, ferocious, magnetic original songs.
Let’s get one thing out of the way: This is a divorce record, and as such it joins a long lineage of awesome divorce records that inexplicably make this non-divorcée want to roll the windows down and speed down the highway, scream-singing, to maximize the mood. But it also participates in the (slightly more exclusive) tradition of divorces where both parties are musicians who eventually turn to song, sharing their side of the story in a public way.
This kind of project comes, by default, with its own air of drama. Will the stories match up? Will one artist come for the other’s neck? These are the kinds of questions I’ve asked under my breath, anticipating this record, somewhat embarrassed at my urge to engage in tabloid-style speculation. But what makes this particular album so powerful is its refusal to pander to that ever-present urge. Doing so could have brought thousands of clicks, listens, and eager scrolls through juicy analysis articles. But Ruston chooses to spare us the gory details of a marriage gone wrong, and to focus instead on his personal, psychological aftermath.
Kelly is no stranger to self-exposé: His previous work has hinged deeply on his struggles with addiction and sobriety, and the ever-shifting sense of self that comes with that journey. These themes continue to anchor the work here, casting Kelly as a narrator who’s as self-effacing and honest as he is entertaining. But with the newfound backdrop of loss, they take on new stakes. These aren’t just stories of past mistakes, of relapse and epiphany through the lens of survival. These are stories about freshly opened wounds, and the present challenge of coping when the goalposts of recovery shift.
It's been a long fucking winter / It's been a strange yеar / There ain't a day that I don't miss her / But that's just how it is around hеre
The album kicks off on a title track and a thesis statement: We won’t give into the weakness. It feels like a mantra with direct roots in addiction, both the chemical kind and the one that bubbles at the heart of relationships, reeling you further in when you already know it’s time to go. This song rolls, seamlessly, into the emo-twang of “Hellfire”, which explores the constant temptation to relent in the face of hardship.
I give up...Maybe don’t, and just wish me luck.
The true highlight of this opening suite is “St. Jupiter”: the story of a patch of backyard flowers, purchased near a relationship’s end, and continuing to grow in spite of its eventual collapse. It’s one of many flawless, earnest metaphors that are the engine at the heart of this album. What persists when everything else in life falls apart? Where can we go for surefire comforts, without finding self destruction in the process?
It’s 3:35 in the morning, and I thought CBD would not get me high…
The premise of “Michael Keaton” is devastatingly hilarious. Ruston accidentally buys a Delta-8 joint from a gas station, thinking it just contains CBD, and ends up unwittingly tripping out about the premise of 90’s sci-fi comedy Multiplicity. (source) All this happens while his relationship spirals, collapsing around him, providing apt fuel for another wild metaphor, and a song like an atom bomb: fast acting and racing to the finish. It’s the angriest song on the record, and it’s the one I’ve had on repeat since my very first listen. And while it’s ear-catching for just how funny and clever it is, there’s an earnest heart beating beneath the surface, that rewards repeat listens. At its core, is the chorus a joke? Or is it a meditation on self destruction and violence? An ode to feeling volatile, being stuck at a crossroads that could take your life in one of a million odd, spiraling directions if you just had the courage to move?
In many ways, the above track feels like the turning point of the record. It’s flanked on either side by “Let Only Love Remain” and “Mending Song”, which share a message of moving on, wishing those who have hurt you peace, and holding onto memories while releasing that which no longer serves. How strikingly fun it is to hear a bitter rascal of a song like “Michael Keaton” within this context — Who among us can’t relate? Sometimes we need to squeeze in one last breakdown, before we can truly commit to moving forward peacefully.
I'll carry every life I've lived into the next / Maybe St. Peter will just average all the best
This album, like many, is at least a little frontloaded. “Breakdown” is a cute, jammy indie rock style track, that seems to borrow a little something extra from the pop punk playbook. And “Holy Shit” packs enough catharsis for the entire B-side, yet another anthem for the resilience and strength that we can only truly muster when we have to. “Dive” gives the typical late-game ballad slot to a dreamy, meditative hum of a track, that radiates warmth and highlights Kelly’s versatility. But the remaining moments on the latter half of this album fail to match the high standard otherwise set — not because they are in any way lackluster on their own, but because the bar is set so high right out the gate, it starts to hover just out of reach, as the record progresses.
That said: This is the best country album I’ve heard in quite some time. It bristles with fire, spite, and fantastic ideas, and it executes nearly all of those notes flawlessly. But I’d also recommend this album to anyone holding onto a little early-2000’s rock or emo nostalgia, or even someone craving the love-torn feistiness of Rumours.
8.5/10.0
Thanks for tuning in this week! I felt a little uninspired, so figured I’d try to write a review of something that’s been helping me through lately. Burnout’s a funny thing: We expect it from the jobs we hate; it’s easy to forget that enjoyable things can steal our fuel too.
Until next time: Sleep in. Play hooky. Try not to self destruct.
Clare