Q - 10/01, p.1353 stars out of 5
- "...Like Johnny Cash in a bad mood, he sounds gnarly and unshaven even when singing hardbitten love songs..."
Mojo (Publisher) - 10/01, p.110
"...BB digs down to his Arkansas roots - and manages to get almost everything right. Amid slow, dark and sparse settings, his versatile growl tells stories ranging from schizophrenic to sexy..."
Personnel: Billy Bob Thornton (vocals, drums); Holly Lamar (vocals); Marty Stuart (guitar, mandolin, bass); Randy Scruggs (guitar, bass); Brad Davis (guitar); Don Helms (steel guitar); Hank Singer (fiddle); Jim Cox (piano); Barry Beckett (Wurlitzer piano, Hammond B-3 organ); Steve Arnold, Larry Paxton (bass); Dennis Locorriere (background vocals).
Recorded at The Cave, Los Angeles, California. Includes liner notes by Marty Stuart.
Personnel: Billy Bob Thornton (vocals, drums, background vocals); Marty Stuart (guitar, mandolin, background vocals); Brad Davis (guitar, background vocals); Randy Scruggs (guitar); Don Helms (steel guitar); Hank Singer (fiddle); Jim Cox, Barry Beckett (piano); Greg Stocki (drums, percussion); Dennis Locorriere (background vocals).
Audio Mixer: Jim Mitchell .
Recording information: Cave, Los Angeles, CA.
Like many actors-turned-musicians, many listeners will look at Billy Bob Thornton's debut album, Private Radio, with a smug bewildered condescension, wondering what gives him the right to cut a record. The thing is, Billy Bob, like many other actors that also cut records, played in bands long before he appeared in films. It is true that his celebrity is part of the reason he was given a chance to record, but that long history of playing in bar bands serves him well on Private Radio, giving his voice a ruggedness and musicianship a welcome supplement. Of course, it helps that he's working with producer/co-writer Marty Stuart and has a team of studio veterans supporting him, giving the record a pleasing professional musicality. Private Radio is still Billy Bob's show, and he comes across like a Southern version of Tom Waits crossed with a Byrds-addicted Greg Allman, at times grumbling beat poetry over sparse acoustic guitars, at times slyly delivering roadhouse ravers, folk laments, and anthemic ballads. Sure, it's possible to imagine legions of listeners chortling at lines like "Angelina what's come between us?/Could it be the magic and mystery of love?" and there are other moments that sorta fall flat, either in their earnestness or their poetic jumble. Still, this is a pretty good record all the same, better than most Americana records of the late '90s, thanks in no small part to a terrific stretch of songs mid-record ("Walk of Shame," the rollicking "Smoking in Bed," "Your Blue Shadow," and "That Mountain"), and a good cover of Hank Williams' "Lost Highway." ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine