…and we end our travels with some good ol’ North American country.

[Video][Website]
[6.00]

Andrew Casillas: Gary Allan has the type of hearty and emotive voice that’s always welcome on country radio. But his latest work relies on generic big-country production that clashes with his great vocals to his detriment. Case in point: “Pieces” and its blah-blah drums and shiny guitars. Musically, there’s nothing about this that makes this uniquely Gary Allan. It’s unfortunate to know he can do so much better.
[4]

Brad Shoup: Allan’s pinched tenor, a crimped nerve of a voice, is country’s treasure. Time and again, he’s been an aching, withdrawn presence: reworking his pain in private on single after single. (Except for “Nothing On But the Radio”. That’s a fully-sold couples’ jam.) Even in this roots rocker, tricked with organ and handclaps, forging an ultimate message of endurance, his essential woundedness comes through. When he holds notes, it’s a raggedy action. And, sadly, when he happens upon the Hamburger-esque “that’s my life,” the text’s intended triumph and his reliable pain cancel each other. Perhaps we needed a song focused solely on the giving or taking of pieces. Perhaps then his range could be served.
[6]

Josh Langhoff: Gary Allan’s such a great singer, right? (“Raw!” says Roughstock. “Natural!” says Country Universe.) To put this theory to the test, and because this organ stomp sounds like the Wallflowers, I compared Allan singing “Pieces” with Jakob Dylan singing “The Difference,” to my knowledge the only song the Wallflowers ever recorded. The difference is telling. Dylan either broods through the verses wishing he didn’t care, or he lurches into the chorus and its carefully notated melisma, desperately trying to land on the right note because T-Bone Burnett’s holding a gun on him. In the other corner, Allan sounds like he’s thinking out loud, like you are actually hearing Gary Allan’s brain in real time. He continually finds new wrinkles in his delivery but never overuses an effect or gives away the illusion. My iPod’s unfortunate preference for the faux-lypso “No Worries” has led me to underrate Allan’s latest album, but I’m sure I’ve been overrating the Wallflowers for years.
[7]

Alfred Soto: The guitar and organ don’t hide their relation to the Wallflowers’ “One Headlight” and neither does the swampy mix. At first they seem to lighten the weight of Allan’s bathos, but as his tuff gnarl voice curls around each admission it turns out they increase the burden. Nothing is perfect in this world. His all-we-are-is-what-we-are transcends the confessional.
[8]

Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: “Pieces” could have been a C&W throwaway, neutered of its lightly worn ruggedness and made into an overly shiny confection (not denying the gloss Jay Joyce coats over). Instead, there’s texture to the swing, grit and earth to the sound, leaving it feeling appropriately down-to-earth. Allan’s voice is, well, Allan’s: clean and composed but with just enough defeat to sell the ambivalence of his words. One tiny element sticks in my craw — the arrival of handclaps show too much pep, a minor embellishment that hints at a slight disconnect between embracing the song’s melancholy and making it easier to digest. The song’s about aging, culminating in a gloriously minor-key ending, but these little background touches seem in denial of it all.
[7]

Anthony Easton: Considering the history of Allen, it seems kind of an asshole move to say this out-loud, but he is so exquisitely self controlled that no matter which trauma he talks about, I cannot take them seriously — but it also does not work as a formal piece either. 
[3]

Will Adams: The lyrics are from the perspective of someone reflecting on many years of life, but “Pieces” sounds notably youthful. This is partly a function of the bright, clean production from Jay Joyce (nice work sneaking in those handclaps in the final chorus), but Allan’s voice really drives it home. The way he lets go of the last syllable on “scattered/mattered” carries a resignation that recalls my teenage-self: jaded, confused, feeling like everything’s against him. It’s the same que sera sera attitude that comes through in a line like “We’ve all been lied to/We’ve all been liars.” In the end, “Pieces” looks forward. The sentiment might seem Hallmark-y, but when you’re still growing up and figuring everything out, it’s okay — even necessary — to wrestle with your emotions.
[8]

Zach Lyon: Sort of a non-ironic “Beautiful Ride” but catchy fun nonetheless. If only I could get over “We’ve all been lied to / We’ve all been liars” — honestly, it’s his over-pronunciation of “laaaaaaaiiiiiiiyyyyerrrrrrrrrrrrrs” that makes the line scan less honestly than it probably should. The organ doesn’t lie though, and that’s enough.
[6]

Patrick St. Michel: Credit to Gary Allan — it takes skill to turn such basic sentiments into something catchy. He’s turned an inspirational card into a handwritten “hang in there!” letter, which still isn’t anything to really brag about.
[5]