Good to know, now: give it to us Strait…
Katherine St. Asaph: Zach Top, who never lies, implies the existence of Zach Bottom, who never tells the truth. This in turn implies th– wait, you’re telling me that this is a self-conscious songwriting conceit in which Zach Top is actually lying the whole time? ugh I suck at knights and knaves
[4]
Taylor Alatorre: There’s a fruitful mix of humility and calculation going on here, not just in these lyrics but throughout Zach Top’s entire project. The album title, Cold Beer & Country Music, is on the one hand a willful purging of idiosyncrasy so as to slot oneself into a tried-and-true folk lineage, something anathema to the individualist ethos of the rock and roll era. On the other hand, what better way to reach your 50-something, Strait-worshipping uncle who “doesn’t listen to the radio anymore” than to literally title your album Cold Beer & Country Music? The more you learn about this supposed newcomer’s bluegrass origins, though, the more genuine he starts to seem — Keith Whitley’s former sideman reached out to him, not the other way around, and the Kentucky-born Whitley got his start in bluegrass as well. Top embraces the stereotypes and strictures of neotraditionalism because to him, they are regal emblems to be earned through the proper honing of craft, a privilege rather than a fallback option. The biggest knock against “I Never Lie” is that it exists in a universe where “I’m Over You” and “Ocean Front Property” already exist, and Top tiptoes too gingerly around his forebears’ legacies to channel their full humor and pathos. But there’s still some unique aura that can be wrung out of a performer’s painstaking commitment to the idea that nothing meaningful happened past 1994. You couldn’t do that in 1994, but you can now; fundamentalism is always a byproduct of modernity.
[6]
Claire Davidson: “I Never Lie” tries so hard to imitate the sound of meat-and-potatoes ’90s country that it neglects almost all of the era’s subtleties. For one thing, its lyrical conceit is exasperatingly basic, involving a narrator lying through his teeth about his well-being in the wake of a difficult break-up with his ex, who has clearly been much more successful in her attempts to get over him. This lack of imagination wouldn’t be quite so egregious if Zach Top found a bit of humor in the trope, but not only do his lyrics lack any sort of light-heartedness, Top omits the one aspect of this song’s well-worn gimmick that makes it so reliable: the ultimate revelation that, actually, he’s not doing well at all, and only wishes he could find the find the confidence needed to don this façade.
[5]
Tim de Reuse: The twang in his tone is so twangy, even by the standards of modern country’s authenticity-signaling mechanisms, that he sounds like a parody of the people he’s trying to ape, blowing straight past “folksy” and straight into “doing a voice” (as in “why is this guy, like, doing a voice?”). It works only because the rest of the song is similarly gimmicky: he’s playing a character who’s playing a character, and so the whole package is more or less tonally self-consistent. If it weren’t so chorus-heavy and squeaky-clean the “I don’t know how it feels to hurt” line might land like a knife-twist instead of a joke — but I think that’s a higher bar than this was aiming for.
[5]
Melody Esme: My favorite song on Top’s album was “There’s the Sun,” a corny and unashamedly sincere love song worthy of Brad Paisley. This one is almost as good, a neotraditionalist throwback so convincing that it makes me nostalgic for my parents’ CD collection.
[8]
Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Neo-neotraditionalism is such a funny prospect; this is less clever than it is a passable approximation of cleverness. It’s a good George Strait cosplay, but Strait’s Hank cosplay was better — I hate to play games of chained influence and nostalgic appeal but that’s all Top is doing on his part. Call me back when he finds a new idea; he’s talented enough that he doesn’t have to be a cryptkeeper.
[5]
Nortey Dowuona: “They said ‘COUNTRY COMING BACK!’ I said it never left!” (Paraphrased from Rah Digga.)
[8]
Al Varela: I have such a soft spot for songs about catching up with old friends. What on the surface seems like a song where Zach Top wants to be happy that his ex has moved on but he hasn’t, “I Never Lie” flips the script and reveals that both people have completely moved on. The joyous way Zach Top sings, “I sleep like a baby!” is so infectious and charming that even when he says something as backhanded as “Wish I could say I miss you, but you know I never lie,” he sounds very sincere and relieved to have moved past the heartbreak. No need for prolonging drama or reminiscing on what could have been. She’s happy, he’s happy, and they’re happy staying friends and being able to talk about their lives with one another. God bless them.
[10]
Jel Bugle: These country songs are always pleasant, but I guess I have to look up Zach and find out if he’s a wrong ‘un — country and death metal are strange bedfellows in this regard. Oh, nothing in particular comes up!
[7]
Mark Sinker: He means you look like a biblically accurate angel. And he never fibs, as this song explains.
[4]
Ian Mathers: This is a first! Finally one of the awful country songs I hear in a cab that makes me think “god I hope I don’t have to think about this piece of shit for the Jukebox” actually shows up here! Zach, buddy, you’re going to have to take this one for the whole team.
[0]
Alfred Soto: He don’t drink whiskey and he ain’t been lonely — a honest teetotaler in country music, my god. I’m sure there’s more of’em — maybe Morgan Wallen sticks to camomile and matcha these days. Anyway, “I Never Lie” functions as a showcase for Zach Top’s not-bad George Strait imitation. Not Alan Jackson, though — Jackson may not go apeshit on Saturday night but he wouldn’t promise he won’t drink whiskey.
[7]
Leah Isobel: My dad will love this.
[7]