Squealing fans greet Scotty McCreery at impressive Pacific show
Not that any critic with half a brain would think to do so, but there needs to be a moratorium on any music nabobs comparing Scotty McCreery to his prize-grabbing
American Idol brethren. He’s simply not like the rest, and that’s a very good thing.
The fact that men alone have been victorious during the second half
of that singing competition’s unstoppable 11-season run is lamentable
but also utterly predictable from a show that pretends to be for
everyone yet principally caters to teenage girls. For five years now it
has produced exciting drama mid-season and totally boring results by the
end of finale night, as one bland rocker after another has been crowned
champ by viewers, then sent off into the (more or less) real world of
pop music to capitalize quickly, then steadily fade from view.
Ironically, edgier (for
Idol) stars who didn’t make it to the
finals, like Chris Daughtry and Adam Lambert, are those who have
remained on the ascendency, whereas nice guys like Kris Allen and Lee
DeWyze are faring no better than Taylor Hicks at maintaining the fan
bases they acquired from the program. Phillip Phillips, aka Dave
Matthews Jr., is only the latest cute clone to sneak past more promising
talents, in this case two powerhouses, Jessica Sanchez and Joshua
Ledet, who can sing circles around him.
McCreery, who impressed in his first headlining appearance in O.C.,
Wednesday night at Pacific Amphitheatre, is so much – and so
refreshingly – the opposite of all that, it’s a wonder he emerged from
the same contest. He’s straight-up country with zero pop affectations,
an instant Academy of Country Music award-winner (albeit for a fan-voted
trophy) who ought to be compared not to the David Cooks of
Idol but to his fellow Nashville newcomers.
As such, he measures up as a fast-rising talent who seems transported from a gentler age.
He understandably padded out his roughly hour-long set at Pacific
with a handful of covers, concluding with a run from Elvis Presley’s
breakout single “That’s All Right” to a kickin’ favorite from Travis
Tritt (“T.R.O.U.B.L.E.”) and, for the encore, Montgomery Gentry’s
“Gone.” Yet it was most fitting that earlier in the performance he
tackled both George Strait (via a charming handling of “Check Yes or
No”) and Garth Brooks (an acoustic reading of “The Dance”), for
McCreery, at just 18, is already a consummate throwback traditionalist.
He has more in common with the plainspoken pleasures of those two
superstars, not to mention a rich vocal resemblance to Randy Travis,
than he does the parade of country-rock hybrids dominating radio these
days.
And still his stuff fits right in, modern enough to slot seamlessly
alongside rowdier fare yet rooted in the thoughtful sentimentality that
made country crossover music so timeless in the ’70s and ’80s. There are
enough “Scotty’s Hotties” who follow him from gig to gig that he easily
could macho it up a bit on stage, yet he gratefullly doesn’t peddle
heartthrob swooning. He’s subtler and nobler: When he sings about the
opposite sex, as in “The Trouble with Girls,” he basks in their beauty
and mysteries while still making smiling eyes at his admirers, rather
than indulge in love-’em-and-leave-’em, you-can’t-tame-me puffery.
Likewise, whether he’s reflecting on dysfunctional family (the noisy
children and slamming doors of “Dirty Dishes”), the sacrifices of
military people (the restorative joy of “Letters from Home”), the
yearning of adolescence (central to the power ballad “Back on the
Ground”) or the benefits of faith (“Old King James”), McCreery
approaches his themes with an uncanny knack for conveying realism even
when the lyrics turn hokey. There’s plenty formula to his material, yet
his delivery helps to downplay clichés, patriotic grandstanding or
worn-out homilies about how the good life is anywhere but here.
And what poise from such a young performer; he commands the stage
with more maturity than most stars twice his age. His down-home
demeanor, evident not just in his songs but the folksy storytelling
between them, already shows signs of the stateliness of Alan Jackson
without sacrificing any sense of fun (more than a few of his tunes,
notably “Out of Summertime” and “Better Than That,” clearly draw some
inspiration from the good-time vibe of Kenny Chesney).
Above all, what’s most promising about McCreery is what propelled him
to the Idol throne in the first place: his remarkable, pure-country
voice, as smooth as a fine tenor but with the richness of a baritone.
He’s one of those rare ducks whose every utterance sounds like another
melody starting up; he sings as he speaks and vice versa. (Unlike
opening act Erika Attwater, a pleasantly generic Sacramento vocalist
whose 20-minute turn proved she's stuck trying too hard to emulate the
country-pop feel of LeAnn Rimes and Carrie Underwood.)
McCreery still requires considerably more hit-bound material if he’s going to outlast the initial
Idol
boost. But there hasn’t been an emerging star from that sing-off so
destined for enduring popularity since Underwood was instantly crowned a
country princess. He won’t succeed simply because Nashville takes care
of its own, either; he’s a natural, plain and simple. Greater heights
await.
A few days ago, there was a pitch to songwriters to come up with particular types of tunes for Phil Phillips, Jessica Sanchez and Skylar Laine. MJ broke the story. 
