Pitchfork

As the grim smirk of its title implies, Freedom and Weep finds Jon Langford and the Waco Brothers-- now rather unbelievably 10 years and seven albums into the game-- in a cranky, dispirited frame of mind. Though outwardly the group's foursquare, whiskey-soaked country-rock remains as wry and ornery as ever, on many of these tracks a distinctive air of bitter, spiteful resignation has crept in, leaving the album with a depressive, hungover pallor around its gills. And while by this point one could never question the Brothers' zealous devotion to their cause, nor their unimpeachable talents as a riotous live act, one can't help but wish that their righteous anger more frequently translated itself into similarly fiery, unrestrained abandon in the recording studio.

For their first album since 2002's New Deal, the Waco Bros. have scaled back on their twang slightly-- and on the vestiges of actual punk almost completely-- and have now cozily settled into a tempered Crazy Horse/Skynyrd mid-range classicism. Early in the group's career the Wacos were often perceived as merely another of Jon Langford's numerous side projects away from the Mekons-- and rather a play-acting novelty at that. But they've long since matured into a true, fully democratic band, and here Langford splits microphone time with guitarist Deano as well as mandolinist Tracy Dear. Performances are stout if generally uneventful throughout, and often it's the tasteful pedal steel contributions of Mark Durante (formerly of Revolting Cocks and KMFDM) and the relentless pummel of drummer Steve Goulding (who's played with everyone from Graham Parker and Elvis Costello to Archer Prewitt) that rescue these tracks from their most hidebound roadhouse tendencies.

"What if our history means nothing at all?" worries Deano on the opening blue-collar lament "Nothing At All", a Son Voltish scorcher that immediately (if unsurprisingly) reestablishes the Wacos' alignment with the woebegotton, put-upon underdog. This can't-win-for-losing stance leads the band quite naturally to the election night blues of "The Rest of the World", ("Champagne's still on ice/ Might as well down it tonight/ It ain't going to last four more years/ Nor are your rights,") as well as to Langford's exquisitely vindictive Bush diatribe "Chosen One".

On the well-titled "Drinkin' & Cheatin' and Death", Langford returns another of his favorite barn-sized targets-- commercial Nashville country. Over the album's best woozy hook he drops the newsflash "Country radio lost its balls/ And started selling fantasy/ No drinking, no killing and the only divorce is from reality," tidily bringing up-to-date those listeners who've been comatose or otherwise out-of-pocket for the past couple decades. Elsewhere, the Brothers direct barbs at reality TV ("Fantasy"), crass materialism ("Lincoln Town Car"), and Intelligent Design ("Missing Link") with varying degrees of wit and subtlety, but unfortunately the band's staunch musical conservatism ensures that none of these tracks ever ventures far from the predictable. Freedom and Weep culminates with the raucous, misery-loves-company anthem "Join the Club", an appropriately cheerless finale for what's arguably the Waco Brothers' most accomplished but least fun album to date.