In “Taking the Long Way” the Dixie Chicks sing “My friends from high school married their high school boyfriends, moved into houses in the same zip codes where their parents live, but I could never follow.” That is the image our society has of artists. They are the ones who leave, the ones who move out of small towns and into rooms the size of closets in places like New York and LA, while their more pedestrian friends stay behind. Lori McKenna is the best friend, the one who stayed behind in the small town, who married a boy she had known since she was twelve and had her babies young. She wears it on her sleeve. She is the housewife's housewife. In her hands a housewife is neither the stuff of a 1950's commercial nor of a sordid, post-feminist novel. It is a state of being, flux and wondering, always on the verge of leaving or staying. Her songs are about a lifetime of mistakes and regret, interspersed with moments of grace and perfection. She is less artist and more arts and crafts, taking the dross of the things about her and turning them into something both beautiful and functional. This makes her albums something less of a Jennifer Werner diary-become-novel and more of a Mary Karr memoir-become-metaphor. As she chronicles her life as an artist trying to settle down and that of a mother struggling for space, she tells the story of a generation of women balancing the improbability of their dreams with the absorbing minutia of their daily lives.

“My life is pieces of paper that I'll get back to later, I'll write you a story of how I ended up here,” McKenna sings in “The Most.” It’s a track about finding meaning in the small things, but mostly it is about the juggling of daily living and how the living of life happens in the odd moments. That's the gift that Lori McKenna has as a songwriter, the ability to write about the small moments and how they act as hinges between the choices we make and the ones we don't. McKenna has a positive genius for the moment when a decision is almost made or the minute after something has been let go. Her songs are less about action and more about pondering, yet she manages to avoid anything that smacks of self indulgent navel gazing. “Lorraine,”  the title track about the bonds between mothers and daughters is enlivened by stories of childhood paper routes and Judy Garland songs. “If I could buy this town I'd keep it small and rough, for third shift dreamers and high school love,” McKenna sings in “Buy This Town,” an homage to small town life from a woman whose love stems from living in one rather than childhood memories of drunken parties. In “Sweet Disposition” she claims “the next time he tries to leave, I'm gonna help him to the door,” before considering “I just don't know what happened to my sweet disposition.” “American Revolver” is a bleak ballad which veers back and forth between being a murder ballad or one about suicide. Even the weakest track on the album, a rather trite ballad about overcoming tribulations, is elevated by the use of ladders and parachutes rather than pencils and erasers.

As good as McKenna's songwriting is, it is not the only talent that she brings to the table, nor is it the only thing that makes this album stand out from the pack. McKenna's voice is a warm, gritty and sweet mixture that is more Blackberry Brandy than Whiskey. It has a focused power, instead of pain, she gives you anguish and instead of happiness, joy. Barry Dean produces the album and creates some interesting and intelligent backdrops to McKenna's voice. Her rendition of “The Luxury of Knowing” outstrips Keith Urban's because her voice is more evocative, and also because the arrangement has a pounding collection of strings that come together like a wall of sound thunderstorm. Kim Carnes, of “Betty Davis Eyes” fame, provides some stunning harmonies, and Pat McLaughlin does wonders with a mandolin. Indie albums are often marked by small, acoustic arrangements and other economies to save money. It is refreshing to have find McKenna in a setting that is worthy of her remarkable talent.

As Bad Blake once said in “Crazy Heart”, ‘you know a great song when you hear it for the first time.’  McKenna's songs can do that. They can make you feel like you know them because you recognize the people in them. Her songs play out more like novellas, replete with symbolism, imagery and metaphor beyond what you might expect from something that only lasts four minutes. McKenna is gifted at embroidery, and she embellishes each song with tiny details that make them unique and precious. Lori McKenna is a rarity in the music industry, an over 40 housewife who writes about the miniscule details of being an over 40 housewife, with a power and passion that draws everyone into their stories. Lorraine offers further proof that Lori McKenna may be the best pure storyteller in country music today.

You can support Lori McKenna by purchasing this album at Amazon | Amazon CD.