The Malec Minute: Trailer Choir Needs To Kill Its Darlings

They came to CMA Music Fest with nothing but dreams. Dreams and a whole lot of Daddy Toby’s money, that is.

It was, by all accounts, an epic promotional campaign. From the tour bus–emblazoned with their band logo and the title of their latest single–that was parked in prime locations throughout the festival locale over the weekend, to their participation in the City of Hope Softball Challenge (where they made up a third of their team’s lineup), to their performance on the Chevy stage outside the Sommet Center and everywhere in between, it was impossible to escape the promotional reach of Trailer Choir.

It had the appearance of an all-out, balls-to-the-wall campaign designed to introduce the world to one of music’s next big things. Without a doubt, Trailer Choir emerged from the event as the act the most successful in exploiting every conceivable publicity opportunity.

And that would be good, if Trailer Choir was one of music’s next big things.

What they are, however, is an example of how much of the industry is tragically out of touch with fans. And reality.

I had the pleasure, last July, of interviewing the trio. They were generally polite and seemed motivated, and I was impressed by their confidence–even if their declaration that their album would “have Grammy winning songs” did seem a little premature (especially considering that, at that time, they were pushing a single called “Off The Hillbilly Hook,” a title probably not especially attractive to NARAS voters).

“Off The Hillbilly Hook” bombed, failing to chart. And their follow-up attempt, “What Would You Say”–a song that referenced then-recent coal mining tragedies–stalled at #43.

Since that point, Show Dog has continued to throw support and money behind the trio, pushing three singles, a video, a digital EP and a full year of promotion and publicity expenses–all culminating in a massive push at CMA Fest 2009.

It’s a great, if not terribly original idea. You build slowly, doing radio tours, in-stores and the like, all the while developing name recognition and good will. Then, when you have a solid foundation, you go all-in.

But here’s the catch. There’s no cheese at the end of that tunnel. There’s no product. Show Dog built around something people aren’t interested in, trying to sell them a product they have no reason to want to buy.

From conception, every move Show Dog has made has pigeonholed the trio as a novelty act. From the crazy clothes (bib overalls, necktie with bluejeans) to the crazy photo settings to the crazy names to the crazy songs.

“Off The Hillbilly Hook” should have been a nonstarter. Not only has the idea of taking urban slang and setting it in country lyrics been done many times before (almost uniformly without success), there were already two similar songs–Justin Moore’s “Back That Thing Up” and The Lost Trailer’s “Holler Back”–vying for radio play at the exact same time.

As for the trio’s latest: It’s called “Rockin’ The Beer Gut.” What else can I say?

That’s one of the worst titles in country music history. The image that title elicits is not positive by any stretch of the imagination. And no matter how charming or unexpected the song may be, listeners are never going to be able to get past that. No one wants to hear a song about a person rocking a beer gut.

The music industry is going through one of its most troubled periods. And even if people actually wanted to buy music, the economy is in shambles. Consumers have little money to spend on entertainment. And you’re trying to sell them a novelty act singing a song about a beer gut?

In what world does this make sense? It’s counter-intuitive and borderline offensive.

This all reached a climax, for me, during the City of Hope softball game. At one point Big Vinny donned a Fred Flintstone costume and started shooting someone with a Super Soaker, before proceeding to step to the plate while wearing the cave-dweller outfit.

It was funny. In the same way that watching Jim Carrey mash his head into a pile of horse poop would be funny. The joke gets old real fast, and chances are it’s going to be hard to take him seriously afterward.

So here’s what you have: Trailer Choir, which is made up of a blonde chick, a short guy named after a dairy product and a 400 lb. former Sonic manager who dresses like Fred Flintstone and does the worm on stage, singing a song called “Rockin’ The Beer Gut.”

It’s every single bit as ridiculous as it sounds.

And by the way, did I mention Trailer Choir’s set outside the Sommet Center on Friday was freaking awesome?

Yes, that’s right. It was awesome. One of the best-sounding and most inspired sets I witnessed in the four days of the event.

Butter has a commanding, unique voice and the trio shares great chemistry on stage. The band was connected to each other and committed to the audience. It was one of the few performances I saw from a new artist during CMA Fest where the act took control of the scene and looked and sounded bigger than the setting. It was both impressive and surprising.

And the crowd seemed to enjoy it, for the most part. But it was hard for them to connect. Because despite the talent the band displayed, there was still something offsetting about the tone of the performance, something that made it all seem less relevant. Had the look been different, had the songs been different, maybe fans there would have felt like they were watching the start of something special. Instead, they were privy to a contrived and gimmicky sales pitch.

Butter made a remark to the effect of, “When’s the last time you heard ‘Baby Got Back’ at a country show!” And while he’s right—most of us never have—the truth is that we should never hear that song at a country show.

OK, maybe not “never.” It would be different, after all, if Jennifer Nettles sat down on a bar stool on stage and strummed it out unexpectedly. But when Trailer Choir covers Sir Mix-a-Lot, everyone in the area is left thinking that it’s just another part of a mediocre shtick. Having a 400 lb. man sing “Baby Got Back” is one of the most obvious, expected and cliched stunts I can imagine.

When they perform “Off The Hillbilly Hook,” “Rockin’ The Beer Gut,” “In My Next Five Beers” and whatever other left-of-center material they can muster, it’s easy to watch this group perform and overlook the fact that not only can they actually play and sing, they can write pretty damn well, too. One song in particular, “Rollin’ Through The Sunshine,” struck me as a unique but familiar sounding number that would stand a very strong chance at radio.

“Sunshine” is no masterpiece. But what makes a song resonate with listeners? It’s truth, not gimmickry. It’s relatability, not originality. It’s whether or not the listener hears that song and believes the artist is speaking on his or her behalf. It doesn’t have to be brilliant or groundbreaking to be commercially successful. But it does have to speak to people on some emotional level.

As touching as an inspirational song about trapped coal miners might be (”What Would You Say”), it’s not something that feels substantial to listeners. It is irrelevant to their lives, seemingly designed for the purpose of the lesson or message alone. We hear it, and perhaps we like it, but it bounces off of us. We have no reason to hold on to it.

There are, surprisingly, a lot of people in the industry who still don’t get that. And Show Dog—which has still failed to break a new act—seems oblivious to the point.

Because despite the piles of money being spent on its behalf, Trailer Choir is going nowhere. The label could double the budget and it wouldn’t change a thing. Any objective observer can look at this situation and see that the package–the look, the songs, the Fred Flintstone costume–is not working. And it’s never going to work.

Ernest Hemingway once wrote, in advice to fellow writers, that it is necessary to kill your darlings. Your darlings being, by one interpretation of his statement, the little nuggets that you slip into your work because you think they’re genius. Because you think you’re a genius.

Kill them. They distract from your work. It is the writing that matters; the story, the characters. And anything that stands as a barrier between those things and the reader is a problem.

Artists and labels trying to break into the music industry in this day and age need to kill their darlings. They need to understand that fans want great music–performed by talented artists–that speaks to them and their lives. If they wanted comedy, they would go buy a Weird Al record.

There’s no room in this economy for frivolity. There’s no money to spend on goofy, off-the-wall novelty acts when they offer nothing of substance. And even if you could sell this product to its maximum potential audience, what do you think the upside of a Trailer Choir disc is? How many people, if everything goes according to plan, are ultimately going to buy into what this band is selling? Is Trailer Choir going to become a cultural phenomenon?

Kill your darlings. Write the best songs you can. Wear normal clothes, or cool clothes. Don’t cover Sir Mix-a-Lot. Don’t do the worm on stage and, for God’s sake, don’t dress up your 400 lb. band member in a Fred Flintstone costume.

If you are as talented as Crystal, Butter and Big Vinny, you don’t need to do any of these things to distinguish yourself. It all distracts from how good you are.

And you’re good. Really good. Give your potential fans a chance to see that.