This may sting, so let's get it over with. We'll do it fast, like a band-aid. Ready, set, go: celebrity duet. While each on its own possesses enough venom to kill a full-grown album, the two together have been known to maim even the artists themselves-just ask Willie Nelson. Duets have become a swan song for popular musicians. Like elephant graveyards, they are now the last stop for artists who are "on their way out," and you can pay your respects at every Starbucks in the world. While the duet seems to be an orange-mocha mistake, there is one upside to the genre: The record industry has, for the first time, saved you money. Like Hannah Montana, duets allow you to buy one disc and hate two artists. So with that extra 10 dollars that the suits have saved you, I recommend that you forget everything I have just said, haul ass to Bull Moose Records, and buy Robert Plant and Allison Krauss's "Raising Sand."
"Raising Sand" has all of the proverbial cards stacked against it. The thought of a legendary rock god and a folk prodigy tainting their careers on a duet album was enough to turn me off from the idea entirely. For a while, I was pretty pleased with myself. I had resisted temptation and preserved the memory of two epic musicians by avoiding this record. But soon, I began to feel left out, as if I was on the outside of a hilarious "that's what she said" joke. So I buckled, and went to find out what she said.
From the very beginning of "Rich Woman," the album's first track, you instantly know what "Raising Sand" is all about. It is a collection of simple blues and folk songs that feel right. There is a sincerity and familiarity to the melodies, a soul to the vocals, and a warmth to the instrumentation that rescues the listener from the cold precision of the digital world. There is a fluidity and a unity to this album that invites you to sit and listen from the first song to the last.
Most duets fail miserably because the two singers don't match vocally or stylistically. While the performers may be accomplished in their solo careers, duets operate under the principle that the whole is always greater than the sum of its parts. Robert Plant and Allison Krauss do not appear to be a very good pairing. He has a normally raspy, abrasive, and sometimes incomprehensible voice, while hers is rich, clear, and almost too pretty. However, when the two sing together, they sync up perfectly. They sing in a relaxed, mumbling, "droopydog" manner, as if to say, "this is so friggin' easy for us, we can do this with marbles in our mouths." That's just how it sounds, and it's perfect.
When you are Robert Plant or Allison Krauss, intense pressure to constantly show off your virtuosic skills must exist. But this album is surprisingly devoid of any overly technical or difficult vocal lines. Instead, the two show their genius and musicianship in their subtlety. Listening to the album, you feel as if there is a lot that the two are intentionally not saying. This kind of withholding, like a whisper, only draws the listener in closer. A lot of artists cover up their insecurities with more: more synth, more guitar, more effects. To hear an artist keep a song intentionally naked not only adds to the intimacy of the drama, but also shows an incredible amount of confidence.
While all of the tracks on the album are phenomenal, there are a few that are especially memorable. "Killing the Blues" boasts the album's sweetest melody and its best vocal performance. "Gone, Gone, Gone" is a high-energy song with Plant's attitude, a Stones guitar riff, and a Beatles chorus. "Through the Morning, Through the Night" is a Gram Parsons throwback mixed with the poignant folk vocals (folkals) of Krauss.
If you've managed to miss this album, it's time to face the facts: Your friends don't love you. Friends don't let friends not buy good albums; it's that simple.