Cory Hanson is a rock 'n' roll star
A folk singer-songwriter went electric on the best album of 2023, and it made me realize what I love most about music.
With Avaitor sunglasses, a black tank top, matching slacks, and a gold chain, Cory Hanson was dressed to kill for a Sunday night concert at Chicago’s Sleeping Village. Assisted by his backing band Slowhand, Hanson performed the entirety of his new album, Western Cum, two newer songs, and the title track from 2021’s Pale Horse Rider. After the show, I struggled to explain my shit-eating grin on the way home. All I could say was, “Goddamn.”
Two weeks later, I can finally string together a more meaningful critique: Cory Hanson is a motherfucking rock star, and no one else comes close.
***
Music in 2023 has suffered blockbuster fatigue. It doesn’t matter the number of independent gems you swear you streamed. Taylor Swift, Drake, and Bad Bunny made a buffet of your algorithm, and will continue to do so until their next album is released. Musically, that trio’s pale pastiche of mumblecore, dead snares alongside 808s, and the smallest doses of catharsis/distortion now define legacy acts I once loved (The National, Sigur Ros, Gorillaz) and “blog-approved” upstarts (Boygenius, Bleachers, Water From Your Eyes).
To put it more succinctly: music in 2023 is suffocating and fucking boring.
The No. 1 song of the year is Morgan Wallen’s “Last Night.” The dude who looks like Post Malone and Uncle Kracker’s son won a bunch of awards. Outside of that one Kendrick Lamar and Baby Keem single, hip-hop’s biggest stories are: 1) Drake still sucks; 2) Travis Scott’s new album came and went; and 3) Andre 3000 drank ayahuasca then recorded a Zelda soundtrack.
When popular music isn’t focused on some diluted, bullshit amalgamation for Redditors, nostalgia resumes its reign. Music is a business after all, and none of these labels know what the fuck will sell. In 2023, aging punks (Blink-182, Green Day, Queens of the Stone Age, and The Hives) gave you newer versions of their older, better material. Butt rock is back as Creed and Limp Bizkit headline festivals like it’s Woodstock ‘99.
But it gets worse: The Beatles are back, thanks to A.I. The Rolling Stones and Dolly Parton rocked nursing homes with new albums. And since Thriller is 40 years old, let’s forget the (alleged) icky past of the King of Pop.
Give me literally anything else.
***
I first saw Hanson performing “Housefly” on a Fender Instagram Reel. The guitars sounded like an alternate tuning from Soundgarden’s Superunknown mixed with ‘70s classic rock. Digging deeper, I found Hanson’s latest album. In all of its glory, there’s that title: Western Cum.
In two words, this dude has mocked two genres of music—country and rock. In less than 45 minutes, Hanson smokes the competition. Each song has an average of four riffs that you could hum, then there are the extended jams that never outstay their welcome. The time Hanson spent with Ty Seagall paid off, resulting in this helicopter fuzz on “Persuasion Architecture.” Hanson’s brother, Casey, matches him note for note on “Horsebait Sabotage,” a song full of lyrically trippy nonsense that would make Beck jealous. Before it gets out of hand, Hanson returns to his slower, calmer roots with “Ghost Ship” and “Twins,” then launches into the 10-minute odyssey of “Driving Through Heaven.”
After a few listens, I’m thinking that this Hanson dude is a rock ‘n’ roll star. Even better, he’s got a sense of humor. This isn’t some method acting reprise of Led Zeppelin (e.g.: Wolfmother, Greta Van Fleet). Hanson doesn’t have some put-upon backstory (e.g.: Kings of Leon, The Libertines). Thanks to the cultural landscape, the stakes aren’t high. This isn’t another case of NME over-hype that plagued the early aughts (e.g.: Bloc Party, Arctic Monkeys).
We don’t know everything about Hanson. The mystery makes it more intriguing and a little dangerous. Think about it: when’s the last time you heard someone’s record without the outside baggage, without knowing their every single move and thought?
These days, I could live with a bit more anonymity.
***
Around late October, the algorithm fed me the news of the 30th anniversary reissue of Nirvana’s In Utero. This “super-duper-deluxe” version has more outtakes and “rare” concerts. Producer Steve Albini, bassist Krist Noviselic, and drummer Dave Grohl discussed it at length with Conan O’Brien.
In the 30 years since its release, In Utero has been reappraised and will continue to be because of the internet, nostalgia, and the fact that Nirvana has sold more than 75 million albums worldwide. At some point in time, we will know every detail about the recording of In Utero. Your rite of passage will include knowledge that Cobain would play a beat-to-shit acoustic guitar while doing vocal takes. You’ll thank Google for reading your mind then fail to imagine a life without a search engine in your brain.
Dystopian trivia aside, I return to Albini’s original mix of In Utero because it’s the purest sound of a band at their height, being their weird selves. It’s so terrifying that Cobain laughs during a vocal take on “Milk It.” It pokes fun at “moderate rock” on “Radio Friendly Unit Shifter.” There’s another kick-ass drum break on “Tourettes.” I could reassess In Utero to death, but who gives a shit when we could endlessly blare “Scentless Apprentice” instead?
***
My relationship to listening to music changed this year. As a freelancer, I used to make myself keep a calendar of new releases. Then, I would plead my case to editors on why a release was important.
I clamored for a seat at the table, but for what reason? So that I could tell a bunch of people about my brief celebrity encounters? So I could spout off random facts about some 2002 nu-metal album? So I could say that I played in more than 20 bands in unforgiving scenes, but it wasn’t really the scene's fault, it was mine because I thought that acting like Kevin Garnett was cool?
As the internet continues to fester in its own pit of self-importance, the music gates are often protected by over-reactionary, self-righteous white people. The story is no longer the music. The story is some try-hard who failed a lot and hard with a link to their Soundcloud. Me included.
The story oughta be something more like this: You get a text message from a friend, asking you what you’re listening to; you say “Honestly, Cory Hanson’s Western Cum is the best thing I’ve heard all year.” They say, “I’ve seen you talkin’ about it. I guess I should listen, huh?”; you respond, “It’s about that time.” An hour later that same friend texts you again, “I listened to the whole thing all the way through.” You text back, “I told you.” Later that night, the friend texts once more, “Boy, this is good. I’ve spun it about 56 times.” You respond, “Yeah, I was jamming the vinyl myself.” He says, “That’s a good piece of vinyl, right there. Keep it.”
It’s the most you’ve talked to this friend in about a year or so. The point becomes a thorn as your head plays the chorus of “Ghost Ship.”
Oh loneliness, you found me once
I’m gonna tell you all I forgotten at the bottom of the world
Thanks for your article. Couldn’t agree more !! Had never heard CH’s music before. Started with Western Cum. Blew my mind. Amazing combination of music that sounded both familiar and brand new. Have expanded into Wand Vertigo and now their back catalogue. I’ve always enjoyed music that has hidden layers (late Talk Talk, Radiohead). CH and his band mates are making amazing music and look like they’re having the time of their lives. All good to me !!!!