Over the course of eight albums, Waco Brothers have thoroughly established their shtick: tradition-minded, punkish country played by a Chicago band featuring several native Europeans with non-country musical pedigrees (in Jesus Jones, Revolting Cocks, and KMFDM, among others). The Wacos—led by songwriter-vocalists Jon Langford, Deano Schlabowske, and Tracey Dear—infuse lefty outrage into rollicking roots songs that lambaste Bush, Christian conservatives, commercial radio, and society in general enough to please any political hardcore band. Red Staters would probably enjoy the music, until they read the lyrics.
By this point in their career, the shtick could easily feel rote. Alt-country bands have broken down country-music stereotypes for roughly 20 years (Langford contributed with his other band, Mekons, and their 1985 album Fear And Whiskey), so the Wacos' acerbic barn-burners aren't exactly revolutionary anymore. But the current political and social climate provides bountiful inspiration (Schlabowske even thanks "W for all the material" in the liner notes), and in the group's skilled hands, the entire package never feels hackneyed. The Waco songwriters, particularly Langford, are insightful lyricists; they make the words understandable but slightly arcane, so that people have to pay attention to comprehend their meaning. The penultimate track, "Rest Of The World," is the most direct anti-Bush screed, but Schlabowske never mentions the re-election specifically. Aside from a clunky line about champagne on ice not lasting four years, "nor will your rights," Schlabowske conveys his everyman outrage well: "There's you and me and the rest of the world be damned." Langford again criticizes one of his favorite targets, mainstream country music, on "Drinkin' & Cheatin' & Death," a rock song with a rootsy edge that blasts country's self-censorship. In his Welsh brogue, he sings, "'Cos country radio lost its bottle / Started sellin' a fantasy / No drinkin', no killin', and the only D-I-V-O-R-C-E / Is from reality, from history."
For all the Wacos' gleefully sardonic lyrics, clever turns of phrase can't save a crappy song, but Freedom And Weep doesn't have one. It comes out of the gates strong with the enthusiastic "Nothing At All," experiments with moodier material on "Come A Long Long Way" and "It's Amazing" (with its excellent, galloping bassline), and ends with a supremely country group sing-along, "Join The Club." Pedal steel permeates all of the songs, inherently lending an air of honky-tonk authenticity. Like the rest of the album, it sounds great.