Good to Be Home
Unheralded veteran singer finds her voice on new bluegrass-flavored collection
By Michael McCall
JANUARY 10, 2000:
After two failed stabs at country music stardom, Rhonda Vincent didn't
get mad--she got better. The veteran bluegrass singer's new Back Home
Again is the perfect retort to Music Row and country music radio, both
of which have seen fit to ignore her talents in the past. Set for a Jan. 11
release on Rounder Records, the album banks on heartfelt material that
deals with bedrock topics like relationships and family values as well as
bold themes like child sexual abuse. Moreover, Vincent's voice, always an
impressive instrument, owns a newfound beauty, control, and unbridled
power; it's as if she's merged the character, expressiveness, and
enunciation of Dolly Parton with the gale-force strength and edgy emotion
of Martina McBride.
The album should finally give Vincent the lift to national acclaim she
has long deserved. It should also embarrass Music Row power-brokers: How
can an artist of Vincent's obvious attributes get pushed aside while vapid
talents like Lace and Redmon & Vale receive the high-powered promotional
support that only multinational companies can provide?
Once again, the commercial country music industry is making a
self-destructive mistake by ignoring performers of Vincent's caliber.
There's nothing wrong with Music Row executives working to develop young,
pop-influenced singers with broad appeal; they'd be foolish if they didn't.
But by leaving behind true country artists as undeniably capable as
Vincent, the industry has stopped cultivating its core audience and has
dropped its commitment to building stars of enduring value.
Fortunately, Vincent knew she could continue her career with or without
Nashville's help. After all, she has spent her entire life performing. As
bluegrass scholar Jon Weisberger points out in the liner notes to Back
Home Again, Vincent was 3 years old when she joined her family's band,
the Sally Mountain Show (named after a regional landmark located near the
Vincent family home in northeast Missouri). Before turning 30, she had
recorded six solo albums and 11 albums with Sally Mountain.
In the early '90s, Vincent signed with Giant Records after label head
James Stroud heard her recording in a studio next to the one where he was
working. Vincent recorded two albums for Giant. On 1993's Written in the
Stars, she sang with distinctiveness, but too many of the songs were
shackled with formulaic lyrics and stiff production. However, her versions
of Lefty Frizzell's "I Do My Cryin' at Night" and a new song written by
Melba Montgomery, "I'm Not Over You," proved she possessed enormous talent.
Her next album, 1996's Trouble Free, did a better job of
showcasing what makes her special. Much like Keith Whitley and Ricky Skaggs
before her, Vincent balanced new-traditionalist honky-tonk with
bluegrass-infused country songs on her major-label follow-up. It should
have been one of the most heralded albums of its time, and the work did
receive widespread support from scores of leading country traditionalists.
George Jones, Dolly Parton, Ralph Stanley, Alan Jackson, Vince Gill, Randy
Travis, and Dwight Yoakam were among the stars who asked Vincent to perform
with them, either as a duet or harmony singer or by inviting her to take
part in a special project.
But Giant Records proved ineffective in establishing Vincent's
potential. And when she left the label, no one else stepped up to take
advantage of her availability. Vincent returned to Missouri, for a while
feeling defeated.
With Back Home Again, she proves victory is indeed hers. The
album may not rack up sales numbers to compete with Faith Hill and the
Dixie Chicks, but the quality of the music will likely put her on a career
path similar to those of such prominent, here-to-stay artists as Alison
Krauss, Iris DeMent, and Gillian Welch.
Vincent's sense of purpose is evident from the album's first line. She
belts the words "I hear that wind a-blowin' through the lonesome pines"
with such forceful emotion that she immediately reclaims everything the
music business tried to deny her. It's a glorious moment--the kind that
grabs a listener like only the rarest of performances can.
The album focuses on emotionally potent material and arrangements that
stay stripped-down yet consistently inventive and fresh. The breadth of
material is reminiscent of classic '70s albums by Emmylou Harris and Linda
Ronstadt--Back Home Again weaves together well-chosen older material
and newer compositions, all given a distinctly personal flavor by Vincent
and her gifted band. As with Krauss and Bonnie Raitt, Vincent is an
accomplished instrumentalist as well, which only adds to the uniqueness of
her arrangements.
Her covers show her deep knowledge of the mountain-music canon, as she
puts her mark on songs by Jimmy Martin ("Pretending I Don't Care"), Dolly
Parton ("Jolene"), and the Louvin Brothers ("You're Running Wild," "Out of
Hand"). The rest of album maintains the standards set by those songs--and
the singular strengths of the individual songs are part of what makes
Back Home Again such a watershed event.
The album's most unforgettable piece is "Little Angels," which, with
bare directness, finds a young woman looking back at how the sexual abuse
she suffered at age 9 has affected her self-worth. She now prays to God not
to "let another stranger hurt one more little angel." It's the kind of
unadorned, difficult sentiment that rarely gets addressed in the
upbeat-and-positive atmosphere of modern country music.
Vincent's best vocal performance comes on "When I Close My Eyes." The
song was a No. 1 country hit for Kenny Chesney not long ago, but Vincent
conveys the quiet pain of the lyrics with a potency that underscores how
Nashville's slick production techniques obscure the emotion of a song
rather than letting it shine. There may be no better indictment of modern
country music than to compare Vincent's version of this song with
Chesney's: It reveals how much better off she is pursuing her music outside
of commercial country music's restrictive confines.

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