“To all those who are rambling/that we don’t do country music/come for a ride in a trailer/we are very open to talking about it,” says Alex Burger, both mocking and merciful, to the orthodox who, in 2021, are are outraged that the ADISQ Gala awarded him the Félix for Country Album of the Year for Sweet Montérégiea predictable storm in a beer glass.
There is, after all, nothing more typically country than a dispute over an artist’s authenticity. Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson all, at another time, suffered the wrath of the Nashville establishment because they dared to have their way.
Is the second album from the friendly Montérégie outlaw truly country? If country is a genre that elevates counter philosophy to an art form in its own right and where each sip of booze nourishes the compassion we feel for the misfortunes of others, It can’t be invented is a purely country album.
“The horizon is my happiness,” sings the person who fishes from the bottom of his glass of whiskey several of these formulas whose simplicity should not elude the beauty. He thus reminds us that the unrepentant are also, often, wise.
Less rock than its predecessor, except on The downward slope (as if the Rolling Stones had replaced Mick with Cassonade), this record recorded in six days (what could be more country?) and once again produced by the ubiquitous Alexandre Martel grabs attention first thanks to its more mischievous songs (Country in the ravine or the very Byrdesque It always ends).
It can’t be invented however, finds its depth in his portraits of dazzling insight (the pastoral Back and forth, It does the trick) of men and women who wake up one fine morning to realize that they have become stuck in darkness and bad habits.
Once arrived at Merzi momin which Burger tips his hat to his mother (what could be more country?), we can only thank her for not telling him to stay away from guitars.
Extract of Country in the ravine
Country
It can’t be invented
Alex Burger
Duprince