Ella Langley was a merely promising young country star this time last year, riding the modest success of Hungover, her solid LP debut. A twangy neo-trad country set branded with a knowing taste for nostalgia, with a twentysomething’s smart-ass plainspokenness and just enough commercial sheen, it shone brightest on deep cuts (“Cowboy Friends,” “Monsters”), notwithstanding the woozy charm of her closing-time hookup with Riley Green, “You Look Like You Love Me.” She seemed like one of those artists destined for the trenches that divide the indie Americana scene and the king-making world of country radio.
The narrative changed fast when “Choosin’ Texas” dropped last fall. Her perfectly-turned co-write with Miranda Lambert, Luke Dick, and Joybeth Taylor — an irresistibly and almost cheerfully woeful love-triangle lament — became the longest-running Number One ever by a woman country artist on Billboard’s Hot 100, Taylor Swift included. Langley also became the only woman to simultaneously top that chart and the two main country charts, and she’s had a run on honky-tonk digital jukeboxes nationwide.
Suddenly, she’s poster girl for something few thought possible — a commercial pink wave, if you will, of woman artists in the sexist world of big-box country music, akin to the one that’s defined mainstream pop for years now. She’s got strong company recently in Megan Moroney, Lainey Wilson, and Kacey Musgraves, whose forthcoming LP promises a return to country form. But if the expectations are a lot to put on the shoulders of a young artist, the weight seems weightless on Dandelion, a sophomore set with perfect posture. It’s anchored by “Choosin’ Texas,” of course, but Langley doesn’t sweat trying to replicate it. Instead, she leans into her taste for tradition with a fresh color wheel of vintage influences. It could do for classic country style what artists like Laufey and Billie Eilish have done for post-WWII jazz-pop, right on time for WWIII.
Framed by snippets of the bedrock Anglo-American folk tune (and Bob Dylan fave)“Froggy Went a-Courtin’,” Dandelion rolls out songs that often feel rooted in Seventies and Eighties country-pop. The title track single recalls hitmakers like Anne Murray and Barbara Mandrell, except for the faint Auto-Tune ripples and an undisguised buckskin ‘Bama accent that brands an otherwise basic anti-fancy metaphor. “We Know Us” begins like a Patsy Cline fever dream, all lonely Owen Bradley echoes swirling around guitar sparkles and chirping background singers, before shifting into a hilariously-adorable booty call narrative with Jimmy Buffet bongos. But there’s a plaintiveness to Langley’s voice that prevents it from slipping into camp.
Dutifully but subtly, “Speaking Terms” fulfills the role of the requisite spiritual, standard for old-school country LPs. It’s a touching song about shaken faith, tied up with an understated string arrangement — not quite the equal of Musgraves’ like-minded, Grammy-winning “The Architect,” but not cringe. It’s smartly followed by a goofy Texas-roadhouse love-junkie narrative (“I Gotta Quit”) and a wholly laudable cover of Kitty Wells’ 1954 single “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels,” not incidentally the first-ever Number One country hit by a woman. Langley plays it straight but for the off-mic chuckle after the line about how “all the blame is on us women.” It’s a nice touch.
Musgraves casts a shadow here, as does Lambert — artists who blazed a path for smart, woman-centered songwriting in the country mainstream — and there’s a touch of Beyoncé in “Me and You Time.” (Lambert in fact joins Langley on a second co-write here, the lovely psychic-spring-cleaning testimonial “Butterfly Season.”) There’s generic stuff on Dandelion, too, corn that despite her best efforts doesn’t get far enough from its fertilizer, and at 16 tracks, not counting “Froggy,” the album feels a tad too long. But the decision to drill down on a vintage vibe was a smart one. The upshot is a coherent, fully-realized album, from an artist who feels fully-formed. And if Langley’s still fine-tuning her sound, be grateful she’s claiming the space to do it.
