Willard especially gains in integrity in comparison with Stewart's latest album, entitled The Lonesome Picker Rides Again. Stewart's tunes are good enough; the big differences are the lyrics and the production. Where Willard was knowledgeable, Picker uses exaggerated symbolism. Where Stewart used to rely on his gravelly honest voice, he now feels compelled to call in batallions of strings. The mushy production spoils two of the best songs on the album, "Touch of the Sun" and "Just an Old Love Song." But the strings are only a symptom of a deeper disease.
The entire album is in the painful tradition of cute observations and ambiguous political positions which rock audiences have been rewarding with applause for years. Stewart certainly takes his messages seriously enough--if he didn't, he might let us ignore them and enjoy the music.
As it is, Stewart's concern with the lost past turns, in Picker, into a vague, if not reactionary, romanticization of "kids everywhere, gettin' on in the back seat of the car." He sums up his disaffection with American life with the parable "Shoot all the brave horses and how will we ride," which is repeated for a tiring three minutes at the end of the album.
Another cut, after describing the dangers facing women hitchhikers, cryptically warns, "Wake up the child, there's wolves in the kitchen," Stewart is no wolf, but the conventional male-oriented situations which he evokes uncritically throughout the album is perhaps an indication that we should be on the lookout for enemies more insidious than wolves. The album thrives on swayback women walking by Stewart's side, faithful "women of the road." Stewart has not transcended the "kick-em-out-of-bed and hit-the-road" version of human independence that perhaps many of us accept, too, at least in our music.
The back cover of the album features the traditionally obnoxious picture of Stewart's doting girl friend clinging to his arm. Given the modest musical dynamics of the album, many listeners will probably see little reason to spend time unravelling Stewart's subtle brand of chauvinism.
If the rock on both Willard and Picker is already stripped of its popular form by the inherent limitations of its appeal, Willard at least deserves a wider audience on the basis of its musical content alone. In Picker, however, Stewart hasn't added much to the drifting times that will probably last until Carol King's next album comes out.