Kicking Against the Pricks
Dean Miller’s new album aims straight for the gut—and
at Music Row
by Michael McCall
Dean Miller - Platinum (Koch)
That Dean Miller takes on Fred Eaglesmith’s “105” during
his third shot at establishing a country music career says something about
how he’s evolved since he began playing around town more than a
Eaglesmith’s allegorical tale, about a guy who lives faster than
everyone else, requires a blustery performance, one that balances macho
confidence with a sly wink. Miller isn’t quite as wild-eyed as the
Canadian who wrote it, but he comes across a lot less reserved here than
he did on his 1997 debut for Capitol—or on his aborted second chance
with 2002’s Just Me for Universal South.In getting another opportunity,
Miller needed to show more nerve and personality, and he does just that
on Platinum, his first album since joining Koch Records. Miller has an
expressive voice, and he’s flashed talent as a writer, but his previous
work blended in with several other young upstarts who sang mild-mannered
neo-honky-tonk. Miller hoped to tap the same modern country cool as Dwight
Yoakam, The Mavericks and Gary Allan, but he just wasn’t as stylish
artistically. He lacked the spark that set the others apart.
On Platinum, Miller finds the conviction that he previously lacked. The
album-opening “Hard Love” takes Waylon’s low-string
stomp and gives it a roadhouse wallop, and there’s nothing timid
in Miller’s barbed vocals. Similarly, “Coming Back to You”
is the classic drinking song he’s been trying to write since the
beginning of his career, and “Stronger Than Your Love” serves
up a broken heart with a twist that’s clever yet still grounded
in real emotion. Maybe best of all, “Music Executive” takes
a swipe at the coldhearted way the music industry deals with the talent
it depends upon, and Miller uses his insider knowledge to hit the corporate
machine where it’s most vulnerable.
Other than the Eaglesmith song, the album’s only other cover is
a rollicking version of “I’ve Been a Long Time Leaving,”
a song written by the singer’s father, the late Roger Miller. The
son doesn’t scat with quite the insane glee as his one-of-a-kind
dad, but he articulates the rapid-fire lines with wit, color and clarity,
which is tough to pull off.
That said, Miller stumbles a time or two. “Right Now” has
the ringing chorus of a hit by Kenny Chesney or Tim McGraw, but without
the payoff, and “Yes Man” is the kind of formulaic Music Row
tune that radio likes but that everybody forgets the day it’s dropped
from heavy rotation.
In his record-label bio, Miller suggests that he finally got the chance
to record an album without being creatively shackled. Maybe so, or maybe
he just needed to get his butt kicked by Music Row to prod him to stop
being so polite and put more passion into his work. Whatever the reason,
Platinum suggests he’s no longer setting his sights on the top of
the charts. Instead, he aims straight for the gut with a force that’s
much harder to brush off.
of rock dynamics, hard-core country touches
and smart lyrics." - New York Times
cool that I didn’t want it to end." - Robert K.
by David McPherson
19 December 2005
With Platinum, 15 years since landing in Nashville, the son of famous
songsmith Roger Miller has finally found his musical feet. Music Row can
be cruel. And, Music City can be harsh. But, songwriter Miller has paid
his dues and suffered these blues long enough. On Platinum,
he uses these experiences as inspiration for his words and music.
Nowhere is this more apparent than the witty and pointed commentary he
offers up in "Music Executive." In this country-ballad, Miller
paints a picture of this power player in the music biz who "maxes
out his expense accounts" and "only has three minutes and 42
seconds to decide your fate." He croons in the chorus:
"I'm a music executive/I'm an industry star/ Got no time to listen/I'm
late for the bar." Koch Records Nashville deserves kudos for giving
Miller the creative freedom to record this song.
Platinum showcases a mature Miller in both his
vocal delivery and lyricism; the young songwriter penned nine of the disc's
11 tracks and also produced the album.
The disc opens with the hard drivin: "Hard Love," and is followed
by a cover of Fred Eaglesmith's homage to the need for speed ("105").
Later, the younger Miller also pays tribute to his dear old dad by tackling
the ballad "I've Been a Long Time Leaving," and giving this
song a newfound energy that gets ones feet a stompin'. Blending some honky-tonkin'
with elements of the Outlaw country music that recalls Waylon and Willie,
Miller has produced a country tour de force.
Dean Miller, It's Out-of-the-Box Platinum
But There Are Some Things You Should Know About That Title
By: Edward Morris
You need only glimpse the title of Dean Miller's new album to suspect
that the object perched on his shoulder is not an epaulet. He's named
the album Platinum, a term generally reserved for a record that's sold
a million copies. In this
regard, Miller is demonstrably premature.
Then there's the song "Music Executive," which closes out
the album. In it, Miller depicts a narcissistic oaf who's more interested
in keeping a hair appointment than discovering the next Garth Brooks.
Now recording for Koch Records -- after surviving aborted startups at
Capitol and Universal South -- Miller has learned to joke about his
Music Row tribulations, the most tenacious of which is being compared
to his famous father. "[They say], 'He ain't no Roger Miller,'"
he says, "and I'm not even trying to be. It would just be nice
if someone allowed me the chance to be original and do my own thing."
Well, that's exactly what Koch has done. In addition to writing nine
of the 11 songs on Platinum, Miller also produced the album. He's delighted
with the results, and he has every right to be. His songs are engaging
and stimulating (despite the prevailing tone of remorse), and his production
is spare, tight and imaginative. His voice has the hard, assertive edge
of someone who's firm in his opinions.
Miller says he met no resistance when he proposed his title to the executives
at Koch. "I just basically said [to them], 'For once in my life,
I'm determined to have a Platinum album.'"
That's an understandable goal given his jagged career path. Miller emigrated
from Los Angeles to Nashville in 1990, when he was 25 years old. His
expectations, he admits, were considerably rosier than the terrain.
"When I moved, I naively thought, 'Oh, I'll just whip in here,
get a record deal and get famous,'" he says with a self-deprecating
laugh. "It didn't work that way, and it certainly doesn't work
Miller coined the term "deceptive accessibility" to describe
the tantalizing distance Nashville keeps between the dreamer and the
dream fulfilled. "You can see [stars and other important music
industry folk] in the grocery store," he explains, "but it
doesn't get you any closer to a deal."
However, Miller did finally get a deal with Capitol Records, and in
1997, the label released his first album, Dean Miller. It would be eight
more years before he had his second one. The debut album, which Gregg
Brown produced, yielded three chart singles -- "Nowhere, USA,"
"My Heart's Broke Down (But My Mind's Made Up)" and "Wake
Up and Smell the Whiskey." None of these went higher than the mid-50s
on the charts.
Miller fared no better after he signed with Universal South Records
in early 2002. The label recorded an album on him (a joint effort by
Tony Brown, Brent Maher and Richard Bennett) but never released it after
the exploratory singles -- "Love Is a Game" and "The
Gun Ain't Loaded (But I Am)" -- failed to spark any significant
interest at radio.
With plenty of downtime to mull it over, Miller believes he knows why
he's had such a difficult time getting his music out.
"I don't think anybody has ever committed to what I do a hundred
percent," he ventures. "There's been a lot of one foot in,
one foot out. 'We'll make a record, but we won't do a video.' 'We'll
do a single, but we won't do this.' It's been a half-and-half kind of
thing. Then I've had some bum deals, like everybody getting fired at
my record label. Honestly, too, I think there's a big [negative] comparison
to my father"
As soon as he's asked about them, it's clear Miller has grown weary
of the inescapable radio tours, that peculiar institution in which beginning
artists travel to stations across the country to sing personally to
often-indifferent program directors and disc jockeys.
"I've done three different radio tours, for three different projects
in three different contexts," he says. "It's hell out there,
believe me. It's tough sometimes. You literally end up playing in kitchenettes
and conference rooms. ... I would suggest that you drive down to a radio
station, go into their kitchenette, get about four or five people and
sit there with a guitar and play. See how that feels. Does it feel natural?
And -- then -- wait to see if they say they're going to add or not add
your record. It's weird, believe me."
In his press bio, Miller recalls being broke in Nashville and crashing
No. 1 parties along Music Row for food and drink. That raises the question
of why the son of a songwriter whose catalog is as rich as the late
Roger Miller's is would ever go hungry. "I don't participate in
my father's catalog," he says without elaborating.
Unlike many children of famous fathers, Miller does not flaunt his relationship.
Indeed, he seems reticent to talk about it at all. But Roger Miller
was such a beloved and looming figure in country music, it seems artificial
not to speak about him.
"It's a blessing and a curse," Miller concedes, "but
it's certainly more of a blessing. It's opened doors. Most days, somebody
comes up and tells me something wonderful about my dad. I could have
had Charles Manson for a dad. I happened to have a guy everybody loved.
I have not heard one negative story about my dad. I'm just happy that
I had a good dad. It's been great."
Of the two "outside" songs on Platinum, one is a cover of
the elder Miller's 1966 hit, "I've Been a Long Time Leavin' (But
I'll Be a Long Time Gone)." The son was a mere 4 months old when
it charted, and he says it has always been one of his favorites. "My
dad used to do it very rarely in his shows," he notes, "and
I just loved it so much. I would beg him and beg him to do it. He would
say, 'Oh, it's too much work.' It's hard to sing, obviously. So finally
when I had the chance, I said, 'I'm gonna cut it.'"
Producing Platinum, Miller says, was both a joy and a piece of cake.
"I just have so much studio experience, and I'm so clear on what
I'm about. I know the right people to call and how to communicate with
them. I've worked with them so much. ... I tried not to overthink this
album. One of the curses of the music business is that everybody is
overthinking and test marketing. You know, people don't listen to music
that way. People listen to music from their heart, and they get a gut
reaction when they first hear it. We need to follow that and base our
business plan on that."
Despite all the bumps and bruises, Miller says he still finds the music
business grimly amusing. "If you don't laugh, you end up bitter,"
he declares. "And who wants to be around somebody bitter? I try
to find the humor in everything. I can find humor in the darkest of
subjects. I honestly think if I'd made it years ago I'd have been more
of a jerk -- because I was a less talented person then. So I'm glad
I've been through the hardships. They make you have character."
And is there anything else the public should know?
"I'm single, and I'm looking for a date," Miller deadpans.
"That's pretty much the impetus behind the record. I'm hoping to
meet girls through it. So if you could put that in, it would be great."