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Thursday, June 4 , 2020
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
ARTS
Kip Moore’s earthy,
varied ‘Wild World’
Kip Moore entered my life the way most
country singers did in 2011 — by singing about a
truck. More precisely, “Somethin’ ‘Bout a Truck.”
For months on end the cheeky, feel-good track
was playing every time I turned on the radio.
Successful follow-up singles “Beer Money” and
“Hey Pretty Girl” ostensibly signalled Kip’s com-
ing country stardom. Until, of course, they didn’t.
Nine years later, Wild World finds a contempla-
tive Kip carving out a thoughtful plot of country
music for himself outside of Nashville — a star
unrealized, but a star nonetheless.
The new Kip Moore is gritty. In
his current single “Red White Blue
Jean American Dream,” Moore
traces artists’ pilgrimages across
America, but having grown out his
hair and traded in baseball caps
for beanies, it’s clear the former Nashville cookie
cutter has gone on a self-actualization journey of
his own. “Dylan went to New York, Cash went to
Nashville / Mark Twain floated on the Mississippi
Queen” he chants. I imagine an autobiographical
addition to the song going like this: Moore went to
Red River Gorge, Kentucky.
That’s where we find him in Wild World’s
promotional documentary “7 Days at the Rock.”
While some clips could be mistaken for a luxury
outdoors-wear commercial, I was stunned by how
closely certain images resembled the texture I had
imagined listening to Moore’s album. At one point,
Kip sits in a rustic-looking rocking chair while sip-
ping black coffee, strumming along to the sounds
of the woods and playing for a cat called Boots.
And yet, Kip Moore is no Tyler Childers.
Despite planting roots in Appalachia, Wild
World’s sound is recognizably mainstream. With
crisp production that favors electric guitar riffs
and arena-ready drums over fiddle solos, there’s
no mistaking Kip’s music for Americana. But his
raspy voice and use of recognizably real instru-
ments means Moore doesn’t sound pop either.
Instead, Kip’s country music lands closer to rock.
Still, Wild World’s earthy tones aren’t accidental,
but align with the richness of its stories.
“
Janie Blu” outlines the trappings of a strained
relationship and addiction. “Southpaw” serves as
Moore’s “gunslinging” mission statement. “Fire or
Flame” watches Kip wrestle not with faith, but his
inclination to ramble toward the light and trouble.
“He took my hand, I shook it free” he smirks.
And those are just the first three songs. “It’s a
wild world,” Moore claims in the title track, so he
promises to “stay wild” too.
Rock climbing, surfing, skateboarding — “7
Days at the Rock” shows how
dedicated Moore is to keeping that
promise. What it fails to show how-
ever, is any desire Kip might have to
get back to the top of the country
charts. The hopeful “She’s Mine”
and rollicking “South” both reveal
glimmers of the Kip we met in 2011. These songs
have the kind of bouncy, up-beat production and
sing-along ready lyrics that once upon a time
would have made for country radio gold.
Near the end of “7 Days at the Rock,” Moore
starts singing unaccompanied while staring sol-
emnly into a fire pit. “Payin’ Hard” details his
regret about lost love and lost time with his late
father from playing shows instead. “My life’s a
credit card / play now, pay later and I’m payin’
hard” he whispers, presumably to himself, his
voice cracking alongside the fire. As sentimental
as it sounds — it works. Moore’s quasi-outsider
status makes his lows feel more relatable than
those of his hitmaker peers.
The landscape of Moore’s Wild World is practi-
cally devoid of trucks, beer and explicitly “pretty
girls.” But that’s not why I was so taken by it.
Country radio is a finicky beast and it made Moore
a different kind of outlaw. He was spit out of the
Nashville scene just as quickly as he was taken in.
Lucky for us, some things grow better in the dark
— Kip Moore is one of them.
KATIE BEEKMAN
Daily Arts Writer
Watercolor: a guide
This piece is part of a series on “Art dur-
ing COVID,” an exploration of art forms
to keep our idle minds creative during this
pandemic. With many of us at home, our
minds have ample time to wander, wonder
and create. This series highlights accessi-
ble and immersive art forms to both pro-
duce and consume during the pandemic
months and beyond.
How do we show our gratitude for the
world around us?
It’s a question that’s been on my mind
recently. As spring reaches its full force,
the world begs for my attention. I can
admire the deep pink eastern rosebuds,
the velvety white crabapples, the com-
forting pale lilacs, but how do I give
back?
For most of my life, this exchange
with the world has felt one-dimension-
al: The Earth provides food, shelter, air,
water, beauty, and all I can do is admire
in response. I do plenty to advocate for
the Earth on a macro scale — recycling,
composting, repurposing. I believe this
is easier to do: With some effort, anyone
can do their part to reduce their carbon
footprint. But what about showing grati-
tude for the Earth on a micro scale? How
often do we thank a tree we pass for giv-
ing us clean air and water, or think of the
life behind a flower before planting it in
our garden? These small-scale interac-
tions make up the bigger whole — eco-
systems and biomes — that we tend to
focus more on. We can’t truly love our
planet without paying attention to the
little things.
Watercolor is one of my humble
attempts to show my appreciation for
these small wonders. Painting a tree,
a leaf, even a blade of grass, shows the
world that I’m thinking about it and lis-
tening to its calls. Of all wet and dry art
forms, the effortless contours and gradi-
ents of watercolor makes it my favorite
for representing the natural world. It’s
fast, fills up a space quickly with color
and begs us not to overthink our strokes.
It’s raw. It’s natural.
As quarantine leaves us with large
pockets of empty time, watercolor is
an undemanding way to fill that space
with color and life. Representing a liv-
ing form that’s not your own reminds us
that we’re not truly isolated when life
beckons us from all directions. Yet, for
all its benefits, watercolor can be one of
the most intimidating art mediums for
beginners. I remember agonizing over
where to place colors, confused by how
much water was too much and how much
was too little. It would be insulting to
reduce watercolor to a science, as there’s
no correct method, but the steps below
can be helpful to get started.
Watercolor doesn’t demand much. The
paints come in two forms — in tubes or in
a pan. If you’re painting on the go, por-
table palettes offer a generous array of
colors, complete with a water brush and
mixing compartments. My Reeves water-
color set has served me well over the
years, but any set is fine, coupled with
watercolor paper and a brush.
Pick a subject, but not just anything.
Pick something with meaning to you,
a form that you could spend at least a
paragraph describing. I inevitably draw
my inspiration from the environment,
oftentimes while sitting on my drive-
way. Yesterday, I painted the maple tree
in my yard whose branches gently touch
the roof of my car. Maple trees weave
together my relationship with Michigan
and my infatuation with the fall colors
of our deciduous landscape. Pick some-
thing that feels like home.
The first streak of color feels glori-
ous. I like to wet my brush, dab on a little
color and glide it across the page. Water-
color fills up space easily and doesn’t
give you much time to think. I focus
on the bigger picture instead of worry-
ing about each individual brush stroke.
I liken this to zooming out my perspec-
tive, trying to represent a general shape
first before painting fine details. I lose
myself in the immediate satisfaction of
color breathing my image to life. I let the
excess water spill over slightly, which
gives me a base to continue building
color.
I let my first layer of paint dry before
piling more on top, making each layer
progressively darker than the last. Shad-
ing adds depth to your work; pools of
black and slashes of white make an
image seem real. I find it helpful to pick
a direction of light — the upper right cor-
ner of the page, for example — and paint
everything closer to this point lighter, as
if the light was hitting the object. Every-
thing farther away should be darker, in
shadow.
Once I start adding other colors to the
mix, it’s aimless to try and describe a
methodology. There are no rules.
When I succumb to the power of
watercolor, I feel connected to the Earth,
grounded to my colors, clear in my mind.
It’s my way of acknowledging the small
lives around us — the beetle climbing
over mounds of earth, the peonies in full
bloom, the branches shimmering in the
light. I paint from a place of intangible
gratitude, giving thanks and remem-
brance to our Earth. If your paintings
come from a place of love, you’ve suc-
ceeded.
TRINA PAL
Daily Arts Writer
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Wild World
Kip Moore
MCA Nashville