There are a lot of reasons I hate myself for loving Rascal Flatts. It really bothers me that the lead singer, the appropriately named Gary LeVox, is fat, spikes his hair and doesn’t play an instrument. They have multiple sets of hits that are, both melodically and lyrically, effectively the same song. And they had the audacity to write the only song to ever feature my name about a girl dying of cancer.
Still, I love them. Their songs remind me of road trips in the rural South — the windows down, the air hot and sweet, nobody on the road and maybe a couple of vultures swarming above something dead in the distance. Hits like “Mayberry,” “No Reins,” and “Secret Smile” can be the perfect backdrop to a pregame, walking down Locust or even studying.
The fact is, Rascal Flatts aren’t country — at least not the country of Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson or even Garth Brooks. They are a pop-country group, a la Taylor Swift, that has figured out an exact formula for writing songs that will simultaneously top both country and pop charts. And with two concert ticket stubs and a 40-song iTunes playlist as proof, it’s a formula I’m a sucker for.
