I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to be in James Monroe’s shoes. As Bill’s son, he’s an easy target — frequently for extra-musical reasons — for self-assigned protectors of the Monroe legacy. Hang around bluegrassers for a while and you’re sure to get an earful of complaints. Monroe’s new album is, unfortunately, unlikely to do much to silence his critics. It’s not bad, but for a guy in his position, not bad isn’t nearly good enough.
The band assembled for the project is solid. There’s some fine twin fiddling by Jim Buchanan and Buddy Spicher (whose name is atrociously mangled in the credits), the excellent Charlie Cushman does sterling double-duty on banjo and guitar, dobro player Alan Phelps shows why he ought to be recorded more often, and the rest of the crew, including Grand Ole Opry upright bassist Billy Linneman (whose name is also misspelled) perform admirably.
Beyond that, though, The Way I Am comes up short. Some of the material is just plain uninspired, while other, better songs are given idiosyncratic interpretations that earn points for individuality but in the end seem more arbitrary than insightful. What’s more, though Monroe has an interesting, distinctively husky voice, his singing doesn’t consistently rise above the lackadaisical. A little more thought, a little more energy, and this CD might have turned out an unalloyed winner. As it is, it simply isn’t.