There’s something corny and smarmy about Matt Morris. He seems to live on the rarefied air of the priveleged; the lucky few, who have the advantage of friends like Justin Timberlake and Ellen Degeneres to shill for him. But damn if there isn’t something real at the core. Something that that comes through in the music even when he’s sentimentalizing poverty and a bastard’s bad behavior. It’s that ache in his voice and that look in his eyes that communicates across the boundaries of hype and glitz. There is something embararssing about the way he cares so much, but caring too much is a good thing. Affectation can create its own reality, one where we can imagine our common desire to make the world a better place. “Bloodline” is a guilty pleasure—the kind of song that invites wallowing—and Morris succeeds at making us want to sing along with him and dwell in the house of grit and sorrow. Feeling sad never felt so good.
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