Singer-songwriter Joshua Ray Walker’s career was on the rise when he was diagnosed with a severe case of cancer. He had to put his ambitions on hold while undergoing surgery and receiving chemotherapy. The good news is he has beaten the disease (it will take five more years until it can officially be termed in remission).
Walker used the time off from touring and such to create an imaginative new album, an escapist fantasy about the sandy lifestyle called Tropicana. “I couldn’t go to the beach,” Walker said on social media, “so I decided to bring the beach to me.” He described the new album as “Country music in a Hawaiian shirt” and named the works of Jimmy Buffett and George Strait as influences.
The result is another terrific Walker record that’s as intimate and personal as the more self-referential story songs he has written and delivered in the past. The Texan has always been able to inhabit his (frequently) absurdist tales as if they were confessional, even when it is clear they are not autobiographical. Part of this is due to his remarkable tenor voice. He always seems to mean what he sings. The narrators of his tales offer an eye for detail that suggests they are observing what they cannot see, and combined with Walker’s wry sense of humor, they come off as real people in actual situations.
Take a song such as “Dance With the One You Came With”, a Mariachi-tinged melody about a metal fabricator with rough hands who left the working life for the ease of life by the sea. Walker warbles the chorus to show the character’s emotional depth even as the protagonist hides his feelings. “This heart is stiffer than some starched Wrangler jeans / But these boots are worn in places no women will ever see,” he declares. The instrumentation and surface details suggest that life may be a party, but Walker knows better.
This theme of the pain behind the celebratory façade runs through the bulk of the material. Songs such as “Heavy Boots”, “Dirty Laundry”, and “Keys to the Tacoma” describe the regret of those who have abandoned others behind in a search for the good life. The presumption is that a good life is not a better life. The cost may have been too dear. The steel guitars weep in the background even when the fiddles and guitars smile. Protagonists can celebrate alcohol-induced fun on “Whiskey to My Heart” and sex on “I Don’t Wanna Be Alone”, but Walker’s supple voice conveys the hurt these vices are covering up.
The album was recorded at Walker’s long-time collaborator John Pedigo’s house. Pedigo produced the record, co-wrote nine of the ten tracks, and fully wrote the tenth, “Laguna”. Pedigo’s importance deserves recognition. However, this is Walker’s album. It is his charisma that captures the listener’s attention. One may have heard these stories before—not just by Buffett and Strait, but by Kenny Chesney and Blake Shelton, to name a few. Pedigo and Walker breathe new life into the themes through their talents.
Tropicana is not a concept album per se. The songs fall in a logical order, but could probably be rearranged without substantially changing the record. The exceptions are the two tracks that frame the record. The title song opens the album and effectively introduces the premise. The last song is the killer, literally, “I Hope I Have Fun Dying” closes the LP with a cautious optimism about having too much fun and missing out on what’s important. Considering the record’s backstory, this carries a wallop. Walker did not die. He’s back and singing his songs. He knows the real meaning of the saying “life is a beach” and lets us in on the secret.