Album Review, “You Don’t Mess Around with Jim” by Jim Croce
The message of Jim Croce’s album is simple, “People are killed, I have no money, and sleeping with girls is good.” Ask me if you think that is a nice message. (I don’t think it is.) Jim seems pretty lazy in this album because he wants days to last forever and sings about drug addicts with no morality. You can laugh a bit on this piece of advice when I tell you to stay competent and not take his insults lightly. It’s not like just one song gives off a bad vibe; all songs here provide me with something to munch on with despise since his talk about New York isn’t helpful to poor and rich alike and walking in Georgia is a tasteless experience for him. Why does my review seem random? Probably because Jim Croce made this album without focus and I’m just reporting the numbers, tracks between the shades of grey, when my computer doesn’t always let me be specific in my own personal grammar. Everything in this album is dumb luck. There’s even a song called “Rapid Boy” or something and it’s a story of some clown who can’t decide what fashion is or how to approach a Chevrolet. Is my review in a frenzy? Maybe. But this album is guaranteed to confuse everyone, for, through and through, the music selections add onto the insults out there in Jim Croce’s sweet, demeaning voice. So often there’s no moral decision indicated by lyrics nor do the narrators leave their mark on a product less than random. Really, it seems Jim Croce was trying to speak out of different tongues despite the fact poor people in the rain are not exactly going to leap up with some kind of hippy song without getting into depression later. Depression is hidden from what Jim Croce’s stories are here and thus any and all sweetness given is too much to bear. A guy in New York is one narrator who can’t choose his battles and would rather leave a very privileged city for the better, lying to himself that faces are “empty” and basically he permits clouds into the mind only as rain comes. Here I’m using a technique in reading Jim Croce’s poetry that I’ve borrowed from William Hazlitt. Overall the technique is: 1) to look at the words, and 2) to paint a picture of the words. Croce turned out to be okay in some regards although on “You Don’t Mess Around with Jim” he’s less than pleasing and more than annoying. Anything which comes off this album is discord against chaos and that general quality leads to society’s decay and demure position in pleasure of Jim’s criticism and vice. Sorry. It just isn’t beautiful here.
https://www.amazon.com/You-Dont-Mess-Around-Jim/dp/B001DPC400
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