{grate 3} It takes a couple of spins to really get down with
folk-goddess Sheryl Crow. Her foot-tappin’ beats and antiwar slogans can easily
rub you wrong, especially since countless other singer/songwriters are
currently infiltrating the radio waves with heavy political jive. Crow deftly
treads the line though, her lightheartedness masking a deep-seeded dislike for
President Bush and sky-high petrol prices.

As she strums her way through the aptly titled track,
“Gasoline,” her beef with the man in charge is made none too subtle with, “You
got the bastards in Washington/ afraid of popping the greed vein.” With oodles
of scathing lyrics, there’s no mistaking the miffed undertone of Detours for a
wimpy bureaucratic taunt.

Political dogma aside, Crow has a lot more going on than
activist finger-pointing and hippy blues. The second half of her album becomes
an intimate sit-down in the vein of VH1’s “Behind the Music” (minus the career
stagnation) with a woman who has been through some serious shit. From battling
cancer to breaking off her engagement to Lance Armstrong to adopting a baby,
Crow uses her cutting wit and lean voice to remind us she’s still our resident
badass.

Back in cahoots with former collaborator Bill Bottrell, the
bulk of Detours is a throwback to the grittier days of her first album, Tuesday
Night Music Club. Some of the recordings even flirt with Johnny Cash vibes as
the crackle of background noise and conversational vocals cook up a twangy
country-pop sandwich. But after all her stylistic meanderings, Crow still has
her signature guitar jaunts into Sunshineville. Jams like “Motivation” talk
smack about the privileged few while maintaining her zippity-do-dah musical
mentality. Even as she belts out “Got no reasons to bitch/ ain’t no parties I
miss” like an enthusiastic Gen-Y yuppie, she artfully separates herself from
the subjects she’s mocking by poking fun at the three-piecer lifestyle.

Crow also explores darker periods in her life with “Diamond
Ring” and “Make It Go Away” which talk about losing love to a fat rock and
bonding with an ex over cancer. These songs mark the confessional side of the
record, where Crow turns off the preach and gets a little sentimental.

But either due to a media blitz or the inherent awkwardness
of celebrity confessionals, her disclosures only occasionally ring true. It
becomes hard not to feel emotionally coerced when she gives Lance the kiss-off
or Bush the bird. Sure, Crow is still fierce after all this time, but a little
mystery never hurt anyone.