As is usually the case with most great American artists and composers, ol' downhome idiot savant Lee Hazlewood found it necessary to leave the brain-draining commercial grind of America for Europe. Gotta soak up some real culture, man. Any true romantic would. And while most would choose a hotbed of decadence like Berlin or Paris, Hazlewood chose the more Pacified shores of Sweden. Just picture forty-something Lee, lounging on a beach somewhere, sippin' a whiskey and waitin' for them inspirational Nordic winds o' muse to waft over and tickle the guitar strings in his head, while purty non-English speakin' bikini babes hang all over him.

Nevermind the tasteless hick satire, though, because Cowboy in Sweden isn't some meaningless product of pure whimsy made by an LSD-dosed cowboy bullshit artist. In a weird way, Cowboy in Sweden is actually a minor masterpiece of oddball genius-- and damn tough to pigeonhole.

True, some of the elaborate string and horn arrangements are typical of the schmaltzy pop prevalent in the early '70s. But there's a certain eerie and inscrutable beauty that sets this album apart from its era. These quasi-country songs achieve an effortless ebb and flow between the more refined orchestral pop-- rife with horn sections, flute, viola, harpsichord-- and some kind of strange classico-country amalgam. The playful "Hey Cowboy," with its "Raindrops are Fallin' on My Head" horn section, suggests the dated sonic pleasantries of BJ Thomas and Burt Bacharach, while addressing the original theme of displaced American wacko cowboy asserting his American manhood to a skeptical, over-inquisitive Swedish chick. As the sly Hazlewood says: "You hang around me/ And I'll undo your mind."

"Pray Them Bars Away" opens with a stirring cello part introducing the main melody, yet its structure suggests a fairly simple country tune with a few nice key changes and minor modulations. It's a lament with a dash of country-boy irony about the hopelessness of fighting off alcoholism. Later, on "Kem Van Segla," a song underpinned by some "House of the Rising Sun"-type arpeggios, there's some great vocal interplay: a female singer coos some elegant lines while Hazlewood's surreal verse interlopes at odd moments. And there's a little Charlie Rich-ness on "Forget Marie," with its traditional country lyrics and tinkling piano hook.

Sometimes, as on "What's More I Don't Need Her," I'm reminded of early cowboy movie theme music-- somewhere in the neighborhood of "Shane," "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," and "Midnight Cowboy" (while I'm on a referencing binge, see also Duane Eddy's version of "Because They Were Young"). And, of course, there's the discernible European influence, too-- as if John Cale had a hand in the production at some point. If I'm confusing you with all this cross- referencing and comparison, I'm probably on the right track to sufficiently explaining the reason for the album's very strange but strong appeal.

The songwriting on Cowboy in Sweden isn't quite as gonzo as Hazlewood's often is, but it's never less than stellar. He alters his usual Johnny Cash-meets-Charles Bukowski approach here, leaning more towards the writing of someone like Leonard Cohen (though not quite as self-consciously "writerly"). There's a strong emotional investment in these songs that's more than evident-- especially on "For a Day like Today" and a then-prescient anti-war song about American freedom and draft dodging called "No Train to Stockholm." There's also the grim kitchen-sink realism of "Cold Hard Times." All the while, Hazlewood's disembodied voice eerily floats among this baroque country as if from another dimension altogether.

It's not really surprising that Hazlewood would be responsible for a such a genre-bending musical project as this; knowing all the myriad styles the man has juggled with ease over the years, his creation of an album like Cowboy in Sweden was probably inevitable. If these songs had been released in 1967, it might have fared a little better-- country music's answer to Village Green Preservation Society, perhaps.

Sadly, this is 1970 we're talking about, when popular music reflected the general population's apathy and reluctance for any more experimentation. And in a sense, Cowboy in Sweden is an amazing 30-year precursor to this whole newfangled wave of skewered atmosphere-heavy alt-country we're hearing now. Compared to most of that crap, though, Cowboy in Sweden is complex and transcendent, and still sounds way, way ahead of its time.

-Michael Sandlin