A country record, full of atmospheric pedal steel and roomy vocals, but bereft of the melancholy, the mourning of the country tradition. These songs are free of pain, full of love, and quietly liberal. “When we stumble home, ready to retire / half drunk, a little stoned / feeling kind of tired / I want to if you do, if not, there’s always later,” sings Bailey in the first track, a mantra of respect and partnership: why rush into sex when a lifetime of shared nights lays before you? Bailey doesn’t shout about his depiction of relationships: they are assumed, are the background for his stories. I want this world, when such issues are assumptions, not conversations. Even the purest love song, “Without Your Love,” is a song of dedication, a revelry in longing, rather than a traditional lament at unrequited desire. Hell, I’d plant a kiss on the guy if he sang that song to me.