Ryan Davis & the Roadhouse Band - Better If You Make Me

Sophomore Lounge

After a streaming snafu meant that the new Ryan Davis & the Roadhouse Band album was uploaded to streaming 20 days early, it had to feel deflating for the band. The Americana octet had spent the last year touring with MJ Lenderman, gradually garnering more attention and adoration for their 2023 album Dancing on the Edge. This year, the band has been rolling out one sweltering single after another, beginning with the 9-minute title track, which acts as a kaleidoscopic outpouring on the American Dream in the modern age, complete with pedal steel and saxophone, topped off with Ryan Davis’ smoky baritone. 

The group chased this titanic mission statement with “Monte Carlo / No Limits,” a (relatively) more bite-sized track interrogating freedom and limitations, capped off by a country-fried breakbeat paired with violins. Obviously there’s a lot going on here, but luckily, the band knows how to give everything enough time and space to breathe. This results in a commanding yet lackadaisical approach that places the vocals center-frame, surrounded by all sorts of constantly shifting instrumentation and ideas. 

When New Threats From The Soul, the album, dropped unceremoniously on July 5th, I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. I spent the weekend spinning the record and recovering from a couple days of BBQing and swimming. Outside of the first two singles, one of the songs that stood out to me the most was “Better If You Make Me,” a six-minute cut that questions our ability and desire to change. 

Now that the song is (officially) out as the final single before the album’s real release date at the end of the week, it’s finally fair to talk about it. The lyrics are as verbose and funny as ever, depicting graffiti-covered rocket ships and classified ads in “Modern Martyr Quarterly” in brief flashes. At one point, Davis sings “Just leave the fish tank light on, babe / And crank the motherfucking Für Elise / Earth science sipping XO cognac / In the back of the donkey show” with unparalleled swagger and gusto. 

Midway through the song, Davis and his backup singers poke the listeners with a beautifully clever turn of phrase, singing, “Everything in the world was a secret / 'Till somebody knew.” A few lines later, after comparing a white flag to a blank canvas, the heart of the song revolves around this idea of change, or at least the promise of change. 

After hearing “I'd be willing to change” then “I bet I could,” the listener might start to question how genuine this adjustment would be. Is this a love song about how this person makes him want to be better? A redemption song where change is the only hope? A half-hearted attempt, knowing that nothing sizable will really come of it? I guess that’s up to us.