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Karly Driftwood | Too Mean to Die

The Nashville newcomer takes no crap and pulls no punches on her ribald debut.

Karly Driftwood does not play nice. Nor does she play by the rules. But she’s definitely playing for keeps. The audacious Nashville singer-songwriter pulls no punches and takes no crap on her debut disc Too Mean to Die, an alt-country album rude and ribald enough to make Miranda Lambert blush. Over 10 songs and 37 minutes, Driftwood brags of stripping her way to Music City, owns up to self-medicating with weed, whiskey, pills and codeine, threatens to feed an ex cake laced with broken glass and cyanide, calls out her fake-ass friends and pathetic boyfriends, steals the Grim Reaper’s scythe and insists she’s “a little bit country, a little Sylvia Plath.” I don’t know about all that. But I do know she co-wrote all but one of these songs, has a mouth like a drunken sailor and displays more attitude than all the Lower Broadway wannabes rolled into one. With all that going for her, it’s only a matter of time until she gets what she’s after. I would not suggest getting in her way. Unless you have a hankering for a slice of broken glass and cyanide, of course.

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