With The Future Ain’t What It Used To Be, Bleu Edmondson’s long-awaited follow-up to 2007’s critically acclaimed Lost Boy, the southern-fried country rocker embarked on a search for truth, stripping back layers of regret, loss, and longing to uncover a renewed, albeit somewhat painfully soul-baring, view of himself and the world around him.  He dug deeper into what the music meant to him as a musician, a writer and a man. “Writing is like holding up a mirror to those darkest corners of our lives that we keep hidden,” confides the raspy-throated singer.  “It’s not always a pretty reflection, but it’s real and it matters.”  The collection of songs ministers to the saint and the sinner in each of us. It is an amalgamation of those touch points and influences that give us permission to question, confront and raise a little hell on Saturday night.

For the disc’s debut single, “No Room for Mercy,” the soulful singer/songwriter paints a vivid picture of the painful unraveling of a relationship, with a south Texas thunderstorm as a symbolic backdrop.  The raw wounds of deception, anger and disappointment are ripped wide open as the betrayed singer tells his lover that there is a price for what she has done and “you won’t lie to me anymore.”  Unlike some of his songwriting peers in other genres, Bleu chooses not to resolve the situation – or to explain in detail the circumstances involved – opting instead to allow the listener room to weave their own experiences into the song’s storyline. 

Edmondson’s lyrics convey a worldly perspective of one who has lived a life balanced on the edge – of success and failure, love and hate, elation and despair – with his trademark grit and unselfconscious vulnerability intact.   There is no sugar-coating in his songs; he simply calls it like he sees it. 

His men are flawed, with the brooding darkness of someone who has loved, lied and lost but for reason untold, repeats his mistakes time and again; and they are also vulnerable, with a desolate loneliness of someone who has been loved, been lied to and been left behind.   Sometimes they are scared little boys, strangers to themselves and mysteries to those around them.  But at the end of the day, they love a good party.

The women in Edmondson’s songs are innocent in one moment, insincere in the next, and unable to love the man who is willing to give them his heart.  They dance, they cry, they lose faith, they scream, and they love and hate interchangeably.  They are omnipresent, sometimes appearing as a barefoot angel sent to save the lost souls living life on the outside, or other times as a past-her-prime party girl who still has the boys fighting for her attention – and anything else she might surrender.

The couples he writes of lose their minds, quench each other’s thirsts, lie and fail to keep their promises; they fear, they take chances and through it all they love, with an urgent intensity that speaks to the desperation in their lives.