Album Review – Treaty Oak Revival’s “West Texas Degenerate”

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Cock Rock (not applicable) on the Country DDS.

In the new wave of regressive music being peddled as “country” because no other genre would dare put their stamp of approval on it, Treaty Oak Revival takes top billing, even above the Country Music Wrestling Heel himself, the slovenly and embarrassing Gavin Adcock. Make no mistake, Treaty Oak can go toe to toe with Gavin or anyone else with songs that condone and glorify shithead behavior. Koe Wetzel, eat your heart out. And no, this isn’t just an assessment of would-be prudes and PMRC lyric narcs.

Experiencing a Treaty Oak Revival performance is one of getting doused with beer by both the band and audience, dodging projectiles flung at the stage, and for this particular bear in the field, watching a 14-year-old girl get beaned in the back of the head with a half full beer by an 18-year old assailant, and crumpling in a pool of tears.

“Hey, that’s rock ‘n roll man!” is what Treaty Oak apologists will proclaim. But that’s exactly the point. This ain’t country, even if it shows up on Billboard’s country charts, or is being booked at country festivals where the band’s antics commonly infect the behavior throughout the event, not just during their set. Treaty Oak Revival deserves to be on the country charts just about as much as Beyoncé, meaning they don’t deserve to be there at all. This is a down-the-middle cock rock band injected into the country community like a scourge. At least Gavin Adcock sounds county.

This isn’t music that just happens to mention drugs. In many respects, Treaty Oak Revival is drug music. For some artists and bands, you can square the circle by talking about the cautionary tale the music traces, or by pointing out it’s only for mature audiences. But the former never really happens on the band’s new album West Texas Degenerate, and the latter becomes even more alarming when you realize the average Treaty Oak Revival fan is a 14 year old boy. This is masturbatory music to hide under the mattress. This is where your son learns to idolize cocaine use, and blame women for all his problems.

If you drew a venn diagram of Nick Fuentes and Andrew Tate, Treaty Oak Revival would populate the center. They makes screwing up sound absolutely awesome, almost poetic and meaningful. Even their own bass player Andrew Carey had to tap out earlier this year, saying in part, “Touring and rocking a little too hard has done a number on my back, body and mind … The road has taken its toll.”

“But Trigger, lead singer Sam Canty is California sober!” Well that just makes him even more of a cuckold if he’s out there slinging near beer on his fans, and singing lines like, “Well you can stay up till the sunrise with the help of some cocaine. Yeah, I’ve got the good cocaine,” and“I can’t be trusted with their substance these days. With a bottle of Evan and some cheap amphetamine.”

Make no mistake about it though, if you hand wave away these guys as simple degenerates with microphones and amplifiers that you risk giving inadvertent attention by criticizing since they’re so patently terrible, you’re selling this band from Odessa, TX aggressively short. There is a reason Treaty Oak Revival is topping country charts and getting big font placement on concert posters, and it’s not because they’re courting country radio or licking Music Row’s ass.

Treaty Oak Revival and West Texas Degenerate come with a raw energy, a real and uninhibited attitude, and structurally sound rock music of an aggressive nature. In an era of ultra-polished pop country and overly-sentimental pussified singer/songwriter music springing from pandemic-era pearl-clutching political correctness, Treaty Oak Revival feels like a rebellious, barbaric yawp that you can understand people wanting to join in with, especially boys and young men.


With their fans barking for blood and guts, Treaty Oak Revival throws them red meat in ample portions. Though this music is just a bit south of sheer metal, lead guitarist Jeremiah Vanley is able to work in those shades when the music calls for it, while drummer Cody Holloway deftly follows. The doubled up signal of Sam Canty’s lyrics, sometimes harmonized by rhythm guitarist Lance Vanley can get a little tedious. But it does come across in a wildly infectious and unique-sounding tone.

The devil’s advocate case for Treaty Oak Revival is that people who’ve spent their life pinballing from one self-imposed disaster to another while fielding relationship problems and wrestling with an addictive personality can deeply identify with this music. For many, the songs of West Texas Degenerate are not fiction or escapism. With substance abuse and destitution on the rise, fans find a level of solace in hearing someone speak to their experiences. As a guilty pleasure, Treaty Oak Revival is a damn potent one.

The melodic prowess of tracks like “Misery” and “Dosin” are undeniable. “Misery” and “Sunflower” could have been country songs if cut a different way. But Treaty Oak Revival is not a country band. And that’s okay, until they try to tell you it is, or take opportunities from country artists. This is where it creates conflict, even though the Texas music literati have found a strange forgiveness for them and their behavior when they would never do the same for Gavin Adcock, or put up with even half of the lyricism or lewd behavior from someone like Florida Georgia Line.

Regional bias hasn’t just earned Treaty Oak Revival a pass, but ringing endorsements from places like Rolling Stone simply because they’re from Texas. But this music is in no way indicative of the Lone Star State. Despite it’s undeniable baseline appeal, at its heart this music is strongly formulaic and unimaginative post-grunge pablum that’s wholly un-unique.

And even though the lyrics might drip with cocksure attitude and the guitars might be loud and crunchy, there’s something inherently overpolished about the effort. If you’ve heard Sam Canty sing one of these songs, you’ve pretty much heard him sing them all. Produced by Taylor Kimball who’s also worked with Koe Wetzell, Read Southall, Giovannie and the Hired Guns, and other edgy pop rock bands from Texas trying to push themselves as musicians of substance in the country space, it all sounds strikingly generic, and distinctly akin to Y2K radio rock.

The marketing behind this record has all been about maturing and growing, because just like the band’s former bass player, they know this stuff is unsustainable in the long-term. The stenographers in the media have been more than happy to carry their water, because Treaty Oak is popular, and they want to come across as connected and cool. But just like their fans, Treaty Oak Revival still have a tremendous amount of growing up to do.

It’s great that singer Sam Canty has found a level of sobriety. But if he was any bit of a true artist or songwriter, he’d stop pandering to his adolescent constituency of pubescent boys and man children, and start tracing his personal journey through these songs, understanding that rising above demons and hardship circumstances is what measures a man as opposed to the volume behind self-indignation.

Understand that every time you pick up a pen, a pick, or a microphone, you have an opportunity to shape the world around you in a way that very directly manifests in the behavior of others. And that responsibility is a solemn one. Do you really want to sling corporate beer all over yourself like you’re 17 and the parents are away? Or do you want to be a man?

5/10 as a rock album

2/10 as a “country” album

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