Showing posts with label fred foster. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fred foster. Show all posts

Friday, October 21, 2016

2016 Country Music Hall of Fame Inductees -- FRED FOSTER



The first time I ever saw Fred Foster's name was on the back of a Dolly Parton album:

Dolly was new. I possessed next-to-no knowledge of country music, but my new best friend Alice had her finger on the pulse and I was a fast learner. Album covers were treasures one held in their hands while the music played. They had heft -- they weren't tiny squares like CD jewel cases; they certainly weren't impossible-to-read like cassette cases. No, album covers were like giant books; books we studied. We read the names of the studio musicians, we learned who wrote each song, and we saw the name of the producer; in this case, Fred Foster. 

I, of course, didn't know what a producer did. He was most certainly the man in charge of the whole outfit, but what he did? In my twelve-year-old mind, he was the one who put the magic together. Ironically, all these years later, I find I was right.

Did you ever sit and listen as a songwriter strummed his newest song on an acoustic guitar and sang? You might think, well, that song has potential -- it could be something with some good sounds surrounding it. As is, though, it's nice but forgettable. I've been there and I've been her. I've written songs I think possess a certain spark, but if one was to listen to me plunk them out on my guitar, they would say, that's the worst thing I've ever heard. I've said that when I listened to a playback of me and my out-of-tune guitar busting out the song. Then my producer sprinkles something akin to fairy dust on it and suddenly it's damn good (it's also not necessarily my song anymore, but I'm so enamored with the final product that I feel righteous claiming credit for it).

That's what a producer does.

Fred Foster was that.

Here's what he did for Dolly:


Little did I know, or maybe I just forgot, that Fred Foster produced the most glorious tracks of all time. I might be a bit biased, but I don't think so. In the pantheon of "voices", this voice, and this sound, is exquisite:











And Fred Foster produced the penultimate rock and roll song:


Mercy.

For a country producer, Fred did rock just right.

If Roy Orbison was alive, he would be inducting Fred Foster into the hall of fame. I hope Dolly does it. I hope Dolly and Ray Stevens and Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson show up that night to do it right. 

Fred Foster made magic, like great producers do; music that will live forever.

God bless you, Fred Foster. Thank you for the sounds of heaven.


 

 

 





 




Saturday, October 15, 2016

2016 Country Music Hall of Fame Inductees - CHARLIE DANIELS


I saw the movie Urban Cowboy with my mom. In one's twenties, in an earlier era, it was embarrassing to go to movies with one's mom, because inevitably there would be scenes that moms and daughters didn't care to talk about. "How did you like the movie?" "Um, fine. The music was good." Urban Cowboy was nothing compared to seeing Saturday Night Fever with Mom. Apparently we both liked John Travolta, because those are the only two movies I remember going to with my mom. My dad, on the other hand, practically wept during "Ordinary People" when I saw it with him, and we both knew exactly why, but that's a whole other story that has nothing to do with Charlie Daniels.

My point, which I've apparently lost while I was busy reminiscing, is that the first time I became aware of Charlie Daniels was when I saw Urban Cowboy. My older sister, shortly thereafter, came from Texas for a visit and was agog over the Charlie Daniels song featured in the movie. I could get my sister's point -- the song had an aura of danger and a Catholic girl's sensation of dread...ending in an upbeat hoedown -- which, I'm sure, is how God intended the world to work. I, however, could not deny the sublime fiddling. 

It's only fitting that in honor of Mom, I feature this clip from Urban Cowboy:


I subsequently purchased the Charlie Daniels Band's album, which I don't remember the name, but I found that Charlie was more than devils. I understand there's a whole mystique centered around southern rock. It wasn't something that was on my radar -- the Allman Brothers and other brothers and who knows who -- Marshall Tucker who heard it in a love song (which I'd heard as "pretty little love song"). Maybe one had to be from the south to appreciate southern rock's allure, but I sure as hell love this song:


That's about all I know about Charlie Daniels, other than that he is a patriot. But I like him; he's real. And he's real talented.

I'm good with whoever the Hall of Fame wants to induct. It's time we settle some scores -- remember artists who deserve to be remembered.

And my sister, no doubt, is thinking she was right all along.


2016 Country Music Hall of Fame Inductees - RANDY TRAVIS



When I rediscovered country music in the late nineteen eighties, after a long, tough drought, I found that I'd missed a few things. Wasn't it just like country music to become good again after I went away? I've written before about the wonders I discovered when I came back -- George Strait, Dwight Yoakam, The Judds; actual country music. It seemed it took some new blood to look around and say, Hey, does anybody remember country? What's with all these remakes of pop hits? Who's this "Sylvia"? What the hell happened to Charley Pride's musical taste? Likely there were some new producers hitting Nashville who actually liked country music and set out to find artists to match their longing for an authentic sound. Lucky for us; me. These producers understood that times had changed -- Chet Atkins wasn't in control anymore, and bless him, Chet was a treasure, but he'd held the reins tight on whatever sound came out of Nashville, and it was watered-down broth; nothing to upset the taste buds of listeners who liked their country with an airy chime of the Anita Kerr Singers and the steel guitar and drums mixed down so quietly they were essentially nonexistent.

The nineteen eighties, however, were a time for boldness. We were feeling pretty damn good about ourselves -- we had a president who'd restored our self-worth; things were looking up, and it was time to stop settling for crap. We wanted to go out and two-step; we wanted to shove the volume on our car radios to nine, roll down the windows and sing along. We just needed a reason to do that.

This song was a reason. This song killed me and it still does -- one of the best country songs of all time (I included it in my all-time top twenty). Its awesomeness takes my breath away:


As if that song alone wasn't enough, there was this one, also from 1985:


That voice

I looked up country music in my handy thesaurus app and one of the suggestions was Randy Travis. Okay, not really, but it should be.

There are certain things, outside our family, that we cherish; things that bring us comfort. Things that make us feel warm, cozy, secure. For me obviously it's music. I like a lot of music, but I treasure only a few specific voices -- John Lennon's, Roy Orbison's, Randy Travis's.

Here is more:



I have a couple of lesser-known favorites by Randy, and since this is my blog, I get to share them (sorry; all the official videos of this song are unembeddable, so this is the best I could find):


This one doesn't even have a live performance that I could find, but it's so good:


Everybody knows what's happened to Randy in the last few years -- his troubles, his stroke. Life is a series of troubles with some good times in between. When I watched him in the Hall of Fame video, my heart ached.

My parents dragged me to a Randy Travis concert when I was still clinging to the vestiges of Phil Collins and Prince and Robert Palmer; before I'd allowed myself to believe that country music would ever, ever come back. I didn't know who this guy was. I sort of knew, but I wasn't succumbing to that trickery; no. Country music had sucked me in once before and then it had tossed me aside like garbage. So as I sat in the upper reaches of the auditorium, I crossed my arms and tossed my head and tsk-tsked over the display on stage below me. But after a while I started to squirm with embarrassment in my seat, because this guy was good.

And boy, was he good.