Reviewing The Top Ten Country Hits From Today In 1988

 

1988 was a time of change for me. In May I'd left my eight-year job at the hospital, a job I actually loved, but felt forced to abandon. In retrospect, I made a rash decision on a particularly chaotic night. The medical floor was hopping with new admissions and our staffing consisted of generally one RN and two LPN's at each of the three stations the floor supported. I did my best to distribute new patients equally, but circumstances were such that one of the stations became overloaded. An RN I considered a friend dressed me down in front of the other nurses, and I felt put-upon and humiliated. I went home that night dejected. I began to question my ability to handle my job, a job I'd excelled at for eight years; and I began to question my so-called friendships. I honestly didn't want to leave, but I couldn't conceive of another option. I searched the job openings and found one downstairs in the Admissions Department, which would still allow me to maintain my second shift status. I applied and was accepted. I hated (hated!) it. Downstairs was eerily quiet and dark; one tiny light barely illuminating each of the three check-in windows. My responsibilities essentially consisted of spelling the new patient's name correctly and verifying his or her religion.

I lasted about two weeks. Instead I scoured the want ads and found one for a Farm Records Secretary at the local PCA office on the far edge of the neighboring town. I applied and was accepted. It was a true demotion. And truly desultory. My tasks included serving as a de facto receptionist, transcribing my Oklahoma boss's twangy dictation, and making copies ~ reams and reams of copies. My boss didn't particularly like me, nor did I particularly like her.  I'd descended from the heights of intensity to the bowels of gloom. 

My only redemption was listening to my portable FM radio during the quiet times, as I typed up yet another address label on my IBM Selectric. I was still mostly into rock, so my dial was tuned to Y93 and its morning show that at least offered a laugh or two with its song parodies and its droll DJ, Bob Beck. I had only recently dipped my toe back into country music, accidentally, when I flipped the car dial over to the country station during a particularly boring Y93 track. I don't remember who I heard, but whoever it was piqued my interest. It was then that I ventured out to purchase two country cassettes ~ random choices ~ The Sweethearts Of The Rodeo and The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band ~ and I played those two tapes over and over on Saturday mornings while I dusted furniture and scoured the bathtub.

Thus, I generally didn't recognize any of the artists in the Top Ten, except one or two carryovers from the seventies. They were completely new to me.

Here I am, about to relive a not-so-fun time in my life and review the top ten charting country singles from this day in 1988. 

Here are the rules: 

• I review each single as a first-time listener (sometimes I truly am).
  
• I must listen to the entire track before offering my critique.  
• I stick with the Top Ten only, because this is exercise takes far more time than one can imagine).
  
• I do my best to find music videos. If all else fails, I use a video of the recorded song

Let's get it on!

 

#10 ~ Desperately ~ Don Williams

Random question: Did Don Williams have a disability? Every video I've seen of him has him perched on a stool, strumming his guitar.

Be that as it may, this is truly a new song to me. I'll wager that I've never once before heard it. The good: Don Williams. The bad: a commonplace melody. And the lyrics strike me as an exercise in finding rhymes. 

Don Williams is an artist who inhabits his own niche, that being a semi-comatose singer who occasionally sprouts a spurt of energy and chooses a song that hits the sweet spot. This song isn't that.

C-

 

#9 ~ That's That ~ Michael Johnson

Excuse me ~ who? What? I have zero cognizance of Michael Johnson. Nor of this song. 

Ahh, Google tells me that he's famous for Bluer Than Blue. That song I actually remember. 

 (This doesn't even look like the same guy.)

Well, "That's That" is just a terrible track. It has a schizophrenic beat that leaves the listener cranky. And a dissonant instrumental accompaniment. This is akin to the very worst song an amateur songwriter ever scribbled and can't even bring himself to listen to in the confines of his room.

F

 

#8 ~ Chiseled In Stone ~ Vern Gosdin

I like Vern Gosdin, but I was deflated hearing the opening verse of this track. It's sing-songy, and not in a catchy way. Thankfully (mercifully) the chorus saves it. Gosdin has a bit of George Jones in him, but he is a more soulful and skillful singer. 

Based solely on the singer and the chorus, this rates a...

B

 

#7 ~ I Wish That I Could Fall In Love Today ~ Barbara Mandrell 

Barbara Mandrell's career is rather quizzical. When she first appeared on the radar in the early seventies, she struck gold with cosmopolitan country that still heavily featured steel guitar, like Standing Room Only and The Midnight Oil. I was an immediate fan; this gal had it all. Musician, great entertainer, good singer, cute as a button. I bought every new album release. 

Then she landed her network television show and became "show biz". Subsequently, she released some truly awful singles, like "Sleepin' Single In A Double Bed" and "Crackers". I was disappointed. I think she did a concert in my town, but I didn't go. I'd heard it was quite a production, with multiple costume changes; everything I hated about music (country music, at least). So, like other singers who'd sold out, I forgot about her.

Then in the late eighties, she began recording actual country songs again, like this one. I don't know what prompted the change. Maybe simply a desire to return to her roots.

This song was written by the great Harlan Howard and was originally recorded (in 1960) by Ray Price. Thus, it's unfair to critique it as a new song. That said, Mandrell does the song proud and shows the Barbara Mandrell of old. A solid...

A

#6 ~ If You Ain't Lovin' (You Ain't Livin') ~ George Strait

I don't know this George Strait, but he has a true country voice and he seems very traditional: two things I like. I think this might be the same guy my mom and dad were watching on their VCR when I stopped over the other night. I didn't pay a bunch of attention to him, but I did notice that his band was top-notch. Some new guy, I mused ~ I'll catch up with his music at some point, if he hangs around long enough. (I also like that he wears a hat, as all good country artists should.)

I remember this song from watching one of those filmed (actually filmed; not taped) country music shows from the fifties that my local TV station slotted in sometimes on Saturday afternoons. It was recorded by one of my all-time favorite singers, Faron Young, which again gives this new guy cred for his good taste.

So, it's impossible for me to review this as a new song, since I have heard it before. I will say, that Strait's arrangement is excellent, not to mention his delivery. Now that I think about it, maybe this new guy will stay around for a while.

A-

#5 ~ I Know How He Feels ~ Reba McEntire

Much like my initial reaction the first time I heard Barbara Mandrell, I became a fan of Reba McEntire upon hearing her first charting single, You Lift Me Up (To Heaven). This was an original singer, especially with the melodic twist she employed in every song. I even talked my mom into attending a rodeo with me, simply because the featured singer, between the bulldogging and calf roping, was Reba. She performed from a reinforced cage high above the rodeo arena, with just one or two guys backing her up. I think Mom wondered for a long time afterward why I dragged her to that event.

But again like Barbara Mandrell, fame went to her head. I liked Whoever's In New England and Little Rock, but then she made some bad song choices, particularly ballads that said absolutely nothing. Like this one. I can guarantee that I won't remember this thirty-odd years in the future, because it's a little bit of nothing.

D-

 

#4 ~ I've Been Lookin' ~ Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

 

Hey! This is from one of those two country cassettes I bought! I only knew The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band from that awful hit, Mister Bojangles, and that one good one that featured Linda Ronstadt, An American Dream. But these guys are great! If they keep recording songs like this, I will be a forever fan. 

What this band has going for it, aside from an appealing lead voice and top-shelf musicians, is excellent taste in choosing songs. There's a place (a big place) for uptempo, fun songs that can't be mistaken for anything but country. If all country music is like this, I just might abandon MTV.

A

#3 ~ I'll Leave This World Loving You ~ Ricky Van Shelton

 

I know this song is a remake, but I can't place it. (Oh wait, my future look-up machine tells me that one of the co-writers, Wayne Kemp, released it in 1980.) 

Much like so many debut artists, I became intrigued with Van Shelton upon his first album release, which included Wild-Eyed Dream and Crime Of Passion. I loved his stone-country arrangements and the originality of those songs. Then he immediately turned to cover songs, and I didn't get it. Couldn't he get his hands on good originals? I like old songs as much as the next country fan, but old recordings have a built-in advantage ~ they're originals. I admit I'm disappointed in a singer with this much potential. 

C

#2 ~ New Shade Of Blue ~ Southern Pacific

This isn't bad, but will no doubt sound dated in say, a decade or so. I don't know anything about this band, except that it was formed by a couple of former Doobie Brothers (who were always kind of country, if you think about it).

As for the song itself, it's got well-written lyrics and a pleasing melody, but it's a little nothing tune; one of those "hear it once and forget it" singles. It has nothing to cement it in one's memory.

As talented as the band is, though, I'm hoping they release something better; maybe in 1989. Something like this:

As for New Shade Of Blue:

C

#1 ~ Runaway Train ~ Rosanne Cash

Rosanne Cash is a good singer and an accomplished songwriter, and her partnership with husband Rodney Crowell is gold. I fear, however, that her career, and their musical pairing, will be of a time that fades like the mist.

This track is no Seven Year Ache or I Don't Know Why You Don't Want Me. It's missing that one thing that I keep harping on, a memorable chorus. It's nice; benign, but comparing it to her earlier hits, as a fan inevitably does, it just doesn't cut it.

B-

Summing up 1988, for me personally, it was a time of disruption and change; and musically, likewise. I gradually returned to country music, pretty much due to The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and a fortuitous Musicland cassette purchase. There were some new artists who showed promise and one older one who at last grasped onto her roots.

If country music can start again, who knows where my own future might take me?

 

 

 

 

 

Reviewing The Top Ten Country Hits From This Week In 1987

 

As someone who considers myself quite the country music aficionado, the number of successful country hits I've forgotten is mind-boggling. In perusing the country singles chart from this week in 1987, thirty-five years ago, only two (two!) of the top ten are familiar to me. 1987 was a rather seminal year for me in country, since that was the year I came back, after a several-year foray into rock. My leaving wasn't my fault; it was country's. Naturally, however, while I was away, country got good again and I had a lot of catching up to do. No regrets. With music it's a snap to play catch-up. It's not like music suddenly disappears. And everything is new, even if it's old! 

But I digress. Scanning the totality of the top forty for this particular week, a few soon-to-be classics were scratching their way to the top. That, however, is not my job here. My designated task is to review the top ten as if I've never before heard them. In most cases, that's actually true. 

The usual disclaimer: Performance or music videos may not be available on YouTube. All I can do is my best.

Let's begin.

#10 ~ You Still Move Me ~ Dan Seals

I love this guy's voice. It reminds me of that seventies pop group, England Dan and John Ford Coley 😀. Truthfully, however, his voice belongs in country, not pop. That said, this song is forgettable. It's a middling ballad that without the soulful voice would be something a wannabe singer would strum on an acoustic guitar in his basement bedroom. I'm going to boost it half a grade solely due to the singer.

MY RATING: B-

#9 ~ Mornin' Ride ~ Lee Greenwood

I'm not sure what to make of this. It has a comforting cadence that evokes the song's message. The chorus is relatively easy to memorize and thus is sing-alongable. But it's one of those tracks that doesn't say as much as the writers maybe thought it did. 

MY RATING: B-

#8 ~ I Can't Win For Losin' You ~ Earl Thomas Conley

This song should remind today's songwriters that the best lines are not twelve words long. Five words, if they're the right words, are the mark of great songwriting. GREAT songwriting. Shout out to Robert Byrne and Rick Bowles. HUGE shout out to the late master Earl Thomas Conley who made this track magic. A great song, a great, soulful singer; a track that will pull couples onto the dance floor (trust me). What dos that add up to? A classic.

MY RATING: A+++

#7 ~ Fire In The Sky ~ Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

This group is capable of so much more. I don't even know what this is, but it's a mistake. The track seems to have one foot in (bad) eighties pop and one toe in country. The key changes do nothing to improve it. And the Kenny G-type sax -- c'mon. Even Jeff Hanna's voice is buried in this rancid stew.

MY RATING: D

#6 ~ Right Hand Man ~ Eddy Raven

Never wear your boots outside your pants, but that has nothing to do with the track itself. I just felt a need to mention it after viewing the video. Hmmm, this is kind of a little nothing song, but it does have a pleasant melody. Surprisingly, this topped out at number three for Eddy. If I heard it once (which I just did now) I'd never care to hear it again.

MY RATING: C

#5 ~ Straight To The Heart ~ Crystal Gayle

While watching Crystal perform this song, my mind wandered. I wondered if she'd ever cut her hair (spoiler alert: no). A wandering mind is the mark of a bad song, which this most definitely is. They all can't be winners, I guess. But they all don't need to be this bad.

MY RATING: D

#4 ~ I'll Come Back As Another Woman ~ Tanya Tucker

It's near impossible for this woman to do a bad performance. This is but one of a ton of Tucker hits, and a minor one. In the hands of a lesser singer this song would be a mess. I would listen to it again, but it's not $-worthy. So, no, I wouldn't buy it. Or include it in a 1987 Spotify retrospective. Another half-grade bump based on the singer.

MY RATING: C+ 

#3 ~ How Do I Turn You On ~ Ronnie Milsap

It's a sad fact of show biz that 99.9% of artists have a shelf life (the other .1% are named George Strait). This track reeks of desperation. I would never play this again and would celebrate my superior taste in successfully avoiding it. Love ya, though, Ronnie.

MY RATING: D-

 

#2 ~ Half Past Forever (Till I'm Blue In The Heart) ~ T.G. Sheppard

See: "Shelf life (Ronnie Milsap)". The first thing Sheppard shouldn't have done was try to sing in a higher register. I think there's a reason I've never heard this track before. I'll just say it: this is putrid.

MY RATING: F

#1 ~ Leave Me Lonely ~ Gary Morris

A totally forgettable track. This makes me want to lie down and go to sleep. I don't know what this guy's deal is. I guess he performed on Broadway or something, and went slumming into country music and fooled some people. I don't get it and I don't get him. The only reason this track gets a bump is because T.G. Sheppard's song is so bad.

MY RATING: D-

 

This was a fun experiment. Was. Now I'm simply depressed. I happen to know that country music wasn't this bad in 1987 as a whole. Maybe it's just that the year was new and listeners didn't know how much wondrous music was yet to come. Or maybe if one sorts out the chaff, they're left with one classic track. Is there only one classic country song released each year? That can't be right. I might have simply stumbled on the wrong year.

I should be celebrating Earl Thomas Conley's A+++ instead of dwelling on the absolute drivel. 

Celebrate the good. Forget the rest.

Country Album Recommendations For The Uninitiated

Ken Burns' "Country Music" series has apparently sparked unprecedented interest among casual music dabblers. I don't picture regular PBS viewers as popular music connoisseurs; which is unfair, because I watch PBS. I will (with confidence), however, assume that the average public television watcher is unfamiliar with country music; or was, until Ken Burns came along.

I'd like to think this sudden interest isn't as fleeting as the "O Brother, Where Art Thou" soundtrack fad was in 2000; when it was suddenly considered hip to embrace Appalachian music. I'm not optimistic.

But for those uninitiated curiosity-seekers who may actually want to click an album download or two on Amazon, welcome! My recommendations won't be too country, because I understand that country music is an acquired taste.

If you liked "O Brother, Where Art Thou", you'll like Marty Stuart's "The Pilgrim" even more. Today The Pilgrim is regarded as a classic, even though it performed poorly on the charts when it was released in 1999. A concept album, it features the likes of George Jones, Earl Scruggs, Johnny Cash, and Emmylou Harris, among others ~ all names familiar to Ken Burns' viewing audience. Marty will be reissuing the album this year on its twentieth anniversary.

 My favorite:



"Buenos Noches From A Lonely Room". Dwight Yoakam has released too many albums to count, and most of them offer delicacies. This album, though, is perhaps my favorite. This was Dwight's third release, and I was just getting to know him when it came out. For country, Yoakam was definitely unconventional ~ in a good way. At least eight of the eleven tracks on this LP are keepers. That so rarely happens.

Don't ever forget that Dwight can rock:



Folks who watched "Country Music" may think that the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band was only about the circle being unbroken. Au contraire! In the nineteen eighties, there was no better country band than NGDB. "More Great Dirt" is a so-called greatest hits album, but let's be frank: most of us had never heard these songs before the LP came along.

I'm happy to report that I got to see NGDB in concert in their heyday. What began as a country-rock outfit happily came to embrace country in its entirety. This is a band to get to know! The album, released in 1989, boasts, by my count, seven out of ten superb tracks.

I regret that I can't find any live performances of the songs I like best from the album, but please enjoy:





Yep, these are all male artists (shoot me). But remember, I devoted a whole post to Emmylou Harris.

I do have more recommendations, but be forewarned: they're country.

Those will wait until we meet again.

Ken Burns "Country Music" ~ Episode 6 ~ "Non-Country Country"

My guess is that Ken didn't find the period 1968 - 1972 very interesting, country-wise. In between clips of the Viet Nam War, we got to learn a lot about non-country artists traveling to Nashville to record.

Burns did begin strong, with the stories of George Jones and Tammy Wynette. We see Loretta Lynn remarking that when she first heard Tammy on the radio, she said, "Boy, I've got me some competition", and she was so right. In the silly games of "either or" we all play, I was definitely team Tammy, rather than Team Loretta. Loretta was gritty; Tammy was soul. Jeannie Seely remarked, rather cattily, that while Tammy was singing about standing by her man, she was on her third marriage, while Loretta, who was penning feisty odes about her man doing her wrong stuck with Doolittle throughout their fifty-year union. Catty, but you kinda gotta admit, it was true. Nevertheless, songs are not required to be autobiographical.

While I'll probably never spin a George Jones record, I see, through the eyes of the session musicians and his fellow artists why his voice is so revered. Every fan has her preferences, and while Jones' voice doesn't resonate with me, I do feel the emotion in his singing and understand why some consider him the best country singer of all time. I also saw the innate sadness in him, much like that of Hank Williams.

The storytellers glossed over the parts of George and Tammy's early story that weren't exactly PG-13, but I happened to witness their budding relationship from the front row of a concert in (I believe) 1968. Tammy was the girl singer on the roster, and she was performing with her then husband, Don Chapel on guitar and Don's daughter singing harmony. George, of course, was the headliner, and in the middle of his set, when he called Tammy out on stage to sing with him, it was sort of awkward (for Don ~ I imagine). Even through my thirteen-year-old eyes, the chemistry between Tammy and George was evident....and there was Don standing behind them strumming his guitar. It wasn't long after that my local DJ mentioned that Tammy was divorcing her husband and hooking up with George Jones. Shocked! Not.

Kris Kristofferson garnered a large chunk of story time, and rightfully so. There was no better lyricist in country music; poetic yet accessible. Kristofferson's songs paint a scene that the listener can slip inside. Turns out that after Kris abandoned a promising military career to become a janitor at Columbia Studios in Nashville, his mother disowned him via a letter. Country music was too embarrassing for the Kristofferson family to be associated with. I wonder if all Kris's royalty money was, too. 

Merle Haggard got a brief mention for the controversy over "Okie From Muskogee", which I had heard was written as a joke, but according to Merle (when he was interviewed for the series), it was an homage to small-town life. I'm not sure what I believe, but boy, I guess his fellow artists were really pissed at him over the song. It's a song, people! See: Tammy Wynette above.

I did a double-take when Bobby Bare showed up on screen! What?? Of course, he was talking about Shel Silverstein and novelty songs, but still. And of course the Silverstein story directly related to...guess who? Why, Johnny Cash! I will say that to his credit, Johnny had a network television show at this time, when no other country artist could have landed one. It wasn't the greatest show ever, but I did like the weekly gospel finale with the Statlers and the Carters and Carl Perkins.

An artist who pretty much dominated the charts in the late sixties got a teeny tiny mention ~ Glen Campbell. Oh, I hated his pop, heavily-stringed songs back then; don't get me wrong, but to overlook his reign during this era is plain unfair. (For the record, I grew to like Glen Campbell, although the only Webb song I like is Wichita Lineman).

The Byrds, of which Gram Parsons was a member, went to Nashville to record Sweetheart of the Rodeo and apparently when they appeared on the Opry, the audience didn't feel the love. Maybe they were ahead of their time. Their songs from the album sound totally country to my ears, especially Dylan's "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere". And speaking of Dylan, well, I guess this episode should have been titled, "The Saga of Cash and Dylan". My husband liked it, naturally, but when exactly did Bob Dylan make his mark in country music?

Hee Haw got its own little segment. There was a time in the late sixties when CBS loved to laugh at ignorant country rubes, and they developed a whole block of programming to capture that hilarity. The Beverly Hillbillies, Green Acres with its star, Arnold the Pig, and Hee Haw. I really hated Hee Haw, but you can bet I watched it every week, because the opportunity to see a country performance on TV was rare to non-existent. So I gagged through the corn pone jokes until the featured artist of the week got to do his or her numbers. The hosts, Buck Owens and Roy Clark were vastly different from one another. Buck couldn't pull off the lines with any authenticity, so he awkwardly mugged through them. Roy, on the other hand, was good at being silly, so he just went with it. It was an odd pairing and a bad show, but oh, those performances.
The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's album, "Will The Circle Be Unbroken" was heavily featured at the end of the episode. Here's the deal ~ this album is a loser. I don't know who, except seventy-year-old "hipsters" would put it on their retro turntable and listen to it. I understand that Burns is no authority on country music, but he could have sought advice from someone who is.

I read somewhere that this was the weakest episode of the series. I haven't gotten through all of them yet, but I would say this person is correct.

September Is Country Music Month (The Middlin' Seventies)

Country music in the seventies was such a schizophrenic time, it's almost impossible to sum up the decade in one post. Whereas in pop music, the sixties could be separated by a solid line right through the middle of the decade, the seventies in country music are more like thirds, or even fourths.

In 1970 Merle Haggard was still at his peak, with The Fightin' Side of Me; Conway Twitty had re-recorded and had a monstrous hit with Hello Darlin'; Ray Price had For The Good Times.

'71 saw Easy Loving by Freddie Hart; Sammi Smith's recording of Kristofferson's Help Me Make It Through The Night was huge. Conway and Loretta teamed up and recorded After The Fire Is Gone.

By 1972 record labels began flexing their muscle, and radio suffered the consequences. Even Merle and Faron Young became a bit poppier, with Carolyn and It's Four In The Morning, respectively. And the cringe-worthy Happiest Girl In The Whole USA shot to number one.

'73 still had some gems, like Charlie Rich's Behind Closed Doors, but it also produced dogs like Teddy Bear Song.

By 1974 we saw the likes of Olivia Newton-John and John Denver, pop singers, take over the charts. Even many of country's stalwarts buckled to record company demands and recorded covers of pop hits ~ it wasn't a good look. On the list of the top 100 singles of 1974 it's almost impossible to find a true country track. One of the only bright spots of that year was the emergence of a new guy named Ronnie Milsap.

And 1974 is kind of where I stopped.

I didn't stop completely, but I began to wean myself. The preset button on my car radio no longer landed on the country station. The emotion I most distinctly recall is disgust. I truly believed country music was gone forever, and it wasn't right. I'd given almost a decade of my musical existence over to country; had grown to cherish it, and it went and knifed me. Most of the country music I was even familiar with by now was the pond scum featured on network variety shows ~ Convoy by CW McCall and Rhinestone Cowboy by Glen Campbell.

One could find some real country if they searched long and hard enough. Gary Stewart and a new girl singer, Emmylou Harris, were recording real country. Merle even dipped a toe back in the country music brook. Then there was Gene Watson. I didn't miss out on these artists, because I became an album connoisseur and took a stab in the dark and plunked down three dollars and ninety-nine cents at Woolworth's solely on faith. Emmylou was giving corporate country a dainty middle finger and recording true country in the face of the pop-country pap radio was forced to play. Gene Watson was who he was, which was stone country, and take him or leave him, he reckoned. Gary Stewart was the hillbilly renaissance of Jerry Lee Lewis.

Around this time, Wanted: The Outlaws became a thing. Truth be told, The Outlaws was a compilation LP put together solely by a producer in Nashville. This was no concept album by any stretch. But it took over, much like the Urban Cowboy soundtrack hijacked the airwaves. I'd loved Waylon Jennings since 1967, so there was no "discovery". The Outlaws was a new Waylon, and I was okay with it; but it wasn't the "best country album of all time", regardless of what fable Rolling Stone Magazine tries to foist upon us.

And this is where my consumer story comes in. I grew weary of kneeling on the living room carpet to spin Gary and Emmylou on my mom and dad's castoff console stereo. The built-in fabric-covered speakers had one setting, and poor as I was, I was ready to step into the new audio world. One Saturday I scuttled off to a little sound shop ensconced inside a crumbling strip mall and innocently placed myself in the greasy salesman's hands. "This new Swedish company, Bang and Olufsen, has these speakers that are bad!" They were definitely ponderous, as was the price tag. Inside that little shop, everything sounded exactly the same, but boy, these B&O's were big! Oh well, I had my BankAmericard inside my crocheted shoulder bag. What the heck? Throw in that Technics turntable and the Pioneer receiver!

Merle's "Movin' On" LP did sound better on my new setup. Though there were few current albums worth purchasing, I made the most of what I already owned. As 1976 dawned, I discovered a couple of new artists who were different, and thus good. Eddie Rabbitt was one of those. Larry Gatlin and the Gatlin Brothers were the other.

'77 produced a hit that struck me, "Stranger" by Johnny Duncan with a nameless female singing strong backup (who we eventually would learn was named Janie Fricke). A group previously ensconced in gospel suddenly began releasing country singles. They went by the old-fashioned moniker of "Oak Ridge Boys". On the minus side, Dave and Sugar, a thoroughly stupid name, became huge, and yep, I fell for it, too. I bought their albums, even though it was impossible to keep up with their changing personnel.

1978 was mostly forgettable, except for the rise of another artist who would take country even further from its roots. Thanks, Kenny Rogers. And, of course, Barbara Mandrell scorched everyone's eardrums with "Sleepin' Single In A Double Bed". There was, though, John Conlee's "Rose Colored Glasses".

Nothing much changed in 1979. The cast of players didn't change. The only memorable hit was by a folk-pop group called "The Dirt Band". Gosh, whatever happened to those guys?

If a year produces at the most two great songs, I'd label that a failure, which is essentially my take on the seventies. I think my fondest memories of the seventies were albums by Julio Iglesias (seriously) and Marty Robbins (very seriously). Is it any wonder I threw my hands in the air and surrendered?

However, let's not just let the decade go without reviewing the best.

1970:



1971:



1972:



1973:



Bonus Track:



1974:



1975:



Bonus Track:



1976:



1977:



Bonus Track:



 

Bonus Track #2 (Rodney Crowell!):



Bonus Track #3:



1978:



1979 (written by Rodney Crowell):

Gotta use this one, because the song is not the same without Linda Ronstadt:






If one is an easy grader, the seventies weren't all that bad. If one has scruples, yea, the seventies were bad. But at least they brought us Gene Watson and Eddie Rabbitt and the Oaks.

I'll settle for that.

1979 ~ Back To Real Life

I had no misconceptions regarding what work would be ~ a series of dead-end jobs; maybe I'd eventually land one with tenure and I could coast my way to retirement. I really didn't want a job. I wanted to be a mom, but President Jimmy saw things differently. Being poor wasn't all that bad, but I hated having to charge basic needs, plus the hospital let me know my five dollar-a-month payment for my new son's delivery just wasn't going to cut it. That telephone conversation convinced me I needed to find a job. Before I became a mom my work life was scattershot at best. I'd tried the real world and didn't like it. Being a clerk-typist for the state, I found, didn't mean sitting in a cubbyhole and typing all day. I had to interact with customers, which I guess was the "clerk" part. I didn't know what it was called then, but it turned out I had social phobia, which is in essence a fear of making an utter fool of oneself. Whenever I heard the front door of the State Health Department creak open, I had to steel myself for the inevitable person-to-person interaction. In retrospect, I am convinced I didn't instill confidence in my customer. I would toddle off and retrieve a copy of their birth certificate and mumble, "two dollars". I think I also said, "thank you", because while I was a near-mute, I was perpetually polite. After little more than a year I'd scurried back home to work for my parents. I quit working all together in November of 1976 and nested.

By the summer of '79, the fiscal writing was on the wall. As we pedaled down the expressway in our tin-can Chevy Malibu, I gazed at the building being erected, with a big sign out front that announced, "Future Home of LaBelle's". I said, I'm going to work there. I don't know why; maybe it was the close proximity to home, basically a zip up one street and one zip down another. Possibly it was because the one skill I was confident I possessed was ringing up a cash register. Plus I still retained the naive certainty that this place would be all my hopes and dreams tied up in an azure package; a retail nirvana. And it was part-time.

1979 began nine years of inhabiting second shift, forgoing toddler's bedtime baths, snuggling with little towheads, missing all my favorite TV shows, But life is a series of have-to's. I couldn't place Lego sets and Fisher-Price parking garages under the Christmas tree without the money to buy them and without my ten per-cent employee discount.

LaBelle's was a catalog store, which no longer exists in today's Amazon world. Customers would wander about with a stubby pencil and a pad and write down the number of the item they wanted to purchase; then hand their paper to an associate who'd punch it into a "computer" and the bored guys back in the warehouse would fetch the item from an eight-foot high wobbly shelf and dump it onto the conveyor belt. My job was to grab a hand mic and announce, "Johnny Jamsicle, your order is ready at Register Three. Johnny Jamsicle, Register Three." Johnny would step up to Register Three and I'd ring him up.

Some nights were excruciatingly quiet. Especially Tuesdays. Nobody ever seemed to shop on Tuesdays. So I'd stand behind the counter in my high heels and eye the one person in the store longingly, willing them to order something. Truthfully, LaBelle's was quiet most of the time, except during Christmas season. I would, of course, be scheduled to work Saturday days, and Christmas was the only time the hours whizzed by.

When I had my yearly review, my manager docked me for not coming up with a product display, which I didn't even know was a requirement! I subsequently visited a travel office and gave the girl behind the desk a line about a school project, and talked her out of a vacation poster, which I pasted in the luggage department, along with the words, "Flights of Fancy". Casey, my manager, didn't understand the saying and argued that my word choice was wrong. "It should be flights of fantasy," she proclaimed. I tried to explain to her what a flight of fancy meant. She finally gave up the ghost and let me keep my display. I didn't even get a five-cent raise for all my effort. I did, however, learn a valuable lesson about dealing with morons.

I frankly didn't have much free time to devote to music listening, but I couldn't escape the fact that Kenny Rogers was everywhere. This dude who'd had a minor career with The First Edition in the sixties had reinvented himself as a precursor to Lionel Richie.

The number one song of 1979:

Kenny had five, count 'em, top twenty hits in '79. And that wasn't even his best year. I'm not sure why, but I rolled with the flow. I even saw him in concert once, sitting in the nosebleed seats in Duluth, Minnesota. It was a spur-of-the-moment impulse on my mom's part. We were there; he was there ~ why not?

There were better country songs in 1979; for instance, Eddie Rabbitt:

The Dirt Band:

Don Williams:

Waylon:

T. G. Sheppard:

The Oaks:

I had my Bang and Olufson component stereo I'd bought on credit and a stack of country albums. Sometimes I'd come home from LaBelle's in the dark and slip the needle on one of those LP's, quietly, as to not awaken the kids snug in their beds, and relax with a cup of instant Sanka. 

And think about the pitiful state of my "career".

1987 Was A Banner Year...Yes, In Music, Too

Fair-weather sports fans no doubt anger the die-hards. I was a fair-weather fan. I understood baseball (unlike football), because I'd been tutored. My dad was not a sports fan. My first husband taught me about baseball, although hearing it on the radio was not quite the same as watching a game. I learned what a double-play was, and an RBI. I learned that Rod Carew was the best player the Twins ever had (I now disagree).

Having sons who were baseball (or baseball card) aficionados helped nudge me in 1987. From buying pack-upon-pack of Topps Bubble Gum, I learned who the best players on each team were (or whose cards were the hottest, at least). I learned that rookie cards are great "gets". I began paying attention to the box scores in the newspaper. Amazingly, our hapless Twins were on a tear that year. So, I began watching. There was a Twins Channel on our cable system, so instead of tuning in to Cheers or Unsolved Mysteries, I sank into Minnesota Twins fanaticism. I was still working second shift, so I missed some games (I didn't quite resort to recording them on our VCR), but if the game was important, I switched shifts with another girl so I could have the night off to watch the game. Yes. I actually did. Gary Gaetti, Kent Hrbek, Kirby (of course), Dan Gladden; our star pitcher, Frank Viola. Our skinny shortstop, Greg Gagne, who never failed to pop up. Steve Lombardozzi was not the world's best second baseman, but second base is a rather second-tier position, so....Tim Laudner, our catcher.

It was a cold October evening when an actual miracle occurred. The Minnesota Twins won the world series! I had so much adrenaline coursing through my veins, I barely slept that night. And yes, I had a Homer Hankie. 1987 began my odyssey of following the Twins for more or less six years. They won again in 1991, barely (but barely still counts), thanks to Jack Morris. Then things went downhill, and I moved on with my life. By then I'd begun what I didn't know at the time would be my life-long career. It does help to have a skill, I've learned. Now I spend my days teaching others how to have that skill. And to think I only got hired for that job because someone else dropped out. Thanks, Someone, I guess.

Musically, 1987 was the year I discovered country music again. I don't remember how I stumbled upon it. I think I was sitting in my car in front of my kids' elementary school and I didn't like the song playing on Y93, so I switched the channel out of irritation. I heard something I liked. I do believe it was this:

It's funny how an act that proved to be short-lasting is what drew me back into country music. I drove to Musicland and purchased two cassette tapes; one by the Sweethearts of the Rodeo and one by this act:

The O'Kanes also didn't last. 

As I cleaned my house on Saturdays, I clicked those cassettes into my boom box and carried them around with me. 

That's how I relearned country music.

The other artist who caught my attention was:

Here are the artists I'd never heard of:

George Strait

Randy Travis

Dwight Yoakam

Steve Wariner

The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

The Judds

Ricky Van Shelton

Kathy Mattea

Highway 101

Foster and Lloyd

Earl Thomas Conley

Restless Heart

Once again, as country was wont to do, it blindsided me. 

I discovered there was a country bar only about six blocks from my house. And it featured live bands! I had been so immersed in MTV, I'd missed it. The new Friday night routine was to get dressed up in Levis and a spangled shirt (sometimes with a neckerchief) and a puff of perfume and cruise down to Dakota Lounge to...of all things, dance!

Thus began my country dance phase. 

Phases are interesting, in hindsight. I've had so many phases in my life -- things I couldn't get enough of -- until I could. I wouldn't give any of those phases back, because I learned something from all of them, and carried away valuable treasures. I loved observing the patrons of the Dakota Lounge and I learned a lot about human nature. I'd been so sheltered! I was a naive waif, but it wasn't my fault. Unfortunate family circumstances stopped me from venturing into the world...or at least they only allowed me to dip one toe into the waters of life. I was a late bloomer who'd only lived life inside my head.

I, sometime in late 1987, as I was celebrating the Twins' improbable victory, chanced upon things like this:

(Sadly, there is no live performance video to be found, but I loved this song, which was written by Rodney Crowell)

Apparently there exists a trend of not featuring live videos from 1987, but I wanted to include this song in all its glory:

 

At last - live!

I don't think I've ever featured a Ricky Van Shelton video in any of my posts. This is not my favorite (there are so many better RVS songs), but shoot:

Restless Heart (Larry Stewart was such a cutie):

The hardest song ever to dance to -- try to capture the beat -- it's impossible. Still a classic, however:

"The Man":

(Thanks, Mom and Dad for cluing in a neophyte who thought she was the country music expert)

I really miss Randy. I know he's still here, but he's not, really. I love Randy.

In 1987 I was thirty-two years old and learning. I learned about baseball and I re-learned country music. I was a mom. That was my Number One. My kids probably don't realize it because they've forgotten.  I still had my parents and I had my kids.

1987 was the sweet spot.

 

1986 In Country Music - A Renaissance

It's difficult to pinpoint exactly when country music "came back". I'd long been a sap for stone country -- give me a Ray Price two-step any day. That high harmony pierced my heart. Alas, Ray had surrendered sometime around 1970 to Chet Atkins' country-pop. Gone were the twin fiddles; here were the violins. Merle was always reliable, but even he eventually decided he wanted to do something a bit different. Then the pre-fab artists took over. Sylvia is probably a very good...writer, and while I have nothing against her personally, "your nobody called today" is like a pounding tension headache. And several artists continued to ride the shirttails of Urban Cowboy -- Mickey Gilley, Johnny Lee. It was a movie, people! The most enduring remnant of the Urban Cowboy soundtrack is "The Devil Went Down To Georgia", and that's not even Charlie Daniels' best song.

Along about 1981 a new revolutionary channel showed up. It was called MTV. No longer did I have to conjure musical scenarios in my head. They were all flayed out before me on my TV screen. An added plus -- the songs were actual music -- not rewarmed pop songs with a faint glaze of steel guitar or an album of duets starring the long-dead Jim Reeves and the latest country Pop Tart. Country had given up, so I gave up, too.

I think I was sitting behind the wheel in front of my kids' elementary school one nice fall day, rocking out to songs on Y93 when a track came on that I didn't really like, so, with time to kill, I twisted the dial on my radio to the country station just for kicks. I heard this:

Who the heck is this, I asked nobody (I was alone in my car, after all). My immediate thought was, I need to buy some country cassettes (yes, they were cassettes). Surprisingly (maybe because I didn't know who the heck had sung that song), the first cassette I bought was by the Sweethearts of the Rodeo. 

Later, again on 12th Street, awaiting the school bell, I heard some guy on my new country station who sang real perrty, with a country cry in his voice (and he had fiddles and steel guitar!):

 

I had so much to catch up on!

There was this four-piece band consisting of names like Cactus and a twirling blonde lead singer who was (supposedly) from North Dakota, who could sing like nobody else. 

Another band who'd bored the hell out of me with their "Mister Bojangles" had suddenly become as country as country could be:

This music was a revelation! It took my going away for it to replenish itself -- and it came back loud and country.

The very best ballad of 1986 has no live performance videos (I don't know whatever happened to Earl Thomas Conley), but dang!

From that point on I was hooked. And there would only be more good to come. Even today, in 2017, I am in love with Dwight and with George. I never quite gave up on my MTV -- I lived a dual musical existence. The eighties were awesome, musically.

There will never again be a time like it.

 

How Does One Pick The Best Country Album?

"Best Of" lists are so subjective. I read them with a heavy shake of salt. Honestly, I read them to find out how wrong they are -- in my opinion. That's the thing; it's simply opinion. My list of the all-time best TV shows will be different from yours. Wildly different. And I don't even know if I could pick the all-time best TV shows. That stream is fluid. My husband and I just finished watching a series on DVD that I would now rank in my top five. And we're watching one now on Netflix that's pretty damn good.

Music is a bit different. One can discount current music. And I'm guessing any new music won't crack the Top 100. So, we take a backward glance. But here's the thing; music is emotional. My life experience is my own. Albums that mean something to me, others would say, "huh?" You had to be there. And you weren't. I wasn't living your life, either. See?

Nevertheless, with hindsight I can weed out emotion and be objective; brutally objective. I'm frankly hard to please, music-wise.

Country albums weren't even a "thing" until sometime in the seventies. Oh, there were country albums, but they were vehicles to support a hit single. The modus operandi of the records producers was to slap the big single on track one and fill up the rest of the disc space with cover versions of other artists' songs. Thus, we had Tammy singing D-I-V-O-R-C-E followed by her versions of Rose Garden and Don't Come Home a-Drinkin'.

Even in the seventies country albums were mostly duds. I will say right now that the following are not the best country albums of all time, despite what Rolling Stone Magazine (a real authority on country) says: "Wanted! The Outlaws", "Red Headed Stranger", "Will The Circle Be Unbroken". The Outlaws was a disjointed accumulation of outtakes by various artists slapped together with a sepia-toned wanted poster on the cover. There was no cohesion. It would be like putting a Dean Martin lounge song next to a Reba McEntire ballad side-by-side with a discarded Led Zeppelin track and calling it, "Wanted! A Bunch of People Who Have Nothing In Common". Red Headed Stranger had one decent song, but it was "edgy" in an East Texas version of edgy, which meant "acoustic".  Will The Circle Be Unbroken was a collection of old-time songs featuring instruments like dulcimers and banjos -- a purer version of Oh Brother, Where Art Thou, only without a heart-stirring track like "Man of Constant Sorrow".

This site recently published a list of the Top 100 Country Albums of All Time. I give them kudos for making an honest effort. The list is a bit top-heavy with current albums, but the thing is, one can't rank a current album as one of the best of all time. You gotta give it a couple of decades to breathe. Ten or twenty years to settle into its slot on the shelf next to Merle and George and see if it continues to claim its spot or if it goes into the garage sale pile for 25 cents. (I've got tons of 25-cent CD's; trust me.)

This list also gave "Coat of Many Colors" the number one spot. I never bought that album. I looked at the track listing in the store, and decided to save my six dollars and ninety-nine cents. I probably bought an Eddie Rabbitt album instead and never looked back.

Some on the list I will grant were exquisite albums, but only a few; pitiably few.

So my primer, if you want to sample the greats:

No live performance, naturally. It was an album cut, after all, but here's a sampling:

I didn't know who the heck Rodney Crowell was in 1988. But it was kind of like when I discovered Foster and Lloyd. I didn't know them, but I knew good music. I liked country music, just a bit updated from the lackadaisical Hank Williams sound of the fifties. I liked the bones of country; I just needed a bit more drum, a bit more bass. "Diamonds and Dirt" was country.

To wit:

Dwight Yoakam is...really something. It's almost a badge of honor that the Nashville establishment has never recognized him with an award. Dwight is too cool for those dudes. After spending most of the nineties listening to Hall and Oates (who I still love) and Huey Lewis and the News (who I still love), and various MTV stars, when I decided to give country one more try, it was George and Dwight who informed me what I had been missing. "Guitars, Cadillacs" was a revelation. This is most likely my favorite Dwight album:

Here you go:

In hindsight, some of the best years for country music were the mid-eighties (right after I'd abandoned it, naturally). "If you love something, set it free", apparently. That was a time when "Vocal Group" at the CMA's actually meant something. We had Restless Heart, Diamond Rio, Nitty Gritty, Highway 101, to name a few. We had the Judds. Rosanne Cash, Patty Loveless, Kathy Mattea. Clint Black, Vince Gill, Ricky Van Shelton, Earl Thomas Conley, Mark Chesnutt. I'm lonesome just thinking about those artists and those times.

1986 was pretty damn good for classic albums. "Classic" is one thing; "Best of" is a category all its own. I sometimes repeat anecdotes here, but these two tales are so ironic, they bear repeating:  

My mom and dad, in their naivete, their lack of country music sophistication, slipped one of those VHS tapes into their VCR one Friday night when I'd brought my kids over. Some country wannabe in a Stetson was crooning into the mic. I tossed my hand and sauntered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. This guy was certainly no Merle Haggard. My ear caught the whine of the steel guitar and the crunch of twin fiddles, however, and I granted (silently) that this music sounded pretty good. I walked back to the living room and plopped on the sofa. "Who's this guy?" I asked, feigning boredom. "George Strait", my mom said. "Straight", I murmured, committing the name to memory. I told myself I should check out this Straight guy next time I stopped at the mall. 

Flash forward a couple of years and Mom called and asked me if I wanted to see this guy Randy Travis in concert. "I'll get enough tickets for all of us," she said. "Noooo, not really," I replied. Who was Randy Travis? Apparently another one of those "new country" artists. I couldn't stand sitting through a concert of yet another dude who pretended to be "authentic". Mom was either in a mood to educate me or wanted to promote some family togetherness, so she didn't give up. "He's really good", she said. I'd dedicated too many years waiting for country music to get good again. Country music was Charly McClain and Crystal Gayle and Alabama, who I'd seen in concert 2,100 times because they toured relentlessly. Country music was Charley Pride re-recording bad pop songs, Louise Mandrell recording a country version of "Reunited" with her husband. Country music was snatching icky pop songs from the charts and adding a touch of steel guitar in the hope that they wouldn't sound as bad as they really were. There obviously weren't any country songwriters anymore. Merle was drowning in cocaine, having a fling with Dolly; trying to stave off time.

I sighed heavily into the receiver."Okay," I surrendered. Another wasted evening, when I could be home watching MTV videos dance across my screen.

The lights went down and this Randy dude walked out wearing a white suit. I stared down at my bag of popcorn and clapped apathetically. I told myself to grow up and pretend like I was having fun. Mom and Dad sure were. Even my sister seemed excited. The dude in white launched into some song about bones; a trite uptempo number. Sure, he had a good voice. I wasn't enamored with his contrived pacing across the stage, mic in hand; but his act was far better than Hank Williams, Jr's, whose concert I had walked out on a couple of years before. I'd seen my share of bad concerts -- my hometown was small enough that one had to take her entertainment where she could find it. My enormous music ego slipped a bit and I began enjoying this new guy.

Then he launched into this:

Okay, that did it. I dropped my popcorn bag into my lap and applauded furiously. I might have even hooted.

The moral of these stories is, always listen to your mom and dad. 

Which, after a long, meandering road, leads me to another of the best country albums of all time, "Storms of Life":

I'm gonna throw in an album that doesn't get the renown it deserves. What CD's would you take on a road trip? Let's say you could only pick five. Hmmm, it's not easy, is it? This would be one of mine:

There were so many great songs on this album, but unfortunately a dearth of live videos. I did see the NGDB in concert. They were on one of those free stages at a festival and they were awesome. One of the guys even played the accordion! This album captures NGDB at their best, "Fishin' In The Dark" not withstanding. 

See:

The best country albums of all time didn't spring to life only in the eighties. Just most of them.

We'll discuss the sixties in another post.