1994 ~ Country Music ~ And Work

My new career path of "being in charge" became exponentially better in 1994, once Evil Boss From Hell was canned. Connie, as I detailed in my previous post, had committed an error many in the corporate world make; becoming drunk with power. It's silly when you think about it -- a company only wants you around as long as you are useful to them. The corporate bosses don't care how high an opinion you have of yourself.

Our little office being a far-western outpost of the East Coast Insurance Corridor, we'd had little oversight. As long as our numbers were good (really good), as far as our overseers were concerned, everything in Bismarck, North Dakota was peachy. They didn't know, and probably didn't care that Evil Connie had created her own little fiefdom on the prairie. The office dynamic was much like all offices; underlings who gushed over her, their red lipstick prints imprinted on her butt. The rebels, who either didn't know any better (me) or just said "F it". A couple of us thought our charge was to produce results and to treat our employees like "people". Ha. I was desperately naive, but this was my first time being "in charge", so I operated on instinct.

I stepped confidently into Evil Connie's office for my annual review. My unit's numbers were superb. I was expecting a few kudos and a decent bump in salary. Instead, I was accused of "making the other supervisors look bad". I'd brought caramel rolls for my staff one overtime Saturday morning. "LeeAnn didn't bring caramel rolls!" she charged, jamming her bony finger at me.

I was upbraided for not stopping in to say goodnight to Evil Connie on a daily basis.  As the haranguing continued, I began to cry. The evil woman refused to even reach behind her to grab a Kleenex out of the box to quench the ugly snot that was now dripping from my nose.

Evil Connie's parting words to me were, "Either you become part of my team or I'll replace the team."

The only person I ever told (I didn't even tell the person I was married to -- I was too mortified and ashamed for jeopardizing our family's well-being) was my mentor; my fellow supervisor, who I called that evening. She'd endured the exact same diatribe the same day. Carlene was maybe the rebel of the bunch, but not really. She simply had conducted herself the same way I had -- with a modicum of respect toward her employees. It was maybe a bit better to know I wasn't alone, but I still scoured the newspaper want ads that night. It was clear my days at US Healthcare were limited. I would stop in every evening from that point forward and say goodnight to Evil Connie, and hold onto my job as long as I could, or until I could find another source of income. Our town was tiny and open positions were nearly non-existent. I stepped inside my glass-enclosed cubicle at the front of my unit every morning and tried not to break down in sobs.

(FYI -- #metoo isn't just about sexual harassment. Abuse comes in many forms.)

The Philadelphia honchos generally showed up once a year, if they couldn't find a way to get out of it. To us, they were voices over the phone; I barely recognized their faces when they appeared in the office. I'd see strange men tramping through the corridor and it would dawn on me that these were "the bosses". One was named Dave and I don't remember the other man's name. They showed up unexpectedly in the summer of '93 and sequestered themselves in an unused office. We supervisors gaggled about, speculated. This wasn't a scheduled visit. Eventually, around 1:00 p.m. my phone rang and I was summoned. Dave and Other Guy asked me questions about Evil Connie. I have no recollection what I spilled. I do remember telling them that Peg and Inez deserved to become supervisors (they had languished as assistants for far, far too long and they were smart). I must have said things about Evil Woman, but I don't remember. I do remember wondering why, of all the supervisors, I was the one they zeroed in on.

That was the day I sat in my car at 5:00 and watched, before I shifted into reverse, Evil Connie exit the building with two paper grocery bags and a potted plant. I slumped down in my seat and stared. It seemed like she was leaving forever, but I was disoriented; flummoxed.

I will never know how it happened that Dave and Other Guy homed in on me. Carlene was the only one who knew and she professed innocence and I believe her. She had her own story to tell -- she didn't need to use me as a surrogate. Am I sorry I helped to get Evil Woman fired? No. I've learned that karma doesn't always work, but sometimes it does. After all these years, do I feel sorry for Evil Connie? No. I will say that she taught me one thing, though -- always watch your back. There are always more people who'd rather shoot you than shake your hand. And it's all based on their insecurities; their shortcomings. Their inherent flaws.

(Shortly thereafter, both Peg and Inez secured supervisor positions. It remains one of the few times in my life I ever felt listened to.)

Once Evil Bitch was gone forever, some poor decent, capable, professional man got shipped in to take over.

I don't remember his name (alas), but someone back in the home office must have been jealous of him; wanted to get rid of him, so they gave him the least desirous post they could find on the map. New Manager was a good company man, so he (no doubt reluctantly) acceded to his new post (I would soon enough find out how that whole scheme worked).

This man was completely hands-off, which is how a manager should have been. But he did understand that we were all winging it, and he brought in professionals to teach us how to be supervisors. We all met at lunchtime in a conference room and were schooled in management theory. Our new manager passed out paperback copies of "Leadership Secrets of Attila The Hun" and sent us home to read and absorb. This man is now long retired, but as professionally distant as he was toward us, I will never forget what he did for me. I didn't need to get up close and personal with him; I didn't need to shed tears in his office. I needed him to manage and mentor, and that's exactly what he did.

As the soul-crushing cloud of Evil Woman dissipated, life at US Healthcare became sweet. Somebody came up with a "get to know you" game, in which we devised ten questions for each person to answer, and we had to find someone whose answer matched the one on the card in our hand. It was a free-for-all of everyone milling about, trying to notch ten correct responses so we'd win. It was a game without a prize, but that wasn't the point. I remember one of us supervisors came up with, "What kind of car do you drive?" and our aloof manager had answered, "Infiniti", a make of car of which I'd never heard, but I realized this guy had money, and why not? He had a thankless job in a rustic wilderness. He deserved some kind of reward.

Me, being me, devised the question, "What's your favorite song?" That was fun. I soon learned that, out of the one hundred and fifty-or-so of us, one hundred and forty-nine loved country music. That warmed my heart, because country deserved to be loved in 1994. Diamond Rio, Collin Raye, Mark Chesnutt, Dwight Yoakam, Vince Gill, Joe Diffie, Little Texas, George, Pam Tillis, Clay Walker, Alan Jackson. It was a country music renaissance in '94.

Life was suddenly good and we had music like this:

Sorry, no live performance video of this one, but come on:

My man:

I confess; I love this song:

I saw Diamond Rio in concert once, in an intimate casino setting, and I also saw the mandolin player, Gene Johnson, eat a steak and baked potato in front of me, bothered by autograph-seeking fans, but while I was seated behind him, I gave him his space. Anything else would have been disrespectful, but I did and do love Diamond Rio:

They used to make heartbreak songs:

Alan Jackson's flame had turned into more of a smolder already by '94 -- he was settling into a real career that would eventually land him in the Country Music Hall of Fame. That doesn't mean he wasn't still making good records; they just weren't Oh Wow! records. I like this one:

This recording did sound familiar, but I didn't know (or had forgotten) that it was a Jackie DeShannon song. In my defense, it had been the B side of another track, and it was released in1963, when all I cared about was Top Forty (though I had no idea what Top Forty actually was). Regardless, Pam Tillis did Jackie DeShannon proud:

I could include tons more hits from 1994, but suffice it to say that it was the tail end of the golden age of country. I was thirty-nine years old and on my way to horizons and heartbreaks I couldn't even conjure.

1994, however, was the last time music played a huge part in my little life story.

Music's Circle

When I was a kid, all music was new -- new and exciting. Every song, no matter how old, was new to me; a new discovery; a new coin of knowledge to tuck in my pocket. I didn't know I was studying music; I thought I was simply inhaling it. I don't have any means of comparison, so for all I know, every kid was like me -- every kid scoured the 45 label and memorized the songwriters' names that were printed in parenthesis below the title (they always seemed to be compound writers then:  (Brown - McGee). Rarely was the artist on the record also listed as the writer. Maybe every kid imprinted the label's logo on their brain; the yellow and black Bang emblem, the orange and yellow swirl of Capitol, the blue sky of Motown. 45-RPM records were cradled in our hands like they were spun silver. I never once broke one -- I chipped a few, but I still managed to get them to play -- doggedness could form miracles.

I don't remember the last time any music felt new. If I was to guess, I'd say it's been about ten years. The last song I remember falling in love with was "Come On, Joe" from one of George Strait's albums. So now music is all memory -- a circle that's closing. Sometimes that makes me sad, but life is busy with daily stressors and a clock with hands that whirl around fast like on one of those old campy TV shows that wants to show that time has passed so it can segue into the next scene. I don't listen to the radio unless it's songs from the sixties or eighties or unless it's political news. I don't know new country and I frankly don't want to. I sampled it a bit, enough to know that it's gross and irritating. I dabbled in Texas country a bit many years ago -- some of it was good, yet obscure. Now when I'm working, I don't mix music with drudgery. It would feel like I'm disrespecting the music. It's bad enough that I have to endure eight-hour pain; it wouldn't be fair to subject something as pure as music to that bad karma.

Which brings me to tonight.

We have a Sirius Music subscription that allows me to also listen on my phone. So, naturally, I dialed the app to Eighties Country. It's a quintessential human condition to only remember the good. Funny how reality isn't exactly a match for our soft reminiscences.

I've been listening for a couple of hours now, and what have I learned? Well, Garth was everywhere, for good or bad (mostly bad). Here are some others who rocked the Sirius eighties jukebox: Martina McBride, Sawyer Brown, Brooks and Dunn, Alan Jackson, Shenandoah, Diamond Rio, The Judds, Alabama, Trisha Yearwood.

Here is what I remember from the eighties:  Vince Gill, Dwight Yoakam, George Strait, Randy Travis, Highway 101, Rodney Crowell, Clint Black, Rosanne Cash, Ricky Van Shelton, Restless Heart, Steve Wariner, Holly Dunn, Earl Thomas Conley, Mark Chesnutt, Patty Loveless, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Keith Whitley, T. Graham Brown, The Forester Sisters, Shania Twain, Collin Raye. Alan - of course. Brooks and Dunn - of course. Diamond Rio - of course.

But funny how I completely blanked out Garth. Garth, the hugest country artist of all time.

Also funny how Sirius has, in the past (now) three hours only played one George Strait song, but three Alabama songs. Really? Sirius folks, are you familiar with the eighties?

My memory has apparently weeded out the bad songs and only retained the good. That rather eases my mind. I'm not fixated on "Achy Breaky Heart".

Overall, however, it's been a fun evening. I like to be taken back to a time in my life when music meant so much.

Oh no -- now they're playing Sylvia.

I should start my own podcast -- the worst country songs and artists of all time. I wonder if it would catch on.

Time for bed. I wonder if I'll dream about a black 45 with a bold red line and the word "MUSICOR" emblazoned on it.

My Book

*or alcohol

My book is nearing completion.  

It's been one hell of a ride, and I don't know if I would climb aboard again.  

I'm a pretty good writer, but a task-mastering editor.  

I know me.  I will go back and re-read and re-read, and make little changes of commas to semi-colons, and check my online thesaurus, looking for a better word to describe what, for the life of me, won't pop into my head at the moment, even though I know what it is I want to say.

I would not have a clue how to write fiction.  My book, Rich Farmers, is autobiographical.  Even us little people have stories to tell.

I have absolutely no idea how I will be able to afford to publish it.  I thought about Kickstarter, but who, in their right mind, would deign to fund me?  Are there people out there with wads of cash to toss into the air?  If so, how do I get to be one of those people?

I've learned that writing a book isn't like writing a song.  A song, if it's not too good, will take maybe a couple of hours to flesh out.  A good one, one that's worth pursuing, could take a month or so.  I'd gotten used to telling a story, in song, in short bursts.  But a song has a melody to carry it along.  Alas, a book doesn't have a soundtrack.

I started out thinking that I could turn my blog into a book, but then I realized, that's just stupid.  So, I started over, from scratch.  I used a bunch of my posts to goad me along.

I've lost track of the months I've spent on this.  I used to think, writers say they've been writing their book for a year?  How could that be?  I get it now.

And sometimes I think, well, I've spent months worrying over something that I will try to sell for five dollars and ninety-nine cents.  And maybe two people will actually buy it.  I can earn that much in an hour's worth of time on my job, with my eyes closed.

Thing is, even if nobody buys it, or if two people do, I still have pride in knowing that I did it.

I wish I had a bunch of money. Even though I know that would just jade me and make me lazy.

The sensible me says, aim for the money.  The actual me says, follow your heart.

Happy Mother's Day

Writing about my mom is not an easy task.  If one was to ask me to write about my dad, I could recount lots of shared experiences, and how he was always (mostly) proud of me; stuff like that.

I didn't have a lot of shared experiences with my mom.  Our relationship wasn't like that.  In fact, I don't really like the flowery prose stamped inside those pre-fab greeting cards one finds at Target.  Because most of that stuff isn't necessarily true.  "Mom, you were always there for me."  No, you weren't...always.  "You always showed such patience" (that's not how I remember it). "You always encouraged me".  Okay, if "don't embarrass me" is a form of encouragement, sure.

First of all, my mom was too busy to spend time bucking me up.  Moms didn't tend to do that back then.  "Don't embarrass me" was, in fact, one of the best pieces of wisdom a mom could impart.  Those words served to keep one on the straight and narrow, at least while within eye shot of one's mom, anyway.

I've written before that my mom and I rarely saw eye to eye.  We were just too different.  She was disappointed in me, because I wasn't like her.  Parents want to see themselves in their kids.  I wasn't necessarily the weirdest weirdo of the six kids, but I was "different".  I was more than happy to live in my own fantasy world; in fact, I preferred it.  Sure, I might have been called a loner, but in my defense, I was the middle kid, with several years separating me from the rest, and so, there on the farm, I didn't have anyone to pal around with (except sometimes the stray farm cat that I had adopted and tamed).

So, I was either outside (alone) in the summertime, wandering along through the trees or down the gravel road, humming made-up songs to myself, or on the backyard swing, pretending that I was a trapeze artist, or standing atop the picnic table, picturing myself as a famous singer.  In the wintertime, I was upstairs in the spare room, creating my masterpieces of hand-drawn designs of something or other, or "sewing" Barbie doll clothes out of spare bits of material and bric-a-brac, which I, of course, was convinced I would be able to sell at a roadside stand; a road that saw maybe four cars a day, tops.

Meanwhile, my mom was downstairs, waxing the kitchen floor on her hands and knees, or slaving over a hot stove, canning jars of green beans from the garden she'd planted and weeded.

I was oblivious.

I think, once or twice, she made me dust the living room.  It probably only lasted a whole two times, because I did such a lackadaisical job.

Once we moved off the farm, and my parents bought their own business, my mom was under constant stress.  It wasn't just the demands of the business, but she was dealing with my dad's drinking.  I was a pre-teen, and I had my own hormonal issues.  The only interaction I had with my mom entailed her yelling at me about something, and me slamming the door and hiding away in my room.

I think I even embarrassed my mom at my own wedding, because I was too immature to get married, and it was all a lark to me.  A lark that my folks paid for.  I was a month shy of nineteen (which equates to about age 32 in today's world of "kids").  I had no business trying to be an adult, and yet I wanted everyone to see me as one.  No wonder my mom was disapproving.  She had all her relatives there, and there I was, parading around like a junior high school kid; more interested in yukking it up with my friends than in taking the whole thing seriously.

Once I had kids of my own, my mom cut me a bit of slack.  I don't think she necessarily approved of my child-rearing ways, but the kids were always clean and fed, and they were happy.  They were having fun, and they weren't dolts.  They were smart and funny and talented, so although I couldn't take credit for a lot of that, at least my mom could say that I did no harm.

My mom and I tried a few times to go on outings together.  They were uncomfortable; strained.  We didn't have scintillating conversations.  We saw "Saturday Night Fever" together, and if we want to talk about being embarrassed, well, that's really not the kind of movie you go to with your mom.

My mom liked to play bingo, so sometimes I went with her to do that.  She did love her gambling.  It was something we could do together, and there wasn't time or opportunity to chat, since she had to be ever watchful of the eight bingo cards that she was playing.

She wasn't one to make friends easily (hmmm), but then again, she never did have a whole lot of opportunities to do so.  But when she became a regular at the bingo parlor, she became friendly with some of the ladies, and later, she and her hairdresser, and her hairdresser's mom, began going to country music concerts together.  I was happy for her.

One concert that the hairdresser and/or the hairdresser's mom didn't attend was the Garth Brooks extravaganza.  My mom and I went to that together.  She loved it.  It was a spectacle, I must say.  I felt good about seeing that concert with my mom.  We had seats in the second row, and she was really excited.  That was the best time I had with my mom, ever.

Generally, however, the whole family got together at my parents' house.  Holidays, or a Friday night card game.  There were a lot of people around.  I could talk, or not talk, as the case may be, because everybody else took up the slack.  There was a lot of laughter and ribbing of each other (mostly of my dad, because he was always eccentric).  At the end of the night, my mom would serve up some home-baked pie and put on a pot of coffee, and I would go home and lie awake the rest of the night from the damn caffeine (speaking of dolts).

The only time I could truly say that my mom was proud of me was when I became a "career professional", and I was in charge of a bunch of people.  She liked that, I believe, because she was smart, and had the times and circumstances been different, that was the kind of thing she would have done.  That was the one time she saw herself in me.

Later in my life, I made a big, big decision, and one that she heartily disapproved of.   She called me and called me, and harangued me to think (think!) about what I was doing.  I think she even mentioned that I was embarrassing her.  She didn't speak to me for about a year after that.

But, the thing about my mom was, she came around.  She came around when nobody, except my sister, had.  I can't say that my dad didn't come around, but he was mightily confused by then, so I just managed to confuse him even more.

I don't know what changed her mind; maybe because I had moved away, and maybe she missed me.  I did get some lovely letters from my mom, and I had some lovely phone conversations with her.  My husband and I went back to see her one last time (the last time, except for my dad's funeral).  She was really welcoming.  She even said to me that I was justified in what I had done.  She became a person that I wished I had known during my life; not just for a couple of years.

I don't think I had changed.   It was all her.  Maybe I will find out one day, when I get to a certain stage in my life, that it will be time to drop all that "stuff".  

I will always have mixed feelings about my mom.  One can't erase years of strife, and years of just wanting her approval, and usually not getting it.

I understand her better now, though.  Maybe I finally grew up.

Kids (you 32-two-year-olds), maybe it's time to cut your mom a little slack.  She makes mistakes, and she's difficult to understand.  Maybe she doesn't love you the "right way"; the way you think she should.

But she loves you in ways that you don't get; that you don't see.  I bet she thinks about you at least once a day.

I think about my mom now, almost every day.

I would love to send her flowers for Mother's Day, and to ring her up and just hear her voice.

I'd like to be sitting in her living room; she in her blue recliner, me on the couch; listening to her gripe about my dad, and me smiling, because that's just what she does.  She, refilling my coffee cup, and asking if I'm sure I don't want another piece of pie. 

Okay, I miss my mom.

Say, "Happy Mother's Day" to your mom.  And try not to embarrass her.

Sorry ~ My Mistake ~ I Said 1994, When I Meant 1995

I wrote a whole long thesis a few days ago about how 1994 was a bad year in country music, and lo and behold, as I found various music videos from that year, I realized I was completely insane.  1994 was actually a good year.  What I meant was, 1995.

As the picture above shows, 1995 was apparently the year of "Friends", and some other things, but the pictures are too small to really identify.  Looks like maybe Brad Pitt and Sandra Bullock, so I guess we're still partying like it's 1995.

But country music in 1995 was not a party.

And I can prove it.

In scanning the list of hit songs from 1995, the first thing that strikes me is, I don't even recognize most of these titles.  And let me tell you, I was still a pretty big country fan during that time.  So, because most of my memory is still quite intact, the fact is that there were very few memorable hit singles released in 1995.

And even the old standbys, you know, the good guys, were releasing some pretty awful songs.

For example, Collin Raye.  I love Collin Raye as a balladeer.  As they say, stick with what you know.  Because I really dislike this song:



Then there was this next song that was a big hit, and I just hated it.  I don't necessarily have a rational reason for hating it, but music is like that.  I will say, however, that the lyrics seem to be about some old guy leering at a young girl, and really??  Well, that's very family-friendly.

David Lee Murphy:



And here's ol' Tim McGraw again.  I will say that, unlike 1994, at least ol' Tim emerged from the pity party that was "Don't Take The Girl", and amped things up a bit.  However, this song, although catchy!  Is still rather grating, after about 100 10 listens.



John Michael Montgomery had "I Can Love You Like That".  Poor John Michael.  Tagged with the unfortunate reputation of not being able to sing on-key without autotune.  I'm not reporting that to be mean.  I can't sing on-key most of the time, either.  But I'm not a recording artist, now, am I?

This next video is not "I Can Love You Like That", because I can't find it, but it really doesn't matter.  All his songs were pretty much the same; covers of boy band hits, and why he felt this was a good career move, I do not know.



Remember Tracy Byrd?  That's okay.  That's why I'm here ~ to remind you.

Like the David Lee Murphy song, I always had a distaste for Tracy.  That sounds mean.  And it's nothing I can put my finger on, actually.  I'm sure he's a great guy, and he's a good friend of Mark Chesnutt, and I love Mark Chesnutt.  I guess it is that he always came across to me as disingenuous.  He recorded these songs that he thought would make him a star (and they did for awhile), but it was so fakey; artificial.  Hence, "The Keeper of the Stars":



Alan Jackson is better than this.  Better than this corny novelty song.  That's what I mean about 1995.  These guys weren't playing their "A" game.  Nobody remembers this song, nor should they:



So, that's about it.  I do slightly remember some of the other titles, but I'm not really interested enough to search out videos for them.  1995 was rather a blase year.

Some hokey ballads, some hokey novelty songs.  Some boy-band covers.  Kind of shameful, for country music.

But, you know, all is not lost.

Because there were some good songs. 

And I could always rely on George Strait:



From the ridiculous to the sublime; that was Alan Jackson in 1995.  Bless you, Bob McDill.  I love the sarcasm; or is it irony?  And now were are in 2012, and be careful what you predict.........



What's not to love about Diamond Rio?



Not sure what became of the Mavericks, but they should still be around, making music.  Although now, it wouldn't be considered "country" music, of course.



One could pretty much share any video from Mark Chesnutt, and not go wrong.  Let me tell you, Mark ranks right up there.  I don't know why he's been pushed aside, but I also don't know why Gene Watson was pushed aside, either.  It's an enduring mystery.  We live in a disposable society?  We throw away the good stuff in order to experience a new crop of crap?



You may not remember George Ducas; he had one, maybe two albums.  Again, there is no accounting for taste, because this guy should still be a big star.  Watch and listen to "Lipstick Promises":



If you think David Ball was just about thinkin' problems, well, he wasn't.  He also had a follow-up hit, and I like it, because it's country, and I miss country:

David Ball - Look What Followed Me Home (Official Music Video)David Ball

I haven't featured Pam Tillis in awhile.  Remember, Pam was huge in the nineties, deservedly so.



I like this Clint Black song.  It's the country equivalent to the omnipresent list of "essential summer songs".

See all music videos Clint Black

I say, thank goodness for CMT in the nineties.  Because, without CMT, I would never find these songs, and they're worth finding.  Lari White had another good song, this time in 1995, and it was this one:



And now we get to the superstar of the 1990's.  No, it wasn't Garth Brooks.  And you thought it was!  Ah, but you forget!  I doubt that Garth sits home at night, at his kitchen table, nursing an iced tea, ruminating about how some woman outshone him in the 1990's.  But there it is.

And here it is:



And, oh, did I forget to mention her name?  It's Shania Twain:



I leave 1995 behind, but not without this song, by Vince Gill.  



In summation, 1995 had its bad, and it had its really, really good.  As do all years.

I enjoy reliving those times, and while I am quick to disparage, I always come back to the really, really good.  Because that's just me.  I like the good.

Thoughts On My Singer-Songwriter Series

I wonder how many people in this world consider themselves to be songwriters.

I'm thinking there's a lot.

I've so far featured three singer-songwriters. Three damn good ones. (Not to confuse you. You've only read about two, but trust me, I've written about three. It's just all out of order, because, well, that's how I roll, apparently).

How many damn good ones are there? I'll say you can count them on the fingers of two hands. Okay, maybe three. But how many people actually have three hands?

I don't think songwriting is like a puzzle. It's not as if you can work on it long enough and hard enough to crack it.

You either have it or you don't.

Yes, I've used that phrase every time I've posted one of my "episodes". That's because it's true.

I've called myself a songwriter for about nine years or so. And I'm thinking, nuts to that. I'm not going to crack the code.

Unlike Radney Foster, I haven't written 25-50 songs per year. I frankly don't have the subject matter. Some years, in fact, I probably wrote two. If it wasn't for FAWM, I would be sitting at about number 13 at this point.

Oh, it's not for lack of desire.

It's for lack of ability.

I'm not trying to discourage anyone. But I will say, write for yourself.

If you like it, that's really the only point there is. I still really like some of mine; not most of them, but some. I guess you had to be there (ha); you know, in my subconscious, to really "get them'. That's, I guess, the problem.

I don't even know what it is about us that makes us want to do this. It's not for commerce. Because that would be the most doomed business enterprise ever created.

Can you imagine a storefront advertising songs for sale? Nobody would stop in. Or, if they did stop in, they'd say, oh, that's okay; I'm just browsing. And then they'd surreptitiously make their way over to the door, and slither out.

There you'd be, following them around, wearing your nice white apron, asking, "Is there something I can help you with?" And they'd murmur, "I was just looking for something bright and shiny; you know, something I can dance to".

"Well, I've got this song about love and loss", you'd say. "Oh, that's okay. I was kind of looking for something different. A little variety. I'm not really in the mood for love and loss today. I've already got a bunch of that at home."

"Well, let me just play you this one. You'll like it, I think."

Then strum, strum, strum. Your three-minute intro.

And you look up, and they're gone. Out the door.

You mutter to yourself, I don't know what people want. Maybe I should have stayed in customer service. Maybe starting my own songwriting business wasn't such a great idea. I guess people just don't understand greatness.

At this point in my songwriting career (okay, I can call it a career if I want), I look at the songs I've written sort of like a diary. I think maybe only one or two of them are completely fictional.

I read something that another songwriter wrote on one of those songwriter sites, and I'm paraphrasing, because I'm really too lazy to go back and re-read it, but he said that every song he wrote had some personal truth in it, even if he had to go back afterwards and cover up all the tell-tale signs. I kind of like that.

Songwriters (at least the un-schlocky ones) are really telling their life stories.

The problem with that, commercially, is that most people don't care about other people's life stories. Not really. Even if you know somebody really well, you are sort of interested, but not as interested as you are in your own life.

So, it's the rare (again, count 'em on three hands, if you have them) songwriter who can transcend that complete and utter disinterest, and invoke some kind of recognition in the listener's mind.

Either that, or the songs need to have a catchy beat.

I can go either way on that.

I'm being semi-facetious, but not really. For what is music, really, if not entertainment? What's wrong with a nonsense song that's infectious? I've got some of those guilty pleasures in my music collection, and I really like them.

That same songwriter that I referenced earlier (I think I'll call him "Jed") likes to talk about hearing music that touches his soul, or something like that. And I like that sometimes.

But sometimes, I've had a really crappy day, or a crappy week. My husband has lost his job (like a quarter of the population, apparently), and I'm worried about stuff like paying our bills, and insurance, and how we will survive when we're old; that kind of fun stuff. And I don't really want to hear some singer crying about...well, anything. I don't need to listen to some sad song to make me feel sad. I'm already sad. I just want to forget my troubles for one measly hour of my life and hear something fun and mindless.

And, come to think of it, the few songs of mine that people say they actually like are those kinds of songs. Entertainment. No offense to Jed, but I don't think the majority of people want to wallow.

So, what is the point of this post?

Well, it's two-fold. Listening to great songwriters (and so far, there have been three, but there are many more to come), I realize that this just isn't the gig for me.

I'm at a crossroads, and the road I'm traveling on right now is leading me toward just writing, but not songwriting.

Maybe I'll change my mind later (probably), when I'm in a better frame of mind. But I'm thinking, why keep beating my head against the wall? It's giving me a real headache, and I've got enough headaches already.

The other point is, let's have fun!

I'm going to search my music collection for "fun" songs, and post a few here and now. The week has been long and difficult (for you, too?), so it's time to kick back.





(Thank you, Dwight. I can always count on Dwight).





(Thank you, George. I used to always be able to count on George).



(Thanks, Marty. You're a rock.)

I know I posted this one before, but I don't care! If you don't like this one, well, I guess you just don't like country, and you just don't care, and you just don't really know what real country music is. Pity.



(My four go-to guys: Dwight, George, Marty, and Mark. George, you're moving further down my list, but you still have time to rise to the challenge. I haven't given up on you yet; at least not completely).

We're not done.





And while we're having fun, and throwing caution to the wind, let's not forget this one:



Tomorrow (or sometime) I will post the sad songs. But not tonight.

Don't forget, songwriters, that music is entertainment. We all just want to feel better; forget our troubles. So, while you're pouring out your guts, and lamenting your life circumstance, everybody else doesn't want to think about that.

I think that's the best advice I can give.

Looking for a New Kind of Music

My husband is a CD collector. He has about three record stores he visits on a regular basis, looking for used CD's.

Today, I went with him, just to go with him, basically. I didn't even look at the CD's in the racks. I looked at some posters and some curios that the store had for sale. I glanced at the music biographies on the shelf (although I no longer buy physical books. I am on a mission to clear my life of clutter).

That's part of the reason I'm not interested in browsing the CD's for sale. I really don't want to buy any more physical CD's. My shelves are overflowing with CD's, when, in fact, all the music I want, I've already uploaded to my computer.

I make an exception for approximately four artists: Dwight Yoakam, George Strait, Mark Chesnutt, and Marty Stuart. Why? Well, with George, it's a matter of honor, really. I have every one of his CD's, and I don't want to break the chain. For Marty and Mark, the truth is, they don't sell music like they used to, sadly. I don't know why. Time marches on? Nobody wants good music anymore? Real country music is passe? Therefore, I buy their physical CD's to show that I, at least, still appreciate them.

With Dwight it's just that......well, it's DWIGHT. He possesses a couple of attributes that I subscribe to: GOOD MUSIC, HONEST MUSIC....Oh, and he never disappoints. I never have to weigh the options in the store (and by "store", I mean Amazon.) I never have to turn the CD over in my hand, checking out the names of the tracks, looking for the songwriters credits (most of which will be "Dwight Yoakam" anyway). "Hmmm, will this be worth my money? What if I don't like it? What if I only like two songs?" Those questions never factor in. I WILL like it.

My problem is, after those four artists (and to be frank, George Strait has been falling down on the job for a few years now), where do I go? Some artists are "good", but they can't seem to pick good songs. As for newer artists, well, I really just don't like the sound. I don't mean the singer, I don't mean the songs (okay, I guess I do mean the songs), but what I'm talking about is the sound of the recordings. That manufactured sound that comes out of Nashville these days.

To be frank (and this is not meant to be self-centered at all), I'd prefer to listen to Red River's music (except my own) than this artificially sweetened stuff that's playing on the radio, because at least I know that Red River's stuff is honest.

So, what I am really looking for is a new kind of music.

I've thought about it, and these are my requirements:

1. Melodic!

You know, they call it "music" for a reason. If it wasn't for music, it would just be dull poetry. Music should make your heart fly, or make your soul mourn. I grew up hearing the barbs about "maudlin country music". The crying steel guitar, and all that. Well, yea, I like a crying steel guitar! And twin fiddles? They get you right in the gut. That's why I just can't relate to the modern music listener. What are they getting out of this stuff? Seriously, I would truly like to know. I find nothing melodic about modern music. Do they just not really like music? Is it just some background noise to keep them from thinking about other things? I don't know, and I never will. I'll just chalk it up to a mystery that I can't solve.

2. Honesty.

But not that self-pitying crap. I hate that stuff. There's nothing worse than a whiny crybaby. It's not all about you, you know. There's a fine line between coming off as a spoiled brat and singing about something universal. How about singing about life, and the trials and tribulations that we all go through? You know, something relatable. I used to hear, "he's singing my song". I don't really hear that anymore.

3. Interesting, surprising instrumentation.

No more paint-by-numbers arrangements. Throw in something unexpected. A cello there? Wow, never expected that, but it works! Listen to that guitar riff! So original! Everything, to me, now sounds dirge-like; even the up-tempo numbers. So boringly predictable.

4. Hit me with something I'm not expecting.

Way back, sometime in the nineties, my kids used to tease me every time I would turn this song up on the radio, or punch it in on the CD player. And I'll admit, I enjoyed driving them crazy with this song. Because they hated it. But you know, I really liked it. And the reason I liked it was because of the opening chorus:



Who ever sang a line like that? Nobody. I wasn't expecting it, and therefore, I liked it. It made my senses perk up and say, "Hey! What the heck? This is cool."

So, to sum up, what I'm looking for is an honest, melodic, surprising song.

Is that too much to ask? After all, I can't just listen to Ashokan Farewell exclusively.

Friday Night Cool Country Music

Have you watched any so-called "country" videos lately? Well, they're hideous. Don't even get me started.

Okay, I'll start a little.

One weekend afternoon, I couldn't find anything on TV, so I thought I'd check out the latest happenings in country music. (I don't listen to it on the radio, so I'm completely clueless.)

Well, let me tell you; it's hideous. One can only take so much of it, I found. I listened (sorry, watched) about four videos, hoping there would be some semblance left somewhere of actual country music. Alas.

What I found is, there are a bunch of very young guys, with names like Wade or Chad or Lance or whatever; and they're all horribly henpecked, apparently.

Some poor guy (Wade or Chad or...wait...let me look it up....Walker Hayes! Hey, I wasn't far off the mark!) was singing about how his girl can "wear the pants" in the relationship. In the video, we see her apparently scolding him for something, or everything. He ends up in a park singing his pitiful song, and she drives up to pick him up, and nags him about whether he made any money today.

Really? Is this his mommy or his girlfriend? But he seems perfectly happy with the arrangement (poor little sissy), so who am I to judge?

Another video, by some boy/girl group (or should I say girl/boy?) was a poorly-made ripoff of Grease. I don't know what it was about, frankly, but they were in a bowling alley, and each had their "posse" with them. I don't know; I'm so confused.

Then I saw something where Reba McEntire (Eek! Plastic surgery gone awry!) was a Dear Abby-type character, and the fighting couple ended up at her house for...tea or something. I turned the sound off at some point.

Thus ended my experiment.

I am so out of touch. Have I been asleep for the past twenty years?

When I last left country music; scratch that; when I last ENJOYED country music, it was great. I've loved country music my whole life. I don't recognize THIS STUFF. What the hell is it? Seriously. Can people actually perform these songs with any modicum of self-respect?

I'm not saying you have to be in love with Hank Williams or Ray Price or, you know, Webb Pierce or Hank Snow or Kitty Wells. Heck, even I don't like all those people.

I'm not talking 60 years ago; I'm talking about music in the not-that-distant past.

Stuff like this:



Or this:

Crazy Over You @ Yahoo! Video

Okay, this is from 2005, so c'mon; it's not old!



Frankly, I could throw any Dwight Yoakam video on here, and be done. But I don't want to short-change others.

Can't find any recent Marty Stuart videos, but trust me, he's doing GREAT work. It's just that his label didn't support him, so he can't make videos nowadays. Bastards. But I still like this one:


Hey, how about this?



Not to leave the ladies out. When Paulette Carlson was still with Highway 101, they were great. Here's one to prove that:



What can one say about Mark Chesnutt? He's cool, ultimately cool. What a voice. Too damn bad the record labels don't get that.



Pick any song by George Strait. Yea, pick any one.



I could go on and on. But I won't. If you wanna know what country music used to be, well, here you go.

Now it's all about gym lockers and men wearing aprons.

But have at it, kids. If that's what you like. I still have all my CD's, so I'm good. And yea, I do have ALL these CD's.

Hey, I'd still be buying music if y'all hadn't ruined it. But y'all do whatever your business model calls for.

Time marches on.

Yet, I leave you with this:



Makes me remember when I used to love music.

Essential Country Albums

I find ideas in the strangest places. I went to Amazon, with the sole purpose of leaving a book review, and then I thought, oh, why bother? I thought, what if the author reads it, and her feelings are hurt? What's the point?

Anyway, the page I was on had some discussions about country music, and you know how I like a good country music discussion. One of the questions was:

"What are the first 10 CD's that are a 'must own' for anyone just starting a country music collection?"

The author went on to say that some of the artists he likes are Merle Haggard, Hank Williams, and Waylon Jennings (a pertinent point to include, since country music to me could mean something completely different to someone else).

So, I started thinking about my favorite country music albums.

The problem with country albums, as opposed to rock, is that back in the day, albums were basically a means of promoting the hit single, and the rest of the tracks were afterthoughts (a lot of filler; usually a bunch of cover songs). Sadly.

So, overall, a new country listener would be well advised to go for the "greatest hits" packages.

As time went on, and country was dragged kicking and screaming into the 20th century, some of that began to change, happily.

Thence (thence?) I started to browse through my music collection, and surprisingly, I realized that ten albums is very limiting.

I've got way more than ten that fit the parameters of the author's question. But I'll stop with ten this time, and maybe do a Part Two later.

So, in no particular order, because I'm really too lazy to try to rank them, here's Part One:

The Carnegie Hall Concert - Buck Owens & The Buckaroos

Recorded live, back in the sixties, this album has the joy and the excitement that only a live recording can convey.

You'll hear the best versions of some of Buck's greatest hits, particularly because Don Rich is singing harmony, whereas, in the studio recordings, Buck tended to sing harmony with himself much of the time, and Don Rich adds a real vibrancy to the songs.

You'll get little snippets (medleys) of some of Buck's perhaps lesser-known songs, which will make you want to get the original recordings, just to hear these songs in their entirety. Songs such as, "Don't Let Her Know" and "Excuse Me (I Think I've Got a Heartache)".

Plus, you'll hear a kick-ass version of "Buckaroo".

Love In The Hot Afternoon - Gene Watson

This is the album that introduced us to the voice that is Gene Watson.

While it doesn't include "Farewell Party" (download this as an mp3), this is an album I listened to over and over when it was released in 1975.

I thought, hey, this new guy has quite a voice! And "Love In The Hot Afternoon" is (now) a classic country song. Back then, it was just....new and great.

A couple of my other favorite tracks from this album are, "For The First Time", "This Is My Year For Mexico", and "Where Love Begins".

Country Music - Marty Stuart

Released in 2003, this, to me, is Marty's greatest album. Many prefer "The Pilgrim", but for those who remember real country (see Buck Owens, above), this album is hard to beat.

Marty is a real country music historian, and songs such as, "Sundown In Nashville" remind us of songs we may never have heard, or like me, just plain forgot about.

Stellar tracks include, "Fool For Love", "Here I Am", the silly/endearing "By George", and, of course, "Farmer's Blues", with Merle Haggard. Not to mention, "A Satisfied Mind".

Trust me on this one. You won't go wrong buying this CD. And that mandolin will kill you.

Diamonds and Dirt - Rodney Crowell

This album got robbed of the CMA Album of the Year award in 1988, but what can I say, except this is a joyous album!

I played it over and over......and over and over.

From the opening track, "Crazy Baby", to the modern country classic, "I Couldn't Leave You If I Tried", to Wynn Stewart's "Above and Beyond", to the goofy "She's Crazy For Leavin'", to "It's Such a Small World", with Rosanne Cash, it's essentially good song, good song, good song. No filler here!


Elite Hotel - Emmylou Harris

Another album from 1975. 1975 must have been a pretty good year!

This was my first consciousness of Emmylou Harris. And she was in rare form here. From "'Til I Gain Control Again", written by bandmate Rodney Crowell (see above), to the classics, "Together Again" and "Sweet Dreams", to the jaunty opening track, "Amarillo", to the last track, "Wheels", written by Emmy's mentor Gram Parsons, along with Chris Hillman, this is a classic from start to finish.

This album established Emmylou as the standard bearer of true country music, so it's a no-brainer, really.

Emmy's signature album.

Savin' The Honky Tonk - Mark Chesnutt

A 2004 release that said, hey country music, remember me? Remember country music? In case you forgot, this is what country music sounds like.

Oh, just some steel guitar, some fiddles. Some two-steppin' music. Somebody who's been sadly overlooked, but who, in years to come, will be regarded as somebody who "saved" country music for those who needed savin'.

From the opening track, "Somebody Save The Honky Tonk", to Kevin Fowler's "The Lord Loves The Drinkin' Man" (Kevin did a great recording of his song, but it took Mark to get it to mainstream radio).

Let me just say, "The Lord Loves The Drinkin' Man" is the quintessential country song. I think I heard it a grand total of ONE time on terrestrial radio, in between tracks by Tim McGruff, the crime dog, and Faith Hope Charity, his crime-fighting sidekick.

Lucky for me that I caught this song the ONE TIME it was played, or I never would have found this delicious album.

Easy Come, Easy Go - George Strait
Let me just say, I own ALL of George Strait's albums, so it was hard to pick a favorite. But this release from 1993 has all the elements I look for in a good COUNTRY release.

Number one, it's got not one, but two, songs written by the genius, Jim Lauderdale ~ "Stay Out Of My Arms" and "I Wasn't Fooling Around".

Plus, it's got the old Wayne Kemp (originally recorded by Faron Young) song, "That's Where My Baby Feels At Home".

And, for good measure, it's got a rousing rendition of the George Jones chestnut, "Love Bug".

I like this one because it's one of the most "country" of the country albums that George ever released.

I give it a 95. It's got a good beat; I can dance to it (for you American Bandstand fans).

Highway 101: Greatest Hits

If, for some unknown reason, you are not familiar with Highway 101, then it's time to GET familiar with them!

Where do I begin? With "Somewhere Tonight", written by Rodney Crowell (see above)? With "Whiskey, If You Were A Woman"? With "Cry Cry Cry"? With "Honky Tonk Heart"?

Roll the dice. You can't come up a loser with any of these choices.

Paulette Carlson is the "Stevie Nicks" of country music, with the added benefit that she's COUNTRY. I'll always be a Paulette Carlson fan. Throw in Cactus Moser, Curtis Stone, and Blackjack Daniels, and you've got a combination that can't be equaled in today's market ~ and I'll match Paulette up against Jennifer Nettles any day.

This Time - Dwight Yoakam

Much like George Strait, I own ALL of Dwight Yoakam's albums. Thus, it was difficult to choose the essential Dwight.

I chose this one simply for the fact that it includes two of Dwight's best songs EVER: "Ain't That Lonely Yet" and "A Thousand Miles From Nowhere".

Not to mention the never-to-be-ignored, "Fast As You".

You can pretty much choose any Dwight CD. You can't go wrong with any of them. This one just happens to be one of my favorites.

More Great Dirt: The Best of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band Volume 2

Yes, they did Springsteen's"Cadillac Ranch". But they also did "I've Been Lookin'" by the Dirt's own Jeff Hanna, and "Workin' Man (Nowhere To Go)", and another Hanna song, "Down That Road Tonight". Not to mention, of course, the ubiquitous "Fishin' In The Dark", a song that, let me just say, is impossible to dance to.

Chockfull of hits and timeless songs, the Dirt round out my Part One list of essential country albums.


Did I forget anyone? Of course I did.

That's why there's gotta be a Part Two.

~~~

Blast From The Past - Top Country Songs - Part Quatro

Another installment in a continuing series........top country hits of a certain year (a certain year when the music was still good).

This time........1991.

The top song of 1991 was "Don't Rock The Jukebox" by Alan Jackson:



Other number one hits from 1991 were:

Unanswered Prayers by Garth Brooks - Garth apparently doesn't allow any of his videos to be posted on YouTube. Must be only available at WalMart or something.

Brother Jukebox - Mark Chesnutt (Mark's first number one) - Sorry, video is unavailable, so here's a different Mark Chesnutt song (well, you gotta improvise sometimes. I like this song better anyway.)





Walk On Faith by Mike Reid



I'd Love You All Over Again - another number one from Alan Jackson (I included this song on a mix tape for my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. This was also Alan's first number one song.) - 1,470 videos on YouTube for Alan Jackson, and this song is not among them. I guess we'll have to hum it to ourselves (it's in waltz time - and a one, two, three, one, two three.)



Two Of A Kind, Workin' On A Full House - another Garth Brooks selection (well, obviously, this video isn't available, either.)

If I Know Me - George Strait (sorry, this one is a no-go also.)

Meet In The Middle - Diamond Rio (their debut single. Diamond Rio was the first country group to have their debut song go to number one on the charts) - This video IS available on YouTube, but not for embedding. Apparently, record companies do not like free publicity for their artists. So, here is another Diamond Rio song, albeit from 1997:



The Thunder Rolls - Garth Brooks again (never mind)

She's In Love With The Boy - Trisha Yearwood (her first #1) - also unavailable. Like husband, like wife.

You Know Me Better Than That - again, George Strait (sorry, Strait fans)

Brand New Man - Brooks & Dunn (their first #1 hit) - here's a very headache-inducing live performance (I mean visually, not audially.)



Anymore - Travis Tritt


Someday - again, Alan Jackson



Shameless - Garth again (no loss)

My Next Broken Heart - Brooks & Dunn (their record company is awfully possessive, too)

So, to sum up 1991, it was the year of Alan Jackson, Garth Brooks, Brooks & Dunn, Diamond Rio, and, of course, George Strait.