Retro Movie Review - I Walk The Line

The Peacock app doesn't offer a lot of selections. I've watched the entire eleven-season run of Modern Family, rewatched all episodes of The Office, rewatched Downton Abbey, and even labored through Everybody Loves Raymond's full nine seasons. So now, unless I want to view corny seventies sitcoms, I'm left to pick through Peacock's paltry movie options.

Which brings me to I Walk The Line. I saw it before, but didn't pay much attention to it, other than to critique Joaquin Phoenix's musical portrayal. I am now watching it again, and about halfway through I've reached the conclusion that I really don't like this Johnny Cash.

I know that biopics are not real life. Mooney Lynn looked nothing like the young Tommy Lee Jones. I also know that Johnny and June's son John Carter Cash was an executive producer of the film, but it seems that he advocated for a false narrative of his parents' long relationship. For example, much as the movie strives to portray Johnny's first wife Vivian as an unsupportive spouse, resentful of his burgeoning career, I found her character to be one of the few sympathetic portrayals in the film. 

And much as Reese Witherspoon's June is an absolute angel, the truth is it was she who pursued a married Johnny, not the other way around. Again, however, John Carter certainly didn't want to besmirch his mother's memory.

Aside from glaring chronological errors (I'm not even a Cash fan, but even I know when certain songs were recorded), the portrayal of Jerry Lee Lewis is...odd. No one can seem to capture the real Jerry Lee; not even Dennis Quaid, who embodied a spastic, endlessly mugging Lewis in Great Balls Of Fire. Someday maybe a decent film will be made about this seminal artist. Carl Perkins, at least, is represented as the reportedly decent man he actually was, albeit one who has a fondness for blowing things up. And the film seemingly just pulled some dark-haired stranger off the street to play Elvis, who possessed zero charisma (in the film) and was a pale pretender next to the great J.R. Cash.

If the real Johnny Cash was as much of a jerk as the movie depicts him, those hipsters who cite him as their favorite "country artist" might want to rethink their heroes.

As fiction, I do give the movie a B minus. The lead actors do a good job in what amounts to a country music soap opera. But again, I don't have a lot of movie choices.

2021 Country Music Hall Of Fame Inductees ~ Part Three

 

Watch this:

And this:

No, Don Rich wasn't inducted into the Country Music Hall Of Fame in the Non-Performer, Songwriter, and Recording and/or Touring Musician category (again). That anti-Bakersfield bias lives strong within the mysterious HOF voters. But is there any other sideman more famous than Don Rich? (answer: no) But of course, Don Rich died in 1974, so those mysterious voters no doubt assume that everyone's forgotten him.

So, we have a tie this year: Pete Drake and Eddie Bayers. Funny how the HOF can sometimes induct more than just a single artist.

Before Lloyd Green came along, Pete Drake was the most famous studio steel guitar player in country music. He played on hits such as Rose Garden, Behind Closed Doors, and Stand By Your Man, among innumerable other tracks, hits and non-hits. His fingers must have gotten awfully sore. 

Drake passed away in 1988, which means Jerry Lee Lewis only has about thirty-three years (at age one hundred and eighteen) until, he, too, gets honored.

I almost didn't include Pete Drake's more creepy side, but any summation of his career would be incomplete without his infamous "talk box". Of course I was a kid when I first heard this on the radio, and it was the stuff of nightmares. Nice little novelty, though, I guess. 

Regardless, Pete Drake deserves his due.

Eddie Bayers, on the other hand, has no creepy proclivities that I'm aware of. Eddie has played on tracks by artists ranging from Tanya Tucker to Reba to Garth to George Strait. He also was a member of the Notorious Cherry Bombs, and played on tracks such as this:

On the plus side, at least Eddie is still alive to enjoy the honor.

Studio musicians, like Hargus (Pig) Robbins (2012) and Lloyd Green (not yet!) absolutely deserve any accolade bestowed upon them. So many of the tracks we love and cherish wouldn't be the tracks we love and cherish without these musicians' contributions. 

Still mad about Don Rich, though.

2021 Country Music Hall Of Fame Inductees ~ Part Two

 

In order to be eligible for the Country Music Hall Of Fame's veteran's category, an artist must have reached national prominence at least forty years prior.

That list of performers thus include artists such as Tanya Tucker, Lynn Anderson, JERRY LEE LEWIS, among others.

So, what did the mysterious HOF members do? They inducted R&B star Ray Charles.

Ray Charles recorded one ostensibly country album in 1962, Modern Sounds In Country And Western Music (first clue that someone is not country: call it country and western).

I was seven years old in 1962 and I do remember hearing a couple of the tracks from the album on the radio:

Even at seven I knew this wasn't country. The second track is how country would sound if Andy Williams tried to sing country (Andy would, no doubt, add the "and western" to his track label). The first track is fine as an R&B version of Don Gibson's country song.

So eighty-five-year-old Jerry Lee Lewis, who devoted years and years to actual country music, can smile down from heaven when he is finally inducted into the hall of fame. Maybe Faron Young who, too, only got inducted after he died, can join him in his celebration.

Ray Charles was a great artist. He just wasn't a country artist. So why was he inducted into the HOF, bypassing actual deserving country stars? 

The Hall Of Fame needs to widen its induction process. Why only one artist in each of the three categories per year? Come on. If they're going to be politically correct, fine, I guess. But how about three in each category? Even then they wouldn't be able to keep up.

Yes, Jerry Lee Lewis deserved this. He absolutely deserved this. 

I've pretty much washed my hands of this "organization".

2021 Country Music Hall Of Fame Inductees - Part 1

 

 

I admit, I was a year off. That's not bad, though. I had no hope nor expectation that Marty Stuart would be inducted in the Modern Era category in 2020. I simply felt it was The Judds' time.

I readily admit I completely missed The Judds' rise. I'd abandoned country music for about a decade, which was completely country music's fault; not mine. And nineteen eighties pop was really, really good; I don't care who wants to argue the point -- while country music was putrid. Sure, I missed country's renaissance, but how was I to know country that would suddenly heal itself? I'd chalked it up as a lost cause, after too many Sylvia and Billy Crash Craddock singles. 

I sure didn't know about this:

Or this:

Or this:

In fact, I missed the best of The Judds. I did keep up with them via People Magazine, though. Constant drama is a catalyst for bad, and The Judds were nothing if not drama. I scrolled through the articles about Wynonna's marriages and Naomi's and Wynonna's squabbles. They became tabloid fodder and diminished the talent that they were. But living in the spotlight probably changes a person; makes them keen to their public image. 

By the time I learned to appreciate The Judds they were almost over. Their hit-making days didn't last long, basically from 1984 to 1991, but they did score fourteen number ones in only eight years.

A few of their better recordings:

To be eligible for the modern era category, at least twenty but not more than forty years, must have passed since the artist reached national prominence. What this means is that The Judds beat out the obviously most deserving candidate, Dwight Yoakam. The Country Music Hall Of Fame and Nashville in general has long had a bias against Bakersfield artists (Merle Haggard simply could not be ignored), so it will be interesting to witness the HOF twists themselves into knots in the future to NOT induct Dwight.

I rarely agree with the Hall Of Fame choices, but I don't begrudge The Judds. They simply could no longer be ignored by whoever the mysterious HOF voters are. I will say, however, that three superior recordings do not necessarily elevate an artist to hall of fame status. But no one can deny that they left their imprint on country music.

Spotify Beats SiriusXM All To Hell

 

Well, I made the switch. 

It wasn't easy. Sirius is dedicated to making sure one NEVER cancels their subscription. For those who are wondering, use the chat option and just keep telling the chat bot that you can't afford to continue. It's a hard argument for their reps to counter. "I'm sorry. I'd really like to continue, but I'm pooo-ooo-rrrr." I actually am poor, so that wasn't a fabrication. I can afford one music subscription, and Sirius just wasn't doing it for me. 

I'm not sure, but I'm suspicious that they have some kind of financial arrangement with Juice Newton's management, because "The Sweetest Thing" and "Angel Of The Morning" kept popping up on every country channel I clicked on (and, come on, Angel Of The Morning isn't even a Juice Newton original.) That, and Crystal Gayle. I like some Crystal Gayle songs, but not over and over and over. SiriusXM never swaps out their songs. They take their subscribers for granted. The best channel on Sirius is Willie's Roadhouse, and even then, they like to feature an obscure Kitty Wells single that I couldn't abide. It takes a lot for me to listen to Kitty Wells in the first place. I'm not eighty. Dwight's channel doesn't feature enough Dwight, and besides, I own all his albums, so there's no added value there. 

What do I like about Spotify?

Simply this: 

I can create my own playlists, so I can listen to the songs I actually want to hear. And there's not one Juice Newton track among them. Seriously, what's with Sirius's infatuation with Juice Newton?

I actually emailed SiriusXM once and volunteered to give them some music recommendations. Of course, they ignored me, but it made me feel better. 

What bugs me about Spotify?

Sometimes the only versions available are remakes. I DON'T LIKE REMAKES. I like recordings to be the way I remember them. I realize this isn't Spotify's fault -- they have to go with what's provided to them. Still don't like it.

I also don't like that Mel Tillis's singles aren't available. Maybe Pam could rectify that; I don't know. 

But overall, I could spend interminable days creating playlists. And love it. I like categorizing things and I like that nobody can stop me from doing it.

It took me way too long to switch on the light bulb. Often we simply stick with what's familiar, even though it sometimes shreds our nerves. If it wasn't for my podcast notion, I wouldn't have even given Spotify a second look. 

Now I'm so busy creating playlists, my podcast idea has taken a back seat.

 

 

About Those Disappearing Music Videos...

 

 

I rarely go back and re-read my old blog posts. What's the point, really? I was there when they were written. Today, however, I wanted to recall something I'd blogged about, so I started scanning my posts. Since this blog is primarily about music, I include tons of YouTube videos. Well, looky here -- a bunch of the videos I posted no longer exist!

It's impossible for me to re-add videos to hundreds of past posts. I tried for a while, but the task became too unmanageable. So if you come across something I've posted and you think, wow, this person is a complete moron, well....at least with regard to non-existent music videos, they really did exist when I posted them.

So, feel free to hum a tune to replace the bare spots.

2020 Country Music Hall Of Fame Inductees -- Part 3

 

Dean Dillon has been derided as "George Strait's songwriter", but that's too silly to even entertain. Had George passed on a song, someone else wouldn't have recorded it? I, too, if I had George Strait's ear, would pitch my songs to him first. Who wouldn't? That doesn't make Dean Dillon any less a stellar songwriter. It does mean that George has superb taste.

Frankly, if Dean Dillon never wrote another song, he could celebrate a life well-lived based on this alone:

 

A great song is judged by the number of people who fall in love with it. A great songwriter is an ethereal being. I've written songs and one, maybe two, dropped from heaven. Okay, one. Songwriting is one part skill and three parts transcendent intervention. Lennon and McCartney were both extraordinary songwriters. In country, Hank Williams was a savant; Merle Haggard a master; Harlan Howard hit the sweet spot; Willie Nelson shredded hearts. Roger Miller possessed an alien genius. Kristofferson spoke words mere beings could not conjure.

Dillon's songs have been recorded by such disparate artists as Hank Williams, Jr., Kenny Chesney, Vince Gill, Toby Keith, Alabama, George Jones, and Pam Tillis, to name a few (and that is a disparate list!) But frankly, the best ones were recorded by George, and again, why not?

This is a well-deserved honor and a long time coming.

Lead on...

 

2020 Country Music Hall Of Fame Inductees - Part 2

 

I have few quibbles about Hank Williams, Jr. being inducted into the Country Music Hall Of Fame, other than there are better and more successful artists who could have claimed that spot.

I am not a Hank Jr. fan, but then I'm not a fan of southern rock. I never "got" the Allman Brothers or any jam band, southern or not. Musical taste is personal and inexplicable. Hank has rabid, rabid fans who have been praying for his induction for decades, so good for him and for them.

There was a time, prior to his transformation, when he was still singing country music, that I rather liked him. He has never had a strong singing voice, more of a shout, but he recorded some very decent country tracks. Once he abandoned traditional country music, he did score three or four number one hits, which are the ones most non-country fans know: All My Rowdy Friends Are Comin' Over Tonight (or the Monday Night Football theme), Born To Boogie, possibly All My Rowdy Friends (Have Settled Down). 

He did record a track I liked:

Don't get me wrong; I don't hate every Hank Jr. recording:

For those who are curious, Hank was an entirely different performer prior to his mountain climbing accident. Maybe that's why he always refers to himself in third person.

In his acceptance speech, Hank said, “Bocephus has been eyeing this one for awhile." It's like that Seinfeld episode in which Jimmy keeps calling himself Jimmy and all the characters think he's talking about a different guy. Elaine even agrees to go on a date with "Jimmy". I don't care for the affectation; maybe it's a way for Hank to keep himself at arms-length from his fans.

Maybe I'm wrong about Hank's success. My country music site of choice states he's had: 70 millions records sold, 5 total wins for Entertainer of the Year from the CMA and ACM Awards, 6 platinum records and 20 gold ones, 13 #1 albums, and 10 #1 singles. That's not what Wikipedia shows, but again I'm not going to quibble. 

I've attended many, many country concerts in my life. I've only walked out on one. It was the seventies and very few fans were aware that Hank, Jr. was now a "new" artist. None of his southern rock ditties were blasting out of the radio speakers yet. It was a shock -- the vast majority of the audience came to see the Hank we knew, and instead we were presented with a motley collection of Skynryd wanna-be's. Many of us left. In my defense, it was kind of false advertising. But I got used to the new Hank after a while. I may have even purchased the "Born To Boogie" single; can't remember.

So, congrats to Bocephus. I've got my fingers crossed for Gene Watson for future honors, but I'm not holding my breath. I'll settle for Tanya Tucker, though.

2020 Country Music Hall Of Fame Inductees

 

In a curious lack of enthusiasm, The Country Music Hall of Fame today announced its 2020 inductees via a press release. The HOF might think that with the pandemic consuming everyone's thoughts, no one would care. Quite the opposite. Good news is coveted now more than ever. 

Regardless, I am here to celebrate the newcomers. The HOF has three categories of inductees: veteran era, modern era, and non-performing. One can peruse my past posts to learn how very wrong I was to predict that The Judds would be inducted this year. I am happy to report that in the modern category -- ta da! -- Marty Stuart takes the honors.

I was first introduced to Marty Stuart via CMT. I was fascinated by Hillbilly Rock -- his laconic pointy-booted performance in the video seemed to convey "this is a dumb idea, but I'll play along."

But honestly, I liked the pointy-boot thing.

Marty may not have been the world's greatest country singer, but he had "something". In the eighties I followed along happily when he teamed up with Travis Tritt:

Marty's albums were so-so. I bought the first three or four, but found them a mixed bag. It seemed Marty had little focus. As it turned out, he wasn't doing what he wanted. This was proven out by the release of his masterpiece "The Pilgrim" in 1999. I'd kind of forgotten about Marty -- he went three years without releasing an album, and I don't know that I even noticed he wasn't being played on the radio. Concept albums can be hit or miss, and they've been rare in country. Merle Haggard's "Let Me Tell You About A Song", released in 1972, was more of an autobiographical journey than one cohesive construct. "Wanted: The Outlaws" was not a concept album, contrary to the fable. It was cobbled together by producer Jerry Bradley from disparate tracks by Jennings, Nelson, and Tompall Glaser; throwing Jessi Colter in for good measure.

"The Pilgrim" was a true concept; an actual story recounted in song. Marty called on friends like Cash, Jones, Emmylou, and Ralph Stanley to lend their voices, but truly the best tracks are Marty's. "Hobo's Prayer", "Sometimes The Pleasure's Worth The Pain", "Red Red Wine And Cheatin' Songs", among others are standouts. (My personal favorite is the short mandolin reprise of "The Greatest Love Of All Time". Just beautiful.)

 

Naturally, the album flopped. No radio singles! the suits cried. I truly would have been unaware of The Pilgrim had my husband, who is not a country fan, not brought it to my attention. He was trying to find any country music he could actually like, and he liked Marty. It was in late '99 when we saw Marty in concert for the first time in a small theater venue. I was still reminiscing about his eighties singles, but the songs from The Pilgrim were growing on me. 1999 was when Marty Stuart found his true calling. His next album release was "Country Music", one of my all-time favorite records. Again, none of the songs charted, but there was a mostly silent fan base who gobbled up everything Marty released.

 

The prevailing theory is that Stuart was inducted into the HOF due to his preservation of country music history, as if he's just a memorabilia collector. (He also featured legendary artists on his series, The Marty Stuart Show, although I never found a station that carried it. Thank goodness for YouTube.) Ken Burns' sometimes misguided country music documentary was significantly enhanced by Marty's contributions.

Yes, Marty is preserving the history, and thank God, but he deserves his due as a great songwriter and a superlative musician. Speaking of superlative, our second Marty concert was again in a small venue (the only way to see an artist) and by then he had formed his Fabulous Superlatives. I am not proficient enough to find the correct adjective to describe this band. Superlative fits nicely.

Frankly, Marty could also have qualified in the veterans category based on this:

In searching YouTube videos, I stumbled across this tribute to Marty Robbins. Please bear with the long intro; it'll be worth it:

Needless to say, I have tons of respect for Marty Stuart and I am thrilled that he is a 2020 Hall Of Fame inductee.

Stay tuned for posts dedicated to the remaining inductees.

Record Collections

Ever know someone who's a collector? These are guys (and trust me, they're always guys) who relish the hunt, not the plunder. Of their approximately 978 record albums, they probably play five, tops.

That's how it is with collections. I'm guilty. I've collected thousands of individual tracks and full CD's through the years, but I mostly surf over to SiriusXM to be surprised. I recently retrieved my personal PC after months of working on a loaned company computer (thanks, COVID), and today I decided to remind myself of all the tracks I'd ripped.

After hours of deleting duplicates (one of the joys of retirement is infinite time), I decided to bestow stars upon the songs I like best...today. The dilemma is choosing between three and four stars. "I really like this track, but does it deserve a superior ranking?"

Five stars can be intimidating as well. Do I go with songs that are classic or just honor my gut and choose the ones I love? I went with love.

The interesting outcome of this experiment is the number of really mediocre tracks I ripped. I think I just wanted to own them. In case. In case a nuclear incident transpired and all I was left with (remarkably) was my personal computer. In the ragged aftermath I might have a hankering to hear Barbara Fairchild.

I own hundreds of physical CD's, but if I ever chose to pop one into my disc drive, I would need to be suffering from one-song withdrawals.

Instead I rely on my uploads.

My Windows Media Player is a really fun app -- it no longer allows me to rip CD's, so if I don't have something on my computer I really really need, I am forced to purchase it from Amazon, even though it's here, sitting on my shelf. Microsoft rocks. Today, in fact, I purchased "Dreaming My Dreams" by Waylon. I have no cognizance of why I never ripped it when my WMP worked, but clearly I did not. However, it was vital that I added it to my collection, because it is a five-star single.

The results of my star ratings? Well, there are approximately three Beatle tracks that merit five stars, although not the ones anyone but me would pick. Elton, too, represents. California Girls shows up as first on the list. Otherwise, I'm stone country.  George Strait has at least three; Gene Watson is a treasure. Then it's an eclectic mix, demonstrating my superior musical taste. Jerry Lee, Gordon Lightfoot, Johnny Bush, Highway 101, Mark Chesnutt, Marty Robbins, Ray Price. Roy Orbison.

Face it, it doesn't get much better than this:




I'm feeling good that I chose wisely.

Part 3 ~ Fake Outrage

Eeek!

In Part 3 of my "new country" screed, let's discuss fake outrage and grasping for relevancy.

Part 1 was an excruciating listen and on-the-spot review of July's top ten tracks.

Part 2 discussed the sad cookie cutter state of today's music.

This installment returns me to artists I'm at least a bit familiar with, albeit they've changed, by God! Just watch! They're woke!

The Dixie Chicks are back after a fourteen year recording drought. There was a time, okay a really brief time, when the group formerly known as The Dixie Chicks were hot. That time was 1998 to 1999 and comprised two albums, Wide Open Spaces and Fly. They also released Home in 2002, but the album produced no hits, nor did Taking The Long Way, which dropped in 2006.

Thus, two hit LP's.

2006 was approximately the time that Natalie Maines shot off her mouth about the president, which is neither here nor there (and seems quaint in retrospect). The group milked the ensuing publicity, but the fact was, by that time they were already living off seven-year-old hits and no one really cared.

Fourteen years later, the Dixie Chicks are back with a shortened name; and no offense, but they're really no longer "chicks". The word Dixie obviously is now forbidden. Always adept at garnering press, they've been bestowed with a glowing New York Times article. And they're still nursing grievances, new and ancient.

Let's face it; other artists from their era aren't getting written up in The Times. I haven't caught a feature about Diamond Rio or Lee Ann Womack. No, The Dixie Chicks are news because they're "sassy". Or at least Natalie is. We don't really hear much from Martie and Emily.

Natalie is what we benevolently call a drama queen. It seems she's recently divorced and has some scores to settle. And this is what the single "Gaslighter" is apparently about. I surfed on over to YouTube to check out the track. It's not terrible. Not great, but it doesn't reek, either. The harmonies by the unspoken other members of the group help...a lot.



Unfortunately, what stands out for me is Natalie's severe butch haircut. I'm sure that's another statement, but all it states for me is Angela Kinsey from The Office. And here's a clue, New York Times and Dixie Chicks: women have other emotions beside "defiant". It must be draining to live one's life in a perpetual state of fury.


In other "woke" news, Lady Antebellum has changed their name to "Lady A". Firstly, I don't know how the two guys in the band feel about being referred to as ladies, but I guess they must be okay with it after all these years. Second, they might have wanted to conduct a Google search to find out if anyone else was using the moniker "Lady A". Sure enough there was, and she wants ten million dollars in compensation (a Google search, by the way, costs zero dollars). Now the band Lady Antebellum A is suing the original Lady A (Anita White, who, by the way, is African-American) because the band trademarked the name in 2011 but never used it. Good job, woke musicians! You've endeared yourselves to countless downtrodden minorities!

All I know about Lady Antebellum A is that their biggest, and basically only,  hit was a rip-off of an Alan Parsons Project single, Eye In The Sky.







At least Lady Antebellum A ripped off a white artist that time.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave....

So, essentially Lady Antebellum A are neither ladies nor original. And they hate African-Americans. Great job! Now if Hillary Scott dons a severe hairdo, she'll have completed the trifecta.

Thanks for your wokeness, ladies (and token males).

I prefer not to thrust my finger to the winds.

Part 2 ~ Generic Country

My recent dive into Today's Country Hits was at once enlightening and depressing. Discounting the revelation that the songs are bad (bad!), the singers are utterly forgetful.

Music (and artists) are machine-molded. Some cigar-chomping industrial mogul is getting richer by the day churning out these plastic widgets. "Son, it's not about perpetuity; it's all disposable, boy; and the rubes'll keep coming back for more! Hardy-har-har! (cough)"

Granted, I haven't listened to today's country enough to be able to distinguish one bland artist from another, but even if I did, could I? Two days ago I sampled the current top ten tracks and today I would disgracefully bomb the pop quiz. 

I'm a crafter, which means I follow a pattern; but even I switch things up now and then. I like to put my own stamp on my creations. Today's acts, however, seem content following the dots ~ fake southern twang in just the right places, pickup trucks in verse one; one, count 'em, one fiddle riff heavily enveloped by EDM beats.

These guys are not artists; they're products.

I like listening to Willie's Roadhouse on SiriusXM. I'm not completely on board with all the tracks. Some are even before my ancient times; but I certainly know the artists when I hear them; like 'em or loathe 'em. Few of the singers featured on the channel can be confused with someone else. The instant I hear Tanya, Hank, Faron, Webb, Paycheck, Price, Buck, MERLE, even Jack Greene and Bill Anderson, I know who's singing. And each of them had their individual niche. One can't compare a Haggard song to a Ray Price track.  I can even distinguish a Nashville Sound (Atkins) recording from a Bakersfield production (Nelson).

Singers were who they were and each was his own man (or woman).

The lure of country was discovering a new artist who was different or an intriguing sound. Even in the eighties, individualism reigned: Strait, Travis, Yoakam, The Judds, Black. Today's goal seems to be "sound like everybody else". This is not a prescription for legend status. But maybe that's not the goal. "Who wants to be a legend? I want my money now!"

You want a song you can dance to, even in a roadside honky tonk that you ducked inside to get out of the rain?



Good luck, millennial hipsters. Nobody's ever gonna punch your songs up on the juke box.

Part 1 ~ The Country Codger Samples Today's Hits

 

If you know me, you know that I am completely unfamiliar with today's country music. I have one music website that I scour every week or so for intriguing articles, but I honestly don't know anyone being written about. Thus I don't know if the columns are spot-on or sour grapes. I do know that some of the gushing albums reviews leave me flummoxed.

So, as one swallows nauseating medicine that is nevertheless necessary, I felt it was my duty to sample a bit of today's country music, if for no other reason than to affirm or nullify my preconceived judgments.

Naturally, not having a clue as to what exactly is popular, I searched out the recent country charts and found a top forty list. Starting with number one, I set out to find YouTube videos of the songs.

Here, forthwith, are my unvarnished critiques of the top singles, as I hear them for the first time:

1. One Margarita - Luke Bryan



A mediocre singer with a generic voice. The melody is really difficult to latch onto, perhaps because of the erratic beat. I actually find this song very annoying, but I guess I could see kids dancing to it. (1 out of 10 stars)

2. Hard To Forget - Sam Hunt



What's with the beats on these songs? It started out well with a sample of Webb Pierce's "There Stands The Glass", but degenerated rapidly. Does this Sam Hunt perform onstage with only a drum machine? (2 out of 10 stars, only because it actually has a chorus of sorts, unlike the first song.)

3. Bluebird - Miranda Lambert



She does this thing that all current female artists do -- utters lyrics in short bursts, ostensibly because she can't hold a note for longer than one second. This is an utterly forgettable track. I would never buy it, because listening more than once would make my temples throb. (2 out of 10 stars)

4.  Be A Light - Thomas Rhett and Friends



I guess this is one of those pandering, anthemic "woke" songs. I hate those. The singer is very nasally; the only good singer I know who can pull off "nasal" is Dwight. Lots of la-la-la's in this song. Not hearing the "friends", but I'm sure they're there, low in the mix. I wouldn't care if I never heard this track again. (2 out of 10 stars)

 

5. Die From A Broken Heart - Maddie and Tae



Reminiscent of older tracks by female groups, this duo can sing, although the video only features one of them singing (I'm guessing Maddie because she has first billing). It's good as a soap opera vignette, but doesn't exactly evoke any emotions in me. (5 out of 10 stars, due to actual singing ability)

 

6. I Love My Country - Florida Georgia Line

 

I don't know what to make of this track. It's probably the countriest of the so-called country songs. That doesn't mean it's good. I have a feeling the duo was trying to emulate "Chattahoochee", only with a far inferior product. I've read very negative reviews of this group, but considering the competition (and that's a low bar), they're not the devil's handiwork. (5 out of 10 stars)

 

7. Done - Chris Janson



On the plus side, this track is structured like an actual song. I don't, however, understand the tendency of all these artists to affect an exaggerated southern accent. This song is what we used to refer to as pop, as in "Yacht Rock Radio", only not memorable in any way. (4 out of 10 stars)

 

8. Nobody But You - Blake Shelton with Gwen Stefani



 I don't know what this is. Blake can sing, but this? It's noisy and irritating. (2 out of 10 stars)

 

9. Got What I Got - Jason Aldean



Not a good singer, but he does have a presence. The song would benefit from a decent beat. As for the track itself, sorry; boring (2 out of 10 stars)

 

10. Stick That In Your Country Song - Eric Church



To be honest, I'm exhausted by this point, but I wanted to get through ten tracks. This actually hit the top ten? This might be the worst of all I've heard, and it's hardly country. (.01 of 10 stars)


By accident, I caught part of a video by someone named Luke Combs, and it actually sounded country. This guy could have a future.



Painful as this experiment was, I'm glad I suffered through it. Now I know. My guess is that in ten years or so, somebody will lead the exodus out of pukedom and return country to actual music. Maybe it'll be this Luke Combs guy.

Now when I read Saving Country, I'll be in the know.

But honestly, this was excruciatingly painful.

Why I Am A Country Fan

Like all children of the sixties, I lapped up all the music on top forty radio. I was in love with The Beatles and oh so many other pop acts ~ The Beach Boys, The Righteous Brothers, The Dave Clark Five, to name but a few. Had my parents not uprooted me when I was eleven, I may have continued on my merry pop ways, although music was changing by 1966-1967; becoming less fun and more angry. 

As the new kid in a new town and an excruciatingly shy kid to boot, transitioning to my new life was agonizing. I had no friends and I didn't even know who the best friends to cultivate were. I rode the city bus every school day from home to a worn hotel, then hoofed it the remaining three blocks to my turn-of-the-century schoolhouse. Everything in my new town smelled old. We'd moved in the middle of December, so my panorama was dirty snowbanks.and grey gloom.

Back home I was a cool kid. I was a leader; I could be counted on to play a major role in any and every school pageant . I'd had the same school friends since first or second grade. Here I was nobody. I kept my head down and dreaded walking through my sixth grade classroom door, sure everyone was staring at me. I could only remember three or four classmates' names, though it rarely mattered. At recess. I hugged the brick wall until the bell rang. I tried to scheme a way to move back home, but all my plans had kinks. We'd sold our house. Who would I live with? Would my best friend Cathy's mom let me move in? Would my parents allow it? Of course not. I hated my parents for putting me through this. And they were so nonchalant about it all.

I inhabited a teeny-tiny bedroom that I shared with my little brother and sister ~ they cocooned in the bottom bunk while I claimed the top. The narrow torture chamber had recessed shelves behind a walnut door, and I kept my battery-powered turntable on one of them, along with my paltry collection of 45's. When the little kids were out and about, I played records or listened to AM radio while scribbling my homework. Perhaps the worst part of my new existence was the suffocation. On the farm, I'd inhabited a capacious pink bedroom on the second floor. The breeze wafting through the chiffon curtains was exhilarating. My world was vast. Here five people hunkered, piled atop each other in near-windowless rooms.

It may have been January or February when I exchanged a smirk in Miss Haas' classroom with a girl whose name I didn't know. One of the boys had uttered a ridiculous response to a question. That smirk commenced a six-year best friendship. It's funny how friendships happen. I think you just know. Her name was Alice and she turned out to be a kind, down-to-earth person with a wicked sense of humor.

Suddenly my torturous existence transformed into a new-friend lifeline.

Inevitably our talks turned to music. "I like country music", she said. "I'm in a band with my brother and my uncle."

I wracked my brain for country music references. Country wasn't alien to me ~ it was my parents' music of choice and I'd spent most of fourth grade living one closed door away from a country bar with a country jukebox. I knew who Buck Owens and Ray Price were, and Roger Miller. I'd heard a twangy girl named Loretta on the Wurlitzer. I also knew Bobby Bare.

Turns out a true country fan was required to have a much more in-depth acquaintance with hillbilly. I was ready to take the leap. "Snoopy Versus The Red Baron" wasn't cutting it for me anyway. Frankly, some of the artists my new friend introduced me to were too cheesy, even for me. At twelve I could appreciate George Jones' music, but not venerate him. In Alice's defense, she had to rely on her parents' albums, which were from a bygone era ~ Carl Butler and Pearl, Grandpa Jones, Porter Wagoner. I gleaned as much knowledge as i could from those LP's, and Alice and I discovered a new girl singer together ~ Porter's new duet partner; a tiny bee-hived blonde named Dolly Parton.

I went home and tuned my FM dial to the country station. Alas, it only played deep tracks by Willie Nelson and Glen Campbell. In 1967 I hated them both. This was not the country music I was supposed to be learning!

In short order, Alice and I heard some new singers on AM radio ~ Waylon Jennings, Charley Pride...and Merle Haggard. Once I heard Merle, I was a goner. Suddenly everything fit. All the corny tracks I'd sat through, cross-legged in front of Alice's parents' hi-fi made sense. I was no old-time music girl. I was a soon-to-be teen and my music needed to match my surging hormones.

It took no time at all for me to purchase that twenty-five-dollar red acoustic guitar hanging in Dahmer Music's window. I wanted ~ needed ~ to play along with Merle Haggard songs.

Alice came over every Saturday for a few weeks to teach me how to chord. I learned how to change broken strings and how to tune. Eventually I stopped dropping my pick inside the soundhole and having to turn my guitar upside down and shake it out.  I immediately learned about burning fingers. My thirst for guitar-playing knowledge stretched as far as learning the chords I needed in order to strum along with my favorite hits of the day -- primarily A, E, D, G, C, B flat, and the sevenths.I stumbled into some minor chords -- but country songs didn't use minors.

The first country LP's I bought were:

Yes, I knew Waylon Jennings before he was Waylon Jennings.

Once I adopted country music, I embraced it with my whole heart. The truth is, it wasn't just peer, or best friend, pressure. I am able to go along...for a while...if going along assuages someone else's feelings; but eventually I'm going to alight on what I like and stay there.No, there was something about country that felt comfortable; something that was lacking in sixties pop hits. Soul; truth. A weeping steel guitar riff pierced my gut; twin fiddles made me cry with joy. The thumping bass guitar was a pulsing heartbeat. Even in sadness, country had so much joy...the joy of pouring out one's guts.

I met country at an opportune time. The mid-to-late sixties was rife with promise. Merle, Waylon, Tammy Wynette, Lynn Anderson, Faron Young, Connie Smith, David Houston, even Buck Owens and Ray Price. Had country and I been introduced a mere ten years later, I would have laughed disdainfully and quickly abandoned it. As it was, I became a country snob. I knew what was good and what was pap, and I took great offense at the pap. I resented interlopers. Fifties country artists weren't my cup of tea, but I shared their appall when someone like John Denver came along and started winning country awards. This pipsqueak folk singer? I was so adamant in my principles I refused to acknowledge I actually liked "Let Me Be There" by Olivia Newton-John. Sure, there were country elements to the tune, but a pop singer? Sorry.

My all-time favorite moment from the CMA Awards:



Like many things I've obsessed over in my life, in my teens I became rabid. I stayed up late just to tune into clear channel, real country stations like WHO in Des Moines, with overnight DJ Mike Hoyer, who actually, around 2 a.m., played complete new albums. It was a rare night when WSM in Nashville pierced the static, but sometimes I actually had the opportunity to listen to Ralph Emery, who'd have artists like Marty Robbins perform live in the studio. More often I got to listen to Bill Mack on WBAP in Fort Worth, whose preferences were stone country, a revelation for me.The seminal country disc jockeys were Mike Hoyer, Ralph Emery, and Bill Mack ~ when DJ's actually mattered.

Though Alice and I were essentially conjoined twins, I had my own musical preferences and she had hers. We agreed most of the time. Rarely did one of us fall in love with a song when the other didn't like it. True country has a genetic code that those who share it feel in their bones.

I don't think she was ever crazy for Faron Young, but I was. Some voices resonate, and his did with me. I usually cringe when I watch his live performances ~ Faron was a recording artist foremost; his live shtick was too hammy for me. This one is pretty good, though:



For years and years when someone asked me who my favorite country singer was, the answer was Faron Young. I remember traveling with my family somewhere when I was sixteen. We decamped in a motel and I knew that Faron was going to appear on Hee Haw that night.. My ultimate quest was to get that black and white rabbit-eared TV tuned to CBS in time to watch him.

Flipping through my LP's from those years (alas, some of them have been lost), my tastes ran from lots and lots of Connie Smith and Lynn Anderson, practically every album Merle Haggard released, Faron (of course), The Statlers, reams of Porter and Dolly, Tanya Tucker, Johnny Rodriguez, Mel Street, David Houston, Tammy Wynette, Conway and Loretta, Mel Tillis, Barbara Mandrell. Buck Owens and Susan Raye, Bobby Bare, Johnny Paycheck. Even one-offs like Kenny Price, LaWanda Lindsey, and Tom T. Hall.

By the time Alice and I graduated from high school, along with the predetermined rock songs that blasted out of her car radio, we sang along with:







I wasn't always wedded to the classic country sound, but that's what stirred my soul. 

 

Finding it, however, became more difficult for me as country began to change.

It wasn't as if country went to hell just like that as the seventies rolled around. Some classic acts emerged mid-decade:  Ronnie Milsap, Gary Stewart, The Oak Ridge Boys, Larry Gatlin and the Gatlin Brothers, Eddie Rabbitt,  GENE WATSON. And a girl singer who tipped country on its ass. Her name was Emmylou.

I still purchased mainly singles, and there were some classics scattered here and there: "Rose Colored Glasses" by John Conlee; "Heaven's Just A Sin Away" by The Kendalls; "Party Time" from TG Sheppard; most any Johnny Rodriguez release.

 

The trouble with the seventies was that so much bad country dominated the airwaves. Producers chased the latest fad and created monsters like Sylvia and Billy "Crash" Craddock. 

Ronnie Milsap and Gary Stewart knew what country was about, but their battle was ultimately lost in the record companies' drive to get "acceptable" artists on The Midnight Special.

It hurt my heart to abandon country, but I was driven to it. I'd lost Alice as a friend sometime in the mid-seventies. We mutually, albeit unspokenly realized our life paths had diverged. We simply stopped pretending. I don't know what her life became, but mine morphed into a a hard-fought adult; and most importantly, a mom. Music never lost its sheen for me, but it assumed a lesser importance. I was supremely poor and could only afford an occasional LP. Had it not been for a hand-me-down console stereo, music would have only streamed from a battery-powered radio or my car. 

Thanks to network television, I still knew what was going on in country and it wasn't pretty. Urban Cowboy wasn't even that good of a movie, much less the fad it spawned. It was soon after that Kenny Rogers appeared and dominated country with his Lionel Ritchie-penned tunes. I did not regret my decision to turn away. 

I've recounted this tale before, but it bears repeating. Visiting my parents on a Friday night, I found that instead of their usual Friday fare of JR Ewing, they'd popped in a VCR tape of some white-hatted cowboy singer. "Who's this?" I asked derisively. Mom answered George somebody. I was less than impressed. Granted, this guy had all the right instruments in his band, but I didn't know any of the songs. What George Whoever did, however, was pique my interest in checking out this "new" country. It didn't happen immediately. On a lazy Saturday I stopped in at Musicland and picked up a couple of cassettes. As I ritually circled my house with a dust rag, I listened.

This was the first tape I bought:



This was the second:



I didn't even know why I'd picked these two. I knew nothing about current country. But I played those tapes over and over.

My conversion was gradual. As I waited outside the elementary school for my kids' classes to dismiss, instead of Y93, I took the leap and twirled the dial to the local country station. I knew none of the names of the artists. So I just listened.

There was this one guy with a nasally voice and a kick-ass band ~ I didn't know who he was, but I liked his songs. Some sisters, Forrester, I think the DJ said. And some other family group; Judds maybe? That George guy kept popping up, too. The local station played him a lot.





This new country was like the old country, except the instruments were upfront and the bass thumped louder. And damn, the songs actually said something! I was suddenly hooked. I wasn't giving up my MTV, but I was suddenly home.

I discovered new artists named Randy, Dwight, Steve, Wynonna and Naomi, Clint, Alan, Patty, Rodney, Earl Thomas, Highway 101. My musical existence became a cornucopia of revelations. I chastised myself for giving up so easily. But somehow I knew that had I not surrendered I wouldn't have unearthed this wonder. While I was gorging on Huey Lewis and The News, country had sprouted and bloomed.











And this guy (the one with the nasally voice) stands alone:



As a country fan since the nineteen sixties; as someone who'd simply given up, I was now granted my due. I'd waited the requisite amount of years and my award at last arrived. It was as if I had to give up in order for country to catch a clue. 

And that George guy? I now possess twenty-three of his albums and a boxed set. Mom and Dad were onto something.

As the eighties rolled into the nineties, the delicacies continued to slam the airwaves. Patty, Vince, Joe Diffie, Kathy Mattea, Pam Tillis, Mary Chapin, Marty Stuart, Tracy Lawrence, Diamond Rio, Brooks and Dunn, Travis Tritt, MARK CHESNUTT, Restless Heart. 















Before even the halfway mark, however, country began to slide downhill. The songwriting became less crisp. Established stars were calling it in. I hung on until 1999; then I stopped listening forever, never to return. This time I meant it. 

I don't know what "country" is like now, but from the bits I've heard, it's no longer country. That's okay. I had forty years, with some stops in between. I don't need new music; I've got more old music than I could listen to for the rest of my life. 

(And that's after filtering out the ones I will never again listen to.)

It's a funny thing about music: I've held onto my albums from the sixties, even though I'll probably never play them again, but when I pick one up, I'm holding my history in my hands. Seeing my maiden name scribbled on the back reminds me of the person I was then and the emotions I experienced lo those eons ago. Music is so impersonal now. Even my CD's don't evince the raw emotion that an LP does. 

It's impossible to sum up my life with country. So much of it is tied to where I was, who I was, where I was going.

A glimpse of my musical heart (draw your own conclusions) can be found here:

The two songs I remember hearing for the very first time on the radio and swooning over:






It's been a great run. I'm not sorry for any of it.