Concert Ticket Prices

 

I paid $4.00 to see Merle Haggard, plus opening acts, in 1968 ~ that's $34.40 by 2023 prices. In 1996 my ticket to see George Strait cost $25.00 ($47.75 in 2023 dollars). Four dollars was doable for a thirteen-year-old, and twenty-five dollars was a bargain for forty-ish me.

In 2001 I saw Dwight Yoakam for $43.00 and Gordon Lightfoot in 2007 for $10.00.

Today I read that George Strait tickets for his upcoming mini-tour average around $492.00 for floor seats and about $337.00 for upper deck (binoculars not included).

I love George Strait, but come on! A couple paying $800.00 - $1,000.00 for a concert? In this economy? Not to mention parking (and forget concessions, I guess).

Can you imagine a first date negotiation? 

"Where should we go?"

"Well, I'm a huge fan of King George!"

"Uh, how about a second-run showing of Top Gun at Half-Price Movie Palace? By the way, George doesn't even play that guitar he's holding." 

One has to wonder about the motivations of super stars. Mick Jagger is 79 and he's still touring. Paul McCartney is 80. Google tells me that George Strait's net worth is 300 million dollars. Three hundred million. How much gold does one person need? Let these guys' kids make their own way in life! Unless these artists are planning to be entombed inside a sarcophagus molded out of greenbacks.

George is not coming to my town, so all the corporate CEO's will have to private-jet over to Las Vegas or Tampa to see him. A painful sacrifice, I know. 

I guess one should feel fortunate that Strait is touring at all. If I lived close to a concert venue, I could maybe press my ear up against the stadium wall and at least get an echo of the bass. 

These stars don't owe me a thing ~ except a thank you for helping them become stars in the first place. I bought every CD, I traveled to far-flung locales, rented hotel rooms, bought gas for my car, to support them in their quests to become multi-zillionaires. Yes, the George Strait concert was a highlight of my musical life, but I also had a family to feed. My kids couldn't survive on concert memories. 

I quit attending concerts ten or so years ago. My closest city is dangerous and the drive is nerve-wracking, with high and drunk motorists weaving haphazardly across freeway lanes. And the hype never matches the reality. Add to that the outlay of my entire monthly check? Thanks. It was nice knowin' you.

If these guys truly love making music, maybe they need to re-find the love. Book themselves into smallish towns like they used to. Charge Garth Brooks prices. 

Like I said, I love George Strait.

But I can't get on board with this.

There's a difference 'tween livin' and livin' well.

 

Oh Goodie, A New Scold Weighs In

 

Country music used to be about the human condition, or at least about the things people cared about, or laments for what might have been. Rarely was it aspirational.

There stands the glass

That will ease all my pain

That's what always separated country from pop. Face it, country was rarely happy, because real life isn't always happy. Sometimes it is. I mean, one can let loose on a Saturday night; stomp their heels on a plank dance floor, twirl their partner into their arms to a two-step shuffle, but more often than not, although the music is bouncy, the lyrics are dismal.

Though we both tried, our love still died, and now she's gone from me
Back to the only life she's known 

Back where the music's loud, back to that swinging crowd
That's where my baby feels at home

Country fans recognize life for what it is and still press on through, and a thumping bass guitar and a four-four drum beat sure don't hurt.

Probably the biggest difference between liberals and conservatives is that liberals picture things the way they want them to be, while conservatives see life as it really is. The benefit of viewing the actual picture is that one understands people for what they are ~ messy, laden with childhood traumas that seep into everyday life, yet they've plowed through the pain and created a life that's the best they can muster.

Enter someone named Maren Morris. 

I knew nothing about her music, so I pulled up a couple of YouTube videos. I learned that she really likes to drive and that she has a voice that, while not terrible, doesn't resonate like a Tanya Tucker or a Patty Loveless. She's mediocre, like ninety-nine per cent of today's country artists.

Yet, this Maren girl is nothing if not sanctimonious. She relishes picking fights with the wives of fellow artists, schooling them on how to think, then sobbing self-pityingly into her Twitter feed when everybody in the whole wide world doesn't kowtow to her ideology.

Maren, baby, pay your country dues and then maybe we'll talk.

“I hate feeling like I need to be the hall monitor of treating people like human beings in country music,” she mewled recently in an LA Times interview; all the while spewing epithets like "Insurrection Barbie" at her fellow "human beings". 

Apparently Maren's cause de jour is hacking off the breasts of pre-teen girls and loading them up with testosterone in the name of compassion. If Charlie Rich were alive today, he'd set fire to her manifesto and snort with abandon as it went up in flames.

Shawn Fleetwood of The Federalist captured this dystopian tale better than I ever could, but what I do have to back me up is fifty-plus years of studying country music, understanding it, bathing myself in its baptismal waters.

“I think there are people in country music that want it to be niche.“They don’t want it to expand. They don’t care about it becoming more inclusive. It’s theirs, and everyone else is an other, or woke, or whatever.", Maren said in her interview.

Ding! Ding! Ding! 

Yep, country music is mine, Maren! Keep on drivin' that car until you reach utopia.

Hint: Utopia never comes.

 

Country Concerts

 

The evolution of country concerts is remarkable. I've seen almost every major country act live up to the point at which country ceased being country. I have very few regrets -- acts I didn't get to see. Some of the omissions were my fault; others simply weren't in the cards.

I grew up in a small town, where the most exciting diversion for a thirteen-year-old was bowling a few games at Midway Lanes or taking in whatever Elvis movie was playing at the local theater. (Yes, there was one movie. Multiplexes were yet to be invented.) I'd refashioned myself as a country music fan because my new best friend was a country music fan. In the late sixties we were rather outcasts because of that, but I probably would've been an outcast anyway.

There was one venue in town that presented country concerts, the World War Memorial Building, an ancient cement edifice with a wide staircase of concrete steps leading up to heavy wooden doors. The auditorium may have had one set of bleachers -- I don't remember -- because Alice and I always managed to get front row seats on the floor. We were kids. What else did we have to do but show up two hours early and stake out our positions in that non-reserved seat era? Alice and I attended nearly every concert presented there. It didn't matter if the artist belonged to the timeworn past, like Ernest Tubb or Kitty Wells, or was a legend like Buck Owens and the Buckaroos, or was someone just beginning to make his mark, like Charley Pride. We didn't care. Tickets were cheap and what was the alternative?

If one was to take in a Merle Haggard concert, the ripest time to do so was 1968. Mama Tried was in constant rotation on the radio, and Merle already had a long rope of hits, from I'm A Lonesome Fugitive to Sing Me Back Home. Alice and I were in love with him. We arrived at the venue extra early and snagged our hard metal chairs on the aisle of the first row. We waded through the opening acts, Freddie Hart and some other lost-to-time artist; then Merle strode to center stage. With The Strangers and Bonnie Owens behind him, this impossibly handsome man proceeded to sing just to us. Or so it seemed. I sat crunching peanuts, mesmerized, then realized he was smiling directly at me. I smiled back widely with peanut skins pasted to my molars. After the concert Alice and I went around to all the artists, band members included, and got their scribbles on sheets of paper we'd hastily grabbed before leaving home. 

The WW Memorial Building was where we also saw George Jones bring a blonde singer back to the stage to sing some very electric duets with him. The guy strumming rhythm guitar behind them grimaced and I had no idea I was witnessing a real-life soap opera. I later learned that this new girl, Tammy Wynette, had fallen for George, and that her long-suffering husband strumming behind them had suddenly been relegated to background scenery.

By 1970 my town had built a brand new real concert venue, the Bismarck Civic Center. It was cavernous, with miles of upper tier bleachers and actual padded seats. The first concert I took in there wasn't country. It was the Grass Roots (Was Creed Bratton from The Office part of the group then? Couldn't tell you.) But later, country acts were bused in. I probably saw Alabama three thousand and fifty-two times, give or take, at the Civic Center. Eventually though, this building encapsulated the entirety of my country concert experiences. Name one country artist from the seventies/eighties era and I most likely saw them -- Ronnie Milsap, Gary Stewart, Vince Gill, Alan Jackson, Trisha Yearwood, Reba McEntire when she was still performing at rodeos.

Still, I had to travel a hundred miles to the North Dakota State Fair to see Faron Young, The Oak Ridge Boys, and Highway101.

I even motored to rural county fairs to see the likes of Stonewall Jackson and LaWanda Lindsey.

There arrived a point in the late seventies at which I gave up on country music. It wasn't easy, but it had to be done. It was time to make a clean break. Country had become a parody of itself. Charley Pride was recording versions of pop hits, and acts like Sylvia and Dave and Sugar permeated the airwaves. I tuned my television to MTV and didn't look back.

Then sometime in the mid-eighties my parents talked me into attending a concert with them at the Civic Center by some guy named Randy Travis. I folded my arms across my chest and pouted my way through the first two or three songs. I never admitted it to them, but this Travis guy was actually pretty good. 

My parents also inadvertently introduced me to a fresh-faced singer, another of their latest fads. I happened to stop over at their house one night when they'd already plugged in a VHS tape and were mesmerized by an artist I'd never heard of. His name was George. I sat down on their couch and muttered disdainful remarks, until I finally shut up and actually listened. 

A few years later my ultimate quest peaked at Fargo, North Dakota, where I finally snagged the holy grail -- a concert by The King, George Strait. 

I'd motored all the way to Billings, Montana to seize this once-in-a-lifetime chance, only to learn after checking into my cheap motel room that a sudden snowstorm in Wyoming had stranded George and his crew and that the Billings concert was canceled. There was absolutely nothing to do in Billings, Montana -- literally nothing -- except play video poker on bar-top consoles, stagger back to the motel room, fall into restless sleep, then zoom across the barren landscape the next morning as fast as I could back home, crestfallen. 

It wasn't until a couple of months later that I learned The King would be in Fargo. I'd come this far. This time I would not be refused. It was worth the wait. 

I passed on a chance to see Shania Twain, even though the Civic Center was only a five-block trek from my home. Singles from her first album were popular on the radio, but I still hadn't decided if I liked her or hated her. Too late, I determined I liked her.

I walked out on a Hank Williams, Jr. show, the only time I ever walked out of a concert, except for a three-artist bill with Vince Gill, George Jones, and Conway Twitty. No offense to Conway fans, but I just could never stomach him.

Here and there, hither and thither, I caught other acts. I saw Marty Robbins in Duluth, Minnesota. I also saw Kenny Rogers there with my parents. 

When I was eight years old, I saw Loretta Lynn and her band perform at Panther Hall in Fort Worth, Texas. Panther Hall was a revelation. It was a de facto dining hall with elongated white-clothed tables, and one was required to cart in their own booze. The hall provided mixers but sold no alcohol. I dutifully ordered the steak and a salad with "no dressing", which flummoxed the waiter. (I was eight.) I somehow secured Loretta's autograph, which looked to me like "Buffalo Lynn".

When I was five years old my mom took me to my first country concert at the Grand Forks Armory by the afore-mentioned Marty Robbins. I remember he sang A White Sports Coat, and I remember that my mother nudged me after the show to go up and get Marty's autograph, but I demurred, too shy and self-conscious. 

In 1999 I saw Marty Stuart perform The Pilgrim at the Orpheum Theater, then saw him again at the Medina Ballroom with his band, The Fabulous Superlatives. 

I caught a binoculars-required Brooks and Dunn performance at the Target Center.

I saw Dwight Yoakam two or three times throughout the 2000's (He was worth repeat viewings).

The second best concert I ever saw was at a small venue, a casino. Diamond Rio had long been in constant rotation on my CD changer, but nothing I'd heard on CD compared to their live performance. Unlike Alan Jackson, who radiated an "I don't give a damn" attitude throughout his Civic Center appearance, Diamond Rio was on fire! There's no feeling like sitting in the second row of a tiny theater as Marty Roe and Jimmy Olander and Gene Johnson sang and played just for me.

But the very, very best concert was the one I attended with my mom. It wasn't that I was in love with Garth Brooks. I was a definite agnostic. And I don't even remember how it happened that we found ourselves in the third row of the Civic Center. The concert wasn't memorable for its theatrics, although there were plenty of those. It was the absolute joy on my mother's face. I think the two of us stood for the entire two-hour show. That was the last intimate moment my mom and I spent together and I savored it.

And so it was that my mom took me to my very first concert when I was five and that our musical life came full circle. 

No, I never saw Waylon. I don't think I saw Johnny Cash. If I did, I've forgotten it. I never got to see Mom's favorite singer, Ray Price. I'm pretty sure I caught Porter and Dolly, but my memory bank is somewhat fuzzy. Likewise, Mel Tillis. I wish I could have seen Lynn Anderson and Connie Smith and alas, Jerry Lee Lewis. 

I did see the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band at some kind of trade fair and they were wondrous. 

At thirteen I came this close to witnessing Bobby Bare in person, but a freak snowstorm forced Alice's brother to drive us home early, so I was forced to watch Bobby on a squiggly local TV feed.

Admittedly I've forgotten many of the artists I saw in person, and it's likely they've been forgotten to time as well. I sat through many, many opening acts in forty-odd years of concert-going -- one-hit wonders and no-hit wonders.

I wouldn't undertake the headache and dollars to endure a country concert today. Face it, I've seen the legends. Would a second George Strait show equal the thrill of the first? Not a chance. The quest was part of the reward.

I have the sweet sensation, however, of hearing a certain track on Spotify and remembering the time...

 

Thoughts On Country's "Greatest" Albums

This week Rolling Stone issued its edict coronating the one hundred best country albums of all time. They've done these lists before, but as much as I detest Rolling Stone (which used to be a music magazine) I can't dump on them too much this time around. They either managed to shake some older writers from the mothballs or they actually sat down and listened to a bunch of old albums, because they included some like this (#63), one of the best live country albums of all time:
 

 

 

As for more modern albums, they also honored "Ghost On The Canvas" by Glen Campbell (#88), which I fell in love with upon hearing the opening track.

 

 

 

And this album (#18!) is superb:

 

($62.93?? Good thing I already own it!) 

 

 

It was clear without even reading the article's preface that the article's contributors strove to only include one album per artist (with some exceptions), which is a little disingenuous, because I would easily place multiple George Strait and Dwight Yoakam albums on my list. I also question the albums by these artists they did choose, but taste is subjective.

 

One notable omission, which for a "hip" publication is head-scratching, is this:

 

 

In my late teens and early twenties I was a huge consumer of country albums (later CD's), and due to either the sparsity of choices and later, more disposable income, I bought a ton of clinkers. In an earlier post I even included a photo of my collection (misleading because the rows of CD's are two deep), and that wasn't even the entirety of it. It didn't include my stack of LP's or the boxed sets that are stashed under my bed. Not to mention hundreds of 45's. Yes, I still have all of them. 

 

But what I found, eventually, is that I return to certain titles when I want to hear some good music. 

Here are some of those:

(Good luck. Let me know if you can find it anywhere online.)

 

 

 

 

(C'mon Amazon. $33.49?) 

 

I know, I know ~ Red Headed Stranger and Will The Circle Be Unbroken get all the press in lists like Rolling Stone's, but frankly I listened to each of them one time and never again. 

 

And I know I could go on and on cataloguing my favorites, but I don't have an eidetic memory. 

 

Musical tastes are subjective, and sometimes you simply had to be there. But I can say without hesitation that you won't go wrong listening to any of my choices.

 

Really. 

 
 

The Non-Country Listener Checks Out The Current Top Ten

 

According to my lone source of country music news, country is navigating back to that nineties sound (the best decade in country music ever). So since I never know any of the artists Saving Country Music's articles reference, I thought I should find out for myself if that is actually true. I've done this exercise a couple of times in the past with disastrous results, but I have my fingers crossed!

The rules are simple: Clearly I've never heard any of these tracks before, so I will review them as I watch the music videos. This time I'm relying on American Country Countdown's chart for August 22, 2022, the most recent chart currently available. And I'm only reviewing the top ten, because I am not a glutton for punishment.

Bear in mind, I'm grading on a curve.

Wheeeeee! Here we go!

#10 ~ You Proof ~ Morgan Wallen

This is the first time I've ever heard this guy, who's for some reason controversial (because someone apparently recorded him having a private conversation with a friend). He's clearly not the best singer ~ nasally and he tends to slur his words ~ but he's certainly not the worst.

This song is perhaps following a modern trend, starting with a bare-bones verse and filling out the rest of the track with repetitions of the chorus. I can see the sing-along allure, but the subject matter, previously done to death, could use some fattening. I do give him props, though, for essentially keeping it country.

I haven't obviously heard the other top nine singles yet, but I will give this one a B-.

 

#9 ~ Damn Strait ~ Scotty McCreery

One might not want to do a song that instantly reminds the listener of King George, That said, the track is definitely country, kind of second-tier country, however. It's inordinately easy to write a song with hooks that are song titles. 

How about this:  

Mama Tried to Sing Me Back Home but I Was A Lonesome Fugitive, when all she ever wanted me to be was a Working Man. Merle used to be my favorite singer, but now I can't even listen to him because then I'll Start Loving You Again.

I vaguely remember this guy from when I used to watch American Idol (probably the last season I watched it) and he has a good country voice, but this song is cheap pandering. He can do better. B- 

#8 ~ Truth About You ~ Mitchell Tenpenny

Interesting storyline. This guy is a good singer, in the Travis Tritt vein. I don't know if he's had any previous singles, but this track is one that'll capture your attention when it bursts out of your car radio. I admire a song that tries to say something and isn't trite. I wouldn't buy it, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the effort. B

 

#7  ~ Like I Love Country Music ~ Kane Brown

Kind of a cross between Brooks and Dunn and Achy Breaky Heart, this is a damn fine bar song. I would dance to it. Again, I know nothing about the guy or any history attached to him, but with this track he is definitely doing nineties country in the truest sense of the word. Granted, it's a throwaway, but I suppose Boot Scootin' Boogie could be labeled a throwaway, too. That doesn't mean music can't be fun. In fact, it's supposed to be fun. B+

 

#6 ~ With A Woman You Love ~ Justin Moore

A bit reminiscent of Tracy Lawrence's later releases, Moore has a decent country voice and the track's production does harken back to the nineties days. And kudos for a song that is written in the verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus standard. Unfortunately, it doesn't really resonate with me. The sentiment is great, but this track just sounds ordinary. B-

 

#5 ~ The Kind Of Love We Make ~ Luke Combs

 

I like this one. Frankly this guy has one of the best voices in country music today. The melody is one I could find myself humming when I'm trying to fall asleep. I also like the fact that he's not the cliched "leading man"'; he just has a great voice. Best so far. A-

 

#4 ~ She Had Me At Heads Carolina ~ Cole Swindell

Okay, nothing like stealing a melody from a more famous song. I hope Tim Nichols and Mark Sanders got songwriting credits on this. I guess this is one way to get on the radio. A cheap way. He's not an original singer and for stealing somebody else's song, this one gets a D-.

 

Oh, here's how the original goes:

#3 ~ Take My Name ~ Parmalee

 

I don't know who Parmalee (pick a better name) is, and I don't know what this is. This is something that movie producers would consider a country song. It's not. I vowed to watch every YouTube video 'til it's completion, but I knew where this one was going. F+

 

#2  ~ Last Night Lonely ~ Jon Pardi

I've read that this guy is the real deal. Apparently he has better tracks than this.This one has a lot of noise, but no real purpose. I will say that the production is over the top, and not in a good way. D 

 

#1 ~ At The End Of A Bar ~ Chris Young and Mitchell Tenpenny

Kids, don't be fooled by the racket. To be honest, I lost interest in this video and started doing other tasks. Mitchell, your number eight song was eons better. And just when I started to think that the nineties really were back.  F

 

So, just like the last time I tried this experiment, Luke Combs wins. But props to Tenpenny (#8, not #1) and Brown. There's a lot to like here, but not much originality. 

And Saving Country Music, you told me that this Pardi guy was someone to watch. I think I'll pass.

 

 

Country Music Hall Of Fame Inductees ~ 2022 (Part 2)

 

I'm ambivalent. I don't have a strong opinion about Keith Whitley's induction. I will say that there are modern era artists who have a more substantial catalog, but I guess that's not his fault, considering.

Many, many fans are swooning over this choice, and don't get me wrong, Keith Whitley was an amazing singer. But as someone who was fixated on country music in the late eighties, I can tick off maybe three outstanding Whitley tracks. The Country Music Hall Of Fame induction process, clandestine as it is, is also quite political. No doubt Whitley's widow, Lorrie Morgan lobbied strongly for his selection. Conversely, guys from Bakersfield probably don't have anyone in Nashville petitioning on their behalf.

I'm not here to quibble, though. Instead, let's take a look at Whitley's legacy.

This is my favorite:

 Keith had five number one tracks (I honestly had no clue), and this was his first:

This was his second number one:

Any long-time fan of country music knows the sad tale of Keith Whitley's demise, so I'm not going to recount it here. I will say, though, boy, only thirty-five!

Let's end this post with a husband/wife duet released posthumously ~ a very sweet, very country track. Sorry, there is obviously no performance video available. 

There you have it, the 2022 Country Music Hall Of Fame inductee in the Modern category.

P.S. I finally realized who Whitley's voice reminds me of ~ Lefty Frizzell.

 

Country Music Hall Of Fame Inductees ~ 2022 (Part One)

 

I used to chirp incessantly about why Bobby Bare wasn't in the Hall Of Fame. Then at last in 2013 he was. Honestly, don't even get me started about dolts who have zero sense of history and lackluster taste in music. So because of me and me alone 😀 Bobby Bare finally got his due.

Then eventually it struck me like a bullet ~ Jerry Lee Lewis isn't in the Hall Of Fame? What kind of bizzaro universe are we inhabiting? And more significantly, who exactly comprises this super-secret cabal of decision makers? Even the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame puts its nominees up for a vote. 

I don't like it. These guys and/or gals are obviously not taste-makers. Do they get payoffs? We'll never know ~ it's a "secret".  And only three inductees per year, with one of them not even a performer? At this rate Dwight Yoakam will be inducted sometime around 2098. It doesn't matter to the HOF syndicate, though. They like waiting until someone is dead before inducting them. Ghouls.

Growing up, I paid scant attention to Jerry Lee. His rock and roll hits came before my time, but boy, when I heard them on the radio ~ WHEW! Jerry Lee wouldn't allow you to ignore him.

There are few true originals in music, any genre of music. It's true. In country, many would proffer Johnny Cash and I don't disagree, although I'm not about to spin Five Feet High And Rising anytime soon. Loretta Lynn, maybe. Willie? Okay. But, trust me, you ain't ever gonna hear anyone anywhere close to Jerry Lee Lewis in your lifetime.

What Jerry Lee had (has) other than celestial talent is attitude. A stylist? You bet your ass.

Can you envision another country singer delivering something like this?

 

 I can't find a decent live video of this, but man....

Have you ever seen someone so casual with so much presence? "Yea, here I am. I don't need to impress you. Just fuckin' listen."

There's a scene in that bad Dennis Quaid movie, "Great Balls Of Fire" in which Jerry Lee finds out he's not the headliner on a rock and roll package show that night and he says something to the effect of, "nobody outguns The Killer". And he proceeds to wipe the floor with Ritchie Valens or whoever the flavor of the month happens to be.

Confidence. Attitude. Sheer divine talent.

Note: I don't give a Goddamn about Jerry Lee's personal life. This isn't Emily Post ~ it's the Country Music Hall Of Fame.

Congratulations, Jerry Lee Lewis, who at the age of eighty-six has finally (finally!) been inducted into the hallowed hall.