Showing posts with label pam tillis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pam tillis. Show all posts

Friday, October 28, 2022

Reviewing The Top Ten Country Singles From This Date In 1994



My record reviews somehow seem to zero in on certain years. I actually prefer more variety, but I'm dependent on the charts that are available. Google isn't a "magic answer machine", as my computer-illiterate husband seems to believe.

These lookback posts may seem quirky, but I still love music; just not today's music. When one reaches a certain age, they enjoy revisiting the past; probably for the same reason my dad thought Dean Martin was the shitz and my mom loved Ray Price well past his time.

Plus, our memories are selective. If someone was to spit out 1994 to me, I'd say, well, yes, that was a great year for music. But was it? Revisiting the past informs today. For example, it's an accepted fact that today's country reeks, but does it reek more than yesteryear? That's what I'm here to find out.

Where was I in 1994? Well, I hadn't yet turned forty and I'd just begun to find my niche in the corporate world. I'd barely landed a job at a brand new health insurance company (because one of the thirty initial hirees dropped out) and had risen in the ranks to a supervisory position, when my obsequious boss called me into his office and presented me with a proposition ~ lead a new, experimental division that consisted of data entry, a mindless pursuit that struck me as a blow to my intelligence. He wanted me to abandon all the knowledge I'd gained and teach people how to fill in little computer boxes? Granted, he and I weren't best friends, but I didn't deserve to be punished this way.

"Can I think about it overnight?" I asked.

"Sure. Come back tomorrow and tell me you accept," he said.

Faced with no choice (I surmised), I came back the next day and accepted. And that supercilious asshole actually opened up a whole new world for me. I learned how to interview prospective employees, how to train them, how to troubleshoot a wobbly system, how to talk back to a vociferous VP a thousand miles away. I learned that I liked this "being in charge" schtick. And I was good at it. My (now) former boss would stop by from time to time just to shoot the breeze. I'd gone from peon to princess in the course of a few short months. In time my unit expanded into a second shift and I had to choose supervisors and assistant supervisors. I was never awarded with the title of "manager", but I was a de facto one. I earned a manager's salary and even landed a corner office.

My oldest son was about to graduate from high school and my youngest was only two years behind. They were self-sufficient enough to allow me to indulge in this new world. I spent hours at work and too many hours at home planning for the next day. And I never once felt stressed. 

Music was my primary release and the country world obliged. The bulk of my employees loved country, too, so we could always chat about the latest hits on my walkabouts. 

All this would eventually end explosively, but in 1994 I didn't know that.

So, this review has resonance for me and I'm looking forward to finding out if this is my version of dad's Dean Martin or if I've completely hallucinated the year's musical events.

 

I've repeated this ad nauseum, but if you're a new reader, these are my rules:

  • I review each single as a first-time listener.
  • I must listen to the entire track before offering my critique.  
  • I stick with the Top Ten only.
  • I do my best to find music videos. If all else fails, I use a video of the recorded song.

Let's go!

 

#10 ~ Man Of My Word ~ Collin Raye 


To be honest, I've only ever liked two releases by Collin Raye, but one of those was so good I think I elevated this singer in my mind. This track is so formulaic that only the singer saves it. I guess I see now why there is no official video. This is completely forgettable, even though ballads are Raye's strength.

The song has a nice sentiment, but the track has nothing to distinguish it. It's a poor man's Love, Me, which also wasn't too great.

The 2022 me would hear this as a completely new single because I would have zero recollection of it.

C

 

#9 ~ Shut Up And Kiss Me ~ Mary Chapin Carpenter


This singer started off with a bang in '89, with original, emotional releases. Her first album was delirious. Even 1991's Down At The Twist And Shout stirred a sense of abandon.
Then at some point fame seemed to jade her. This track may have been her swan song, at least at the top of the charts. I get it. It's a craggy mountain to topple from. Only the best can top themselves. Mary CC didn't do it here. It may be that it suffers by comparison to her meatier songs and even her "fun" songs, like The Bug. She still has the discordant piano kicking it off, and her songwriting chops are intact, but the song itself is a feather.

I can't put my finger on why this one doesn't work. My go-to theory is that a song needs a memorable chorus, and this track doesn't even have a chorus, just a repetition of the title. That may account for my shrug. Three decades in the future when I think about Chapin Carpenter songs, this one won't even cross my mind.

C+

 

#8 ~ The City Put The Country Back In Me ~ Neal McCoy

 


I'm trying hard to remember which song put Neal McCoy on country's radar, but in the early 90's he was always there. I'm going to venture that the song was The Shake, but only because he called out my hometown in the lyrics. 1994 me is going to guess that McCoy is but a flash in the pan. He fills a certain niche, a pre-Achy Breaky Heart vibe.

As for the track itself, points for the crunchy Telecaster at the beginning, which will draw couples to the dance floor. I would have done verse-chorus, rather than verse-verse chorus, for better flow; since the narrative itself isn't all that interesting. The back story could have easily been condensed into one verse. Really, what gives this song any energy at all is the chorus. Emphasize that. I get it; this is a barroom song, and there's nothing wrong with that. Everything in music doesn't have to be super-serious.

B-

 

#7 ~ I Try To Think About Elvis ~ Patty Loveless

If a singer is going to stray from weighty songs, this is the way to do it. (Lookin' at you, Mary Chapin Carpenter.) Patty Loveless is one of country's unsung royalty, who doesn't get the plaudits she deserves. And while I love (love!) Don't Toss Us Away, I'm also a big fan of her sassier singles, like A Little Bit In Love and Timber, I'm Falling In Love. This single is cheeky and rather goofy. It's nothing but pure enjoyment

A

 

#6 ~ Callin' Baton Rouge ~ Garth Brooks

 

Most people don't realize this track is a remake. That's okay. I barely remember the original, but I do remember it ~ recorded by New Grass Revival. On the other hand, I have no recollection of the Oak Ridge Boys having recorded it, even though it was included on an album I bought, Room Service. (I sampled both versions on Spotify and can report that Garth's version is a near-replica of the original and the Oak's version is pale and pallid. No wonder I don't remember it.)

This is one of those songs that just grabs you. If you're driving when it blasts out of your radio speakers, you can't help but stomp your foot down on the accelerator. It's best consumed on a moonlit night on a rural highway. 

I would like more Garth Brooks tracks if he recorded better songs. I've got nothing against him as a singer. Sure, he's not the best country singer of all time, but he's certainly not the worst. 

This one, though. Genius choice.

A

 

#5 ~ Third Rate Romance ~ Sammy Kershaw


While Nashville songwriters are starving, everybody's busy recording remakes. Of course, this song was made famous by the Amazing Rhythm Aces. 

Sammy Kershaw just keeps hanging in there, but has never once managed to record a song I like. As a singer, he's a solid C-. Maybe that's why I've never given him a second thought.

This song has that Jamaican rhythm I like, but the original wins, especially since Kershaw's version is a note-by-note replication.

I give the original a B, but Kershaw's version a...

C-

 

#4 ~  Watermelon Crawl ~ Tracy Byrd


As ambivalent as I am toward Sammy Kershaw, I absolutely detest Tracy Byrd. I can't explain it, but he strikes a repellent chord in me much like Conway Twitty does. Maybe it's his face...or his voice. Or a fusion of both. 

And what exactly is a watermelon crawl? I don't know and I don't give a damn.

The song itself? Putrid. Were the songwriters drunk when they penned it? A memorable song needs to be universal. The fact that 99.9% of country fans have no idea what this is even about is the kiss of death. 

F

 

#3 ~ She's Not The Cheatin' Kind ~ Brooks And Dunn


Ronnie Dunn wrote this. He also wrote Neon Moon, Boot Scootin' Boogie, My Next Broken Heart, and (my sentimental favorite) Red Dirt Road. 

Ronnie Dunn is a helluva songwriter. This one is essentially a throwaway. Hey, you write a lot of songs, you're gonna have a couple of clinkers.

I see where he's going with it. The long drawn-out "sheees", but the beginning doesn't lead to anything but mush.

This track is simply not one to list on Ronnie's CV. I doubt I'll even remember it in, say, 2022.

C-

 

#2 ~ When You Walk In The Room ~ Pam Tillis


Oh, look songwriters ~ another remake!

This song was, of course, written by Jackie DeShannon (what the world needs now...) That said, it's almost the perfect pop song. Can one blame Pam for recording it?

I can't critique the song itself. That's not why I'm here. But let me say, this is the quintessential sixties pop composition, and I'm partial to those.

Pam Tillis, while not possessing the strongest voice in country, knows how to accentuate her talents. Any girl of a certain age would find herself dancing The Jerk to this.

A-

 

#1 ~ Livin' On Love ~ Alan Jackson


Alan Jackson has never received the respect he deserves as a songwriter. He gets it. He knows how to write a country song. Short, pithy verse, sock-you-in-your-gut chorus. I think if I was to choose one single co-writer, it would be him. Of course, he'd get all the credit, but I could insert a couple of words somewhere.

If one is looking for the essence of country songwriting, you can stop here.

A+

 

So, what do I know about October, 1994? Well, a lot of artists, sans Alan Jackson, thought old hits were their ticket. Some succeeded; most faltered. I'm not averse to remembering the past ~ the past was sometimes great ~ but you just can't beat a timeless talent.

Good on you, Alan Jackson.




 

Friday, November 29, 2019

Pam Tillis

Contrary to common belief, kids are not their parents. Parents have a problem with that concept. Or rather, baby boom parents have a problem. Baby boomers grew up self-absorbed, contemplative. I don't know if it was a symptom of the times or the fact that for most of us our parents were lackadaisical, removed. Baby boom kids were hardly the center of their parents' lives. It may have been that grownups were expected to have kids, so producing a brood was no big deal in the scheme of everyday life. Everybody had 'em. (That's why there are so many of us.) I have cousins I am completely unaware of, unless they are approximately my age. It was, for instance, Cindy and "the others". The rogue aunt and uncle who only managed to pop out one kid were viewed as odd and frankly, there had to be something wrong with that kid; therefore we avoided her.

All parents weren't necessarily like mine. All parents didn't contend with issues of substance abuse and the fallout. Nevertheless, I grew up essentially alone, and thus self-obsessed. I knew by the seventh grade what the name of my future son would be, because I contemplated things like that in my isolated bedroom. I became steeped in music, my lifeline in a lunatic world. I begged and borrowed to upgrade my sonic experience when the tiny speaker on my transistor could no longer drown out the cacophony.

Am I my parents? Sure, in some ways. DNA works like that. I have a lot of the good and some of the bad, but in the end I'm me.

When I heard a song on the radio in 1990 and the DJ uttered the name "Pam Tillis", I flashed back to an artist I'd appreciated much more as a writer than I did as a warbler. In 1968 I'd fallen in love with a recording by someone named Mel Tillis that went like this:



"Tillis" certainly wasn't a common name, so I surmised that Pam had to be Mel's offspring. And the song itself wasn't all that far removed from Heart Over Mind:



Except that Mel never did anything like this:



Or this:



Yep, this is a remake, but damn:



Mel was lamenting Ruby taking her love to town, while meanwhile, Pam said this:



Pam was not Mel. She was her own person. Pam benefited from Mel in her DNA, but she was simply Pam. Baby boomers took it from there.




Saturday, September 21, 2019

September Is Country Music Month ~ The Nascent Nineties





By the end of the 1990's, I will have abandoned country music forever. But, oh, the nineties!

It may have been the times, but I don't think so. I do believe that "music is life through the ears of the beholder", as my blog's theme states, but there was something special about country in the nineties. Randy and George and Dwight had primed the pump the decade before, which allowed the artists of the nineties to soar. Too, I was in the prime of my life, at age thirty-five. And in the prime of what, unbeknownst to me, would become my "career". Blue skies shone above. Like country music, I didn't know what awaited me, but I had a feeling it was something good.

People liked to dance ~ buoyant, shit-kicking dance. Not giving a damn about the wagging tongues of the neighbors next door. Line dance, two-step, stumblin' drape-your-arm-around-your-partner dance. Don a western shirt with spangles dance. We even liked Billy Ray Cyrus, cuz you could dance to him.

You couldn't flip on your car radio and not hear a song that didn't make you bounce in your bucket seat and warble off-key into the breeze whooshing outside your wide-open window. I sang along to "Friends In Low Places" roaring home from work in my white Ford Taurus, and I didn't even like Garth Brooks much.

I'd only recently returned to country music by the time the nineties rolled in, but I was fully committed. I even no longer wanted my MTV.  Radio still ruled. Radio was everywhere ~ in our cars, at work, in the kitchen, on camping trips and in the backyard garden. There was no such thing as "streaming". One could barely figure out how to get online and even when we did, we looked around a bit and said, ehh. Country had caught up with the rock world, though, and country videos were available twenty-four hours a day on CMT.

New artists were popping out all over. And ladies (if that is the correct PC term), if you still believe that country is lagging in the female artist department (which never was true, by the way), welcome to the nineties! In the decade there were as many hit songs recorded by women as by men. Maybe girl singers were simply more fun to listen to then, because they were joyous, rather than whiny.

Let's take a quick whoosh through the decade, shall we?

1990:






The year 1991 kicked off in grand country style, with a newly-formed duo (whatever happened to them?):





Another new act had a familiar last name,


 

1992:

Sometimes a song just hits you. It might not be sung by a well-known artist. It might be a passing fancy. Or it might just stay with you:



I liked this new guy. He had a cry in his voice, just like good country artists should. And this is a quintessential country song:



1993:

Speaking of dancin', try not to boogie to this. Joe Diffie was a huge country star in the nineties ~ people tend to forget. I don't.




I could go with a plethora of artists for my second pick, but let's be real. in 1993 Dwight Yoakam released his penultimate album that featured this:







Sorry, can't leave out Clay Walker:



1994:

Shoot me ~ I like this (a lot):



Again, shoot me; but this is an awesome recording. We can arm-wrestle over it, if you insist:



1995:

Nineteen ninety-five was a little lean in the "good hits" department. Thank goodness for Mark Chesnutt. I know I devoted an entire post to Mark, but if I'm culling the best singles of a particular year, this is definitely one:



Oh, remember her? She "ruined" country music, they said. Ha! I, too, was a bit skeptical of Shania Twain in the beginning, but let's compare Shania's songs to today's "country music", shall we? Here's the deal ~ she's an excellent songwriter. She found a niche; she exploited it. Deal.



I will end with 1996, just like Ken Burns did. It's fitting. Ken, a country music neophyte, was maybe onto something. After '96 country life took a downturn. We had the Dixie Chicks, who were okay, but not as awesome as their press wanted us to believe. McGraw and Hill (isn't that an encyclopedia company?) took over. An Australian, who, granted, could play a mean guitar solo but never ever recorded a distinctive track, won new artist of the year at the CMA's. Country was changing. And not in a good way. Somebody somewhere in the bowels of a Nashville office determined that fans didn't know what the hell they needed or wanted, and they were going to proceed to show them.

Bye bye, country.

Let's end on a high note, though, with The King:



Friday, November 23, 2018

Finding Something I Was Good At ~ 1990/1991


I always liked getting in on the ground floor. When LaBelle's Department Store opened, all of us were new. It tends to even the playing field. Cliques have not yet formed; there's no, "Jenny never did it that way". Because there was no Jenny. US Healthcare was brand-spankin' new, at least in my city.

I knew nothing about health insurance, but I did possess a brain. I wasn't concerned about ranking at the bottom of the clump of thirty new employees. I didn't have to be the best, but I was not about to be the worst. If there existed a health insurance company in my town before US Healthcare, I plead ignorance. There may have been a two-room alcove somewhere above a furniture store that sold "health and life" to ranchers who couldn't legitimately form a group and therefore paid five thousand dollars a month for major medical. I therefore didn't know from whence the other twenty-nine girls were plucked ~ maybe they had a "semblance" of medical knowledge, like me.

Our new digs were a rented floor on the second story of a bank. We were granted parking passes, as long as we utilized the parking "arcade", which was a queasy sphere of lightheadedness I managed to maneuver each morning without passing out. In the office we were seated in sequential rows of five, in front of green-screened CRT's with impatiently-blinking cursors. Our trainers had been shipped in from Philadelphia and thus two wildly divergent cultures collided. East-coasters did not suffer fools or even semi-fools. Every raised hand was met with an attempt at a civil response, but disdain dripped like cheese steak from their lips. The travelers did not enjoy their sojourn to the hinterlands, as much as the idea had seemed like a fun lark when it was first presented to them. We were "rustic". Our local restaurants especially offended them. Amongst themselves, they pondered whether we had indoor bathroom facilities.

It had been determined that we would learn how to process eye exams. How bad could we fuck those up? If we managed to master that "skill", we might eventually advance to office visits. With three trainers and thirty trainees, one would have to hold her hand in the air for ten minutes before someone wended their way to the table, only to answer, "It's fine". Oh, okay. There goes my production, I guess.

Essentially, what we were learning was how to navigate US Healthcare's operating system. It makes sense in retrospect. But still, the scorn oozed.

On morning break, we all rode the elevator downstairs and streamed out to the concrete flower planters along Third Street. I gravitated to fellow smokers and found myself in a clutch of two much younger gals, Sherry and Marla. They may have told me where they'd worked before, but I have no recollection. After a couple of weeks, Sherry informed me one morning on break that I had only secured the position because someone dropped out. She didn't say it maliciously, but it still stung. At least I now understood why USHC had waited so long to call me. I don't know how Sherry knew and I didn't inquire. It might not have been true, but I think it was. Sherry was a nice person and she had no reason to jerk me around. Now that I knew I was an afterthought, I became more determined than ever to show 'em.

 Our local supervisors had been pre-selected ~ Kim, Barb, and Connie. They didn't do much during training; essentially hovered about trying to appear knowledgeable. When they ventured an answer to someone's raised hand, they were tentative, glancing up at the Philadelphia experts for validation. The rest of the day they huddled in a tiny back office and did...planning or something. There was also a manager; Marian, I believe her name was. She didn't stay long; I have no idea why. Maybe working with Connie was just too keen a punishment.

As the days dribbled on, I pondered who my supervisor would be. I liked Kim. He was an affable sort. Barb seemed a bit uptight, but harmless. Connie was a red flag. She didn't appear "real"; a person who went through the motions like she thought a normal human would, but couldn't quite pull it off convincingly.

Toward the end of our training, it was announced that three assistant supervisor positions were available. I applied. What the heck? Most everybody else did; I didn't want to seem unambitious. I didn't get it, of course. I didn't think I would. Girls named Carlene and (another) Shelly and somebody else who apparently was not memorable because I can't remember her, were granted the promotions. At least no one in my little three-person clique got it, so we could go on smoking and making small talk and anticipating our move to the new building on the north side of town that we'd all driven past a time or two and spied the formulating blue and white construction.

My supervisor would be Barb. When the building was completed, we moved into our respective units with their pre-ordained cubicles; Barb seated in her extra-special glass-enclosed case up front. Bye-bye sickening garage precipice.

And life went on.

As did country.

My man, Mark Chesnutt:


Pam Tillis:


And still there was Ronnie Milsap:


Some new guy:



Another new guy:


A new duo:




Yes, like me, all the way from '73, Tanya was still live 'n kickin':



Mary Chapin:



Some new group:


The all-time Dwight:














Friday, October 19, 2018

Yay For Women Artists?

So CMT (which used to be a network), in a shameless publicity grab, decided to anoint all women as "artists of the year". First of all, if you've got about twenty of them, that kinda dilutes the artist of the year moniker. Secondly, who is CMT to decide anything? The only admirable thing CMT has done in the past thirty years is pick up the series Nashville after ABC canceled it.

I remember CMT when it was actually watchable. That's when the great Ralph Emery had a nightly talk show that featured real country artists, and when videos were broadcast that one could distinguish from crappy pop. Everything doesn't get better with age.

Carrie Underwood, Miranda Lambert, Maren Morris, Kelsea Ballerini, Hillary Scott of Lady Antebellum, and Karen Fairchild and Kimberly Schlapman of Little Big Town were the honorees. I know what you're thinking ~ who now? I know Carrie Underwood from watching American Idol all those years ago, and I know Miranda from the tabloids. I didn't watch the telecast, but it seems that the gals honored those time-honored country artists Aretha Franklin and Gladys Knight.

I understand that Carrie is a true country girl at heart, but she's a slave to radio and has to record the stuff that people (apparently) buy, but I don't really admire an artist who sells out. Doesn't she have enough cache now to record whatever the hell she wants? The gals paid lip service to Loretta Lynn and...apparently that's it....and sang a bunch of songs written by guys, which rather undermines the whole #women rule meme.

The problem I have with women who claim they're all powerful is that they seem desperate to prove it by whining a whole lot. That's not powerful; that's pitiful.

For those "artists of the year" who don't know country history (which seems to be all of them), here are some women who didn't whine:














The number one non-whiner was a broad who didn't give a damn that Roy Acuff and Faron Young were on the same bill. She knew she commanded the stage, and she didn't need a hashtag to tell the world she had arrived.

So, for all you Aretha and Gladys fans out there, here is some real country music:


But just keep thinking you're "all that". Those who don't know better will believe you. 

I am one who knows better.

 







 




Friday, February 2, 2018

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.







Tuesday, November 21, 2017

Mel Tillis


The guys who write obituaries for newspapers are probably around thirty or so. Maybe forty at the most. Everyone knows that companies are in the midst of showing baby boomers the door. That leaves a gap when it comes to writing about someone's life, because these young guys (and/or girls) don't have a clue who Mel Tillis was. It makes me mad when I realize that an obituary consists of bits gleaned from Wikipedia. A life should mean more than that. Especially Mel Tillis's.

Country music would have been so much less if Mel Tillis hadn't come along.

When I first became involved with country music, I didn't know Mel Tillis. I might have seen "M. Tillis" in parentheses beneath the song title on a '45 single, but at that time, I only cared about who sang the song. Granted, I was only around thirteen, so I was as shallow as a...well, thirteen-year-old.

I didn't even know that the title song of my all-time favorite album (because it was Dad's all-time favorite album) was written by this Mel Tillis guy. Dad bought the LP in 1965, when I was still engrossed in the orange and yellow Capital '45's released by this group called "The Beatles".

Sorry, apparently they didn't make videos in 1965, but this is still awesome:




Seeing as how I was a remedial country music student, once my best friend Alice began schooling me in the ways of (good) country music, I caught up with this next song. Alice also was the person who taught me how to play (chord) guitar (I never actually learned how to "play"), and she taught me the intro to this song. 

Detroit City was released in 1963, and while I didn't listen to country music then, one could not help but be exposed to it, because the radio stations played an eclectic mix of musical styles. My cousin and I created a comic book about "singers when they get old". Bobby Bare was one of our subjects, but in our version he was an actual bear. Our comic was a huge hit among my Uncle Howard's bar crowd. Orders rolled in, but unfortunately we would have had to recreate the whole thing by hand over and over, so we sacrificed the big bucks (twenty-five cents) we could have made from the venture, essentially because we were lazy. 

Around 1967 Alice and I were excited to see Bobby Bare in person, but thanks to a freak winter fiasco, we never got to. We ended up going back to her house and watching the local TV broadcast of Bobby's performance. 

A lot of my musical history is tied up in Detroit City, and it was all thanks to Mel Tillis:


The very first song I ever wrote went like this:

1967, you taught me how to play
All those Merle Haggard songs
Man, he had a way
And the intro to Detroit City
I remember it today
You were my hero then
You still are today

So, again, it all started with Mel.

Much like I traveled back in time to capture songs like "City Lights", I didn't quite catch that Mel had written this hit song from 1957. Was Mel around forever? 

I never understood why this guy named Webb Pierce was considered the Hank Williams of the fifties. Pierce didn't even write his own songs! And he was rather an awful singer, but apparently the "nasal" sound worked for him. In the fifties, who was the competition? Pat Boone? The only thing I know about Webb Pierce is that he had a guitar-shaped swimming pool and he was a renowned asshole. Regardless, Mel Tillis wrote this song and Webb should have thanked him for it, but apparently that wasn't Pierce's modus operandi:



More my style was this single released in 1967:


And seriously, all this time, I had no idea that a guy named "Mel" had written these songs.

So, when did I become aware of this Mel Tillis guy? In the mid-sixties, I began hearing songs on the radio by someone who had a different sort of voice. He was no Ray Price. He sang like the words were stuck in his gullet. I was judgmental. The songs were good, but I was perplexed by the singer.


Eventually, as more of this guy's recordings got played by the DJ's, I became used to him.

In 1970, I got hooked. This is one of my favorite recordings ever.



 In the mid-seventies, Mel's career took off. He was still writing songs and still writing hit songs, like:


By then, I'd bought his live album, and it was hilarious. I never knew that Mel Tillis stuttered! Of course, if you read the various obituaries, that's practically all that is written about him.

Yea, Mel Tillis was funny. And Clint Eastwood and all the Hollywood set loved him. 

This might have been from a Clint movie, or maybe not, but I think it was:



This one, I'm pretty much convinced is from a Clint movie:




Here's one more (Mel did it better):



I'm going to guess that the most famous song Mel Tillis ever wrote was this next one. It would have been nice if Kenny Rogers had tweeted a few words and had thanked Mel for his career, but whatever. I'm not going to judge the propriety or impropriety of not acknowledging.




Mel Tillis was with me all my life and I didn't even know it. I didn't know that Mel was wrapped up in my musical belonging. 

Pay it forward, they say.

Mel paid a lot of artists' ways.

Mel Tillis is wrapped up in my musical memories. Ir's not everyone who can encompass a person's life. I wanna cry just thinking about him. And I truly miss him.

Thank you, Mel Tillis, for things I didn't even know you taught me.
















Saturday, December 3, 2016

CMA 50 - A Look Back - 1995

The thing about the early-to-mid-nineties in country music was that one simply couldn't go wrong. Turn on the radio and you would be smacked in the ears with one good song after another after another. Ahhh, that's when I loved music. If the music pouring from the speakers had any one common denominator, it was that it was...country! Other genres that hadn't yet taken hold didn't seep into the steel guitar twang; didn't interrupt a twin fiddles solo with a sudden record scratch. Classic rock wasn't apparently classic enough yet for country acts to begin re-recording its hits. Country music had an identity. Sure, it was always looked down upon by self-styled hipsters, but country fans were used to that and we tended to mingle with our own kind. And sure, I lived in flyover country and we were "simple folk", but even the young kids coming up begrudgingly admitted that some of that "old-time music" wasn't horrific.

I lived in a relatively small town, even though it was the capital city of my state, and there weren't many distractions. If we wanted to have a summer get-together, it was easy to reserve a shelter in one of the city parks. Teenagers hung out at the sandbar on the Missouri River; adults traipsed the mall. At home after work, we turned on CMT and watched the hot acts perform live on Ralph Emery's Nashville Now. And there was the radio -- always the radio.

The CMA nominee roster in 1995 was ripe with shining stars. It must have been hell for the members to narrow down their picks. I didn't agree with all of the choices, but ask me tomorrow and I could go another way. I loved most of the artists nominated. What do they call it -- an embarrassment of riches? It was.

The nominees and winners:

Female Vocalist of the Year
Reba McEntire
Pam Tillis
Mary Chapin Carpenter
Alison Krauss
Patty Loveless

This is so hard, because I love (love!) three of the five nominees. Couldn't they have had a tie?

Here is the recording that won Alison the statuette:


Here are a couple of alternatives for your consideration:



(Apparently the closest Dwight Yoakam would get to being on the CMA stage until 2016.)

Male Vocalist of the Year
John Berry
Alan Jackson
John Michael Montgomery
George Strait
Vince Gill

People with little knowledge of the past don't understand how huge Vince Gill was in the nineties. Trust me; he was huge. Who on this list has stood the test of time? Well, you can judge for yourself. There was a joke going around about John Michael Montgomery singing live without auto-tune and the result was undesirable. John Berry? Trust me; I'm not trying to be mean, but I have absolutely no cognizance of this man. I'm sure he must have had a hit song.

But back to Vince:  One of my (self-appointed) assignments for my mom and dad's fiftieth wedding anniversary surprise party was to create a tape (yes, tape) of fifty years of music that meant something to them. I made several trips to the record store in order to fulfill that task, but I loved doing it. After Dad, then Mom passed away, I came into possession of those two tapes. I'm afraid to play them, though, for fear I will break down in sobs. I ended the compilation with this:


Now that I've had my cry, let's move on to peppier and sillier things.

Music Video of the Year
Any Man of Mine - Shania Twain
Baby Likes To Rock It - The Tractors
I Don't Even Know Your Name - Alan Jackson
The Red Strokes - Garth Brooks
When Love Finds You - Vince Gill

What else could possibly win Video of the Year? The Tractors never had another hit. They didn't need one.



I don't generally feature the Musician of the Year because the musician nominees usually don't have videos to showcase their talents. But in 1995 they did.

Musician of the Year
Eddie Bayers
Paul Franklin
Mark O'Connor
Brent Mason
Matt Rollings

The winner (as an added bonus, Steve Wariner!):


The Single of the Year was "When You Say Nothing At All" by Alison Krauss.

Song of the Year (award to the songwriter)
Gone Country - Bob McDill
Independence Day - Gretchen Peters
How Can I Help You Say Goodbye - Burton Banks-Collins and Karen Taylor-Good
Thinkin' Problem - David Ball, Allen Shamblin, and Stuart Ziff
Don't Take The Girl - Larry Johnson and Craig Martin

Yup:


Brooks and Dunn won Vocal Duo of the Year and the Vocal Group of the Year was The Mavericks. 1995 wasn't Brooks and Dunn's best year (don't worry; I'll be featuring them; count on it). The Mavericks, boy, let's give 'em credit where it's due, and they were due in 1995:


The Horizon Award, given to best newcomer, went to Alison Krauss, but my heart will always be with David Ball. I loved this song because it was so blatantly country, so "in your face country". My kids hated when the song came on the radio and I would flip the volume up, so I tended to torture them with it, just for fun:




After everything that's come before, it's almost anti-climatic to talk about the Entertainer of the Year, but that's the big one, after all.

I saw Alan Jackson in concert -- he wasn't the most scintillating entertainer -- but for hit records alone, he deserved to grab this award. 




Of all the years I've featured in this CMA retrospective, 1995 has to be one of the greatest. I'm awed by the talent here. Awed and sentimental.



























Wednesday, March 21, 2012

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:



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".




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.