It's counter-intuitive, but if I'm feeling bad and I have Sirius radio playing, I deliberately choose bad music. In my case tonight, it's the seventies channel.
I think perhaps it's because I'm not really listening to music -- I'm too busy wallowing. I don't want to be distracted by something semi-good.
I've chosen music in the past to match my feelings. When my dad died, I played Ray Price's "A Thing Called Sadness" over and over, loud. Dad and I loved that Ray Price album when I was growing up. It was fitting to say goodbye to him with music we had shared.
Sometimes a song says something at just the wrong time. George Strait's "You Can't Make A Heart Love Somebody" forced me to face what I preferred not to admit.
Did you ever have something gnawing on your brain, but you were too busy trying to get through the day to allow yourself to feel? I've been running non-stop for two weeks and I'm only halfway through my marathon. Tonight, it all hit me. I cried -- out of frustration and helplessness. They say everyone has choices in life, but it's not actually true.
So tonight, I'm listening to some of the worst songs ever recorded. Seventies music is great for that.
This post has no point, really. I think I will write another, if for no other reason than to try to make myself feel better.
In the summer of 1993 my mom and dad's fiftieth wedding anniversary was approaching. Clever as us six kids were, we determined we would surprise them with a secret party. I don't remember who first came up with the idea, but those of us who didn't live far away grabbed the reins of mega-party planning. It wasn't to be a big blowout -- just immediate family, which by that time included grandkids as well. Mom and Dad's brothers and sisters were far-flung, and we weren't about to impose upon them to travel (at their advanced age) the six hundred or so miles to the scene of a party they hardly cared about, because they had their own milestones to celebrate. Besides, we much preferred intimate gatherings. My two sisters who lived in Texas readily came on board. They agreed to show up "unexpectedly" for an impromptu visit. We arranged for a limo to pick up Dad and Mom to chauffeur them to the restaurant that we'd booked for their special dinner.
I'm a pretty good organizer, and I'm a girl, which immediately deemed me one of the head planners. In actuality, my sister Rosie did the majority of the legwork. My older brother and my little brother no doubt had responsibilities, but I can't imagine or remember what those might have been.
For no logical reason, I decided I would be in charge of the "background" music for the dinner. This task I took very, very seriously. I apparently imagined that someone would actually care (no one did). I would do it again if the opportunity presented itself. Because that's what I do. I am the "music person" of the family. That's my role.
Compiling fifty years of music of someone else's life is not an easy task. And it's rather presumptuous. I can't imagine that anyone could sum up fifty years of my life -- and I know they couldn't. How would they know which songs meant anything to me? It would be such an eclectic list.
However, I researched and scoured lists of music from all the decades. I went to Musicland (yes, it still existed then) and bought CD's that I needed in order to secure my masterpiece.
I had no idea whether this song meant anything to my parents, but if one thinks "forties", what else would they think but:
The fifties were trickier. The fifties were not a sublime decade for music. I was not about to go with "How Much Is That Doggie In The Window". I settled upon this:
The sixties were relatively easier. After all, I had this to fall back on:
Truly, I have no recollection of what I included for the seventies and the eighties. I'm sure, however, that it was awesome.
This, however, is the one that gets me every time:
This song was the coup de grâce of my two-tape set. It summed up everything -- fifty years of happiness and heartache. I don't think anyone noticed or heard it that night, but I knew it was there. It was a tough one for me, because I'd witnessed it all when none of the other kids in my family had. I remembered everything. It's easy to gloss over the hard times when one doesn't have to live them. But optimist that I am, I still believed in happy endings. My mom and dad had one that night -- August nineteenth, nineteen ninety-three.
When my mom passed away, my brother told all of us to take something that had meaning to us. I claimed that two-set cassette tape. I'd poured my heart into the making of it. Those amber ribbons were the only way I knew how to say, "I love you" to two people who were supremely complicated, but who shaped everything that I am.
I miss them.
George Harrison claims they are still here. I don't know that I know that. I haven't talked to Dad in a long while. I don't think I've ever talked to Mom. Maybe they're still here. Maybe they care about the person I am now. Maybe they are saying, "she turned out okay".
I'm happy I did what I did for them, on their fiftieth year.
My husband, no country music fan, remarked the other day that the reason early-to-mid-sixties rock was so good was because of the harmonies. "That's when producers were still in charge," he said. His unspoken conclusion was that the rock artists of the late sixties weren't overly concerned with production. It's true. There were exceptions, but the late sixties were an anarchic time; artists were naive in their "let it all hang out" mindset toward music. Unlike now, which is essentially an anarchic time, too, but artists are now willing to bend a knee in worship of dollars and "likes". Perhaps that's why I find modern music tiresome -- it's so blatantly manipulative. I'll gladly take the naive badly produced song. At least it was honest.
But as my husband uttered the word, "harmonies", I thought, exactly! That's country music!
If the Everly Brothers had begun their career only a few years later than they did, they would have been country artists. Because country music is (or was) all about harmony.
There is an innate reason why humans are drawn to harmony. I'm not a scientist, so I don't know the reason for that. Maybe the answer is found in nature -- the way the flutter of the wind through the trees mingles with a bird's trills; and we feel alive and soft, cradled inside the earth's hands.
We're drawn to harmony and yearn to sing along. Even if we do it badly, it doesn't matter because it feels so good, so natural.
When I was sixteen or so, I'd recently purchased my first "real" reel-to-reel tape recorder, and I impressed myself with my wondrous ability to sing three-part harmony to this song, by bouncing tracks (the recording itself only featured two-part harmonies, but I said, let's go all out!):
In the early sixties, country music featured not only two-part, but three-part harmonies, where I no doubt got the idea for my "Silver Wings" rendition.
For example:
The absolute master of harmonies was Ray Price. Ray had his Cherokee Cowboys, of which a guy named Roger Miller was once a part. As an added bonus, Roger wrote this song and added his half-step to Ray's vocals:
And don't forget Buck Owens and Don Rich. In the early sixties, country music basically drizzled down to Buck Owens. The Grand Ol' Opry kept doing its thing, but nobody could compete with Bakersfield, and Nashville keenly knew it. If it wasn't for Don Rich, well...
There is no question what my favorite harmony song from the late sixties was. I know I recently featured this video in another post, but bear with me -- I can't find an original performance video of Mel Tillis doing:
From the Everlys to Porter and Dolly to Restless Heart to Brad and Dolly to Waylon and Willie, to Naomi and Wynonna, up to Vince and Patty, harmony is what country music is known for:
My visceral reaction to harmony singing, when it's good, is that it stabs me in the heart.
Everybody needs that little stab sometimes. That's how we know we're alive.
Since my last post, I've thought about other "Best" albums and wondered if there were any from an era other than the nineteen eighties. I've determined that eras are rather unfair. After all, as I've noted before, country albums were once simply a collection of one or two hit tracks combined with cover songs. I don't know if producers were lazy or they suffered from "we've always done it this way" disease. Most likely it was because country fans bought singles and albums were an afterthought -- a way to put a pretty cover (in the case of female artists) on the rack and convince shoppers to buy the ninety-eight-cent '45 of "I Don't Wanna Play House". I bought a lot of Greatest Hits albums way back when, because other LP's were disappointing. A few artists pushed back -- mostly artists from Bakersfield. Some Nashville acts, too, transcended the status quo. Not many.
I've thought about how I even knew that certain albums existed at the time, and I realize it was because of WHO radio and Mike Hoyer. Mike was the overnight DJ on WHO in Des Moines, Iowa; and around two a.m. he'd slap an album on his turntable and play it all the way through. Touring acts would also show up in Mike's studio and perform songs live. In the sixties, it was Mike Hoyer and Ralph Emery on WSM who were the keepers of the country flame. And Bill Mack on WBAP in Fort Worth. Those three. That's all. My radio signal rarely caught WSM and I'd lie awake until three a.m. to try to catch WBAP. WHO, though, always came through loud and clear. That's how I knew what was what with real country.
All that said, I've decided to isolate "best" albums by the times in which they were recorded.
The Sixties
Ten years in country music is a long-ass mile. A lot changed in the sixties. Are we talking 1961 and Jimmy Dean or 1969 and Conway and Loretta? The sixties should actually be divided into the almost fifties/early sixties and the Merle Haggard slash Dolly Parton era. Nevertheless, here are some albums that were most likely the "best" of that time.
Here's the only video I could find, but trust me, this album was a cornucopia of superb country (I mean "country") songs:
Burning Memories is definitely a "best". Ray Price's album is one of my very, very favorites. I'm guessing it was released in 1965, smack dab in the middle of the schizophrenic sounds that assaulted our tender ears. Ray's smooth tenor was a soothing balm. And yet it tore at our hearts. I can find no live performances of any of the awesome tracks from this album, but give this a listen:
There was a time when we cheered live albums. Why? Maybe because Nashville sucked the soul out of every song it deemed to record and live albums were real life.
This live album was real:
Merle did impersonations and Bonnie flubbed the lyrics to her song and Merle said, "that's all right".
Merle live:
In the fifties, Patsy Cline and Faron Young and some other country stars performed at Carnegie Hall. That was considered curious. Apparently New Yorkers were too snobbish to listen to country music. Most were and are. That concert was most likely viewed as a novelty; something for the sophisticates to giggle about the next day. I don't know that any live recording exists of that concert. I personally would have loved it -- but I'm from the Midwest, after all.
About ten years later Buck Owens took a chance and showed up at Carnegie Hall with his Buckaroos. It's impossible to understate the importance of Buck Owens to country music in the sixties. There were two competing factions -- the "Nashville Sound", watered down "listen to us -- we're really not country!" and Bakersfield. Bakersfield won. One could argue that if not for Buck Owens, there wouldn't have been a Merle Haggard. It's been posited that Buck stole his songs from unknown songwriters. I don't know the truth. Regardless, Buck Owens' claim to fame is that he created a "sound". Crunchy telecasters, drums not buried; not muffled. Drums keeping the beat as they should, for the two-stepping couples in the honky tonks. Heavy on the steel, thank you. Alcohol and tears go hand in hand, and nothing cries like a steel guitar.
Here is "the sound", from the Carnegie Hall album:
Before I finish out the best of the sixties, here is one album that I would consider a "best".
Lynn Anderson, before she scooted on over to Columbia Records, recorded on a little-known label called Chart. One could argue that the move to Columbia was the best thing that ever happened to Lynn. After all, that's the label on which she recorded Rose Garden. I would postulate that in the move Lynn lost her soul. In the sixties I wished I could sing like Lynn Anderson. She sang like an angel. Her new husband, Glenn Sutton, may have been chart-savvy, but he never brought out the best in Lynn's voice.
This was her best:
Here is a sampling:
The Seventies
I seriously thought this was a sixties album. Well, it was on the cusp, released in 1970. Country duos began seriously with Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton. They set off a whole seventies trend -- Conway and Loretta, Mel Tillis and Sherry Bryce, Hank Williams, Jr. and Lois Johnson. Suddenly duets were hot.
This duet album was the best:
This album had so many good songs, it's difficult to pick just one. YouTube has made it easy for me, however. There are only a couple of videos available. Here is one:
Ronnie Milsap was a product of the seventies, and he was huge. I saw Ronnie in concert with a couple of other artists I don't remember. That's how he dominated. Take a great singer, add some great country songs, stir in some piano and a whole lot of soul, and you have Ronnie Milsap.
Gary Stewart entered the country scene like a tornado. Who was this guy, and where did he come from? Suddenly he was just there. New country artists were rare. Country music was a continuum. George Jones had "The Race Is On" and then he morphed to "A Good Year for the Roses". Faron Young could never do better than "Hello Walls" and then he found a new producer at Mercury Records and soared, with songs like "Wine Me Up". But they'd always been there. I only vaguely remember the first recording by Merle Haggard, but it seemed he'd always been around. In the seventies new artists, brand-spankin' new, just showed up. All I had available to me was my radio. There was no YouTube or Pandora. Country TV was Hee Haw, if we could stand it. No Nashville Now. No CMT.
And suddenly there was this guy:
Gary Stewart's story is a sad one. I prefer to remember his music:
Things that should not be forgotten are. It took a guy from New Jersey to remind Nashville what country music was all about. I was so parched for good music in the seventies, it was a revelation to find someone good. Really good. Eddie Rabbitt, like Gary Stewart, died young. But damn! We should not forget either of them. And Eddie? Well, if you love a rainy night or you're driving your life away, thank him.
Rocky Mountain Music was far above anything any country artist released in that seventieth decade.
And there you have it -- the sixties and seventies "best", wrapped up in one lonely blog post.
I liked seeing Eddie and Gary and Porter and Ray again. Old friends.
Why are so many songs written about being crazy? Crazy isn't a desirable state, is it? Or IS IT? I don't personally know any crazy people, but it's probably very peaceful. Crazy people don't get annoyed by driving over potholes or their neighbor leaving their garbage can on the curb for approximately three months. Or by relentless TV commercials for Australian Dream or some dweeb standing in front of the Statue of Liberty grilling them about, "Why do you have that car insurance?"
Hence, I think "crazy" might actually equal "serene".
And with that thought forcing out any coherent concerns from my brain, I have decided to do a "crazy" countdown. (Oh, that's another annoying ad -- "The Final Countdown" performance while some poor working dude is just trying to nuke his burrito in the microwave -- I watch far too much cable news.)
So, wheeeee! I'm ready to be crazy!
10. I Go Crazy -- Paul Davis (The ultimate 70's song - no offense to the seventies. P.S. Love the hair.)
9. Crazy Love -- Poco (Know the song; didn't know this was the name of it.)
8. Still Crazy After All These Years -- Paul Simon (Filler, to be honest. Never really was enamored of this song.)
7. Crazy For You -- Madonna (I always enjoy returning to the 90's)
6. She Drives Me Crazy -- Fine Young Cannibals (Always go with the falsetto, I say)
5. I've Always Been Crazy -- Waylon Jennings (WAY better!)
4. Crazy Little Thing Called Love -- Dwight Yoakam (Okay, yea, I know it's a Queen song - don't care.)
3. Crazy Arms -- Ray Price (Yes! Music!)
2. Mama He's Crazy -- The Judds (The Judds basically rescued country music, in case you forgot.)
1. Crazy -- Patsy Cline (C'mon - you know it's probably the best song of all time.I have nothing more to say.)
Thank you for going crazy with me. After listening to Patsy Cline, I've decided that crazy isn't so bad.
Why, you ask, didn't I include Prince? Well, His Highness is rather "protective" (let's say) of his videos. I don't know why; I don't understand exactly why a performer wouldn't want to be seen, but that's his gig. I often don't even understand my own thought processes, and I would say I know me pretty well.
I did find one, though (a video; not a brain wave). Let's see how long this can remain here before I receive a cease and desist letter
If Ray Price wasn't the first country voice I ever heard, I can confidently say he was the second.
When I was a little, little kid, my parents owned exactly two record albums - Together Again/My Heart Skips a Beat by Buck Owens and Burning Memories by Ray Price. I had a little record player but I rarely had money to buy 45's, so I etched grooves in those two albums. I think, even today, I could reel off the track listings, in order, from Burning Memories.
On the album, released in 1965, Ray was beginning to teeter between his signature twin fiddle sound and the tinkling piano keys and sweet strings. The tracks were still clearly country, but it was evident then that Ray's sound was evolving. I wonder if the individual tracks were recorded several months apart, such was the dichotomy.
One of the best country songs ever was included on that album - Here Comes My Baby, written by Dottie West (track two, in case you're keeping score):
Being a little kid, I wasn't familiar with Ray's earlier work, but eventually I began to hear it on oldies hours and on reruns of syndicated country music TV shows. The twin fiddles were in rare form back then. For example, this song (extra points for the Nudie suit):
And this song, written by Roger Miller (and Ray is coincidentally backed by Roger Miller on this performance!):
Time, of course, marched on, and I became a sullen teenager, slamming the bedroom door behind me to spin my Monkees 45's. Out of the blue one day, my mom came out of her bedroom holding an eight-by-ten glossy of Ray Price, swooning about how "handsome" he was. Handsome? That old guy? He must have been, I don't know, forty? Ray Price was the only entertainer my mom ever had a crush on, at least as far as I know.
By that time, Ray had shrugged off the twin fiddles completely and had adopted the countrypolitan sound. I wasn't a fan. Although I had one foot in tween pop and the other foot planted in country music, I still liked my country to sound country. I never actually voiced it, but I felt a bit betrayed by Ray. Now he was some guy wearing a smoking jacket, sitting in his den, sipping a martini. Frank Sinatra-lite.
But then I heard this song, which, I think, was the B side of one of Ray's current hits. I never admitted to anyone that I liked it, but it was pretty groovy.
Thanks to Willie Nelson:
Naturally, everybody knows Ray's biggest hit. It rolled around in the year 1970, written by some unknown Nashville hanger-on named Kris. Wonder if that guy ever wrote any other hit songs.
Here's Ray in his ostentatiously-decorated living room:
By the 1980's, Ray had either moved on or lost his record deal with Columbia, and he was considered too old for the "hip" country market, which, when you think about it, is an oxymoron. Country music was never hip. He and Willie did record a duet album of country standards, a lot of them old Bob Wills songs, and I bought it and I still have it...somewhere. Here's a taste:
Seeing as how Ray was "washed up" by the early 1980's, it's unimaginable that he kept going for another thirty-odd years, but that's exactly what he did.
Here's what Merle Haggard had to say about Ray Price:
"He was probably the first outlaw," Haggard said. "I think Willie
(Nelson) will agree. He was out there fighting for what he believed and
doing it his way, and being criticized and all that. I remember when he
laid the guitar down and started hiring violin players and all that, and
everybody thought he was crazy. Crazy like a fox. He knew what he was
doing."
My mom and dad saw Ray and his Cherokee Cowboys in concert at Panther Hall in Fort Worth, Texas. I don't think I was there. I wish I was. I can never hear a Ray Price recording without thinking about my mom and dad. They're forever intertwined.
When I found out that my dad had died, I was living far away. A couple of nights before we set out to travel to my dad's funeral, I sat in the rocker in my bedroom and played this song over and over, and I cried:
Soft rain was falling When you said goodbye Thunder and lightning Filled my heart inside A love born in heaven Had suddenly died And the soft rain was teardrops For the angels all cried
c: Ray Price
I'm feeling pretty melancholy knowing that Ray Price has passed away, but I feel sort of happy, too. I think he's putting on a concert right about now, and my mom is in the front row, swooning, and my dad is beside her, singing along.
It's not as if I'm so conceited as to think that music was invented in the nineteen sixties. Sure, that's maybe when my musical education began, but I am vaguely aware that music actually existed before I was born. Not good music (ha)....I'm being facetious. I know there was good music in the fifties. And I have the Ray Price albums to prove it. But there's most likely a lot about the fifties that I don't know, so, since a person I work with is so enamored of it, I wanted to at least give it a shot. My retrospective of the '40's was excruciating. I have much higher hopes for the ten years hence.
1950 found us still HANKering for Hank Williams. I'm sorry that no music videos exist of Hank. I, as much as you, hate staring at a static picture while listening to a song. The person who slapped this up on YouTube maybe could have put a smidgeon of effort into the project; I'm just sayin'.
Nevertheless, here is Why Don't You Love Me Like You Used To Do:
An artist I know very little about is Lefty Frizzell. I do know that he was most likely Merle Haggard's favorite singer, since Merle started out his career sounding just like Lefty, until someone pulled him aside and said, "Uh, you might want to just sing like yourself". Merle was always adept at impressions, though. He started off sounding a lot like Lefty; a lot like Wynn Stewart, somewhat like Bob Wills.
I do not know why Merle Haggard always factors into every music post I make ~ I'm thinking I might as well just shoot for the stars and write a damn book about Merle Haggard.
But, Merle aside, 1951 found Lefty Frizzell hitting the top of the charts with this song:
1952finally found a woman topping the charts!
Kitty Wells always struck me as being a reluctant star.It was almost as if she was embarrassed to be up on the stage, when she had clothes to wash and dinner to fix at home.
That's always been the conundrum.I'm no feminist, but I understand that women, as well as men, can have artistic leanings, and while the men have no compunction about expressing their artistic side, women feel the need to apologize for theirs. I'm guessing that in 1952, it was almost shameful for someone like Kitty to have a career, although no doubt, her husband Johnnie didn't mind depositing the royalty checks.
Irrespective of Kitty's reluctance, this song sort of started it all for women in country music:
Webb Pierce was huge in the nineteen fifties. I admit that I don't know why. He had an odd voice; nasally. But there is no denying that he was the king of kings in Nashville. He even had a guitar-shaped swimming pool. My theory is that he had a lot of dirt on a lot of people; and thus he ruled the Nashville culture with an iron fist. Songwriters quivered in his doorway and practically pleaded on hands and knees for Webb to record their songs. He got the pick of the litter; song-wise. Probably like George Strait; except George can sing.
In 1953, Webb Pierce had a monstrous hit with this song, which anyone with a rudimentary acquaintance with an acoustic guitar can replicate, because the chord progression is so simple, my dog could play it.
Speaking of nasally voices, another big star of the 1950's was Hank Snow.
I mainly remember Hank Snow because of the song, "I've Been Everywhere", which has a bunch of town names that one has to sing really fast, because, well, it's a fast song.
As a challenge to myself once, I memorized the lyrics to that song, because I was young, and I didn't have hardly anything clogging up my brain at the time. It's not as if that knowledge was ever any use to me. It never came up in a trivia contest or anything. Nowadays, I can barely remember my own phone number.
But it wasn't "I've Been Everywhere" that had country fans singing along (as if) in 1954. It was this song:
You may not think it's a good song, but you should hear Martina McBride sing it. Not to belabor this, but I have never been able to figure out if it's "I don't hurt anymore", or "It don't hurt anymore". Wikipedia says it's "I", but then, why do they sing "it"? Grammatically, of course, it should be "I", but since when did good grammar factor into country music?
In the year of my birth, 1955, we were once again entertained by Eddy Arnold, who definitely put the "western" in country and western with this song about doggies, which Clint Eastwood and John Wayne informed me were not actual doggies, but rather cows.
There were tons of great songs in 1956, such as Why Baby Why, I Walk the Line, Singin' the Blues; as well as Blue Suede Shoes and Heartbreak Hotel, which were not technically country songs, but rather, rockabilly. Distinctions used to matter then. I, however, feel that it's high time we feature some Ray Price. My mom wasn't a real savvy music connoisseur, but she loved Ray Price. She, in fact, had a giant crush on him; while my dad just appreciated his music. I, too, appreciate Ray Price's music; especially from the time before he went all countrypolitan on us; when he just sang stone country songs.
Like this one:
1957 was another banner year for country music. Again, like 1956, there are loads of hits from which to choose; like A White Sport Coat, Gone ("since you've gone..."), My Shoes Keep Walkin' Back to You. But I've chosen this song, which could perhaps also be called rockabilly, but to me, is more of a rock 'n roll/country hybrid. Why did I choose this one? Silly ~ I always have to get a book plug in somewhere. I wrote a bit about this song in my book, Rich Farmers; but even more than that, I have placed this song on my list of the 20 Best Country Songs of All Time; and that's a tough list to crack. Here are the Everly Brothers:
I feel kind of (not really) bad featuring Ray Price again, but I can't let this song go unposted. In 1958, Ray had a monster hit with a song written by Bill Anderson (the young'ns will recognize Bill by the song, "Whiskey Lullaby") It was a tough choice, though. 1958 was swimming with great songs: Great Balls of Fire (yes, technically, rockabilly again, but dang! That song will get you up off your chair and dancing! Alone With You (Faron Young ~ love Faron Young); All I Have to Do is Dream
This is such a great song, though; I could not, in good conscience, ignore it. Once again, Ray Price: By 1959, the winds of change were blowing. Soon, Buck Owens and his Buckaroos would light a fire with a telecaster; Tammy Wynette would tear our hearts out with a crying steel and a voice like a wrenching sob. Loretta would get all feisty about the man who did her wrong. Kris would have one more beer for dessert. Bobby (and Mel) would go to sleep in Detroit City. Tom T. would gossip about the PTA. Lynn would refuse to promise us a rose garden. Merle. Yet, before the decade turned, a four-minute, thirty-eight second song would tell us a tale about a young man who fell in love with a girl named Felina; and about one little kiss. Here is Marty Robbins:
While the 1940's were essentially a bust for me, country music-wise; the fifties were ripe with promise. Granted, I never heard these songs (or don't remember hearing them) until a few years down the road; but I can thank artists like Martina for bringing some of them back. And I can thank my "best of" albums for introducing the songs to me a couple (or ten) years later.
The nineteen fifties in country music were not throwaway years. Nay, they were classic years; if for no other artists than Ray Price, Marty Robbins, and the Everly Brothers.
Oh, but the winds of change; they were a'blowin'.......
"If I am 'Male Vocalist of the Year' that must mean that I’m one of those
people now that gets to decide if it moves forward and if it moves on.
Country music has to evolve in order to survive. Nobody
wants to listen to their grandpa’s music. And I don’t care how many of
these old farts around Nashville going, “My God, that ain’t country!”
Well that’s because you don’t buy records anymore, jackass. The kids do, and they don’t want to buy the music you were buying."
"It's a shame that I have spend 63 years in
this business trying to introduce music to a larger audience and to make
it easier for the younger artists who are coming behind me. Every now
and then some young artist will record a rock and roll
type song , have a hit first time out with kids only. This is why you
see stars come with a few hits only and then just fade away believing
they are God's answer to the world. This guy sounds like in his own mind
that his head is so large no hat ever made will fit him. Stupidity
Reigns Supreme!!!!!!! Ray Price (CHIEF "OLD FART" & JACKASS") " P.S.
YOU SHOULD BE SO LUCKY AS US OLD-TIMERS. CHECK BACK IN 63 YEARS (THE
YEAR 2075) AND LET US KNOW HOW YOUR NAME AND YOUR MUSIC WILL BE
REMEMBERED."
I don't give one whit about Blake Shelton's music. I don't listen to country radio, and I don't watch that cheesy reality show of his. In fairness, though, I did search out a few of his videos on YouTube, because, unlike Ol' Big Head, I don't want to be viewed as ignorant.
Here's the deal, Mr. Future of Country Music: Your stuff isn't all that "cutting edge", contrary to your delirium. I could write reams about how Ray Price influenced the country music industry, but nobody is really interested nowadays, it seems. BS's (good initials!) music is not transformative in any way. Substitute the name "Blake" for "Eric" or "Jason" or whoever the new him-bo's are; who could tell the difference?
BS, your stuff is mundane, cloying, insincere. I could go on and on with adjectives, but this sort of sums it up.
Unlike others on line, I'm not going to give you the benefit of the doubt. You may well be correct about the future of "country" music, but it's your classlessness; your arrogance; your rudeness; that is inexcusable.
Ray Price turned 87 years old in January. He's still out there performing.
My husband subscribes to Uncut magazine. The justification for pricing its magazine at $100 a year, apparently, is that the editors include a CD with each issue (still not worth $100; but maybe that's just me).
The latest issue had, slipped into its plastic wrapper, a CD titled, "The Music That Inspired Gram Parsons".
My husband said, "Hey, maybe you might want to listen to this". (He's not a country music aficionado.)
I'll admit, here and now, that the only thing I know about Gram Parsons is that Emmylou Harris was his girlfriend. I'm not some country music snob, but I never knew exactly why I needed to get to know G.P. since, it seems, he glommed his style from artists like Buck Owens, and The Byrds, and The Louvin Brothers; and I already knew about their music.
So, tonight, I'm playing the Uncut "Honky Tonk Heroes" CD, which essentially consists of songs I am well familiar with, but since I haven't heard them in ages, it's fun!
The Louvin Brothers, Faron Young, Carl and Pearl Butler, Ray Price, Buck Owens, et al.
The first cut on the CD is "Close Up The Honky Tonks", by Buck (and I will note, importantly, Don Rich; because without Don, that track would never have been so great. Ever hear Buck sing harmony with himself? He wasn't that much of a singer. Don Rich made Buck Owens so much better than he ever would have been).
My dad had the album, Together Again/ My Heart Skips a Beat. My mom and dad owned two country albums back in 1964. That one, and Ray Price's Burning Memories. Mom and Dad didn't have any disposable income back then,
Together Again/My Heart Skips a Beat is the quintessential country album. One can't get much better than this. And Burning Memories is pure country soul.
Two country albums. As tight as their budget was, Mom and Dad still picked two of the very best.
Yup, I have good taste in music. I inherited it from my dad.
And now, since I'm not about to become one of those crotchety old ladies, I'm going to search out some Gram Parsons. See what the big deal was all about.
(This isn't exactly how the song went, originally; but you can't find Buck singing this song anywhere on the 'net, so here is my latter-day hero, Dwight):
Just because a guy had his first hit song in 1958 doesn't mean that he's over the hill. Just because he happens to be 74 years old, that doesn't mean that there's still not great songs rattling around up there. Because apparently there are.
Again, I am....well, I was going to say "aghast", but that doesn't really fit, does it? I am...awed...by the prolificacy of the great songwriters.
Bill Anderson has been around for my whole life (obviously), and when I first became aware of him, it was through his syndicated TV show, which my channel always broadcast on Saturday afternoons, which they apparently considered the "dead" time slot, but not for me! I think it was Porter Wagoner's show and then Bill Anderson's show, and probably the Wilburn Brothers' show, or somebody's. I only actually remember Porter's and Bill's.
The show looked something like this:
Let's just say at the outset that Bill (whom I'm sure would be the first to tell you) is not the world's greatest singer.
As a matter of fact, he's really kind of a bad singer. Which is probably why he always did those sappy recitations. Which were awful! In fact, many performers through the years have parodied those recitations, and who can blame them? It's almost too easy.
Here's an example of what I'm talking about:
Be that as it may, I don't think Bill really set out to be a singer anyway. I'm not sure how or why it happened, but somebody somewhere said, "Hey Bill ~ LOVE your voice! Did you ever think about recording?"
And Bill said, "Huh? Is this a joke? That's kind of cruel."
But none of us can sing, really. Unless you're LeAnn Rimes, and you've made yet another crappy cover album (even if it was produced by Vince Gill), in which you've slowed down all the songs that were meant to be up-tempo, just so you could put your "stamp" on them. And you've ruined them; just ruined them.
I digress (Don't I? But I still managed to make my point.)
But back to Bill Anderson.
The year was 1958. That year of Bill's first hit song. And it was a good one. I remember listening to this song (not in 1958!) and thinking, that's a really well-written song. And it didn't hurt that Ray Price was singing it:
Bill, as you know, or maybe don't know, was in essence responsible for Connie Smith's career. I bought Connie's first album, and I think every song on it was written by Bill Anderson (There might have been one or two that weren't, but I'm not going to dig through my closet to find the album to prove myself right or wrong).
Here's Connie's first big, big hit:
Here's another one, introduced by Bill himself. "Cute and Country" Connie Smith (aww, isn't that sweet?)
One more, a bit more recently performed:
But Bill wasn't just about Connie Smith and Ray Price, and well, himself. No. Do you remember this one? I wanna say 1963, but I'm really just guessing, to be honest. The only hit song that Roy Clark ever really had, and he managed to parlay that into a pretty lengthy career (Thanks again, Bill! Says Roy.)
Yet, Bill moved into the almost-twenty-first century, with songs like this one, recorded by Steve Wariner (I think Steve deserves a post all his own, really.)
And, you know, this one, of course:
And yes, here we go again, with this video that I really dislike, but I really, really like the song:
That's a damn long good career! Bill Anderson is someone who can get up in the morning and honestly say, "I'm going to write a hit song today. Or at least I know I can write a hit song today."
To be honest,and not satirical, Bill Anderson is a songwriter who has been able to adapt to the times.
If you listen to the songs he wrote in the late fifties, early sixties, they were different from the songs he writes now. Not lyrically, so much, although perhaps his lyrics are a bit more frank now than they were back then. That's a sign of the times, no doubt.
There was a formula in those days. It was basically, verse chorus, verse chorus. Simple? Well, not so simple that you or I could write a great one. Deceptively simple, maybe.
Times and tastes change, though. And Bill's writing has changed, too. He co-writes a lot now. Maybe that's what keeps him current. I'm not a fan of co-writing, but if it works, and it makes Bill big bucks, then, hey! I think a lot of those young co-writers can thank their lucky stars that someone of the caliber of Bill Anderson has agreed to write a song with them.
As the saying goes (MY saying, because I have repeated it so much that I've now laid claim to it), either you've got it or you don't.
And I guess, if you had it in 1958, and you still have it more than 50 years later, then you've GOT IT.
You don't have to wonder. Fifty years is the cutoff point for wondering.
I only started writing in 2002, so it would not be until the year 2052 that I would know for sure. I would then be 97-freakin' years old. I ain't living that long. So I guess I'll never know. But I'm pretty sure; I don't got it.
"Essential" means different things to different people. If one is a music critic, the list will include the usual suspects ("Red Headed Stranger", "Will The Circle Be Unbroken", anything by Gram Parsons or Johnny Cash; you get my drift).
If one discovered "country music" in the 21st century, the list would be, well, sad. To generalize. Which I'm famous for doing.
In Part One, I kind of sifted through my music collection and made my choices by "feel". Which isn't actually a bad way to go, because what do we do, if not "feel" music?
And, in Part Deux, I'm going to continue along that path. I could intellectualize the whole thing, but what fun is that? Kind of takes the soul right out of the music, doesn't it, music critics?
In the late hour and in my zeal to create List Number One, I realize now that I made a really big gaffe.
This FOUR-DISC set is currently selling for only $35.97 on Amazon. That's only $8.99 per disc! A bargain, to be sure.
One could try to isolate the best of the best of Merle Haggard (another actual CD title) by choosing only one of Merle's albums, but why do that, when you can have basically his entire career, all in one inexpensively priced box set?
If a listener is starting out "new" to country music, this is THE place to start. In fact, it kind of starts and ends with this guy.
Highlights? Well, gee, this set contains ONE HUNDRED Haggard recordings, so let's see.....
We can start with the early days and "Sing Me A Song" or "(I'm a Lonesome) Fugitive" or the classic, "Sing Me Back Home".
We can move on to the middle years, with one of the all-time greatest country songs ever, "(Today) I Started Loving You Again", or "Mama Tried" or "Silver Wings" or "Workin' Man Blues" or "If We Make It Through December" or "Always Wanting You" or "Runnin' Kind", or one of my other personal favorites, "Everybody's Had The Blues".
We can move on to the third portion of the trifecta, with "Footlights" or "Misery and Gin" or "Big City", or the Townes Van Zandt song, "Pancho and Lefty".
You see? It's kinda hard to choose.
So, yes, I'm an idiot for leaving this off Part One. I guess, if you don't buy any of my other recommendations, buy this one, and I'll be thrilled for you.
While only a two-disc set, this is a bargain at any cost. And the cost happens to be $24.98 on Amazon (or $12.49 per disc, my calculator tells me).
The original Nashville Rebel, Waylon, from all I read, could be a bit of a hell-raiser and an overall less-than-nice dude. Doesn't matter. In 1967, Waylon hooked me with Love of the Common People (not included in this two-disc set).
What is included in this set are songs such as, "The Chokin' Kind", "Only Daddy That'll Walk The Line", the beautiful "Yours Love", the equally beautiful "Dreaming My Dreams (With You)", "Brown Eyed Handsome Man", "Rainy Day Woman", and "Good Hearted Woman" (and that's just disc one).
Disc two has the ever-overplayed "Luckenbach, Texas", "Wurlitzer Prize", "Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies...."......well, you know the rest; the lovely "Amanda", Waylon and Jessi's duet version of "Storms Never Last", and, the never to be forgotten, "Theme From The Dukes of Hazzard" (and if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: They keep a'showin' my hands, but not my face on TV.)
Seriously, Waylon ranks right up there in the pantheon. Which is kind of a cool word that one doesn't get to use much in everyday conversation. Yes, the pantheon of country music legends.
One can't really call Patsy Cline a "girl", though. It would be more accurate to call her a "dame".
And, well, wow! Since 1963, when Patsy perished in a tragic plane crash, girl singers have been trying to become "dames" like her, and unfortunately, (in my opinion, of course) only one came even slightly close. But they keep trying!
Beginning with the haunting, "Walkin' After Midnight", and continuing on to the soulful "Leavin' On Your Mind" and "I Fall To Pieces", to the unquestionably top twenty (or is it ten?) of all-time best country songs, written by Willie Nelson, "Crazy", this album will introduce novices to the only queen that country music really ever had.
Don't forget Patsy's version of Bob Wills' "Faded Love" (with that cry at the end) or Don Gibson's "Sweet Dreams".
It's sad that we lost Patsy so prematurely. If she were still alive today, she'd be recording "alternative country" albums, which we would have to find in the bargain bins of our independent records stores; and she wouldn't get any press, of course. But at least those who know would still have that voice.
$4.97? Really? For Randy Travis's seminal album? Who could afford NOT to buy it?
Released in 1986, this album was a revelation to those who cherished, but dearly missed, real country music.
Here was a guy who obviously loved country, and who had the pipes to pull it off. Not to mention some classic songs.
"On The Other Hand"? Classic.
How about one of my other top twenty country songs of all time, "1982"? That song alone is worth $4.97 in my book. If you care to read a fan's dissertation regarding the genius of "1982", just go here.
Some people love him; some people don't get him. I am in the camp of "love him". If you want to read my take on Marty Robbins, click here.
I'll admit; I'm puzzled by those who don't get him, because it seems obvious to me. But tastes are tastes.
Maybe it's because he had such an expansive vocal range. Maybe people are used to the monotoned folks of today. I guess it's all conditioning, isn't it?
But if you think that Marty is irrelevant, check this out:
So, if a now, happenin' guy like Keith Urban can get on board with Marty Robbins' music, maybe you should, too.
Missing from Keith's performance is the classic, groundbreaking, Don't Worry. Groundbreaking? Yea. Marty inadvertently gave birth to the fuzz guitar LONG before the Beatles ever did it.
There are a lot of pretenders to Patsy Cline's throne. No one comes very close. Tammy Wynette comes the closest.
Donald Eugene Lytle (aka Johnny Paycheck) wrote Tammy's first hit song, "Apartment #9" (and I love that hatchmark for "number", don't you? Gives it sort of a cache all its own).
Tammy, of course, only went on to bigger and more hit-worthy songs from there. We won't really spend any time on "Stand By Your Man". It is what it is. It was good the first 200 times. After that, I was pretty much over it.
But don't forget "Your Good Girl's Gonna Go Bad" or "My Elusive Dreams" (with David Houston) or "I Don't Wanna Play House", or another of my top twenty of all time, "'Til I Can Make It On My Own".
Like Patsy, we lost Tammy too soon. Someone may come along one day like Patsy or Tammy. It could happen. I'm just not holding my breath.
Chet Atkins (God rest his soul) takes a lot of heat, to this day, for the Countrypolitan sound that he made famous.
Sure, sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn't.
Here, it worked.
Maybe it took a class act to pull it off. Ray Price is a class act.
At the age of 83, Ray is still touring, and still sounds good! What the heck more can you ask of someone who's 83?
My mom really loved Ray Price; and I think my parents owned maybe two LP's in the early years. One was by Buck Owens. The other was "Burning Memories". Thus, I pretty much have this album memorized, track order and all. But aside from sentimental reasons, you should listen to this album, if for no other reason, than to hear "Here Comes My Baby Back Again", a song written by Dottie West, and done superbly here by Ray Price.
After my dad passed away, I sat in my room and listened to Ray sing "Soft Rain" over and over. "Soft rain was falling when you said goodbye". Actually, rather than being sad, this is a happy memory for me. I think my dad was there listening with me.
Put this CD on your player and sit back and reflect. Really, there are no clunkers here. Every track is a gem.
I don't know about you, but I like my country with a shuffle beat and a couple of twin fiddles. Call me crazy.
Faron Young initially made his splash recording for Capitol Records. His early recording years produced songs such as, Alone With You and If You Ain't Lovin' (You Ain't Livin'), later covered by George Strait.
But it was in his Mercury Records years that Faron, to me, really hit his stride.
Classic tracks, such as "Wine Me Up" and "Step Aside" co-mingled with Kris Kristofferson's "Your Time's Comin'". My sentimental favorite here is a song written by Tom T. Hall, called, "If I Ever Fall In Love (With A Honky Tonk Girl)".
And let's not forget, "It's Four In The Morning".
If you've forgotten, or don't even know Faron Young, you're forgetting the history of country music. Faron was relevant in the fifties, and he became even more relevant in the seventies. Faron was a contemporary (and friend) of Hank Williams, and he was a friend to songwriters throughout his many decades of recording.
Surprise! An artist NOT from the fifties, sixties, seventies, or even the eighties!
Why did I include this?
Well, because it's TIMELESS.
Martina normally may be kind of boxed into recording songs that will get radio play, but obviously, her heart is with TRUE country music.
Seems to me that this is a real labor of love, because Martina includes many songs here that made my personal list of the twenty all-time best country songs. So, I guess she has good taste! Songs like, "Love's Gonna Live Here" and "'Til I Can Make It On My Own". And she even dusted off that seventies Lynn Anderson chestnut, "Rose Garden", and it actually sounds kinda cool!
My favorites on this album, however, are lesser-known (or more accurately, forgotten) hits, such as "Pick Me Up On Your Way Down" and "I Don't Hurt Anymore".
And she does a killer version of Buddy Holly's "True Love Ways".
If you think you might, sorta, like older country music, but you like it jazzed up a bit with a more modern sound, buy this! You'll get a crash course in country music history, and you will love it!
So, there you go. My list of essential CLASSIC country albums.
I think it's important to not forget. Most of these guys (and gals) are the reason there even IS something called country music (although it would be a stretch to even remotely connect the two now).
The only reason I ever watched the movie, "Sling Blade" in the first place, was because Dwight Yoakam was in it. I honestly don't think I've seen any other Billy Bob Thornton movies. At least, not intentionally. It's a pretty safe bet I'll never see another.
Oh, you know, if you follow pop culture news at all, about the now infamous radio interview, featuring Billy Bob at his best. Seems that Billy Bob has a band, called the Boxmasters, or, as a satirist called them, the "Boxcutters".
And, it seems that, through Billy Bob's Hollywood/Texas connections, he managed to get the Boxcutters (er, Boxmasters) hitched to the Willie Nelson/Ray Price tour. Nice gig. One that about a bazillion bands would kill for.
Apparently, one of the obligations for the band was to do some radio promotion. Alas, that was asking waaaaa-y too much of an important Hollywood bigwig like Billy Bob.
Billy Bob seemed to not like the "tone" of the questions posed to him by the disc jockey. The DJ had the audacity to mention that BB happened to be an "actor". WELL! The impertinence! BB showed this guy. He sat in his chair and proceeded to make an ass of himself (as his bandmates frantically looked for a table to crawl under).
You be the judge:
The interview left me feeling really bad for the guys in the band. Did they actually sign on for this?
Seems that shortly thereafter, some of the guys came down with the "flu", and thus the Boxcutters had to leave the Willie Nelson tour.
Here's what those who bought tickets missed:
Ahem, "would you ask Tom Petty these questions?"
I definitely see the similarities. Don't you?
They're both "bands". They both are singing "songs". I mean, it's uncanny!
Sadly, for some ungodly reason, this infamous interview has brought attention to the Boxcutters that they could only pray for. And some fool will buy their CD, just so that he or she can feel close to someone famous.
Meanwhile, all those unknown bands, with singers who can actually "sing", are left out in the cold. They're wondering how they can get on the Willie Nelson tour. And they know that, given the opportunity to do a radio interview, they wouldn't be petulant. They'd be polite.
But, then, they don't have that sense of entitlement that only an actor who had one hit movie could have.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I'm listening to someone who's keeping (alt) country music alive. He's not on the Willie Nelson tour.
His name is Robbie Fulks. Buy his CD's. Please. He's one of our last hopes.
