Showing posts with label the kendalls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the kendalls. Show all posts

Thursday, September 29, 2022

Me And The Seventies

 

I'm not sure why I have a love/hate relationship with the decade of the 1970's. Truthfully, it was the most impactful decade of my life. I was young enough to experience every moment; not yet so old that the years ran together like a muddy river.

I came of age in the seventies. I was still a high school girl from '70 to '73; I got married for the first time in 1974, and I became a mother twice over between 1976 and 1978. I also landed my first "real" job and quickly learned that work was something to endure rather than enjoy. It wasn't fulfilling; it was a slog ~ a slog of menial tasks and a morass of neurotic coworkers.

Maybe I've dismissed the 1970's because I didn't particularly like the person I was then. 

If "clueless" was an actual term back then, clueless was my middle name. I was painfully naive about life. Not that it was necessarily my fault. My family wasn't exactly The Cleavers. In fact, my dad, if he worked at all, played at being a part-time bartender. But truth be told, he spent most of his time planted on a stool on the other side of the bar he owned. Thus my mother was perpetually angry. She'd carefully mapped out a way to better their lot in life by abandoning farming and purchasing a business, a motel/bar combo, but she ended up doing all the work while my dad played. Everybody always knew my dad was an alcoholic, but he kept the demons at bay simply by the responsibilities of planting and harvesting the wheat and potato fields. Give him a bar right next door, however, and a woman who could be relied on to shoulder all the work, and he was lured to whiskey like a child offered candy from a pervert in a van. 

Thus my home life consisted of pots and pans slamming and a cold shoulder. I escaped to the quiet of my room and fashioned my own sanctuary. I had one actual friend and a handful of acquaintances I only interacted with in the school hallway or in whatever classes we happened to share. 

My inner life was consumed by the music I let wash over me. I collected albums and cheap electronics, like a JC Penney reel-to-reel tape recorder and a "stereo component set", which set me back an outrageous hundred dollars, which I'd amassed from my many summer hours of cleaning motel rooms. I stayed up 'til three or four in the morning during summer vacations, my ear glued to the radio, the third component of my new stereo setup. I tuned the dial to WHO and WBAP and if the heavens allowed, WSM. I fancied myself a singer and recorded three-part harmonies on my reel-to-reel. (I actually wasn't as bad as I thought at the time.) I typed up music "newsletters" on the manual typewriter I'd somehow claimed from my mom, who'd bought it with the intent of producing motel invoices.

My life was insular.

So, I never learned much of anything except how to swish out a toilet and make hospital corners. I could fry up a grilled cheese sandwich and stir together some Kraft macaroni and cheese, which I did whenever my mom was busy manning the motel desk and Dad was, naturally, indisposed. Nobody at home ever talked to anyone else. I had a little brother and sister, who I think I must have conversed with at some point, but they were little kids, after all. How much could we have in common?

I was on my own, a strange amalgam of independence and naivete. Anything I learned, I discovered through experimentation and failure. My mom never went clothes shopping with me or taught me about makeup. I employed my talent for observation to simulate what the other girls my age were doing and I mimicked them. 

I did learn how to smoke, however, all on my own. Smoking wasn't so much cool, per se, as it was another means of escape. 

The music that dominated my senior year in high school was an incongruent mix of country at home and rock blaring from the car radio of my best friend's beige Buick (No, I hadn't yet learned how to drive, either). Alice and I dragged Main Street on Friday and sometimes Saturday nights, singing along to Stuck In The Middle With You and Drift Away and The Joker.


 

Our tastes in country singles matched, too ~ Ride Me Down Easy, Southern Lovin', Here Comes The World Again. 


 

I met my first husband on one of those Main Street runs. I thought the friend he was with was better looking, but the four of us matched up more or less according to height.

My future husband was older and had lived on his own, so he knew how to cook, whereas I did not. I could man a mean vacuum cleaner, though. We married in 1974 and since no one we knew actually rented an apartment, the thought never even crossed our minds. Instead we trudged down the highway from my parents' motel to a mobile home lot and were bamboozled into paying far too much money for a 12 by 66-foot tin box. I was thrilled. Finally something of my own that didn't require proximity to two crazed ultimate fighters.

We furnished our home with a Sears green and white flowered sofa and a set of K-Mart tables, among other cheap amenities. K-Mart and Woolworth's were my go-to's for curtains and bedspreads and collapsible nightstands. I brought my bed and my TV from my motel hideaway. That first Christmas I plopped a two-foot plastic tree atop a table and decorated it with home-crafted ornaments (it didn't require many). We inherited a console stereo, which claimed one wall of the living room and after work I spun Emmylou Harris's Elite Hotel (loved that album) and one by someone named LaCosta, who it turned out was Tanya Tucker's sister. 


The communal radio at work was tuned to rock, so I still had one foot in that world. Sundown, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, and Mockingbird were the order of the day.

(Not to state the obvious, James, but those drugs seem to really be kicking in.)



My first son was born in November of 1976. I worked up until his birth, albeit not at that soul-sucking job I'd landed right out of high school. Truly, that place was yet one more dysfunctional family, but I wasn't tied to them by blood, so I bailed. Where did I go? Well, shoot, back to Mom and Dad. In my defense, however, Dad was newly sober and had become an actual human being, and thus my mom was ninety per cent less frenzied. 

Once I delivered my son, however, I retired. I loved it. Achingly poor, yet happy. I knew it couldn't last, but I was willing to forego a Country Kitchen breakfast and a couple of new LP's if it meant watching my baby grow. Anyway, I still had the radio:



And I hadn't abandoned country completely.

(although this is kind of skirting the country line)

 

                                           (whereas this is definitely country)

In March of '78 when I became pregnant for the second time, we traded up to a fourteen by seventy-eight-foot mobile home with three bedrooms. Those extra two feet wide, boy, felt like a palace, Still a tin palace that sounded like Armageddon during a hailstorm

In December I gave birth to my second son and I knew my mom-time was fast waning.

In rock, nothing much struck me. This track was considered "rock", but come on. It's Roy Orbison dressed up in a new package:


 I dipped my toe back into country music, kind of as a farewell to the decade.


 

In essence, despite all signs to the contrary, I grew up in the seventies. And yes, I did eventually learn how to cook. I also learned how real life works, how to stop apologizing for my talents; how to wrangle two toddlers into a car and motor over to the mall and come out the exit doors sane. How to soothe colic. How to fall in love with an unlovable dog who loved no one but me. How a clothes dryer works so much better if one occasionally cleans the lint filter. How linens dried on a fresh-air clothesline smell so delectable. How to coax houseplants to flourish. 

How a baby's giggle is manna from heaven. 

In ten short years I went from a self-involved, self-pitying victim to an actual grown-up human. 


I was the last person to see that coming.


 

Saturday, September 23, 2017

Me and Country Music in 1977


Music wasn't foremost in my mind in 1977. My son was born in November of 1976, so I was busy. I had known nothing about babies, but the old adage is actually true -- babies are resilient, despite their parents' ignorance. Unless, of course, you can actually kill them with love (you can't).

I had quit working -- which is sort of amusing. As if one can just quit and magically be able to sustain their family. It would be more accurate to say that I took a break. Considering that we were pitiably poor, taking a break was either a selfless act of motherly love or a dimwitted blunder. Honestly, though, how many material goods does one need? Most every newly-married couple I knew lived in a mobile home (it was the seventies -- thanks to Jimmy Carter, nobody could afford anything).  It's funny how people love to throw around the term "trailer trash", but much like commenters on news sites who are instant experts on health insurance, people in general are ignorant. My house was nice. It was new, for one thing. I guess people are put off by the "shape" of mobile homes. Inside, however, it's a regular home. Morons. I had actual appliances and everything -- a washer and dryer; not a washboard. I will grant you that heating and air conditioning costs were astronomical. That was thanks to the paper-thin walls. But it was a mobile home. If I'd wanted good insulation, I guess we could have rented an apartment -- if we could find one. Apartments in the seventies in my town were practically unheard of. Some homeowners had little apartments on the upper floors of their houses. There were a couple of squat brick buildings that were "apartment houses". They were generally situated in the less-than-desirable areas of town. And they were meant for singles; not for families. The working girls, the State employees who hadn't yet found a husband.

I bought baby clothes at Woolworth's. I was a big Woolworth's consumer. We had a TV and a stereo and a stroller. The drawback of living in a mobile home park was the habitat -- long, long streets that went on forever. And yea, there were undesirable people I encountered while pushing my baby in his stroller down that interminable street. The park was a conglomeration of regular working people, those on their third divorce and their fourth batch of kids, upwardly mobile couples who held their nose and padded their savings accounts until they could afford to get the hell out, groups of party-bros sharing the rent. Yet, in 1977 there was a pastoral horse pasture across the street from my home. A white picket fence and lazy mares sidling up for a snack. That didn't last long -- progress and more lots to develop -- but it was there for a while -- and my baby boy and I saw it.

Music hovered between background minutiae and rare gems. Country music was in flux in 1977 -- the Outlaws and the In-Laws. Sixties holdovers, urban cowboys, and new jewels. I was nearing the end of the line with country music, yet I wouldn't give up on it completely until 1984. I hated most of it, but I kept holding out hope that something magical would happen.

This is what I remember:

Apparently Waylon and Willie saw no need to do a live version of this song. This was the best video I could find, and all in all, it's not bad:



After a time, I grew tired of Crystal Gayle and her hair. I mean, how many times can one watch a girl flipping her four-foot-long tresses? It was odd and led to many questions, such as, how much did she pay for plumber visits? And how much must the plumbers hate getting that call? "Oh, it's Long Hair again. You wanna take this one, Bob?" Nevertheless, this was a nice song the first fifty times I heard it.



George and Tammy got back together briefly in 1977, because they knew a good thing when they heard it. And when we heard it. It's so nice to hear Tammy again. There are two female singers who knew, really knew, how to sing country -- Patsy Cline and Tammy Wynette. It's that indefinable, know-it-when-you-hear-it quality. Tammy had it:


Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, many of the hits I remember from 1977 are unavailable on YouTube, so I will forego "The Wurlitzer Prize" Instead, let's take a look at a track that was truly country, and sustained my puny faith in country music. Unfortunately, no performance from 1977 can be found (and Emmylou had long black hair then -- not as long as Crystal Gayle's -- just sayin').


If one was to tick off the top singles from 1977, there would be these two. One is catchy -- really really catchy. The other is stuck in time. I'll let you be the judge:



But you know me. I'm a sucker for real country. This song, to me, will always represent 1977. My baby boy won't remember it, but I do:


If one is to remember the good times, music provides that nudge. When I hear these songs, I'm back in my mobile home kitchen with its frilly curtains, the FM radio blaring out of my faux-walnut console stereo, my baby nodding off in his play swing in the living room as I watch him from my perch in front of the avocado GE range. I was but a child then, playing at being a grownup. 

But I had my baby...and music.






Sunday, November 2, 2008

CMA Awards - 1978

The CMA Awards website is sort of falling down on the job in 1978. Either that, or no one was named INSTRUMENTAL GROUP OF THE YEAR. The nominees were Asleep At The Wheel, Chet Atkins (for group?), the Charlie Daniels Band, Danny Davis & the Nashville Brass, and Les Paul (again, not a group). But alas, there is no actual winner listed. Was this category accidentally left off the ballot? Was it a five-way tie? The possibilities are many. But I guess we'll never know, will we? Not that this is the biggest award of the night, but it probably was important to those nominated, I'd think.

So, in the interest of inclusiveness, I'll just pick a winner. Well, Les Paul is a legend, and deserves a category all his own, and Chet Atkins is also a legend and has already won countless times, and Danny Davis and his Brass don't have any room left on their mantles. That leaves Asleep At The Wheel and the Charlie Daniels Band.

Here's a representation of each:





Well, I just can't pick. Neither of these performances are technically "instrumentals", but they feature instruments! I love both these bands, so I'm just gonna call it a tie and move on. Weigh in with your choice, if you are so inclined.

The INSTRUMENTALIST OF THE YEAR was again Roy Clark. No videos; sorry. Nothing personal. It's just that there aren't too many videos of Roy available, and I've posted just about everything I could find. But good going, Roy! Apparently you learned how to make friends and influence people in Nashville!

Surprisingly, the FEMALE VOCALIST OF THE YEAR award again went to Crystal Gayle. I don't get it. I don't have any animosity towards Crystal; it's just that she was kind of a "blip" on the country music scene. She had one big (okay, huge) hit, and some other minor hits, but she's basically known for one song. One song does not a career make.

And try finding a video on YouTube that isn't "Brown Eyes". It's not easy! But here's one, and I don't have any recall of this song, but it seems nice:



Again, surprisingly, the SONG OF THE YEAR award went to Richard Leigh for a song that garnered Crystal the female vocalist award in 1977. That, of course, being, "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue". I don't know about you, and I don't know anything about Richard Leigh, so no offense, Richard, but I don't think I even want to hear that song ever again. But if you have a hankering to hear it, check my post for 1977. It would be rather redundant to post it again.

Luckily for me, the CMA handed out the MALE VOCALIST OF THE YEAR award to someone different this time around! Change is nice. This song technically didn't earn Don Williams the award, since it was released later, but since he probably never won anything again, I thought I would post it, seeing as how it's probably my one and only opportunity:



The VOCAL DUO OF THE YEAR award went to someone new in 1977 as well: Kenny Rogers and Dottie West.

Again, this was a short-lived pairing. Kenny went on to record duets with others, including Dolly Parton and Kim Carnes. And this was Dottie's sort of "pop" phase. It was a snapshot in time. Nothing that anyone's going to remember in the larger scheme of things, but this made it big in 1977:



As a breath of fresh air, the Statlers didn't win the VOCAL GROUP OF THE YEAR award. Nothin' against the Statlers - I like 'em! But it was just time for a change. These four guys gave the Statlers a run for their money, and they were huge in the late seventies. I saw them in concert at the North Dakota State Fair, and I was pretty excited about the whole thing, I must say.

Here's a song from around that time, that surely gave them the nod for vocal group of the year:

THE OAK RIDGE BOYS



The SINGLE OF THE YEAR happens to be one of my personal favorites. Father-daughter team Jeannie and Royce Kendall - THE KENDALLS - had a very big hit with this song, and to me, it still holds up.

And I'll never forget my two-year-old singing along to "Heaven's Just A Sin Away":



ALBUM OF THE YEAR - Ronnie Milsap - It Was Almost Like A Song

I've been posting a lost of Ronnie Milsap videos lately, and I have sort of run out. I didn't realize that Ronnie had dominated the CMA awards for so many years, but kudos to him! I'm a big Ronnie Milsap fan. It's nice to be reminded that talent was, at one time, recognized.

Here's a Ronnie video, and if I posted it before, sorry. Again, there's not a lot of choices out there on YouTube.



ENTERTAINER OF THE YEAR Dolly Parton

I suppose some people view Dolly as one of those institutions that's always been there, sort of like George Washington. I, however, remember Dolly when she was simply the duet partner of Porter Wagoner. When she had her first singles, like "Somethin' Fishy"and "Dumb Blonde" on Monument Records. I guess I watched her career unfold. She, no doubt, helped Porter become relevant. Most of the duets they recorded were songs written by Dolly. Why has she endured, lo these forty-odd years later? I think because she's a great songwriter. And, to some, a great entertainer.

I never really liked Dolly "in person". Because she couldn't just sing the song, without offering some sort of commentary and endless giggling (while singing). Dolly does well singing harmony with others, such as Brad Paisley. Even Kenny Rogers. Just not in person. And Dolly has found a way to stay relevant through the years. In the early eighties, she reinvented herself as an actress. Who doesn't remember this:



I guess the reason that Dolly broke that glass ceiling (later to be broken by a few, but not by many) and be named Entertainer of the Year was probably due to this song, which is pop, and not country, but, hey, that's what they were looking for in 1978:



COUNTRY MUSIC HALL OF FAME Grandpa Jones

Louis Marshall "Grandpa" Jones did, I guess, "old time" music. Not really bluegrass, per se. Not really country. He actually could be a serious musician, but his stage persona overshadowed any seriousness that he might have had in him. I kid Grandpa Jones, but he seemed like a decent fellow, and he was entertaining. Of course, we all know him from Hee Haw, and here's a number featuring Stringbean, Roy Clark, and a bunch of others:



So, there you go, 1978. Things were starting to get back to "country" in some respects, but the Country Music Association was still stubbornly clinging to that pop stuff. Weird that the two could co-exist so seamlessly. And people accepted it. A crossroads, maybe. 1979 will tell the tale.