September Is Country Music Month (The Middlin' Seventies)

Country music in the seventies was such a schizophrenic time, it's almost impossible to sum up the decade in one post. Whereas in pop music, the sixties could be separated by a solid line right through the middle of the decade, the seventies in country music are more like thirds, or even fourths.

In 1970 Merle Haggard was still at his peak, with The Fightin' Side of Me; Conway Twitty had re-recorded and had a monstrous hit with Hello Darlin'; Ray Price had For The Good Times.

'71 saw Easy Loving by Freddie Hart; Sammi Smith's recording of Kristofferson's Help Me Make It Through The Night was huge. Conway and Loretta teamed up and recorded After The Fire Is Gone.

By 1972 record labels began flexing their muscle, and radio suffered the consequences. Even Merle and Faron Young became a bit poppier, with Carolyn and It's Four In The Morning, respectively. And the cringe-worthy Happiest Girl In The Whole USA shot to number one.

'73 still had some gems, like Charlie Rich's Behind Closed Doors, but it also produced dogs like Teddy Bear Song.

By 1974 we saw the likes of Olivia Newton-John and John Denver, pop singers, take over the charts. Even many of country's stalwarts buckled to record company demands and recorded covers of pop hits ~ it wasn't a good look. On the list of the top 100 singles of 1974 it's almost impossible to find a true country track. One of the only bright spots of that year was the emergence of a new guy named Ronnie Milsap.

And 1974 is kind of where I stopped.

I didn't stop completely, but I began to wean myself. The preset button on my car radio no longer landed on the country station. The emotion I most distinctly recall is disgust. I truly believed country music was gone forever, and it wasn't right. I'd given almost a decade of my musical existence over to country; had grown to cherish it, and it went and knifed me. Most of the country music I was even familiar with by now was the pond scum featured on network variety shows ~ Convoy by CW McCall and Rhinestone Cowboy by Glen Campbell.

One could find some real country if they searched long and hard enough. Gary Stewart and a new girl singer, Emmylou Harris, were recording real country. Merle even dipped a toe back in the country music brook. Then there was Gene Watson. I didn't miss out on these artists, because I became an album connoisseur and took a stab in the dark and plunked down three dollars and ninety-nine cents at Woolworth's solely on faith. Emmylou was giving corporate country a dainty middle finger and recording true country in the face of the pop-country pap radio was forced to play. Gene Watson was who he was, which was stone country, and take him or leave him, he reckoned. Gary Stewart was the hillbilly renaissance of Jerry Lee Lewis.

Around this time, Wanted: The Outlaws became a thing. Truth be told, The Outlaws was a compilation LP put together solely by a producer in Nashville. This was no concept album by any stretch. But it took over, much like the Urban Cowboy soundtrack hijacked the airwaves. I'd loved Waylon Jennings since 1967, so there was no "discovery". The Outlaws was a new Waylon, and I was okay with it; but it wasn't the "best country album of all time", regardless of what fable Rolling Stone Magazine tries to foist upon us.

And this is where my consumer story comes in. I grew weary of kneeling on the living room carpet to spin Gary and Emmylou on my mom and dad's castoff console stereo. The built-in fabric-covered speakers had one setting, and poor as I was, I was ready to step into the new audio world. One Saturday I scuttled off to a little sound shop ensconced inside a crumbling strip mall and innocently placed myself in the greasy salesman's hands. "This new Swedish company, Bang and Olufsen, has these speakers that are bad!" They were definitely ponderous, as was the price tag. Inside that little shop, everything sounded exactly the same, but boy, these B&O's were big! Oh well, I had my BankAmericard inside my crocheted shoulder bag. What the heck? Throw in that Technics turntable and the Pioneer receiver!

Merle's "Movin' On" LP did sound better on my new setup. Though there were few current albums worth purchasing, I made the most of what I already owned. As 1976 dawned, I discovered a couple of new artists who were different, and thus good. Eddie Rabbitt was one of those. Larry Gatlin and the Gatlin Brothers were the other.

'77 produced a hit that struck me, "Stranger" by Johnny Duncan with a nameless female singing strong backup (who we eventually would learn was named Janie Fricke). A group previously ensconced in gospel suddenly began releasing country singles. They went by the old-fashioned moniker of "Oak Ridge Boys". On the minus side, Dave and Sugar, a thoroughly stupid name, became huge, and yep, I fell for it, too. I bought their albums, even though it was impossible to keep up with their changing personnel.

1978 was mostly forgettable, except for the rise of another artist who would take country even further from its roots. Thanks, Kenny Rogers. And, of course, Barbara Mandrell scorched everyone's eardrums with "Sleepin' Single In A Double Bed". There was, though, John Conlee's "Rose Colored Glasses".

Nothing much changed in 1979. The cast of players didn't change. The only memorable hit was by a folk-pop group called "The Dirt Band". Gosh, whatever happened to those guys?

If a year produces at the most two great songs, I'd label that a failure, which is essentially my take on the seventies. I think my fondest memories of the seventies were albums by Julio Iglesias (seriously) and Marty Robbins (very seriously). Is it any wonder I threw my hands in the air and surrendered?

However, let's not just let the decade go without reviewing the best.

1970:



1971:



1972:



1973:



Bonus Track:



1974:



1975:



Bonus Track:



1976:



1977:



Bonus Track:



 

Bonus Track #2 (Rodney Crowell!):



Bonus Track #3:



1978:



1979 (written by Rodney Crowell):

Gotta use this one, because the song is not the same without Linda Ronstadt:






If one is an easy grader, the seventies weren't all that bad. If one has scruples, yea, the seventies were bad. But at least they brought us Gene Watson and Eddie Rabbitt and the Oaks.

I'll settle for that.

Country Music Month Has Begun!

I know that country music was invented in 1857...or whatever...but for me, country music began in the early nineteen sixties. My parents owned two, count 'em, two record albums, and we didn't even possess a stereo.

The early-to-mid sixties were a schizophrenic time in music. Radio didn't recognize a thing called "genre", so The Beach Boys competed with Hank Snow, who competed with Frank Sinatra, for air time on our local AM station. And no one gave it a second thought. It was music. And music was wondrous.

I don't think it was until I received a box record player for Christmas when I was five or six that those two precious LP's got their due. Before that, Mom and Dad heard songs on the jukebox at the local Eagles Club on Saturday nights. But, boy, Mom loved Ray Price. Dad was more like me ~ he liked honky tonkin' music; a song with a good shuffle beat. Even though Dad couldn't maneuver a two-step if his life depended on it.

Now 60-some-odd years later, these two albums hold a cherished place in my music collection. Were they that good? The simple answer is yes. The not-so-simple answer is, sure, I miss Dad and Mom and I thank God they introduced me to musical eclecticism.



Ken Burns probably won't mention Ray Price. That's a travesty. Ray Price scorched country music like a thunderbolt. It wasn't "For The Good Times" that did it. It was "Heartaches By The Number" and "Invitation To The Blues".

And "Soft Rain".

When I learned that Dad has passed away, I sat in my rocker and played this song over and over again, and shed copious tears as I crooned along.



Buck Owens was different ~ truly. He didn't ascribe to Chet Atkins' "Nashville Sound". Buck went his own way. Buck wasn't a Tennessean; he was a Californian. Things got done differently on the west coast. Buck had drums, and a bass, and steel guitar; and no Anita Kerr Singers. He had a Telecaster. He had Don Rich.



If country music could be "rockin'", here it is, country-style:



Country in the early sixties didn't hold a place in my heart, except for these two seminal albums. Sure, Roger Miller was all over the TV. Television producers looked upon him as a novelty. George Jones was huge on WSM, but his songs were a tad maudlin. Patsy was passe. Jimmy Dean talked his way through tall tales. Cash was thump thump thumping out songs.

Put your money on Ray Price and Buck Owens.

Mom and Dad knew exactly how to maximize four hard-earned dollars.

I'm Selling My Jukebox

UPDATE:  Sold. Gone. Thanks, Dad, for the memories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sure, it's a little dusty, but then, so am I.

It hurts to put it up for sale. You see, this came from my dad. It was, I guess, 1968 or 1969 when the Rock-Ola took up residence in our garage. My followers know that my dad owned a bar that came as a package deal with the motel my parents purchased in 1966. When we moved to North Dakota in December of '66, the bar, politically-incorrectly named "The Gaiety" was leased out to some guy, so we paid it no heed, except for my dad, who could never resist a flashing neon sign. As the calendar pages ripped, the lease expired and Dad took the bar over. I don't know how the Rock-Ola ended up in our garage exactly, but I think it had been replaced with a newer model; hence my big brother was tasked with rolling the obsolete reject down the bar's front door ramp and shoving it into an unused corner of our garage, smack-dab next to the industrial clothes dryer.

It became a novelty that my little sister and I took notice of anytime we were bored. The machine had its peccadilloes ~ you had to push the reset button on the back to get the record to eject. Not a major deal. All we had to do was prime the machine with a quarter and we could play as many songs as we wanted. The Rock-Ola's ultimate downfall with regard to my sister's and my attention spans was the fact that it didn't house very many records we actually liked. Playing the same two or three records over and over lost its spark quickly. My sister was a pre-adolescent, so we had to haggle to land on records we both liked.

Here are the two I remember:





(We'll never know what The Fireballs looked like in concert, alas.)

Eventually, my mom and dad sold the motel and retired to an actual house. My dad asked me if I would like the jukebox and of course I did. Mom wanted to be rid of it ~ it took up too much real estate, and what would she do with that behemoth anyway? I parked it in my basement and pondered how to make it nicer. First on my list was getting rid of the crappy records and replacing them with songs I actually liked. Then, through some mail order concern, I found jukebox labels. (I don't remember if the labels or the songs came first.) I never took things a step further and refurbished the machine ~ I really couldn't afford to do that, and its rusty exterior reminded me of the halycon garage times.

Now it's time.

Nobody who is a direct descendant wants it, because they don't care about the nineteen sixties, which are akin to the Civil War days. And it's not like I hug it every day. I've essentially ignored my Rock-Ola; yet felt secure in the fact that it was always there whenever I wanted to lay my hands on it.

If I could touch it and bring my dad back, I'd never let it go. But time moves on and we need to shed a tear and surrender.

Jukeboxes are passe. Except in country:

C'est La Vie ~ You Never Can Tell

Every so often a song I've heard a million times catches my ear. Back in my songwriting days I would study songs, trying to figure out what made a song stand out. It's a futile exercise. One cannot replicate a superb song and expect the result to be anything but dreck. Great songs are gossamer.

One of my favorite sayings is, "it's deceptively simple". I think that applies to Chuck Berry's songs. A member of the rock 'n roll class of 1955 (!), his chord work wasn't fancy. A lot of Chuck's songs had essentially the same melody ~ three chords; no minors, no suspendeds; no fancy stuff. It was Berry's wordplay that made the songs shine.

As I was a'motivatin' over the hill
I saw Maybelline in a Coupe de Ville

Motivatin'? Awesome made-up verb! 



'Cause my uncle took the message
And he wrote it on the wall

That conjures vivid imagery.



My big brother first introduced me to Chuck Berry's songs in 1964. Chuck had a hit with "No Particular Place To Go", which in hindsight was pretty racy, but it was catchy and I liked the way the words rolled off his tongue.

Ridin' along in my calaboose
Still tryin' to get her belt a'loose
All the way home I held a grudge
For the safety belt that wouldn't budge

Did you know that "calaboose" means prison? Makes no sense in the context of the song (or does it??), but it doesn't matter. It's the onomatopoeia that matters.  



But it is this song ~ the one I heard on the radio the other day ~ that shows Chuck Berry in all his story mastery.

It was a teenage wedding 
And the old folks wished them well
You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle
And now the young monsieur and madame
Have rung the chapel bell

"C'est la vie", say the old folks
It goes to show you never can tell

They furnished off an apartment with
A two room Roebuck sale
Coolerator was crammed with TV dinners and ginger ale
But when Pierre found work, the little money comin' 
Worked out well
"C'est la vie", say the old folks
It goes to show you never can tell

They had a hi-fi phono 
Boy, did they let it blast
Seven hundred little records
All rock, rhythm and jazz
But when the sun went down
The rapid tempo of the music fell
"C'est la vie", say the old folks
It goes to show you never can tell

They bought a souped-up jitney, was a cherry red '53
Drove it down to Orleans to celebrate the anniversary
It was there that Pierre was wedded to the lovely mademoiselle
"C'est la vie", say the old folks
It goes to show you never can tell



Who can write like that? Not me! 

It's a two-minute novel.

Gossamer. 

I admit, this is how I was first introduced to the song (featuring an unnaturally bushy-haired Rodney Crowell):



And who can ever forget this sequence with Travolta pretending he doesn't know how to dance?



I had to get my Chuck Berry post in under the wire, before country music month begins.

This is how great songs are written.








 
 

September Will Be Country Music Month!

At long last, someone in the mainstream is going to give country music some love. Back in 1968 I never would have thought it possible. Ken Burns will be debuting his ten-part series, "Country Music", on September 15. I'm giddy!

Here's a preview:



When I first learned that Ken Burns, the esteemed documentarian, was going to tackle country music, I felt anxious. What does Ken know about country music? Sure, I loved the Civil War series, and it introduced me to an instrumental that for a time became an earworm. But country music? You can't understand country as an outsider. Then I watched the one-hour preview, my stomach churning. He might just do it!

Here's what I learned from the official preview:

• Yep, they talk to Marty Stuart, the true country historian.
• There's Rodney Crowell (surprise!)
• Dwight Yoakam will chronicle the Bakersfield Sound ~ who better?
• The series will lean heavily on Johnny Cash, the one country artist people who don't like country music worship.
• Dolly Parton is prominent. (Hit-wise, Tammy Wynette would be a more appropriate choice.)
• The series is going to be politically correct, for a genre that never indulged in that. 
• The tale ends with 1996. (Kudos, Ken! We won't be subjected to any of that "new country" pap.)

In the trailer, Ken said something like, "People might be disappointed that their favorite artist isn't featured." No, I'm not that naive. I do hope, however, for historical precision, that artists who were influential in their era will be given their due.

The PBS site for this extravaganza invites fans to become involved. "Share Your Story" poses some basic questions. You could be featured on the page! If you love country, now is your chance.

In honor of this once-in-a-lifetime celebration, I will be devoting the month of September to country music. Watch the series along with me, won't you? And you can bet I'll provide my own commentary. I have pretty rigid standards and I'm a tough critic when it comes to country music.

Before I go set my DVR, let's get this party started:

Retro Album Review ~ "Country Music" ~ Marty Stuart

Buy It!

Like me, Marty Stuart is a fan and a student of country music (I'm not comparing myself to Marty Stuart, by the by). The tale of Marty's extensive country music memorabilia collection is well-documented, so I'm not here to tell that tale. As is the story of his teenage debut as part of the Flatt and Scruggs band. And everybody knows about Marty's link to Johnny Cash.

I first was introduced to Marty Stuart via a CMT music video, and that subtle three-boot kick did it for me. Hillbilly Rock was a natural hit, and the next time I saw Marty, he had teamed up with Travis Tritt for an album that featured a couple of outstanding real country tracks.

Marty would be the first to tell you he's not a natural singer. But who cares? In the "Whiskey Ain't Workin'" performance, I defy you to tell me that this is not the most organic musician you've ever witnessed. And that's Marty's strength. That, and arrangement.

"The Pilgrim" is considered a masterpiece. And it was. My husband, no country fan, introduced me to the album. He even, unbeknownst to me, bought tickets for us to see Marty in concert ~ the first live performance we ever saw together.

Then Marty formed a fabulous band that just happened to be, coincidentally, called The Fabulous Superlatives. 

I kept the album, "Country Music" close to the vest. Only real country lovers would understand. And here's the genius of Marty Stuart ~ he throws you a curve that stabs you in the heart. He knows musical emotion. Anyone who perceives that music pierces one's guts is a true genius.

I haven't researched Marty's reason for titling it "Country Music", but I can probably figure it out.  He starts and ends the album with old classics, throws in a duet with Merle Haggard in the middle, and rounds everything out with some renaissance "Marty" music.

1. A Satisfied Mind

Marty puts his own spin on this song first made famous by Porter Wagoner, but covered by many, many artists. Even Dylan recorded it. Marty changes up the melody a bit, and it's a strong opener.



2. Fool For Love

A Marty original. Marty's songs judiciously employ minor chords, which immediately add gravity to a song that otherwise might be just a writing exercise.



3. If There Ain't There Ought'a Be

Easily the weakest track on the album. Hearing it today, it sounds completely nineties-dated. And I'm not a fan of the rap that starts the song.

4. Here I Am

The second-best song on the LP and another Marty original. I first became enamored of the song because of the arrangement and soaring steel guitar. Then I thought about the lyrics. What a plain-spoken ode to love.

5. Sundown In Nashville

If you buy this album for no other reason, buy it for this track. (I guess you could be a cheap-ass and just download this single track, but c'mon.) This track has it all. Seriously. ALL. If you love country music ~ you know the kind I mean ~ it gets no better than this. The song was written by Dwayne Warwick and was first recorded by Carl Butler and Pearl (odd name for a duo, and I'm no feminist, but Pearl obviously knew her place) who actually recorded some classic songs, such as "Don't Let Me Cross Over" and "We'll Sweep Out The Ashes In The Morning". This one is tops, thanks to Marty.

6. By George

Odd little ditty. Again, this sounds dated, reminiscent of a Joe Diffie song. I don't hate it, but tonight is probably the second time I've listened to it, ever.



7. Farmer's Blues

Obviously this track got the only notice of any on the album, due to Marty's duet with Merle Haggard. I'm a farmer's daughter, so I automatically was on board. And you know how I feel about Merle, and here's Merle yodeling! Takes me back to the Jimmie Rodgers albums of my young years.



8. Wishful Thinkin'

Unfortunately, this is not the excellent song by the same name by Wynn Stewart. I think I kind of hate this one, but every album has its duds.



9. If You Wanted Me Around

Nice Telecaster work on this track. Otherwise, it's a throwaway.



10. Too Much Month (At The End Of The Money)

I sort of like this one when it gets to the bridge. Again, it's very nineties-centric (not that there's anything wrong with that).



11. Tip Your Hat

Marty wanted to honor the legends with this song, and I admire anyone who doesn't forget. The same sentiment could have been executed better, although the mandolin solo at the end takes Marty back to his roots.



12. Walls Of A Prison

This is a Johnny Cash song and a tribute to the Man In Black. The arrangement saves it from being lackluster. I can appreciate the sentiment without falling in love with the song.



No album is fool-proof. I've bought CD's that had one (count 'em, one) good track. I've most likely bought scores of those. If you get two great songs, you are fortunate. If you get three or four, it was worth laying your money down.

Therefore, I'm giving "Country Music":

I'm tucking this album away, and only sharing it with you. I could go on and on about Marty Stuart and all he's done for people like me. He's never gotten any due, except as a country music commentator. But he's so...soooo much more.

Buy it if you love country. At least buy it for "Sundown In Nashville". Good grief; don't say I didn't share the down low.

Why Mark Chesnutt May Be The Best Country Singer Ever

I've got a short list of "best" country singers ~ I've always placed George Strait at the very top. I love the fact that that silky voice is instantly recognizable, even if the song isn't. Don't get me wrong; King George is no Sinatra ~ he's got that heart-clenching break in his voice, when he does it right.

Gene Watson is pure perfection. Is there a country performance better than "Farewell Party"?

Merle is his own category. There's no point in even attempting to lump him in with the others. It's ludicrous.

Others? Well, there's Faron Young, Randy Travis, Dwight Yoakam, Marty Robbins, Ray Price.

Then there's Mark Chesnutt.

Mark Chesnutt should have been a superstar with laurels strewn at his feet. He was definitely a star, but why did he never get his due? I don't know ~ ask Dwight Yoakam why he's suddenly been inducted into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame after being systematically snubbed by the country music establishment for thirty-odd years.

Maybe, like Gene Watson, Mark Chesnutt is just too damn country.

The nineties was a time of transition for me. In 1990 I turned thirty-five and embarked on a road that would determine my default profession for the next thirty years. My kids were suddenly teenagers and I had the luxury to think about what I wanted to do with my life. My ambition was surging. I'd finally, through dollars I couldn't afford and dogged determination, gotten down to a size three, the tiniest I'd been since age eighteen. I was shopping for clothes at the local thrift store because my size kept shrinking. I was a peon insurance examiner, but the sky was the limit. I wanted to do more ~ I wasn't exactly sure what, but I would grab any flicker of opportunity that flashed before my eyes. And I was suddenly working alongside 29 like-minded confederates, who, like me, were country music fans.

Radio was vital; necessary. We discussed hits with each other; compared our favorite artists. There were so many:  Pam Tillis, Diamond Rio, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Tracy Lawrence, Clay Walker, George Strait, Kathy Mattea, Dwight Yoakam, Vince Gill, Shania Twain, Randy Travis, Brooks and Dunn, Patty Loveless, Travis Tritt, Vince Gill, Alan Jackson, Restless Heart, Lorrie Morgan, Little Texas.

Throughout that journey, from 1990 to 1999, was Mark Chesnutt.

It was odd that Mark Chesnutt never came up in our conversations, and yet I bought every single one of his CD's. And played the hell out of them. I think the lack of discussion about Mark was that it was simply a given there was nothing to debate. Nice as Clay Walker was, Mark was no two-hit wonder. Much like George Strait, we all knew that Mark Chesnutt would release another single that'd stir the hearts of true country-lovin' connoisseurs.

















Even when Mark covered an Aerosmith song, he suffused it with country music bona fides.



In countless ways, the music of the nineties was magnificent; yet, by the strict definition, not all of it was stone country; not even George Strait sometimes. Little Texas was technically pop, and one could argue the same for Restless Heart. Shania was pop. Dwight was some kind of amalgam. I still loved it all.

There are those who like "country", and then there are people like me who love country. Mark Chesnutt was country. He was (is) principled. I admire principles.

In 2004 Mark released an album that lives in my heart, "Savin' The Honky Tonk", which features a track that can only be described by those of us who love country as stupendous:



Yep, Mark Chesnutt's the real deal.

No discussion required.