I think it was my older sister who first introduced me to Ricky Van Shelton. Carole was not necessarily a music aficionado; she just liked what she liked. She'd breeze in from Texas once a year and lay down the gauntlet of songs we all needed to hear. As an example, she was an early fan girl of "The Devil Went Down To Georgia", and I thought, well, okay...
Like all music people tell me I need to like, I was naturally resistant to Ricky Van Shelton. I think he had a cover song on the charts at the time, and I was inherently scornful of artists who earned their chops by copying someone else. Grudgingly, however, I went out and purchased Van Shelton's debut CD, "Wild-Eyed Dream". I was buying CD's like they were candy gumballs anyway, so what was one more pointless purchase? Turned out the album had some original tracks that beat the covers all to hell. A hot artist, I'm assuming (maybe naively) should have his pick of songs; so why Ricky recorded so many cover songs perplexes me. Maybe he simply wanted to memorialize the classics. Regardless, I preferred the songs I'd never before heard, like this one (of course the official video is unavailable ~ because we need to scrub the late eighties/early nineties from everyone's consciousness):
Much like this one:
Those two tracks alone, never mind all the covers, made the album an A plus for me.
There's myriad reasons why shiny careers fade ~ the label loses confidence; tastes change. Not everyone can be a George Strait, with choice songwriters breaking down their door. Ricky Van Shelton's career suffered from either the lack of good original song choices or his own proclivities. I would have loved to see Ricky perform in a bar setting ~ his natural milieu was stacked speakers, a thumping bass, and a telecaster.
That aside, he recorded a great rendition of "Statue Of A Fool", whose original recording by Jack Greene suffered from the lack of a great singer:
My sister was right. I'll cop to it.
After all these years, he deserves more than a faint memory. Number one, he needs a website that isn't lame ~ Ricky, are you listening? I would link to it, but I don't want anyone to be embarrassed. Wix dot com is essentially free ~ even my band has a site.
Granted, Ricky retired in 2006, which is almost unheard of in the music business. Retire? The brittle-boned Rolling Stones are still touring, for God's sake! According to his pitiful website, he's a painter and a collector (still need a site to sell your paintings, though.) Maybe the good songs weren't forthcoming; maybe he just wanted to enjoy life off the road. More power to him.
Nevertheless, Ricky Van Shelton is worth remembering.
I was searching for Halloween pictures to bring to work for one of my department's holiday initiatives. Okay, it was sort of my initiative, but nevertheless, it was a good idea and an attempt to lighten the workplace mood a tiny bit. I've since learned that some people hate fun, but naysayers are everywhere. I'm choosing to ignore those people.
The thing some folks don't get about work is that every job isn't soul-quenching. For most of us a job is simply a means to an end ~ the end being a way to pay our monthly bills. We're not uplifted by our daily tasks, nor do we expectantly await never-delivered kudos. Work is essentially drudgery, but we deplete the large measure of our essence at work, so if we want to alleviate some of the slog by having a bit of fun, is that too much to ask?
It wasn't always this way. I used to work in an environment in which Halloween was almost a national holiday. Employees looked forward to the day. It started innocently enough, with a company announcement that folks could dress up. Before long, props got incorporated; and finally actual group performances became the expected norm. A cheap gold-plated trophy was the prize, and we worked damn hard to win it. It is correct to assume that no actual work got done on that particular day ~ in addition to performing for the roaming band of judges, we traversed the office to ogle other units' costumes and affirm our own superiority. Generally, too, there was a pot luck lunch involved, and mass quantities of fun-size candy bars.
I recall driving to work in the dark on Halloween morning hoping to hell I wouldn't get pulled over for some infraction and having to explain why I was dressed as a freak. I remember fluorescent work bathrooms and makeup being artfully applied by a willing accomplice. I remember the local second-hand store's costume basement and rifling through shelves to find just the right costume accessories. It was a quest ~ a holy mission. After all, that peeling-chrome trophy was within our grasp! Halloween was better than Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter, rolled into one big ball of excitement.
As a naturally shy person, I'd always indulged my creative impulses with solitary pursuits ~ a bit of writing, photography, crafts. I spent my life itching for the next new thing that would allow me to create...anything. It's not that shy people don't crave attention as much as the next-door extrovert; it's just that we're mortified by the thought of being ridiculed. We're convinced we'd die if that ever happened. Creativity expressed behind my own four walls, therefore, was safe; though obviously not celebrated by the world at large.
In my first year of employment at the apple company (no, not "Apple"), a fellow cube-mate who I found loud and obnoxious approached me about doing a group Halloween ensemble. I don't know why I said yes ~ that wasn't like me. I don't even know why she asked me. Maybe everyone else had turned her down. Once committed, though, I wholly dedicated myself to playing my part. And guess what? I liked it.
(I'm Ace Frehley ~ third from left ~ I had no idea at the time who Ace Frehley was.)
By the following year I was a supervisor; thus I was obliged to join the other supes in their dress-up concept. We were still doing nothing besides showing up in our thrift store wigs and castoffs.
(I'm the faux blonde on the right.)
By the time 1997 rolled around, I was in charge, at least of my own division. And by then dressing up just wasn't going to cut it. In order to grab that trophy, one had to put on a big show. I canvassed my staff and someone said, "Hee Haw!", so that's what we did. We became hillbillies. We even had our own Minnie Pearl and an old man puffing a corncob pipe. Someone brought in an iron and ironing board. I was missing a tooth and I had a cap that spelled out, "CAP" and one of my shoes read, "left".
(Apparently I also carried a jug of apple cider.)
Things settled down a bit in '98. I don't remember if we were too busy to bother with Halloween much, or had run out of ideas. My staff expected a show, though, and I didn't want to let them down. My treasured friend Laurel and I became Sonny and Cher. We had no performance planned, but daily announcements turned into a Bob Dylan-ish a capella rendition of "I Got You Babe".
My last Halloween at the apple company became the ultimate blowout. I'd never before seen the movie "Grease" (truly), but somehow I found it that year and became enamored. That was it ~ we would turn our little corner of apple world into Rydell High School. Because I had short hair, I would be Danny Zuko. Lovely Laurel was thence Sandy. An employee's daughter had once done a Grease dance routine with her cheer squad, so she came into the office to teach Laurel and me and a phenomenal group of staff members the dance moves. We practiced in my office behind closed doors, accompanied by gales of laughter and quizzical glances from people passing by. We decorated our corner of the building as a county fair, and when the judges made their way into our area, we shocked the hell out of them with a spectacular performance of "We Go Together".
Needless to say, there was no contest that year. We walked away with that tarnished trophy.
Ahh, Halloweens past, when we actually knew how to have fun.
I don't regret my late-in-life awakening to making an utter fool of myself. I'm rather proud of it.
I'm beginning to get a bit pissed off about nineties country artists being ignored. It may have begun with Ken Burns' "Country Music" series, which completely overlooked the most iconic artists of a decade when country music was at its best (see: George Strait). For me, country was represented by artists like Tracy Lawrence, Mark Chesnutt, Clint Black, Diamond Rio, Dwight Yoakam, Patty Loveless, Collin Raye, Randy Travis, Travis Tritt, Clay Walker, Restless Heart, Earl Thomas Conley, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Foster and Lloyd, Ricky Van Shelton, Trisha Yearwood, et al.
The nineties was when country and our hearts soared. Even the sad songs made one at least feel alive. I don't know what country's like now; and frankly, from everything I've read, I don't care to know. Country for me was laid to rest somewhere around 1999. I'm told, though, that it's a pallid imitation of the genre formerly known as country.
So for the uninitiated, I'm bringing the nineties back. Mark Chesnutt warranted his own singular post, but let's not overlook the others. In posts to come, I will introduce novices to actual country music and remind those of us in the know of artists who may have slipped our minds.
I'm a big booster of Tracy Lawrence, as described here.
In case you've forgotten or never knew, watch these:
Yep, I'm bringing nineties country back. Stay tuned.
I'm not a stickler for profundity in music. In fact, to me the message is beside the point. That's why it's called music; not poetry. It's such a simple concept, I am befuddled why so many "experts" miss it. The message is in how the song makes you feel in the pit of your gut. Really, the words are superfluous. If a good singer with a good band sang, "bah bah bahhhhh" with just the right chord progression and change-ups, I'd proclaim that it deeply touched my heart. And I'd be right.
Granted, a meaningful message paired with soulful singing and the right melody is an added plus. That's country's aspiration. And that's what also makes a great country song gossamer.
There are a ton of country songs that people consider classics, but the majority of them make you feel the words but not that punch. Sometimes it's soaring violins that do it ~ think "He Stopped Loving Her Today". Or the duh-duh-duh-DUM of the steel guitar in "Stand By Your Man". Or the searing harmonies in "Sing Me Back Home".
There are no step-by-step guidelines for creating a classic country song. If there were, we'd be gulping water in a roiling sea of perfection; and then what would we have to compare? It's not even the truly bad songs that allow us to recognize a great one; it's the banal ones. A thousand different artists went into the studio and recorded songs that they thought were, "Hey, pretty good!" Except they weren't. Those are the songs we hear, but don't really hear, on the radio. They're static at best.
The worst conceit is a song the artist wrote him/herself. There's nothing worse than a self-absorbed songwriter (take it from one who knows). Songwriters equate the sweat that went into creating a song to its relative quality. Not many can carry that off ~ Kristofferson can; Yoakam can. Haggard could.
When I was writing my retrospective of country in the nineties as a companion (or counterpoint) to Ken Burns' documentary series, I re-found "Sticks and Stones", and remembered how much I'd loved it. Silly me; I'd always thought Tracy Lawrence had written the song. That's wrong, wrong. The songwriters were Elbert West and Roger Dillon.
Maybe it's just me; maybe it's not. I categorize Sticks and Stones as a classic country song. It's not static. And it provides that gut-punch that a great country song requires.
You can take the house and everything in it Keep the diamond ring 'cause that's how I meant it Sticks and stones are all they ever were to me This material life with all it's value Don't mean a thing to me without you The love that we once had is all I need
So take everything we have if it makes you happy But darling let me say before I leave
These sticks and stones ain't all that makes a home They don't have arms to hold you when love goes wrong Now you say we are through Those sticks and stones may break me But the words you said just tore my heart in two
Remember when we didn't have a dime between us You took my hand and said we don't need much Just as long as we're together we would be fine Now we've acquired all I thought would please you I gave everything you know that I could And still you're telling me you're not satisfied
So take everything we have if it makes you happy But darling let me say before I leave
These sticks and stones ain't all that makes a home They don't have arms to hold you when love goes wrong Now you say we are through Those sticks and stones may break me But the words you said just tore my heart in two
These sticks and stones may break me But the words you said just tore my heart in two
Tracy Lawrence became one of those "disposables", when Nashville again decided that real country was passe. "Bro country, man! That's where it's at!", said the fifty-year-old label exec whose Wranglers were a bit too snug when he tried to pull them on for an industry event. You will be pleased to know that Tracy is still out there and recording music. He doesn't have a label, of course, like Mark Chesnutt doesn't have a label, and Clay Walker doesn't have a label. Apparently all the classic artists have transcended labels.
The nineteen nineties was the last time that country music was country music. Country is mostly gone now; a tyrannosaurus rex in a world that subsists on EDM and synthesizers. Static in the extreme.
But that's why I'm here ~ to memorialize true country before everyone forgets.
If non-country viewers of Ken Burns' "Country Music" are still with me after my previous post highlighting country album recommendations, congrats! You're ready to take the next step!
It's not necessarily that country music became more refined in the decades that followed the sixties, but recording techniques evolved and the music wasn't as "crunchy". That may or may not be a good thing, but to me it made all the difference between seeing a great bar band and dropping an opaque curtain to separate the audience from the artist.
Country albums in the nineteen sixties were a dull lot. Nashville decreed that the rundown of an album was, two hits (tops) and nine cover tracks. Female artists' albums were the most predictable. I got to hear "You Ain't Woman Enough" rendered by at least three vocalists other than Loretta Lynn. Tammy covered Loretta's songs and Loretta covered Tammy's. Lynn Anderson covered both. I bought a lot of greatest hits albums then, because anything else was a waste of scarce dollars.
The first concept album I recall discovering was "Let Me Tell You About A Song", by Merle Haggard. Naturally it took someone outside of Nashville to shatter the mold.
Some people like live albums; others despise them. Today a live album is filler, a contract satisfier. In the sixties, though, a live album was an event. It takes a deft touch for a producer to deliver a superior live product and capture the thrill of a once-in-a-lifetime happening.
Capitol Records' Ken Nelson achieved the ultimate in recording Buck Owens and The Buckaroos performing live at Carnegie Hall. In his AllMusic review, Stephen Thomas Erlewine wrote:
Buck Owens and the Buckaroos' 1966 concert at Carnegie Hall was a landmark not only for the band, but
for country music: It signaled that it had firmly integrated itself
not only into America's popular music mainstream, but also urban centers
like New York. Buck and the Buckaroos
had to deliver a stellar performance, and they did -- the group sounded
like dynamite, tearing through a selection of their classic hits with
vigor. Several decades removed from the performance itself, what really
comes through is how musical and gifted the Buckaroos were, particularly Don Rich. For dedicated fans, it's a necessary addition to their collection.
When I was eleven, I didn't read reviews, had there actually been any. I just knew what I liked. I like, however, that the reviewer gives Don Rich his due. The true leader of the band, Don Rich was the glue. That's not to negate the pure perfection of Tom Brumley on steel and Doyle Holly's bass and stage presence. Willie Cantu was the Buckaroos' drummer on the album; the band's glue.
Don Rich, ladies and gentlemen:
Live "bar band" music:
Merle Haggard, not to be outdone, in 1970 recorded a live album at Independence Hall in Philadelphia. Officially titled, "The Fightin' Side Of Me", I will always know it as "Live In Philadelphia". I'd seen Merle with Bonnie and the Strangers live in 1968, a life-altering experience in many, many ways; but this album captured the experience of sitting in the first row of a Haggard concert, only flashier. Merle was on top of the world in '70, and rightfully so.
"The Fightin' Side Of Me" was recorded on Valentine's Day, and has been derided by music critics -- which affirms my opinion of critics. To them every single solitary song ever recorded must have profound meaning, which is beside the point of music. It's as if reviewers are mathematicians ~ dry and humorless...and a bore to be around. As the saying goes (in my interpretation), if you can't do, nitpick. Any critic who misses the sheer joy in this album is missing the point of music.
Before I offer a few tasty selections from the album, I want to give props to The Strangers, the best country band outside of the Buckaroos. Roy Nichols (who Merle judiciously stole away from The Maddox Brothers and Rose and Wynn Stewart, as Ken Burns' documentary series told us) was a singular lead guitarist. As Merle said, Nichols, (along with legendary guitarist Chet Atkins)
"were the two most influential guitar players in [the last] century. Because of Roy, my career commenced, He was the stylist
that set the pace of the records I recorded in my high period."
Norman (Norm) Hamlet, aside from Pete Drake and Lloyd Green, and let me add, Sonny Garrish, is the creme de la creme of steel players.
On this album, Biff Adams kept the beat, Dennis Hromek played bass, and Bobby Wayne played rhythm and sang harmony. Combined, these five guys created a country band pinnacle.
And then there was Bonnie Owens. One may not know that Bonnie was the ex-wife of Buck Owens. Relationships were unnaturally close in Bakersfield, I guess. That's neither here nor there. It's about time that Bonnie gets her due. Bonnie's contribution to Merle's success cannot be underestimated. When one hears Merle, they're subconsciously hearing Bonnie's spot-on harmonies. As a soloist, Bonnie wasn't strong; her forte was adding harmonic touches that shot a song into the stratosphere.
Bonnie (so she forgot the words?):
The Strangers (by the way, their solo album was superb):
The most oft-remembered segment of this performance is Merle's impersonations. In hindsight, the impressions were middling, but we loved them:
Everybody obsesses over this song ~ it was just a song; get over it. But it is the "official" title of the album, so here you go:
Country albums in the late sixties/early seventies didn't offer much. These two are different. They capture the sheer joy of live music. One can't go wrong buying these (if you can get your hands on them). Luckily, I have the originally-pressed LP's; not to brag.
Ken Burns' "Country Music" series has apparently sparked unprecedented interest among casual music dabblers. I don't picture regular PBS viewers as popular music connoisseurs; which is unfair, because I watch PBS. I will (with confidence), however, assume that the average public television watcher is unfamiliar with country music; or was, until Ken Burns came along.
I'd like to think this sudden interest isn't as fleeting as the "O Brother, Where Art Thou" soundtrack fad was in 2000; when it was suddenly considered hip to embrace Appalachian music. I'm not optimistic.
But for those uninitiated curiosity-seekers who may actually want to click an album download or two on Amazon, welcome! My recommendations won't be too country, because I understand that country music is an acquired taste.
If you liked "O Brother, Where Art Thou", you'll like Marty Stuart's "The Pilgrim" even more. Today The Pilgrim is regarded as a classic, even though it performed poorly on the charts when it was released in 1999. A concept album, it features the likes of George Jones, Earl Scruggs, Johnny Cash, and Emmylou Harris, among others ~ all names familiar to Ken Burns' viewing audience. Marty will be reissuing the album this year on its twentieth anniversary.
My favorite:
"Buenos Noches From A Lonely Room". Dwight Yoakam has released too many albums to count, and most of them offer delicacies. This album, though, is perhaps my favorite. This was Dwight's third release, and I was just getting to know him when it came out. For country, Yoakam was definitely unconventional ~ in a good way. At least eight of the eleven tracks on this LP are keepers. That so rarely happens.
Don't ever forget that Dwight can rock:
Folks who watched "Country Music" may think that the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band was only about the circle being unbroken. Au contraire! In the nineteen eighties, there was no better country band than NGDB. "More Great Dirt" is a so-called greatest hits album, but let's be frank: most of us had never heard these songs before the LP came along.
I'm happy to report that I got to see NGDB in concert in their heyday. What began as a country-rock outfit happily came to embrace country in its entirety. This is a band to get to know! The album, released in 1989, boasts, by my count, seven out of ten superb tracks.
I regret that I can't find any live performances of the songs I like best from the album, but please enjoy:
Yep, these are all male artists (shoot me). But remember, I devoted a whole post to Emmylou Harris.
I do have more recommendations, but be forewarned: they're country.
The word is that Ken Burns' "Country Music" series has sparked a sudden surge in country album sales. Folks who heretofore disdained country music are suddenly interested because it was featured on PBS. But where to start? Hank Williams? His songs, while superbly written, have that old-timey, antiquated sound. Johnny Cash? Download one track ~ they all sound the same. Don't waste precious dollars on a whole album until you understand what you're getting into. Nothing too twangy ~ the neighbors might be appalled. That eliminates Dwight Yoakam. Patsy Cline is pretty safe; her songs were "pretty" and featured lots of strings.
My advice: Start with 1975. Emmylou Harris's second album, Elite Hotel, was a revelation to a jaded country fan like me. There is little good to say about country music in the nineteen seventies ~ it had lackadaisically bumped up against the doldrums. However, every decade of music has at least one breakout star, and Emmylou Harris was that. I don't recall, but I think I first heard a single by Emmylou, "If I Could Only Win Your Love", on my car radio. I had no idea who the singer was, and if I didn't catch the DJ's patter at the right time, I wouldn't find out until the next time the track was played. She was definitely country, updated; with the voice of an angel. Elite Hotel, featuring songs written by the likes of Buck Owens, newcomer Rodney Crowell, Gram Parsons, Hank Williams, Don Gibson, and even Lennon/McCartney; the album combined old and new and still sounded "old". Or perhaps "classic" is a better term. Emmylou was a vocalist who didn't dismiss country or try to change it. She simply improved upon it.
For the country novice, what could be better? It combines Hank and Patsy and Buck; it introduces a soon-to-be classic songwriter; it harks back to the sixties country-rock sound of bands like The Byrds.
To wit, here is a country primer for the newly-converted:
"Amarillo" ~ co-written by Emmylou and Rodney Crowell:
"Together Again" ~ Buck Owens:
"Feelin' Single, Seein' Double" ~ the awesome Wayne Kemp:
"Sin City" ~ Gram Parsons and Chris Hillman:
"One Of These Days" ~ Earl Montgomery:
"Till I Gain Control Again" ~ Rodney Crowell (again):
"Here, There and Everywhere" ~ some guys named John and Paul:
"Ooh, Las Vegas" ~ Gram Parsons and Ric Grech:
"Sweet Dreams" ~ Don Gibson:
"Jambalaya" ~ Hank Williams:
"Satan's Jewel Crown" ~ Edgar L. Eden:
"Wheels" ~ Chris Hillman and Gram Parsons:
My favorite? For sheer beauty, it's "Together Again". For reminiscence, "One Of These Days". But I think I like "Wheels" the best.
Elite Hotel combines everything a country lover or country novice could ask for in a classic album. For a forty-four year-old album, that's damn good.
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