My final entry into the "10 albums in 10 days" thread will be in the form of a short story, coinciding with my "guilty little pleasure" choice, possibly as a way of explanation.
On the last weekend of July, 1970, the Powder Ridge Ski resort had decided they wanted to emulate the scene that took place the previous summer on Max Yasgur's farm in usptate New York and stage their own version of Woodstock.
The line up of musicians scheduled to perform, while not quite as extensive as Woodstock, was nonetheless impressive, pretty much a who's who of popular bands from that era:
Unfortunately, the Middlefield townsfolk were not going to be quite as amenable to the notion of having long hair, drug crazed hippie freaks marauding across their lawns, and more importantly to this community, through their apple orchards. I'm sure the Lyman Orchards owners heavily influenced the decision to have the event cancelled just days before it was supposed to begin.
Side note- I have first hand experience that the task of finding your way out of those orchards while lysergically enhanced, is nearly impossible. Everything looks exactly the same, I'm not sure how long I wandered aimlessly through the MacIntosh maze, but eventually I started to contemplate how many green apples per day I would have to consume in order to stay alive.
Well the event may have been cancelled but the refugee like trek of rock fans from all over the country had already begun, so despite the lack of music, 30,000 people still showed up at Powder Ridge, and with no form of entertainment available other than radio and tape players, turned the event into a 3 day drug crazed zombie apocalypse.
Only one of the scheduled artists decided to show up, folksinger Melanie.She waded right into the middle of the madness, plugged her microphone and amp into the outlets of a Mister Softee truck, and thoroughly entertained the crowd that had gathered around her. I was already a fan of Melanie based on her Woodstock inspired hit "Lay Down(Candles in the Rain) from the previous year, but now I was transformed into a rabid fan, and for the next 5 years, my girlfriend and I followed her all over the New England, even attempting an ill fated trip to New Jersey in a Nor'easter to see her. That didn't work out quite so well.
So anyhow, it seems like a guilty little pleasure only because no one else I knew liked Melanie, Barbara and I were out there alone and stranded on Melanie Island.
In retrospect, Melanie's unusual vocal style is now somewhat the norm for many of the indie type female singer/songwriters of today such as Regina Spektor and Ingrid Michaelson.
So my guilty little pleasure is Melanie Safka, but instead of being guilty, I just like to think of it as being ahead of my time.
You probably don't know the artist who is performing the
above song, "God at the Races" but if you are a music lover,
then you probably should. Her name is Natalie Hamilton, and in a world that is
mired in mediocrity posing as music, she is an undiscovered gem. I am well
aware that the cracks are wide, and true artists slip through them all the
time, relegated to plying their trade in noisy restaurants and bars,
struggling to be heard amid the drunken banter and clinking glasses.
The end of each song punctuated by polite, perfunctory applause, or even worse, no applause at all, life altering songs like God At The Races reduced to
merely background noise.
But Natalie Hamilton, with her powerful composing and
musicianship is an artist that shouldn't have to be listened to while a
waitress discusses menu specials. She should be heard in an acoustically
perfect concert hall, to a rapt audience hanging onto every vocal nuance and
jazzy piano run, as well as every poetic lyric.
"it was hard to believe when he said
the angels weren't calling the dead
and I had fallen off
the wrong side of a golden fence
it was hard to believe when he claimed
I wouldn't be leaving today
I'd have to wait it out with the devils and the holy meds"
Lyrics like that should never be drowned out, they should be shouted out, or
better still, quietly whispered to a stone silent audience intent on listening.
I have always maintained certain guidelines when it comes to my musical heroes and
icons. They play the music, I listen to the music, and as the saying goes,
"never the twain shall meet" I have never harbored an interest in
personally connecting to the people that move me musically, seeking autographs
or gawking at them after a concert like a crazed fan. None of those dynamics
have ever been part of the equation, that chasm between artist and fan has
always seemed appropriate. It's a "pay no attention to that man(or woman)
behind the curtain scenario, or as Bruce Springsteen explains it, "never
let them see the magic trick"
So what happens when I am sitting in a diner, having coffee
with the artist Natalie Hamilton? Now I am right across from the magic trick,
able to question the process, get behind the curtain, get a sense of what it's
like to be able to sing, play piano, and compose music that can stand alongside
and even surpass many of the singer/songwriters I have admired throughout my
life. What makes a person capable of writing a song as complex and beautiful as
"God at the Races", a song about towing the line between sane and
insane, life and death, losing faith, losing God, losing
Self? Listening to it reminded me of the first time I witnessed Nina
Simone, my musical palate at 18 not yet sophisticated enough to fully
comprehend the complex beauty of what I was hearing. All I knew is
that her voice, and the sound of that piano raised goosebumps up and down my
arms, drawing me into a world of music that went well beyond anything I was
listening to at that point of my life. And when I first heard "God at
the Races" sitting at my computer, at work, I wanted to get up from my
desk and give a one person standing ovation. Great music always gives me chills
and sitting in my terminally frozen office, this song made the hairs on the
back of my neck stand up straight. For a true music lover there is no better
feeling. It's rare now that a new discovery can move me in such a fashion, but
when it happens, it's like mining for gold and finding a shiny nugget hidden in
the sludge.
The dichotomy playing out as we talk is , is it necessary for me to peek behind the curtain.? Do I really need or even want to know the story and meaning behind a lyric like;
"I
walked myself to the window
and watched as the rain
beat silent songs upon the
trees
I watched that window laugh at me."
What influenced her to
write a song like "Oh Emmanuel", which seems to be an amalgam of the artists she admires, Laura Nyro, Joni Mitchell, Tori Amos and even Stephen
Sondheim while remaining uniquely Natalie Hamilton .Well, given this rare
opportunity I of course want to know everything. So the first thing I do
is ask a million questions because my musical curiosity knows no bounds,
I want to know every detail of the process, what inspired her, what do the
lyrics signify, will she autograph my napkin? Okay, so I didn't ask for an
autograph, but talking to her about the incredible music she has composed did
have me teetering on that fence between the distance I have always maintained, and rabid, gawking, autograph seeking fan.
I don't know that I got the answers to any of these
questions. Natalie Hamilton remained a bit of an enigma to me, seemingly only
showing herself through the soul baring music that she writes. And shouldn't
that be enough? Isn't that the key element that separates us from the
artists that move and inspire us. A few years ago I was able attend a showing
of some of Vincent Van Gogh's paintings at The Yale Art Museum. I
didn't need to know the inspiration behind the art to appreciate the beauty of
what I was seeing. One of the key elements I took away from my time with
Natalie was the sense of frustration inherent in being a talented
musician in an era where more people are familiar with the names Justin Beiber
and Britney Spears than they are with Nyro, Mitchell, Sondheim and Amos
combined. A classic ballad like "Show Me Your Love", which I
guarantee would be known by everyone had it appeared on an Adele record, goes
virtually unnoticed, while the tabloid variety pop stars fill up the airwaves.
And yet, Natalie Hamilton struggles like Van Gogh, unable to sell a painting.
At least, not yet...
I will end this blog with the first song I listened to by
Natalie, a song that immediately gave me a sense that something unique was
happening here. Has there ever been a more dismissive break up lyric than
"you brush me off with the dust discreetly"
Unlike Sting's Every Breath You Take, Natalie tackles the subject of being stalked by an ex lover with a sunny sense of humor, almost like being stalked by her might be fun.
If given the choice I prefer it to Sting's brooding, lurking in the shadows Stephen King like approach,
"I know I must have looked a little bit funny
Straddling the fence right outside your family party
but just to be fair you looked a little bit odd
through binoculars duct taped to a tripod"
is a hell of a lot more cheerful than
"Every breath you take
every move you make
every bond you break
every step you take
I'll be watching you
I guarantee that if you take the time to listen to this incredible artist you will be touched and moved in a variety of ways, and cheerful will be among them. It's been a long time since I have found something new that has affected me in such a profound way. Like many people of my generation I tend to go back to old favorites, tried and tested songs that still affect me, but not in that chill inducing, goosebump raising way that something new will. The beauty of this is that I am still in the discovery phase with Natalie, she has two full CD's worth of original music, Carbon Cocktail, released in 2008 and 2011's Red Ball Rising. Like all great music and albums I seem to find a new"favorite" song among them every couple of days. Today's favorite is her cover of the Fleetwood Mac classic "Lanslide". Tomorrow I know it will be something different. I love when music does that to me.
My hope is that at some point Natalie achieves a measure of commercial success commensurate with the artistic success she has already achieved, and, unlike Van Gogh, is able to reap the financial benefits her music deserves. And even better still, she is able to achieve this with both of her ears intact.
Natalie is currently in the process of composing a musical, both book music and lyrics.You can get more information about this as well as listen to more of her music and find out where she may be performing locally at these websites.
My tendency to go off on tangents while writing these blogs is
the main reason why they seem to appear with the same frequency as the Hale
Bopp comet. There is no doubt that I am saddled with an alphabet soup bowl full
of undiagnosed childhood learning disabilities. When I was in school, there was never any discussion about ADD, or ADHD, although I'm pretty certain that my main
problem was probably an acute case of DGAS (didn’t give a shit). So I can be
writing about the Grateful Dead and next thing I know it has morphed into an
article about tracking the elusive Yeti. In any event, this will be my first
attempt at streamlining the process, trying to keep things neat, concise, and
on point, but always keeping an eye out for potential Abdominal Snowman
sightings.
For me music is and always has been about
magical moments, those shiver down my spine, little hairs rising up on the back
of my neck moments. As an addict in recovery I spent far too much time chasing
that feeling with drugs and alcohol, when in reality it was never farther
away than a turntable, radio, or concert venue. When I did
finally take those first few wobbly steps down a path of recovery and
sobriety, music was a constant and healing companion. As the fog started to
lift, I realized that I had turned my back on my one healthy addiction, an
addiction that was capable of bringing me the pleasure I spent a lifetime
seeking through unhealthy and destructive means.
Every addict knows the feeling, the constant daily chase for
the thrill of that initial high, as futile as a dog chasing its
tail. Music has a limitless capacity to bring me to that place, and the
beauty of it is that I never know when it will happen, the music decides.
The houselights go down as 20,000 fans rise up, Bruce Springsteen's voice cutting through the darkness, wondering if any of the
20,000 fans sitting in the Hartford Civic Center this night are alive. Yes we
are, and every single nerve ending in my body is on fire before a note has
been played. There is not a drug in the world that can produce the adrenaline
rush and goose bump inducing chill of that moment.
The above scene has played out at the start of every single one of the over 100 Sprinsgteen shows I have attended, and I can easily fill a whole blog with memories from those shows, or from the hundreds of other shows I have attended while supporting a three concert a week habit. For the sake of this article however I am choosing to stick with
the moments that have occurred after November 3, 2003, because music took on a
whole new meaning and dimension in my life as a sober man.
While many of my early concert memories have now become an
amalgam of clarity and purple haze, I have a clear and sharp focus from every
show I have attended while sober. The angelic voice of Lisa Hannigan, echoing
through the Mohegan Sun Arena. Ostensibly a backup vocalist for
Damien Rice, her unique vocal style added a depth and quality to Damien's
music that has been missing since she left to pursue a solo career. To be fair, neither artist has done very well without the other, which I guess is further evidence that romance and the workplace don't mix. In stark contrast, the headliner that night, Fiona Apple countered the almost whispered beauty of Lisa's vocals with ear bludgeoning primal scream therapy. Yoko Ono on steroids. Hey, not every
moment is magical, and I didn't stick around in hopes that a volunteer would be
summoned from the audience to saw her vocal cords in half. Now that would have
been magic.
The Webb Sisters, singing Leonard Cohen's musical prayer, “If
It Be Your Will, their perfect harmonies echoing to the rafters of the
Waterbury Palace Theater, punctuating what had already been an incredible three hours of music from the 74 year old Leonard. This concert, and encore performance have taken on greater significance with Leonard's recent passing at the age of 82. Leonard's spoken portion of the prayer/poem reduced the 3500 seat theater to pin drop quiet, the reverent stillness of the crowd enhancing the dynamic power of the Webb Sisters vocal. As the crowd filed out that evening, there was a sense that we all had just received a special gift. I know for me personally, it has been the seminal concert of my life, and I still get those same chills every time I watch this video.
Some of the best moments seem to occur when I least expect
it. Driving in my car, radio playing as usual, but I am more focused on
the law abiding doofus in front of me. He has obviously decided that 40
mph means 40 mph, failing to realize that I am late for golf. Just
as I’m thinking that this person had used up his allotted supply of the Earth's oxygen, a
song that had slipped through the fissures in my mind (they were once cracks
but have widened considerably as time marches on) is coming through the
speaker. As is often the case, it's a long forgotten Dylan song, and
suddenly the Amish guy in the horse and buggy in front of me isn't
as important as Dylan, in his distinctively nasal tone
singing to me about the "Tight Connection to his
Heart".
Now I am perilously close to rambling again, failing to live up to my promise of streamlining this process. Once I begin to relive these special musical moments it's very difficult for me to stop.
It was a thrill to see my good friend Sal Annunziato realize a dream by recording a CD of all original material, and in the process receiving a preview of each song as it was recorded. The finished product "Own Trip" is a testament to his musical influences and life long love of music. As I described it in a short review, it's modern themes behind a classic rock sound, produced beautifully by Sal and his friend Eric Lichter. It's pretty cool to be driving down the road with the music on full volume, and suddenly your friends voice is coming through the speaker, singing my favorite song from the CD "Something Better".
So I will end where I started, with Bruce Springsteen. My last Springsteen show was May 2014 at Mohegan Sun Arena, and joining the band for this tour was Rage Against the Machine guitarist Tom Morello.It was the usual intense and rocking three hour plus show, which of course for Bruce was not unusual.The shows at Mohegan were the last two shows of what had been a long worldwide tour, and despite the energy, to me, Bruce looked weary, understandably so. After sending what had to be an exhausted band off to bed, Bruce appeared solo, guitar in hand, for his final encore. For some reason at that moment I was filled with melancholy, the thought that after 42 years, this could potentially be my last Springsteen concert. Through the early E Street Band Shows, the early 90's "Other Band" tour, Seeger Sessions Band (still my favorite tour) , solo concerts, and then back with the reincarnated E Street Band, I had seen at least one show on every tour, usually multiples. There was never a moment after any show where I felt like Bruce didn't leave everything he had out on that stage. Hell, one of the reasons why I thought this might be my last Bruce concert was because at 61, I couldn't hang anymore, the three hour plus shows at my age are exhausting. Bruce is three years older, imagine how he feels.
The show ends with a song that seemed like a summation of his career for his lifelong fans, or maybe a pledge to his new ones. In any event, "I'll Work For Your Love" turned out to be that never broken promise from a clearly exhausted Bruce. The weary humble bow at the end of another marathon show seemed so poignant to me, a final acknowledgement to my 42 years of loyal fandom. If the rumors are true and Bruce does decide to tour again as a solo artist, I will be there. As long as I can sit my tired old ass down in a seat, I can listen to him all night long, because for me, no one has produced more magical moments than Springsteen.
I am 64 years old now, an age where I often hear people referred to as being a little long in the tooth. The truth of the matter
is that in terms of my teeth, they have pretty much remained the same size. My
ears and nose however have continued to mutate at an exposure to radium rate, attached to a face that has if anything shrunk a little, not an appealing
visual to be sure. As a good friend of mine often says, there is nothing pretty
about the aging process. Musically speaking though, I have attempted to stay young at
heart. I have tried to, and most of the time succeeded in keeping up with
current trends in music, kept my mind open and my tastes eclectic. I can just
as easily enjoy a performance by a young artist like Halsey”New Americana” as I
can listening to the classic artists that formed the soundtrack of my
youth. I have tried to guard against the” my generations’ music is the
best” mentality. All of this changed last Sunday night when I sat down in front
of my television to watch what is sometimes labeled “music’s greatest
night”, (now that’s an alternative fact that would make KellyAnne Conway
proud) aka, The Grammys.
I sensed trouble immediately when
the nominees for the first category "Best New Artist" were announced
and not a single name was remotely familiar. The award went to "Chance the
Rapper” who now will be listed among legendary former winners such as
"Crosby, Stills and Nash the Folksingers” and “John Legend The Pianist”. To be fair to Mr. Rapper, this category has produced some dubious
winners in previous years. From 1977 thru 1979 the winners were, Star
land Vocal Band, “Afternoon Delight” whose only claim to fame is their one
hit extolling the virtues of getting laid for lunch. In 1978 it was Debby
Boone darkening every music lovers life with “You Light up My Life which I now realize should have been a contender in a previous blog for worst
one hit wonder of all time. In 1979 it was A Taste of
Honey, Boogie Oogie Oggieing their way to a Grammy, probably the
worst decision in the history of this category given the fact that the list of
nominees that year included Elvis Costello, Toto, and The Cars.
I lasted another 45 minutes and then stuck one white
flag of surrender into each ear, in effect, giving up the fight and
stopping the bleeding at the same time. With this as a backdrop I have
decided to announce my own awards, culled from my many hours spent watching You
Tube videos.
So I am proud to announce the 2017 winners of the soon to be
prestigious music awards for old people "THE GRAMPYS"
I am the sole judge, and the categories will change on a
yearly basis, contingent upon what I find humorous or interesting.
There will be four distinguished honorees each year, or more realistically, this will be the first and last time Grampys are awarded..
Category 1)- BEST PERFORMANCE FROM SOMEONE'S
LIVING ROOM
Winner- Grace Sewell "Hell of a Girl" Live From Daryl's House.
Grace Sewell, sometimes known as just "Grace" is a
19 year old singer from Brisbane, Australia who had a top ten hit with her
cover of the Lesley Gore classic “You Don't Own Me”. She lists her influences
as Smokey Robinson, Janis Joplin, Shirley Bassey, and Amy Winehouse and in this
clip from Daryl's House you can hear a little piece of all four of those
artists. Daryl later explains to her that this song was written 30 years before
she was born, yet there is a smoky maturity to her vocal well beyond her years.
Daryl is obviously impressed and there are a couple of moments during her vocal
when you can see Daryl get those whole body chills that only great musical
moments can bring you. If you like Grace, then I strongly recommend all of the
videos from this episode of Live from Daryl's House, all of them are quite
good.
Category 2) BEST PERFORMANCE INDUCING A MUSICAL ICON TO BREAK KINGLY PROTOCOL.
Winner-First Aid Kit- "America" Live at Polar
Music Prize 2012
This may turn out to be a one year "niche"
category, unless of course I come upon another video where a head of state is
offended after a musical performance.
First Aid Kit are Swedish siblings Klara and Johanna
Soderberg, who performed the song "America" in front of Paul Simon at the 2012
Polar Music Prize award ceremony.
The Polar Music Prize, sometimes referred to as Sweden's
Nobel Prize for music, is given annually to one contemporary and one classical
musician. Former winners include Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen,
and Patti Smith.
The ceremony itself seems to be a fairly stuffy event;
the King of Sweden is always there in formal attire, looking appropriately pompous, surrounded by his equally constipated minions. Sitting in the front row in close proximity to the
honorees, his presence
seems to ensure that a good time will be had by no one. Despite his royal
stuffiness though, the music at this event is always quite good.
As you will see in the video, First Aid Kit's performance of
Simon & Garfunkel's America is filled with the same
beautiful harmonies that mark the original, the blend of female voices
instead of male adding a unique twist, further enhanced by
the addition of the symphony orchestra.
Paul Simon has always seemed like someone who is not easily
impressed but you can see that both he and his wife Edie Brickell are moved
by the performance.
At the song's end, Paul Simon rises and gives them a one
person standing ovation, an obvious break of royal protocol. No one stands
unless the King stands. The look on the King's face is priceless, and he seems
to be looking around to see if anyone else is equally insulted. It's that "who put the spoonful of dog shit under my nose" look that seems to be particular to offended royals.
Note to King: People give standing ovations after great
musical performances, if Paul Simon decides to stand up and honor a
performance, then get your stuffy uptight royal ass out of the chair.
Category 3) BEST PERFORMANCE BY A GROUP WHO HAD TO BE DRIVEN TO THE GIG BY THEIR PARENTS.
Winner-The Strypes- "What a Shame-David Letterman Show
Although there weren't many choices in this category, The Strypes win hands down with their rocking hybrid of Beatles meets Green Day. Letterman has always been a fan of hard driving straight ahead rock; The Foo Fighters are his favorite band. Letterman's reaction after the song ends is one of the reasons this video is so enjoyable. You can see how much he appreciated the talent of these four young kids. I love the look of pure joy on his face as he proclaims "how about these guys" to no one in particular. You can also see that the band didn't quite know what to make of Letterman, which was often the case with the musical acts that appeared on the show. As a side note , it was Letterman, crusty cynicism aside , who initiated the practice of giving a national platform to musicians who hadn't quite broken through yet. Now it's commonplace for late night shows to feature musical acts outside the mainstream, groups who most likely will not be winning a Grammy anytime soon. But they deserve to be heard and maybe even someday, like The Strypes, win the more prestigious "Grampy".
Category 4) BEST COVER OF A 50 YEAR OLD CLASSIC FOLK SONG BY A HEAVY METAL BAND. Winner-Disturbed- "Sound of Silence"
The acoustic rendition of Simon and Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence" was originally recorded in 1964 for the duo's first album Wednesday Morning 3AM. . The song eventually reached number one on the Billboard charts two years later after producer Tom Wilson, without Paul Simon's knowledge, dubbed in electric music to help make it radio friendly. My personal preference is the original version. While the amplified guitars and drums make the song slightly more dynamic, especially in the final stanza, the pure beauty of the harmonies and the message of the lyrics get a little muted behind the pop feel of the dubbed in instruments. Commercial, success doesn't always translate into artistic success. What's interesting is that while Wednesday Morning 3AM was pretty much a bust commercially, this original acoustic version of the album's signature song has amassed 100 million You Tube hits. At a time when most music is acquired and listened to digitally, that amounts to platinum 100 times over.
Even more remarkable is that 53 years later the heavy metal band Disturbed has had similar success with it's dark and significantly more dramatic version of the song. 190 million hits for the excellent concept video and another 12 million for their live performance of the song on Conan O'Brien. I still prefer the original but I do enjoy the slow dramatic build of the remake, vocalist David Draiman's brooding voice over an solitary quiet piano for the first stanza, then guitar and orchestral strings added for the second and third stanzas. By the finish, it sounds more like The Sound of Silence symphony, timpani drums adding orchestral power to what is now a searing and angry vocal by Draiman. It could play out as overkill in the drama department but it works as both a video and a live performance, and given the fact that Simon's lyrics still ring true, seems as relevant today as it did 52 years ago. A clear indication of Simon's songwriting genius..
If your XM Satellite radio is tuned into the same stations as mine; Classic Vinyl, Deep Tracks, 60's,70's, and 80's rock, then Sal Annunziato's new CD " Own Trip" will sound immediately familiar to you. Like a fluffy sweater on the first chilly day of fall, it will warm and comfort you, and most likely make you long to go back in time when musicians actually played instruments, on stage and in the studio. But make no mistake about it, this is no reunion tour. The sound and the lyrics are rooted firmly in 2016, and if you wonder where the sense of community and togetherness generated by those classic songs disappeared to, you may just find the answers in the lyrics of the eight songs that comprise this record. It's modern themes behind classic sound.
Monday, May 16, 2016
On my way to work each morning my radio station, WEHM
The artist performing in the following video does not necessarily reflect the
taste of the author. Watch only as a frame of reference for the rest of the blog, I do not accept responsibility for any senses that may end up being offended. Trust me , mine were.
. It's a sad truth that I am somewhat addicted to watching reality singing
shows, specifically “The Voice” and “American Idol.” Last night’s Voice opened
with an artist whom host Carson Daly described as the new face of country
music, Thomas Rhett. As I watched, I
thought that perhaps Merle Haggard had taken his own life
three weeks ago when informed that the fresh face of country music looked more
suited for the cover of GQ magazine than playing in a bar with sawdust on
the floor, fronting a band with banjos and fiddles. Worse yet, at the end of
the performance, Mr. Daly proclaimed that the future of country seems to
be in good hands. I actually felt the anger rise up inside me at this innocuous
throw away statement, that somehow Thomas Rhett was the heir apparent to
legends like George Jones and Johnny Cash. In reality, his brand of teen pop
with a twang more closely resembles boy bands and Justin Bieber. It was an
insult to the authenticity and honesty of the music the pioneers of
country left behind.
My issue is not with the music or the genre itself. Artists are free to
put out whatever type of music they desire. Obviously country as it exists
today is hugely popular, an industry fueled by some of the most commercially
successful artists in music. Just please stop calling it country, because as
the song says “it ain’t”. Big hats, designer jeans, Gucci boots and 200 dollar
haircuts ain’t country. If honoring your artists involves rolling out a red
carpet, dressing them in tuxedos and gowns, and posing them like Hollywood
stars and starlets heading for the Oscars, then damn it that ain’t
country. It’s popular music with a twang, and that’s ok, but please don’t
pretend that it has any connection to Butcher Hollow, Kentucky; it
doesn’t. On that note, here is what I perceive to be the antidote to Thomas
Rhett’s “T-Shirt"
While watching this video one of the things that stood out to me, other than
the great music of course, was Waylon’s hat. I guess it could be described as a
cowboy hat, but you can tell immediately that this isn’t the first time it’s
been resting on Waylon’s head. The fact is, it looks like he may have
slept, or even passed out with it still on his head a time or two. Probably seems
like I’m nitpicking here but the hats I see today are just too pristine, like
they were taken down off a hat rack to convey an image, then put right back in
place once the show was over.
There is a sterility and a sameness to current country, it's just too clean,
the recordings too perfect. Techno pop electronic music is not country but
that's what it has become. The 2013 CMT awards closed with a performance by
Florida Georgia Line, a duo who manages to straddle the line between pop and
country. The line was crossed though when rapper Nelly joined them onstage for
the closing performance. This shift in direction has led to some infighting
between current artists who desire to keep the genre traditional, and a group
who are looking to crossover and make noise on the pop charts as well.
Apparently nine seasons as a mentor on The Voice and hanging out with Gwen Stefani
has sucked all the Okie out of Blake Shelton. His shtick is to portray himself
as a good ole country boy from Oklahoma, but all of his actions scream
Hollywood. When asked to comment on the
growing feud he remarked that “Nobody
wants to listen to their grandpa’s music. And I don’t care how many of these
old farts around Nashville are going, ‘My God, that ain’t country!’ Well that’s
because you don’t buy records anymore, jackass. The kids do”. Willie Nelson
quickly responded by renaming his tour the “old farts and jackasses tour” The
bottom line in 2016 is that there are a large group of pop artists residing in
the country genre. There was a time here in Connecticut if you turned your radio dial to 92.5 WWYZ, you knew immediately you were tuned to a country
station. Now you’ll have to listen for a while, sort through the pop noise, and
maybe at some point, George Jones or Alan Jackson will appear.
As a child of the 60’s, the music I listened to was pure rock and roll,
country artists were never part of the equation, unless it was country rock
like The Eagles or Lynyrd Skynyrd. The first person in my life who
listened to country was my older brother, but the country he was listening to
on the eight track player in his pickup truck bore little resemblance to the
2016 version. He was listening to “outlaw country” Waylon and Willie, Kris
Kristofferson, Johnny Cash and David Allen Coe. If it wasn’t the outlaws then
it was the standard bearers, legends like George Jones, Loretta Lynn and Patsy
Cline. At the time I was not mature enough to understand the honesty of the
music or more importantly, the poetry of the lyrics. My stubbornly deaf
ears couldn’t hear beyond what I perceived to be a shit kickin, hillbilly
twang. Little did I know that 40 years later, I would be scanning you tube searching
for that hillbilly twang, searching for authentic country.
Today too much money is on the table for system bucking outlaws like
David Allen Coe and Waylon Jennings to exist. It’s hard to protest against a
system with a silver spoon planted firmly in your mouth. But thanks to these
outlaws, it took longer for country music to soften into the pop rock pabulum
that exists today than it would have without them.
As I got older some of the music from that eight track started to filter into my
life. The first pure country album I recall purchasing was Johnny Cash Live at
Folsom County Prison. In 1973 Leon Russell released an album titled Hank
Wilson’s Back, a tribute to some of the bluegrass and country legends that had
influenced him. Without realizing it at the time, it was my own introduction
into the bluegrass music that I would come to love later in life.
But it was an obscure indie movie titled “Songcatcher” that opened up a
whole new world of music that I had previously ignored. The movie, set in the
early 1900’s, tells the story of a musicologist, who after being denied a
promotion at the university where she teaches, decides to visit her sister ,who
runs a small school in Appalachia. There she discovers the music of the
mountains, Irish and Scottish folk songs passed down from generation to
generation, protected and hidden in the isolated hills. She ventures deep into
the mountains in an effort to record and preserve the music, and her dealings
with stubbornly protective mountain dwellers while trying to accomplish this, form the crux of the movie. The
storyline is great, but it is the music of the mountains that makes this movie special.
The soundtrack featured established stars like Dolly Parton, Roseann Cash
and Emmy Lou Harris, but also introduced lesser known country and bluegrass
artists like Gillian Welch and Iris Dement. What struck me most were the
voices, something pure and deeply soulful, sounding like it could echo through
mountains unamplified and still pierce your heart. I have been attracted to
that kind of voice ever since, to me the sound that you hear from Bill Monroe,
and Del McCoury, Allison Krauss and Gillian Welch, for my taste that is the
true essence of country.
The last concert I attended featured bluegrass legend Del McCoury and mandolin
virtuoso David Grisman, a two-man acoustic show. It was 90 minutes of pure joy, the
grizzled veterans of bluegrass and country, telling stories, playing classics,
and Del McCoury’s incredible voice ringing through the acoustically perfect
College Street Music Hall. It’s a voice straight out of the Songcatcher movie I
mentioned earlier. It’s Mayberry's own Ernest T. Bass, calling out to Andy Griffith across the
holler, but set to music. I would have never imagined forty years after resisting
the music my brother introduced me to, music I once regarded as “shitkickin
hillbilly twang” that it would end up being the music that stirs my soul. There were no big
hats, no designer jeans, and no young girls in the audience screaming and
waving white tee shirts. The future of country was not in the house that night, but the
heart and soul of its past was.
Postscript: This article was put together with a great deal of help from my older brother Fred, numerous conversations regarding his love of Outlaw country, picking his brain for memories, and as we often do when talking, laughing hysterically. It helped make this the most enjoyable of all the blogs I have written. At that time back in the mid 70’s when he was unsuccessfully trying to convince me to like country, we were brothers but not necessarily friends. Today I am happy to say that not only is he my brother, but my best friend.
Hey that sounds like a beginning to a country song, but old school style.
