Listen to the Lion

Countrypolitan Blues Redux

I published several articles and reviews in 2005 in various places, but, by far, the one that generated the most response was my review of the telecast of the 39^th annual Country Music Association awards show for National Review Online.

The article generated dozens and dozens of emails, about 95 percent of which were, I’m genuinely amazed to say, positive and even congratulatory. (I was remiss in checking the LttL mailbox for a couple of weeks after the piece ran on Nov. 16, and I apologize to everyone who took the time to write for not responding to your thoughts sooner.)

There were a few common points that kept popping up in the insightful and passionate responses, so I’ll address those here and hit some of the specific ones in private correspondence:

Dwight Yoakam

My tagline stating that I was putting on Yoakam’s Blame the Vain to cleanse my palate was greeted warmly by about half of those who wrote me. I’m glad and not at all surprised that he has such a strong fan base of people who love not only country music, but music in general.

Dwight is a very stylish guy with quite a polished public persona, but unlike many of today’s cookie cutter country stars, you get the sense that that’s really who Dwight is, and the depth of his self-penned lyrics and soulful singing confirms that sense.

He’s the perfect example of someone who doesn’t strictly play by the rules of country music – whether those imposed by the modern Nashville orthodoxy or by traditionalists like me – but succeeds in being a great country artist, like Cash, Merle, Willie and others with the same individualist bent. It’s not surprising then that he has never won a CMA award or that country radio barely plays him, which leads me to the next point…

Country radio

Many people asked what I thought about country radio. Let’s face it, over-the-air radio as a venue in which to hear new, exciting essential music or the true classics that never fade – in any genre of music – is practically dead.

I’m not blaming that on Rupert Murdoch or Clear Channel or Newt Gingrich or the FCC, like some people do. I’m more interested in what comes next, and I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be satellite radio, at least in the current XM vs. Sirius mode.

Those two companies may succeed, but from what I’ve heard so far, I think even specialized channels on the satellite networks will soon become as computer-programmed, bland and commercial-laden as regular radio. More subscribers will drive the content to the middle of the road or the lowest common denominator, whichever cliché you prefer.

There are two things that will work for real music fans:

1) Personalized radio programs, like the one here, that use preference-matching applications to generate a constant stream of new and old music that each listener might like.

2) Good old-fashioned DJs who will be able to create playlists with an actual human imagination and be able to broadcast, narrowcast, podcast or whatever over the Web.

Check out a couple of my favorites at BluegrassCountry.org and WDVX.

Garth Brooks

Some people stood up for Garth, but more agreed with me that he is a musical criminal of the first order. The fact that a very modestly talented musician sold millions of records and became the face of American country music to the entire world got Nashville to follow the same style-over-substance marketing credo of mainstream pop, which has in turn succeeded in selling Shania Twain, Faith Hill, Tim McGraw, Keith Urban and the like as country artists.

Sara Evans and Martina McBride

I took a swipe at the live performances of these two, and I stand by it. They both sounded even worse than they normally do that night. I’m pretty sure that Martina is always a microtone or two flat and I think Sara’s singing is nasal and overwrought. It’s actually hard for me to say things like that about these two ladies, not only because I fancy myself a gentleman, but because I have heard them interviewed and I think that they are both really great people. I just think that their beauty (especially in the case of the stunning Miss Evans) and personality in this post-Garth world has carried them a lot farther than their talent alone.

With all that said, I invite further comment – about this piece and about the music you love and hate - at the LttL mailbox, which I promise to check regularly in 2006.

#4 on My Favorite Albums list

A long time ago, I said I was going to post or write a piece about each of my 10 favorite albums, and I never did. So I'm making an early 2006 resolution to do so, starting with the following review of Gillian Welch's Time (the Revelator) that I wrote shortly after it's release in the fall of 2001:

Gillian Welch enjoyed a cameo role in O Brother, Where Art Thou?, with Alison Krauss recorded the now-definitive version of the hymn “I’ll Fly Away” for the film’s soundtrack, and provided the singing voice for one of the films double-crossing sirens. Taking advantage of this mainstream exposure, she has released her third album Time (the Revelator), which, like her work on O Brother, features an old-timey, acoustic sound but is a lyrically complex and deeply moving work of a maturing singer-songwriter.

Welch, along with producer, co-writer, and harmony singer David Rawlings, recorded most of
Time (the Revelator) in Nashville’s famous RCA Studio B using vintage microphones and sparse arrangements. Welch’s plaintive voice hovers over her own warm guitar or jangly banjo and is joined at times by Rawlings’ own sparkling guitar and ghostly harmonies.

Every song on Time contains musical or lyrical references to the old, weird music and culture of the American South – Elvis Presley, Abraham Lincoln, Gram Parsons, and Emmylou Harris make appearances and there are sly nods toward the Delmore Brothers, Jimmy Murphy and Ralph Stanley. 

Indeed, the entire album is an almost stream-of-consciousness trip through Welch’s mind, record collection, library, and travel diary. Her vocal approach is seductive, yet shot through with a visceral sense of melancholy and longing for a musical world, which likely will never be again. In scope and attitude not unlike Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks or Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks, Welch's Time is a self-contained musical and emotional world that exists only in the minds of this great troubadour and those who listen to her with an imaginative ear.

A little more CASH

I thought I’d close the recent Johnny Cash thread on Lion with a link to my review of the posthumous Unearthed boxed set and with the text of a review for American IV that ran in Dayton’s Impact Weekly in January 2003:

 
Not long ago, I was excited to hear a track from Johnny Cash’s new album on WYSO. I hadn’t picked up the album yet, but I knew it was to be the fourth in a series of cover-laden Cash discs produced by Rick Rubin, whose diverse production credits include Tom Petty, Run DMC, Slayer and the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

 
The track I heard was “The Man Comes Around,” and I was excited, not only by Cash’s spirited delivery, but by the greatness of the composition, which I assumed to be a new work by someone like Bob Dylan or Nick Cave, both of whom Cash has covered before. I was even more pleased when I found out that rollicking tale of imminent apocalypse peppered with Old and New Testament references was penned by Cash himself.

 
Though it’s the only new Cash song on the album, it’s certainly among the very best of a long and productive career and reason enough to give the album a close listen. The rest of American IV is comprised of three lesser known Cash tunes from the past (“Give My Love to Rose,” “Tear Stained Letter” and “Sam Hall”) and tracks first done by artists ranging from Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails) to Vera Lynn.

 
Most of these unexpected choices turn out to be inspired ones. “Bridge Over Troubled Water” could easily have been a maudlin mess, but Cash, with tasteful backing vocals from Fiona Apple, nails it. Rubin’s production on the entire album, and on this track in particular, is sympathetic to how Cash turns his age-related vocal limitations from a weakness into a strength.

 
Cash’s vocal on Reznor’s “Hurt” is frighteningly stark, slowly simmering in the ominous musical stew created by Rubin. Sting’s “I Hung My Head” is similarly bleak, with Cash’s gravitas eclipsing the original version.

 
The Man in Black also explores the sunny side of life a little, albeit from the perspective of a man who knows he’s nearing the end of the line. His lilting treatment of Lennon and McCartney’s “In My Life” is clearly meant as a valedictory, as is the album’s closer “We’ll Meet Again,” where he sings a simple goodbye to his friends.

 
Whether this is indeed Cash’s ultimate work is up to the God that he’s had such a stormy public relationship with, but his matter-of-fact rendition of Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus” suggests that if it is, then that’s just fine with him.