Oh, The Controversy

 

Granted, Beyonce's rendition of Jolene is awful, but people seem to forget that Dolly Parton's original is no gem, either. I hated the track when it was released in 1973; thus, it was played constantly on radio. All the worst ones are. Don't get me wrong; the original lyrics are fine, but that melody! Not only banal, but depressing. (Don't tell me, well, it's a depressing message. A good song isn't just lyrics. That would be a poem.) Dolly is a decent enough songwriter, but melody is not her strong suit (see: Coat of Many Colors; To Daddy)

I've seen a lot of commentary this week about Beyonce's version. She took the only adequate component of the song, the lyrics, and changed them completely! And need I say that those changes reek? A commentator I admire said it best. "Now the song doesn't mean anything." I agree that it presents no message other than, "I'm gonna whup your ass". Okie-dokie. And really, no one can convey that message quite like Toby Keith. It's not even a contest.

I suppose what annoys me about the commentary, though it really shouldn't, is that these people are suddenly country music experts. I don't doubt that they've heard the original version of Jolene. It's probably the only country song they've ever heard, yet each of them is quick to pronounce their "fondness" for country music. "I like Brad Paisley," said one. I'm surprised no one said, "I shore could use me some of that Hank Williams." It's okay, guys; everyone is not required to like it. 

I freely admit that I'm not a fan of current R&B, or whatever it is that Beyonce does. I'm also not a fan of her voice. It seems to me that she used to at least stretch her vocal cords a bit, but on this album she's singing in a dreary alto.

And why is there any debate over whether Cowboy Carter is a country album? The answer is: It is not a country album. Plain and simple. It's not. There can't possibly be any argument over that. And by the way, why is it so important for her fans to try to label it one? Big George Strait fans or something? Honestly.

What's almost worse are the songwriters/original artists who've praised her cover versions. Sincerity seems lost nowadays. Dolly and Paul McCartney certainly have good musical taste. They can't possibly think these lifeless dirges are "awesome". Was she really tired when she recorded them?

I suppose, like Taylor Swift, Beyonce is a pop culture star; mediocre but with a ton of flash. Flash is what matters. Beyonce's new album has zero impact on my life, so people can call it whatever makes them happy.

 TOBY KEITH

There's much to be said for being a good man. By all accounts Toby Keith was a good man. Imagine an entertainer still being married to his first spouse! Imagine doing eleven overseas USO tours.

It seemed like Toby Keith was always around. His 1993 debut single, "Should've Been A Cowboy", shot straight to number one. All told, he scored 20 number ones and several top tens. 

For me, who considers the nineties the best decade in country music, Toby didn't resonate strongly. I thought several of his hits were "fine" and I even purchased his first CD. I preferred his more introspective tracks, like "Wish I Didn't Know Now", and found his bombastic tunes, well....funny. (There's something to be said for funny.) And c'mon, "put a boot in your ass" has gotta evoke a chuckle. I realize "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue" was supposed to be serious, but that line...

I SO admire Toby for taking on those bitter wenches previously known as The Dixie Chicks. And he definitely could push their buttons. Androgynous Natalie Maines even wore a "FUTK" t-shirt to an awards show. I bet that really made Toby sob into his pillow. 

And the tall tale about Toby and Kris Kristofferson's little spat has since been debunked. Kristofferson is a master songwriter, but if this incident had actually occurred, sorry, I would be on Keith's side.

He also got knocked for playing at Trump's inaugural, as if that was the mortalist of mortal sins. Good on Toby! I bet he reveled in the criticism.

One thing Toby possessed was an ear for catchphrases. "How Do You Like Me Now", "I Wanna Talk About Me", "Who's Your Daddy?"

“I write about life, and I sing about life, and I don’t over-analyze things,” Keith told The Associated Press in 2001.

While there were many artists I would place above him, the fact remains that he was an original and most importantly, a decent guy.

 

I saw this on X a while back and found it sweet:

 Toby is going to be sorely missed. Rest in peace, Toby Keith.

 

 REVIEWING THE 57TH CMA AWARDS NOMINEES ~

SONG OF THE YEAR

 

The Song of the Year award goes to the songwriter(s) and as opposed to a catchy single, ostensibly the song needs to stand on its own. In truth, it's difficult to separate a song from the recording of the song. Voters are human, not AI. It's doubtful that any CMA voter sits down with a yellow highlighter and scours a nominated song's lyrics. Thus, it's common for the same song to garner both single and song of the year. 

 

But let's pretend the winning song actually wins on merit.  I've already listened to four of the five nominated songs, since they are also Single of the Year nominees, but this time around I'll try to disregard the performances and focus in on the songs themselves.

 

Here we go....

 

 

Fast Car, songwriter Tracy Chapman

 

 

This video benefits from having scrolling lyrics, since the song structure tends to make the words run together. Nevertheless, this is a fine piece of writing. It's written in a stream of consciousness style, the woman (in Tracy's version) matter-of-factly laying out her present circumstances and her dream of flying away, which is where the chorus soars. Then she talks about the disappointment her new life has become. The end chorus repeats her (now fading) dream, but signals that she hasn't yet given up hope. From a technical standpoint, the rhyming isn't there, but it hardly matters. This is a song that says something.

Heart Like A Truck, songwriters Trannie Anderson, Dallas Wilson, Lainey Wilson

The chorus is well-written. It seems like the verses were added as an after-thought. They should have been tightened up. Ending every line with "yea" is a weak substitute for finding rhymes that actually say something. The performance video led me to believe that the singer was another "powerful woman", which is an irksome sentiment. A powerful woman doesn't need to announce that to the world. However, the line, "it's as good as it is tough" tends to soften it a bit. This song was a good initial idea that didn't live up to its promise.

 

Next Thing You Know, songwriters Jordan Davis, Greylan James, Chase McGill, Josh Osborne

 

 

The performance of this song outshines the writing. (Really, four people?) Like Fast Car, it, too, is written in a stream of consciousness style, and it's...fine. It hits all the high points of a life. But it's rather mundane. I wonder how the four songwriters split the song ~ one wrote the bulk of it and the other three changed a word here and there? I'm rather disappointed in the song itself, since the performance video really grabbed me.

 

Tennessee Orange, songwriters David Fanning, Paul Jenkins, Megan Moroney, Ben Williams

This is the only song of the four I hadn't heard before, and okay, it's kind of dumb. As if no one has ever met someone from another place before, and oh, he roots for the wrong team. From a songwriting standpoint, this is technically fine. A three-quarter-time song is the easiest song to write. I'm shocked it actually required four songwriters. I'm equally shocked that this ended up on the short list for Song of the Year. Song of the Year should stand the test of time. This is a throwaway.

wait in the truck, songwriters Renee Blair, Michael Hardy, Hunter Phelps, Jordan Schmidt

(sigh) This song makes me feel sad for the state of songwriting. Or maybe four of the five song nominees make me sad. It's like people forgot how to write songs. Or that they try too hard. I was more surprised by Carroll County Accident than I was by this. And frankly, the protagonist is a dumb ass. And that choral ending really dilutes any power the song possessed. Did all four songwriters simply give up? No wonder the CMA is digging through the nineties catalog to find well-written songs.

 

My clear choice for Song of the Year ~ Fast Car ~ writer Tracy Chapman.

 

 

My scorecard (and this is really difficult):

1. Fast Car
2. Heart Like A Truck
3. Next Thing You Know
4. wait in the truck
5. Tennessee Orange

 

Guys, try harder. Spend some time listening to the masters. And disband your four-writer clique.  

 

My God.

 

 

 

 

 

 REVIEWING THE 57TH CMA AWARDS NOMINEES ~

SINGLE OF THE YEAR

I don't listen to current country music. Thus, I only recognize a few of the nominees, and that mostly comes from reading about them, not actually hearing them. So who better to judge the best than me? I'm unbiased. I'm ignorant. I'm completely in the dark, much like country radio is. 

I decided to start with the easiest categories, because it's difficult for me to judge an artist's abilities without knowing his or her catalog. Therefore, I'm going with Single Of The Year first. That's only five singles to compare to one another. Bear in mind that I've only before heard one of these singles, but since these are the nominees, I am assuming they're all superior performances. This should be tough. My rule is that I must watch each video all the way through in order to shape an informed opinion.

Let's start.

 

FAST CAR ~ Luke Combs

Anyone who was alive in the nineties knows the original, written and recorded by Tracy Chapman, but this award is for single of the year, so lack of originality doesn't come into play here. This is the only nominated single of the five that I'm familiar with, and I struggle with whether I like it because it's familiar or because it stands on its own. I do like this Combs guy; he has a real country voice (a good one), and while he doesn't do anything to change up the original, he delivers it with feeling. Worth keeping an eye on to grab the award.

 

HEART LIKE A TRUCK ~ Lainey Wilson

To be honest, I find this irritating. If it came on my radio (if I ever listened to radio), I would shove the volume down as soon as the chorus hit. I looked it up, and no surprise, three people wrote this song. That must account for the plethora of words crammed into every line. Maybe it's a defensive thing ~ uncertainty of one's talent ~ that songwriters can't let a song simply flow anymore. You know, Willie Nelson populated the first line of one of his songs with one word. But this needs to be looked at as single, not song of the year. The recording is hurt by the stabbing (in a Norman Bates kind of way) electric guitar that reminds me of latter-day Tim McGraw. This might be among the best of the best; I don't know, but if I was still a CMA voting member, I would pass this one by.

 

NEED A FAVOR ~ Jelly Roll

 

I'm not sure how to categorize this, but certainly not as country. Soul Christian, perhaps? (I just made that up.) I guess it's not a bad song, per se, although the background choir is a bit too intrusive. This is a hard one to judge, because I only know country. Which leads me to ask why this is nominated for country single of the year. On the plus side, the message is good. Again, this is a single I would listen to once, and never again.

NEXT THING YOU KNOW ~ Jordan Davis

Okay, I fell for this. It might have been the video, so I'm going to try to discount that. This single is reminiscent of mid-nineties philosophical hits by artists like Billy Dean and Sawyer Brown, and will appeal to older voters, but will probably be discounted by everyone else. The melody is rather pedestrian, but the words are simple yet profound. This is a dark horse.

wait in the truck ~ HARDY (feat. Lainey Wilson)

I have to get this off my chest ~ capitalize! What's the deal with this song title being only in lower case? (Notice, however, that the artist's name is written entirely in CAPS. I'm so confused.) But I digress. I like a good story song as much as anybody, even though the main character is a complete idiot. This song will hold one's interest the first time they hear it, but it's probably not going to be a classic. I have nothing bad to say about it, except that it's pretty forgettable.

 

Which single should win? Remember, a single is a performance, an interpretation of a song, but the song itself also has to be worthy. (I'll tackle Song of the Year next time.) Single of the Year should at the very least be a recording one would listen to again and again.

I have to give it to Luke Combs' Fast Car. None of the others can beat him as far as vocal chops, and by the by, he didn't record Chapman's song with the intent of swooping up trophies, but just because he liked it. And no one can mistake him for anything but a country singer. That can't be said for all of the others.

For the record, my ballot looks like this:

1. Fast Car - Luke Combs
2. Next Thing You Know - Jordan Davis
3. wait in the truck - HARDY
4. Heart Like A Truck - Lainey Wilson
5. Need A Favor - Jelly Roll

 

 

 

SONGS ABOUT WORK HAVE LOST THEIR CACHET

If you type "working" into the search bar of a free photo site, 99.9% of the results will be a guy or gal sitting with their fingers poised above a laptop keyboard. Man! I'm sweaty already! Is it any wonder that the majority of today's populace has little use for working man songs? In fact, if one should dare to sing about the working man, the knives are out (not that these people know how to hold a knife). There was a time when a man getting his hands dirty was admired, was maybe even a bit intimidating. Now he is condescended to, called names, deemed uneducated. 

In 1969 Merle Haggard sang about being a working man, not in a boastful way but as one simply resigned to it.

 

I keep my nose on the grindstone, work hard every day

Get a little tired on the weekend after I draw my pay

But I'll go back workin'

Come Monday mornin' I'm right back with the crew

 

By 1988 all the working man wanted was a job.

 Need a job for these two hands

I'm a workin' man with nowhere to go 

 

Can you imagine the ridicule that would befall these tracks if they were released today? "Ooh, poor working man feeling sorry for himself again. Hold on, I've gotta answer this text."

I'm not sure when manual labor became repugnant. I have some ideas - cable news personalities labeling these men hillbillies, toothless dullards, mindless dolts. Gen X all the way down to Gen Z status seekers who spend more time picking out their wardrobe than learning how to change a flat tire. 

When I was sixteen my summer job was cleaning motel rooms. I hauled a heavy Kirby vacuum up and down stairs, stripped bed sheets, swished toilets -- in 52 rooms. It was a repugnant job -- people were pretty piggish when it wasn't their own home. I was astonished once when I found a couple of dollar bills left on a desk and I promptly turned the money in to the office, not realizing it was a tip. No one tipped! Then, once all the rooms were cleaned, I loaded the washer with soiled towels and spent a half hour folding each dried batch on a long table inside a stifling garage. I never once thought that anyone was looking down on me, although I'm sure some were. Lucky for me, those people didn't have social media to brandish as weapons against me, posting surreptitious photos they snapped of me in front of my rolling maid's cart as I sorted through the cans of Comet and Pledge, and adding their little sniggering commentary.  

Which in a roundabout way brings me to Oliver Anthony. He burst out of nowhere -- really, singing a lament with simply a Gretsch Resonator acoustic guitar accompanying him. I don't consider it a country song; maybe folk. It's a deceptively simple song, like Merle Haggard's songs were deceptively simple. Try writing one.

 

It's a damn shame what the world's gotten to

For people like me and people like you

Wish I could just wake up and it not be true

But it is, oh it is 

The song says all the things Merle said between the lines, and for that matter all the things The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band said between their lines, too. Maybe the character in the NGDB song knew the world looked down on him, and maybe Merle suspected it, but nobody dared be so blatant in their derision as they are now. 

Trust me, all these gentlemen know how the professional class regards them. The fact that they don't give a damn is a testament to their dignity.

Cable news personalities are good at reading a teleprompter. I wonder if they know how to clean my toilet.

 

 

 

 

 PROBABLY THE TWO WORST WAYS FOR PEOPLE TO FINALLY NOTICE COUNTRY MUSIC

1. A Crappy Song

2. A Country Song That Isn't A Country Song

 IN DEFENSE OF 80'S POP

I used to call it "rock", because it was the music my local rock station played. Just like I always called The Beatles rock, but I guess they weren't. The Rolling Stones were rock. 

Likewise, purists consider Guns 'N Roses, Def Leppard, and Aerosmith legitimate eighties rock. I didn't listen to those bands. If I want to hear Steven Tyler screeching, I can click on my local classic rock station any hour of the day.

No, I listened to pop and I loved it. Yes, it was all very synthesized -- each decade has its trends -- but it had something not common since two decades before. Joy. 

Music is defined by the times. As I wrote here, optimistic times beget buoyant music. Like in the early sixties, the eighties began with hope. Life wasn't exactly new, but we sensed a new beginning. For those who weren't around in the seventies, the decade was not a bed of sun-kissed tulips or the aroma of warm cookies.  It was struggle, anxiety, depression; or as our president told us, "malaise". Oh, and he also told us it was all our fault.  

The most popular colors were avocado and brown. 

Pop culture throughout those years was mostly putrid, but we were held hostage by our limitless choice of three networks (PBS doesn't count, although I did enjoy Sesame Street as much as my kids did.) Sitcoms employed either really bad writers or really immature ones; thus we got catchphrases like "Dyn-o-MYTE!" 

We all had deep shag carpets and woven tapestries, the better to bury ourselves in. Treacly singles like "You Light Up My Life" and "Havin' My Baby" bombarded our ears, the better to bury ourselves in. Disco lured people into thinking they were having a good time.

The man we elected in 1980 looked at the morning sky and saw a glorious sunrise. He kindly informed us that no, we weren't to blame for our circumstances. And better yet, he was there to help us dig our way out. 

People began scouring store shelves for the hottest toys for their kids, and better still, they could actually afford to buy them. Comedians were funny again instead of morose. TV was still mostly bad (when wasn't it?), but we at least had St. Elsewhere and The Wonder Years.

Suddenly the hot colors were neons -- pinks, oranges, and yellows.

We who were struggling suddenly saw possibilities.

And then there was MTV. It was a phenomenon. Some view video as the downfall of music. Au contraire! I loved it! How else would I have "met" Huey Lewis? How else would the endlessly-hyped premiere of "Thriller" become must-see TV? Who would remember all those glorious one-hit wonders like a-Ha if they hadn't seen them right there in their living rooms in black and white pencil drawings? 

Who can hear "Sledgehammer" without picturing a freight train zooming circles around Peter Gabriel's head? Who would Shania Twain copy if it wasn't for Robert Palmer's "Addicted To Love"? Why did "Jump" rattle around in our heads all the time, despite our best efforts to purge it? Hall and Oates, Genesis? When Steve Perry went solo? The first time I saw Wham, I thought they were a Christian group because George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley were wearing t-shirts that read, "Choose Life". Yea, I did.

And, of course, Prince.

It wasn't just MTV, of course. John Hughes' stellar soundtracks brought us artists like Simple Minds and Paul Young. You might think that Kenny Loggins and Peter Cetera were the only singers the movie industry employed, but Hughes was a prescient and discerning selector.

And we relied on radio just as much. Yes, Tears For Fears, Wang Chung, The Dream Academy and The Pet Shop Boys' names no longer trip off our tongues, but you'd know 'em if you heard 'em.

These guys loved making music and they relished the possibilities the decade provided. 

When I simply feel like feelin' good, I punch up my personal eighties Spotify playlist and I remember how good life was, how surmountable little problems felt, how the future looked so bright I had'ta wear shades.

 

1960'S MUSICAL INNOVATION

I won't posit that the sixties were the most innovative time in music...okay, I will, because it was. No one can definitively say why, but I have a couple of theories.

I'm truly not one hundred and twelve years old, but I'm old enough and I've watched enough television documentaries to know that the nineteen fifties were a rather staid time. Yes, of course, Elvis showed up on the scene in the '50's and he was scandalous, what with that one leg bouncing up and down, and all the shimmying. Proper gentlemen just didn't do that. Good thing the oldsters didn't get a gander at Jerry Lee Lewis or Little Richard. But these guys were anomalies. One was much more likely to catch Pat Boone or Patti Page on their new-fangled television sets. If you've never seen Pat's rendition of Tutti Frutti, you're missing a real funky finger-snapping, sweater vest, canvas sneaker-clad performance. Little Richard would have turned over in his grave if he wasn't actually very much alive and in his performing prime.

Even the president was old, at least he looked old. Why, in 1958 he was all of 67 years old! Thank goodness we don't elect old guys anymore. And I bet he also wore a fedora when out and about. His press conferences were marked by reporters' raised hands and deferential standing when called upon. It's a wonder they didn't bow. The fifties were simply a polite time.

The cars on the road were not so much boxy as squat and turtle-shaped. And they were all black, or so it seemed. Mothers wore house dresses and only donned pants for dirty jobs like scrubbing the floor, and only when they were sure no one would stop by unexpectedly. They wore hats to church. Men's leisure wear consisted of Dacron trousers and white short-sleeved shirts, some with the tiniest bit of embroidery, but not so much as to appear gaudy. Nobody wore jeans. Really. Despite what notions Happy Days and Marlon Brando have embedded in your head.

In the fifties, everyone followed the rules.

Then in 1960 John F. Kennedy was elected president. JFK was as young as Eisenhower was old. JFK had little kids, he was (ostensibly) physically fit, his pretty wife was a Life Magazine staple. Kennedy sent men into space. Nobody remembered it was Ike who initiated the space program. JFK got it done! 

Laura Petrie wore capri pants, and not just to scrub the floor. In fact, her floors were magically spotless, although she did haul out the vacuum cleaner a couple times. She couldn't care less if anyone rang the doorbell while she was wearing those outrageously tight slacks. In fact, she'd sometimes sit them down and entertain them with a dance routine right there in the middle of her living room (after serving them coffee, of course).

Cars became sleeker - the Ford Mustang, the Chevy Corvette, the Plymouth Barracuda. And they came in weird colors, like blue and red.

Everything suddenly became glossier and faster. 

People, especially young people, were no longer in the doldrums. The sky above jettisoned its grey hue. Like magic, anything they could conceive was possible. 

Who said pop music had to keep following the Brill Building model? Who said everybody had to emulate Phil Spector's warmed-over fifties ditties, distinguished only by more echo?

Nashville, Detroit, LA, Liverpool, Memphis, artists huddled and separately invented their own styles. Motown was as distinct from the Beach Boys as Bobby Darin was from Chuck Berry. Bobbie Gentry found a home on AM radio right next to The Rolling Stones.

And like space travel, technology skyrocketed. Recording on only two tracks was limiting and frustrating. Parts could not be isolated. If one of the musicians messed up, it required a complete retake. Now the four-track became more ubiquitous. It allowed for experimentation. This was no longer Nelson Riddle conducting the orchestra on Track Two while Sinatra crooned onto Track One. 

Artists began penning their own songs. They were no longer satisfied thumbing through a publisher's catalog to find their next hit. If JFK could whip-sail across Nantucket Sound, artists craved the wind in their hair, too. They had a decade of pent-up creativity bursting to be unleashed.

Ultimately that optimism devolved into despair -- assassinations, war -- yet the music went on. Darker, sure, but heartfelt; not cookie-cutter. It acknowledged reality, didn't prop Pat Boone up on a soda fountain stool to snap his fingers and yearn for some of Mom's cherry pie. 

I have my own personal Spotify playlist for the sixties, comprised mostly of number ones from the decade (not deep album cuts). Everybody who's a fan of sixties music will remember the decade whichever way they choose. But there is no denying its scope, its sweep. Its individuality, its innovation.

Take a listen if you're interested:

 

UMM, SPOTIFY.....