RED STATE BOOGIE: Country Music And America

RED STATES. We all know that they’re full of ignorant hicks, yeah? Gun toting, beer swilling, “God, Guts and Guns” poor white trash and fat women with beehive hairdos. Yes, it’s all true.

COUNTRY MUSIC. We all know that this is the sound of the great unwashed of America. The soundtrack to the lives of Wal-Mart shopping, cut off T shirt wearing, God fearing, “Honk If You Farted” T Shirt wearing, Kenny Chesney CD buying, ignorant blindly patriotic idiots. Also somewhat true.

Like any other, however, this stereotype leaves you wanting. The Civil Rights movement was born in the South. Stax Records, sweet soul music, white kids and black kids stomping down literal and idealistic barriers to dance together to Little Richard in the 1950s. It all happened in the red states.

Did you know that white honky tonk king and country music pioneer Porter Wagoner was the first person to bring black music (James Brown) to the Grand Ole Opry, long (since 1925) a last bastion of white redneck good ol’ boy culture? Did you know this happened in the early 1960s?

Did you know that Ernest Tubb, basically the father of modern country music, used to give homeless people (then simply known as “bums”), whether they were black, white, or swollen and purple, charge accounts at the restaurants of their choice so that they could eat between shots of bathtub gin?

Did you know that Elvis Presley grew up in what we would today refer to as the “projects”, living amongst blacks and whites who mostly had no sense of separation?

What IS this? Socialism? White folks reaching out to black, rich folks reaching out to poor? In the Red States? In the 1940s and 50s and 60s, supposedly a time of racism, the KKK, and segregation?

The fact is, country music, now all about money and Wal-Mart, used to be the most soulful, caring and uniting music that white people had to offer. It wasn’t a sad, whitebread, money grubbing, watered down, muscle flexing, professional wrestling endorsing piece of hilarious Jerry Springer crap like you may have noticed that it is today.

It is erroneous, some might say, to romanticize America’s past. We look back fondly on the supposed simplicity of 1950s living, yet caution the nostalgic to remember that we have it so much better today. Race lines have broken down (have they?), our governments are so much more honest and direct now (really?) and technology has made all of our lives easier (has it?).

Truthfully, of course, this is all bullshit. Race lines were broken down by music and working class culture long before it became taboo to say “nigger”. Governments and legislation only reflected what the most intelligent and caring people on the street were already doing and feeling.

And lest we forget, yes I know America was stolen from Native Americans. We think of them, condescendingly, as Noble Savages. Of course, history tells us that these people waged cruel wars on each other and killed each other quite often before we ever got here. We also know that Native American scouts frequently worked with our cow-hustlin’ ancestors to aid the killing and swindling of their own people. This is not to say that we were right or that they deserved what we did to them. Not at all. I’m just illustrating how the picture is never black and white. Nobody is innocent.

But back to Country Music and America.

I need to tell you that without the blues, there would be no country music. Elvis, Hank Williams, Carl Perkins. They all spoke of how hearing honest to goodness working class black people sing the blues made them want to sing it too. That is racial harmony and that is your great American melting pot right there.

I need to tell you that I actually love America, I love this country. I do not like its' government. I detest its' foreign policy and it’s war on the poor. I hate the bloody exploitation of Native Americans and African Americans that we built this country on. I hate how big money and corporate control rages unabated and few people here seem to care that they’re being lied to.

What I love is it’s art and it’s culture and it’s geography and it’s class struggle. I love the people and what they’ve given to the world despite their governments’ greedy policing of said world. I love it’s roots in England, in Africa, in Mexico. We should and could be the best of all these cultures.

It’s not cool to say that anymore. I know a lot of liberal hipsters who like to say how much they hate this country, because of it’s many faults. How they’d like to move to another country where things are better, and it’s all because of those goddamn ignorant hick red state people. Apparently there are no ignorant people in other countries, and no political problems in other countries. I’m no blind patriot, I recognize the problems. But this is where I was born. And there is still so much here.

Politics are worked out in offices and boardrooms. The real world happens in the factories, the supermarkets, and on the streets.

I’m a card carrying liberal. I vote Democrat every election. Lesser of two evils, sure. Without the money for ad space to reach the masses, no third party will ever triumph in our lifetime.

America is a great and powerful beast, and in it’s sheer size and weight, it is sluggish and fat and slow to understand. The Media has it’s own agenda, and the working class, who have little time (because they’re working and raising families) to consider the intricacies of political wheeling and dealing, believe, naively, what they hear. Fear is the greatest motivator. Fear of other races, fear of immigrants, fear of homosexuals, fear of loss. This is why we have red states. Because the media have led those honest working class people to believe the very fabric of their lives is under attack by all of these things. It’s not because the people there are stupid, it’s not because they’re ignorant. It’s because they just don’t know.

In the sound of country music, we have the sound of America. You may notice in early country and bluegrass music, the similarity to European folk ballads and traditional Irish and English reels. You may notice the thunking rhythms that are the heart beat of African music. The steel guitar is a Hawaiian instrument that goes back ages. Asian cultures from thousands of years ago had similar instruments. African and European cultures stumbled upon early versions of the guitar at roughly the same time in history. The banjo, the sight of which sends most modern people into a panic of country music hatred, was first played and developed in Africa.

Flash forward to the here and now and I’d like to tell you about a man called Steve Earle. Steve was raised in the 50s and 60s as a lil’ tyke on Honky Tonk music, as he was born in the deep south. I don’t know if Steve ever bailed hay or drove cattle, but he certainly absorbed and worshiped hillbilly music from an early age. Steve grew up playing hillbilly rock n roll and country music, and did some jail time in his early 30s for some nasty business we can just overlook, cuz he’s a good boy, our Steve.

Steve Earle is pretty much a hick.

Steve Earle wrote these lyrics:

“Livin’ in a city of immigrants
I don’t need to go travelin’
Open my door and the world walks in
Livin’ in a city of immigrants

Livin’ in a city that never sleeps
My heart keepin’ time to a thousand beats
Singin’ in languages I don’t speak
Livin’ in a city of immigrants

City of black, city of white, city of light, city of innocents
City of sweat, city of tears, city of prayers, city of immigrants”





Which is pretty much some serious liberal shit. Steve Earle is a card carrying Democrat and a proud Southerner. A Red Stater. A man who also wrote this song about the reign of King George Bush the Second:

“North wind blowin’ like a hurricane house
Old man leanin’ like he’s pullin’ a plow
Neck bowed, bendin’ like a willow bough

Red sky color of the end of time
Bleeds dry runnin’ down the center line
Wise guy pretends he doesn’t see the signs

Bad news everybody talkin’ ‘bout
A short fuse a half an inch from burnin’ out
All used up beyond a reasonable doubt

Make way for his majesty the prodigal king
Still taste the poison when you’re kissin’ the ring
Don’t say he never gave you anything

Deep breath the calm before the storm begins
Cold sweat pretend that you ain’t listenin’
Don’t bet on gettin’ by with that again

Short ride from here to where the beast resides
Fine line that separates the shadows inside
Make mine a double shot of cyanide”

Lyrics like these certainly don’t warrant the “I’m With Stupid --> ” T shirt that most of our more liberal, intellectual folks would probably place on Steve Earle’s doughy middle aged torso, just by looking at his pork belly and his Grizzly Adams beard and cowboy boots and knowing he’s from the South.

What I’m trying to say here is that stereotypes are wrong, and Country Music isn’t racist and ignorant (although it is at times purposefully and gloriously ridiculous). It is, at it’s best, the heartbeat of the poor white man, living alongside the poor black man, working alongside the Mexican, Puerto Rican and Asian man, a mile away from the impoverished Native American Reservation. It’s the voice of the American working class, and it’s a symptom of the disease of America that you will no longer find real Country Music on the radio or your flat screen TV.

I’ve made Steve Earle an example, because I love his music, but there are certainly others. The Waco Brothers from Chicago. Robbie Fulks, Hank Williams the 3rd, Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt, even early Wilco. Dale Watson, Rosie Flores. Lucinda Williams. The classic pioneering Country Rock of Gram Parsons and Townes Van Zandt. Steve Earle’s 25 year old son Justin Townes Earle. This is soulful heart of America full of compassion and conscience.

So don’t count out those red states. We have allies there. And they are spreading the true spirit of American Music, one gig, one record, one fan at a time.

I leave you with more Steve Earle. This is one of my fave songs and shows a much younger and slimmer Stevie Earle. Please note my favorite line; "Everybody told me you can't get far/ on 37 dollars and a Jap guitar", and also note the GORGEOUS middle eight at 1:25. ENJOY.

Morrissey SWORDS...Drunken Review

Morrissey! And his Sword! What needs to be said, really? This here is a B Sides record by a man who has never released a bad song. Like the Wildhearts, or to a lesser extent the Manic Street Preachers, Moz throws away songs that most bands would base entire careers around.

I have consumed a bit of red wine this evening while writing lyrics and attempting to play guitar. My wife is at work, and when she comes home, she will either A) drink more wine or B) berate me because I drank all the initial wine. I'll buy more wine before she comes home, and attempt to pass it off as the original wine (left over from last night), while also attempting to appear sober. Which will not fool her for a second. All of this (and nothing) will affect my review of the new Morrissey B Sides record, which I have been listening to non stop for a week now.

MORRISSEY! I love this sad old bastard forever. The Smiths, yes. His solo career, BIG yes. His last B sides collection, "My Early Burglary Years", released in the early 2000s (I Think), was flawless. This one, entitled "Swords", for some reason, is just as awesome.

18 tracks, some of which have been released before on albums, most of which were relegated to Euro-B sides and some such similar ghettos. Every song a goddamn winner.

Opening with the stormingly atmospheric non-clunker "Good Looking Man About Town", and never letting up from there, this disc is as solid and flowing as any recent Moz long player.

"Don't Make fun Of Daddy's Voice is a hard rocking guitar based tour de force. Other highlights being "Christian Dior", "Shame Is The Name" (featuring one of Moz's catchiest hooks in ages), "Teenage Dad On His Estate", and on and on.

Only Moz's (sort of half assed) cover of Bowies' classic Glitter era anthem "Drive In Saturday" could be construed as a near miss. One mediocre track out of 18 is hardly bad. Even on this tune, the band shines. The guitars are shimmering and ballsy and the rhythm section pumps out the Glitter style bump and grind like they're gonna party til it's 1974. Moz attemp;ts to breathe his own style into Bowies' trad melody. this is where the song fails. You can't really improve on the original. Sorry, Steven. Moz has had impeccable taste in covers previously. T. Rex's "Cosmic Dancer", The Jam's "That's Entertainment" and the NY Dolls "Trash" have all benefitted from the Moz treatment. Not so much this old Bowie chestnut. Go figure.

In closing, Moz the man and the artist certainly hasn't run out of vital sounds and lyrics to titilate and inspire. He really has not let up for a moment since the Smiths, and perhaps this is why he looks so constipated and grey on the discs' cover and rear tray photos. The lyrics enclosed in the Cd booklet are all great, but the interview section seems a bit useless. We've all read this stuff before, if we are the sort to be interested. And I am.

Recently, Moz has had some onstage troubles. Passing out and cancelling a show mid set seemed par for the course. Being hit in the head by a fan thrown bottle and storming offstage in a rage, just a few dates on the tour later, uh...seems also par for the course. I was present when he cancelled a Boston show less than halfway through his set, due to throat problems. I was also present at the rescheduled make up date, where he delivered one of the best shows I have ever seen in my life. So I certainly cannot complain, and neither should you. If you're a Moz fan, you know that the man is a bit fragile, but will deliver when the chips are really down.

Nevermind. This is a GREAT CD, and it stands alongside "Early Burglary Years" as some of my fave Moz stuff. This man's B Sides are better than most people's A Sides, and that's a fact.

Peace out, I'm drunk. P.S.- Moz, if you're redaing this, I miss Alain Whyte. Bring him back!

Hillbilly Heroes

The older I get, the more I love country music. I was raised on it, in a very real way, by my father. He remembers listening to Hank Williams live on the radio when he was young. Live--on--the--radio. I cannot imagine a world in which the great Hank Williams is still alive, but I'd give anything for the chance to listen through my dads' ears, back in those 1940s nights where the kids would gather in front of the radio to listen to the Grand ole Opry.

My personal favorite country artist is the late, great Buck Owens. I love this man dearly. I grew up watching him on that corny old 70s TV show Hee Haw, but it wasn't until the past few years I developed a real love for his music.

Buck hails from Bakersfield, California, a town which in the 60s became known as Nashville West, because of the overwhelming success of the country artists that emerged curiously from that smallish California town.

A self made man in the best sense of the word, Buck grew up playing Bakersfield honky tonks like the Blackboard, a rough scene that involved gallons of beer and hundreds of drunk blue collar toughs trying to impress their women with two fisted antics.

The sound that Buck developed then was a hard country sound, which made use of the Fender telecaster twang of honky tonk and the solid back beat of rocknroll. By the early 60s Buck had honed this sound to deadly sharp perfection.

For a short time Buck employed the services of an unknown country singer named Merle Haggard to stand in on bass guitar. It was during this time that Merle named Buck's band...The Buckaroos.

The key to the Buckaroos sound was the matter of fact, unadorned vocal style of Buck, along with the eerily tight harmonies and death defying chicken pickin' of Don Rich (one of the finest guitar players of all time).



There were over 20 number one country hits in Bucks' glory days, including the effervescent rockabilly of "Tiger By The Tail", "Loves' Gonna Live Here", and "Act Naturally".

Even the Beatles were not immune to the energy and drive of the Buckaroos. The Fab Four covered Bucks' "Act Naturally", although their version was a bit tepid. There are thousands of miles between Liverpool and Bakersfield, apparently.

Bucks' lyrics told the true blue collar tale; love lost, love found, drinks drank, hardships endured, fun had. Buck himself was never a drinker and, unlike alot of hard country singers of his day, never did any jail time.

Bucks' original era of genius was brought to end by the untimely death of Don Rich in a motorcycle wreck. After this, Buck lethargically stumbled through his career for quite some time, filming the corny country comedy of the "Hee Haw" TV series and resting on laurels. Buck admits this was a time of intense depression for him, as he saw Don Rich as not only his best friend but the very key to his success. The entire decade of the 1970s were spent in this haze of depresion.

It wasn't until insurgent country star Dwight Yoakum brought Buck out of semi-retirement in the 80s that Buck started to feel alive again. The two duetted on Bucks' old hit "Streets Of Bakersfield", another number one charter. This brought about a resurgence of Buckmania in the country music, which by then had decomposed horribly into the gentrified watered down pop music form that it remains in to this day.

Buck died in 2006 in Bakersfield after playing a show at his night club The Crystal Palace. According to those present he put on a storming show, playing all the hits and taking requests. He died in his sleep later that evening.



The music of Buck and the Buckaroos provides me with the spring in my step I need to walk through this goddamn world. I'm always in love with a song, and Buck has written and sang many of the songs I love most.