Let’s Talk About Country Music

“Elwood Blues: What kind of, uh, music do you usually have here?

Claire: Oh, we got both kinds. We got Country AND Western.”

A question i’ve been asked more than a few times in my life, in one form  or another:

“Do you listen to Country Music?”

The correct answer, invariably, is “That depends.  What do you mean by ‘Country Music’?”

The answer i’ve given the most, however, runs more along the lines of “Country?  Uhhhmm . . .  Not so much.  No.”

Why the disparity?  Embarrassed by my taste?  Compulsive liar maybe?  IF ONLY THAT WERE THE CASE.  The truth is, I maintain that it’s a neigh unanswerable question due to the complete and utter failing of one of mankind’s most persistent and ubiquitous cognitive devices: the concept of The Genre.

Given: Genres, as they apply to film, literature, music, or anything else, are weird, outdated, and only moderately useful (at best) at accomplishing what they are designed to accomplish (namely the classification and general description of various media).  I get that.  I think that i’ve understood, roughly, the limitations of Genre for years now, and yet that doesn’t stop me from pondering the exact nature of its failure.  You could say that it’s a bit of an obsession.

Certainly i can step back from any given discussion of where X song or band falls, or why Y Genre “sucks” or “is where it’s at” or “is dead” and say something like “This whole debate is moot.  Genre is a joke, and to assume otherwise is to invite madness!” (as you may or may not know, i’m fond of hyperbole), but i don’t do that very often, because the sad truth of it is that i love those kinds of discussions.  Why would i love something that invariably bugs the crap out of me?  Mostly, i suppose, because i enjoy discourse on art in any context, even if that context involves the dreaded Mobius Strip of (il)logic that is Genre Classification.

[Pause]

Hold up.  I’m getting way too verbose here.  If i expect anyone to read this, i’d better re-evaluate my mode of presentation.  Methinks visual aids will help make my point abundantly clear.  Streaming video for the win! [Apologies ahead of time if any of the videos have been pulled.  I'll try my best to update the links and keep it all in working order.  Anyways . . .]

So, my point beginneth:  THIS IS WHAT I LOVE ABOUT COUNTRY MUSIC -

Willie is Amazing.  I saw him play back in 2002, and it was easily one of the best shows i’ve ever seen anyone put on.  The guy is all about The Music.  No light show, no flash, no adornments, just lots and lots of original and brilliant (and heartfelt) tunes  performed by seriously badass musicians (seriously badass).   He and his band played for a solid two hours that night, and i don’t think they stopped at any point for more than one minute at a time.  Half the songs segued into each other, and as such they must’ve covered a good 25-30 tunes, all awesome.

And let me ask you something: Do you hear a “Country Accent” while he’s singing?  I don’t.  Dude grew up in West Texas, and has continued to live down there for most of his (very) long life, and yet i don’t hear an accent when he sings.  When he talks?  Sure, a bit . . but not when he sings.  Not really.  Almost all of the “color” that he puts into his singing is vibrato, not twang.  Take note of that.  That’s important.

If you haven’t listened to any of Willie’s records, you owe it to yourself to find a copy of Red Headed Stranger or Shotgun Willie toot sweet, and throw that shit ON!  It’s great great stuff, it really is.  It’ll surprise you.

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AND THIS IS WHAT I HATE ABOUT COUNTRY MUSIC -

Good lord, do i even need to say anything?  Toby Keith is just an abomination in every way.  There’s literally nothing about him that isn’t trash.  Note that he sings with a heavy accent.  Note the overt flag-waving at every turn (even on his fucking guitar).  Note the oh-so-classy sleeveless outfit.  Note the cowboy hat (is Toby a cowboy?  Does he make his living riding a horse, wrangling steers, driving cattle, or whatever else it is that cowboys do these days?  Uhhhhhh, nope.  No he isn’t, and no he does not).  Note the glorification of dropping bombs on the poor, huddled masses of our political enemies.  Note the incredibly vanilla music.

And who else did i put in there . . oh yes, Mr Chesney, my favorite.  This guy, like Keith and a hundred others, absolutely exemplifies what is grotesque about What-Has-Become-Known-As-Country-Music.  I mean, listen to this song for a minute (if you can).  “She thinks my tractor’s sexy”?  A chorus about his farmer’s tan?  Really dude? Really?!  That’s the best you can do?  That’s what you think art should sound like?  That’s what resides deep down in your soul?  Writing that song must be a real source of pride for ol’ Kenny.  Consider the extremely heavy (hammed-up) accent that he’s singing with.  Consider the (fake) cowboy routine, again.  The glorification of Hicktown USA.  The incredibly vanilla (and shrill, and abysmally poor) music.  I get that “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” is supposed to be humorous.  I do.  But the glorification of ignorance doesn’t tickle my funnybone.  Sorry.  Doesn’t do it for me in any way.  I THINK WE CAN DO BETTER, KENNY.

Not one ounce of art is to be found anywhere near either of these songs, and they were both big hits for their respective “artists”.  No feeling, no originality, and on even the most basic and superficial of levels, they don’t even sound good!  They aren’t even pleasant to the ears!  That Chesney track, in particular, is just unlistenable.  Lyrics aside, it’s a sad attempt at a song. Whoever produced that number should be strung-up in the middle of Nashville by his toenails and mocked ceaselessly by fruit wielding vagrants, hooligans, romans, countrymen, and random passersby.

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AGAIN, WHAT I LOVE ABOUT COUNTRY MUSIC -

GOD i love Johnny Cash.  There’s a reason why the man’s a legend, and it doesn’t have anything to do with his looks, how he was marketed, or his guitar skills (dude could barely play, a fact that he readily admitted).  Obviously something about his voice is just plain magical, so that helped (alot), but there are a lot of terrible country singers with good voices (Faith Hill and Carrie Underwood come to mind), so the voice couldn’t have been everything, right?  I’ve thought about this quite a lot, i really have (too much, i’m sure), and after much pondering and listening and reading and discussing and re-listening, the conclusion that i’ve come to is that what made Johnny special is what makes a lot of great great artists special: the honesty.  Listening to him, watching him, you can tell he was being genuine.  His stuff was/is/continues to be original and catchy and haunting, yes, all good qualities, all things that help explain his fame and untold influence, but even when he sang a cover (like Sunday Morning Comin’ Down, the second of those videos, or Hurt, the third video) it could grab you where it counts and not let go.  How do you manage that when it’s not even your song?  Kris Kristofferson (who i like) wrote Sunday Morning, and his version pales in comparison to Johnny’s.  Too, Trent Reznor (lead singer and songwriter for NIN, who i also like, or at the very least respect the hell out of) never caught my attention or moved me with Hurt, but that Cash cover brings me to tears every time i hear it.  It’s not just the voice, it’s what’s behind the voice.  An artist.  Genuine, soulful, original, brutally honest.

And let’s listen, too, at what isn’t there.  Johnny grew up in Arkansas during The Depression.  ARKANSAS.  Working the fields; dirt poor!  It doesn’t get more real than that.  It doesn’t get any more country than that.  And do you hear an accent when he sings?  Nope.  Why not?  Think about that for a second.  Who’s “more country”, Johnny Cash or Kenny Chesney?  Food for thought.

If you haven’t listened to At Folsom Prison by Johnny Cash, or any of his American Recordings albums from the ’90s that he did with Rick Rubin, you’re missing out on some of the best recordings ever made.  I mean that.  Fully.  Go.  Listen.  Love it.  Thank me later.

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AND WHAT I HATE ABOUT COUNTRY MUSIC -

more about “Tim McGraw – Don’t Take The Girl“, posted with vodpod

Here we have two of the heavier Heavy Hitters of Modern Country Music: Tim McGraw and Alan Jackson.  They’ve each sold a bazillion records, and are pretty much household names.  I”m not sure there’s much that i have to say here either (though i’m sure i’ll figure something out).  Listen to the tracks; i think they speak for themselves.  “Vanilla” doesn’t even begin to describe this crap.  Do you hear a lot of soul in this music?  Or any at all for that matter?  Listen to how Tim sings the word “down” around the :35 second mark.  This is an example of what i want you to consider.  Does that sound like singing to you?  Is that melodic?  Is that artistic or musical?  Is it original, or do you think maybe (just maybe!) he’s purposefully trying to sound like someone else (George Strait, Clint Black, Hank Williams, etc, etc)?

As for Alan Jackson, well . . i have a few barbs reserved for him a bit later-on, so i’ll keep it short here.  This isn’t even one of his worst songs, but i think it serves as a fine sample of the musical loogies that this guy hocks on the world year-in and year-out.

Do you get the impression that these guys and their ilk just write the same incredibly tired song over and over and over and over and over again?  And what’s worse, they’re proud of it!  They think that that’s admirable!  I wouldn’t care a whit about any of it, really, if it weren’t for the money and fame and accolades that these people rake-in for this pap.  By being big-name “Country Music Stars”, they bring down the legacies of the Johnny Cashes and the Willie Nelsons.  Sing your terrifically bad songs all day and all night, i don’t care as long as you’re just some dill-hole yodeling a bad song on an anonymous street corner in Nashville.  Once hundreds of millions of dollars and titles like “music superstar” start getting thrown around, then i start to care.  Maybe i shouldn’t, but i do.

I care about music, abstractly and realistically, nostalgically and continually, and since the early 20th century music has largely been defined (and redefined, and redefined, and redefined) by what’s popular, what’s selling, what’s on the radio, what’s on the charts, what’s selling-out Madison Square Garden 2 or 3 nights in a row, etc.  Not for everyone, of course.  There are connoisseurs and throwbacks and audiophiles and musicians of all kinds, and on the other end of the spectrum there are people who don’t hear or turn on or play a single tune in an average week (they scare the crap out of me, those people).  Too, there are those for whom music is defined by what they listened to in high school, and that’s it, the vault is sealed, nothing gets in and nothing comes out.  I feel bad for those people, but that’s for another blog altogether.

Point being, in the gaping middle ground between the poles, there are the Jim Johnsons and Susie Smiths and Ryan Everymen of the world, and statistically, in a historical sense, those people are sheep to some degree or another, and for those people, music is what’s on, what’s hot, what’s selling, what’s in our tv commercials, what’s playing in the background on the new episode of Gossip Girl.  This is why the Tim McGraws and Toby Keiths bug me so much.  I shouldn’t care; i’m not in their target audience, and (thankfully) no one is forcing me to listen to their stuff.  But i do care.  I care because they will be remembered as landmark artists of their era, and that sickens me a little bit.

Of course the person i should have a problem with (and very much do have a problem with) is the person that’s doing the remembering, but there are too many of those people to address individually, and even if i had the time, will, and means to do so, it would be pointless for many reasons, the primary among them being that they would actually have a leg to stand on.  Album sales, ticket sales, merch.  Those are tough to argue with.  Toby Keith and Tim McGraw and all these dopes ARE giants of their eras.  That doesn’t mean that they’re good, not by a long shot.  There have been awful superstars of music in every decade of the modern era, from Barry Manilow to Creed, from Poison to The Black Eyed Peas.  But, unfortunately, it does mean that they have earned a spot at the table, a bit of credibility, a lasting place in the annals of what we call Music.  And that.  Fucking.  Drives.  Me.  Nuts.

As for the accent gripe, let me take a a different tack: Did The Beatles ever sing with an accent?  Not often, huh.  How about The Who, or Led Zeppelin, or U2, or The Police, or Dire Straits?  Not so much.  Occasionally, perhaps, a bit would slip through, but for the most part they all just sang straight-up, with the emphasis on the musicality of the inflections and phrasing, and not on the regionality.  Those bands i just named are all famously from the UK, and yet more often than not they sing in a clearer “American-English” accent than the Alan Jacksons of the world.  Why?

There are a lot of answers to that question, and i’m sure that more than a few of them are right.  My take is that what Toby Keith and Kenny Chesney and Alan Jackson and the rest of these guys are doing isn’t singing as much as it’s imitation, not unlike an impressionist at a comedy club.  They are trying to sound like someone or something else.  Maybe they’re trying to sound like Clint Black, who in turn was trying to sound like Hank Williams.  I don’t know.  Maybe they’re trying to sound like that tired lap-steel guitar that makes its way into the background of every one of their songs (*it should be noted here that outside of the context of country music, i actually have a great deal of love for the lap steel guitar).  That would make sense, i guess, as i can hear similarities between vocal twang and lap-steel twang.  But whatever they’re doing, it’s inauthentic.  I feel that deep-down inside me, without fail, every time i come within earshot of one of these songs.  It vibrates in my bones, and that vibration screams “Inauthentic” and that’s unforgivable.

I mean, to be fake ON TOP OF sounding inharmonious and unmelodic (is “unmelodic” even a word? . . fuck it, it is now) . . well . . i just don’t know why anyone would do that on purpose (other than the money), and you know full well that this is a purposeful effect.  They sing in that style intentionally.  One can even fully realistically envision a scenario wherein a Nashville producer cuts in to the recording booth with an “Uh, Tim, one more time from the top, if ya’ could.  And really lay the twang on thick this time, alright pardner?”  That happens.  You know it happens, i know it happens, Tim knows it happens, and it should disturb the hell out of everyone involved.

So, in a very real way, these clowns are Sell-Outs.  Not that they’re all necessarily talented or artistic to begin with (ie. the things that one would be “Selling”), but what art they did/do have in them they are throwing away in favor of “sounding country”, which plays well with a certain (tone deaf) segment of the population, thus making them oodles and oodles of cash when pushed by the right agency across the right mediums.  It’s all quite dirty, isn’t it.

To be clear, there are some people that manage to walk that fine line between singing with an accent and singing with soul, no doubt.  I will show you examples of a few later in this post; people who have a bit of a southern accent in their tone but still put out very beautiful and original and touching music.  Thus, the accent (or lack thereof) isn’t paramount, necessarily.  It’s not a death sentence.  I just get riled-up about it because it’s an obvious red flag; something that SO many of the very worst of the worst share among them.  But, yes . . moving on.

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LOVE -

This is John Prine.  In 1971 John put-out what is unequivocally one of the greatest singer-songwriter albums ever recorded; an album eponymously titled John Prine.  It was a country record, as John is a country singer.  If you don’t own that record, then you are woefully incomplete as a human being, and when your time comes you won’t be getting into musical heaven.  It’s sublime, and that’s all there is to it.

In these clips from 2004, he’s still looking and sounding pretty damn good.  Is he wearing a cowboy hat?  A denim vest?  A big rodeo belt buckle?  Do you see any American flags anywhere?  No you don’t, and you won’t.  Why?  Because John respects himself, respects his audience, and respects the music.  Sure, John sings with a bit of an accent, but naturally as opposed to overtly, and tastefully (with respect to melody) as opposed to constantly (with no respect whatsoever for melody).  In the first clip, Angel From Montgomery, listen to how he sings the phrase “burnt down” at the 1:16 mark.  Is there regional inflection?  Sure.  A bit.  But if Alan Jackson were singing this, that would’ve been “Buhrn-ehurnt Dayoyowwwn”.  Shades of grey, people.  Shades of grey.

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LOVE -

Foggy Mountain Breakdown is a Bluegrass masterpiece.  One of my best friends once described it as Speed Country (as opposed to Speed Metal).  And yes, that’s Steve Martin.  Pretty good, isn’t he?  This is in here because it’s a great example of extremely rural and rootsy country music (in the same ballpark as Dueling Banjos of Deliverance fame i would say), and yet it’s chock-full of musicality.  These guys are fucking virtuosos, they really are.  Incredible musicianship going on here.  And, again, do you see any American flags?  No sir, and you won’t, because Earl Scruggs is a class act (as it goes).  Other than the one guy in faded jeans and a t-shirt (which makes him stand out, and surely was an embarrassment to him when he saw the telecast later-on . . wait, is that Vince Gill?  I think that’s Vince Gill, fuckin’ A), it’s tastefully presented.  The emphasis is where it should be, on the face-meltingly good music.

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LOVE -

This is Allison Krauss and Co from the O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack.  It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?  I’d post the whole soundtrack if i could.  Fantastic stuff, the lot of it.  If you haven’t seen the movie, do so.  It’s beautiful and hilarious and quirky and creative and all other things good in the world.  And it has a killer soundtrack too, of course : )  Duh.

And, although i’m definitely beating a dead horse at this point, note the distinct lack of accent or artifice in Allison’s voice.  Stunning vocals, really.  On top of her naturally impressive tone (which youtube isn’t really helping me show-off here, alas), you can really hear the control and craftsmanship in her singing.  Extremely precise.  Breathtaking.

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LOVE -

And here we are at Brandi Carlile.  I adore this chick.  Both of her albums (as well as the live EP) rate quite high on my Most Favoriteist Records of This Decade list.  And yet, here’s an obvious sticky point, right?  She sings with a pretty heavy accent.  Not “Kenny Chesney Heavy”, but in terms of the stuff that i like to listen to, quite heavy.  A lot of regional inflection.  So why do i like her?  Why do i let her get away with it, so to speak?

A few reasons:

1) Musically, she’s the real deal.  She writes and plays and sings (Autotune free) all of her stuff.  That goes a long way with me.  Blue notes and real voices are important.  Singing and playing from the heart is important. (Musical talent)

2) Because she is the author and master of her own tunes, i believe that there is a real authenticity that comes out of her when she’s singing.  It’s subjective, sure, but i believe that it’s there, and to me it’s almost tangible. (Authenticity)

3) In terms of her singing, she isn’t trying to imitate anyone.  At all.  Brandi has her own style, her own sound (all a part of that “authentic” quality), and i’ve never heard anyone quite like her.  Almost reminds me a bit of when Macy Gray got all big for a minute several years back . . except, you know . . good   (Originality)

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CAN’T FUCKING STAND -

This isn’t a particularly offensive track, and yet  i don’t think i’m going out on much of a limb to say that this stuff isn’t just what’s wrong with Country Music today, it’s what wrong with Music In-General today (boy, does that make me sound like an old man, or what).  This hyper-vanilla, super-mega overproduced shite is just appalling, isn’t it?  This may as well be a Nickleback song, or Creed (is Creed still around?), or Miley Cyrus/Hillary Duff/*Insert Pretty-Faced Tween Idol Here*.  This is the musical equivalent of Painting By Numbers.  Very much representative of the Jessica Simpsons of the world.  Autotuned all to hell and completely bereft of talent and creativity.  ‘Nuff said.

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AWFUL -

Just to show you that i don’t only have it in for today‘s country stars, here’s a little Brooks and Dunn for you.  These guys have been around for quite a while now, and apparently they’re still quite popular (this was off of their platinum record from ’05).  Is this mind-blowingly bad?  Not in comparison to some of the other clips i’ve put up, but maybe that’s just the busty vixen in the video warping my mind.   It may not be the worst of the worst, but it’s not good either.  Not.  At.  All.

And really, all it is is a shameless celebration of what i’ve been railing about for the last 3,500 words (thank you WordPress word counter).  Right at the beginning of the song there’s that “Said, ‘I’m a whiskey drinkin’, cowboy chasin’, helluva time.  I like Kenny, Keith, Alan and Patsy Cline’” line.  For those of you that are keeping score at home, that’s Kenny Chesney, Keith Urban, and Alan Jackson she’s talking about.  Pasty Cline was amazing, sure, but i’d bet dollars to pesos that she rolls over in her grave when they play this song within’ 100 miles of Winchester.

And “Cowboy chasin’?”  Really?  Where, prey-tell, are these cowboys that they’re speaking of?  Do they have whips and spurs and callus’ and kickin’ Sam Elliot mustaches, or are they wearing loafers and tweeting on their Blackberries.  Gimme a fucking break.

Other than a decent little honkey-tonk guitar riff (which in-and-of itself could probably have been the foundation for a nice little tune), this song consists of nothing new, nothing original, nothing artistic.  It fails damn-near every test.  Oh, and they’re singing with a very heavy hammed-up accent to-boot.  Nail in the coffin, ladies and gents.  The verdict is in, and it’s not pretty.

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AWFUL-ER -

“Well i love her, but i love to fish.”  The man that wrote those words is not concerned with such trifles as “artistic integrity” and “lyrical depth”.  Is it a funny song?  Yeah, as it goes, it’s a pretty funny song.  And i understand that it doesn’t take itself seriously, and that i should adjust my expectations accordingly.  But here’s the thing; here’s why this is Awful-er:  This guy, Brad Paisley, he can REALLY play guitar.

As in, this guy is a talented and practiced musician of note, and as such he should be better than this (even lyrical depth aside, it’s a pretty horrid song).  This shouldn’t be acceptable to him.  Look, it’s perfectly ok to write a song that isn’t serious.  The Beatles did it, and if The Beatles did something, then that makes it OK.  I like They Might Be Giants. I love The Barenaked Ladies.  I adore Tenacious D.  Goof-songs are acceptable if (here’s the catch), IF they have the added bonus of also being of high quality.  That’s a big “If”.

Brad is a crazy-good guitarist, yes, but this song is a prime example of his entirely mediocre (on the day he wrote this one, worse-than-mediocre) songwriting and singing skills.  And guess what, he’s one of the biggest superstars on the planet right now.  To a certain crowd, he’s Jesus, Ben Franklin, and David Beckham rolled into one, and that makes me a sad panda.  As much as i’d like to, i can’t call him a “Talentless hack” because the dude has talent.  But what good is talent if you put out songs like this?  Thus: Awful-er.

[Also, notice the heavy twang in his "singing".  I'm just sayin'.]

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AWFUL-EST -

These are the songs that really sneak up on you if you’re not paying attention.  It’s a pretty tune, and Martina McBride can sing.  Mos def.  Lady can absolutely sing.  Furthermore, there’s little-to-no twang, so top marks for that.  But, seriously, if you can’t spot the problem with this one, then you Fail Entirely at Having Good Taste.  If the title (God’s Will) is a warning sign (which is most certainly IS), then the first verse is the cliff she’s about to drive us clear over.

“I met God’s Will on a Halloween night
He was dressed as a bag of leaves
It hid the braces on his legs at first.“

She’s talking about a disabled kid in her neighborhood.  Named Will.  I shit you not.  It gets worse, but i won’t reprint that unholy gobbledygook here.  If you really want the full extent of this piece, you’re just going to have to listen to the whole thing yourself, or, i dunno, Google the lyrics or something.  I shan’t do it for you.

Listen folks, i’m going to confess something.  As an (extremely) amateur songsmith, i have written a few doozies in my day (in this case, “Doozie” equates to “Song that sucks fetid donkey nuts”), and so i speak from experience here.  When you’re writing a song, sometimes you start with a riff.  Sometimes you start with a chord progression that you fancy.  Sometimes you may even start with a couple of lyrics that you can’t let go of, and you make music to fit those lyrics.  Most of the time whatever you come up with is just miserably uncool, and it is you-the-songwriter’s job to sniff that stuff out and either work on it until it’s unrecognizable (for the better), or (more likely) toss it and start anew.  I can’t tell you how many times i’ve jotted-down something in the middle of the night thinking that it was “really deep” and “killer material” and when i looked at it next i realized that it would barely pass as bad, emo, junior-high binder-poetry (see: The Goth Kids in South Park).  This stuff ends up in the round file.  I’m not embarrassed to have written it, because i know that all songwriters, great and small, write a ton of trash for every gem they’re lucky enough to piece together.  In our attempts to be honest and eloquent, it’s not unusual to let slip nuggets of creative sewage along the way.  But there is a line there, a line of taste, a line of decency, a line of quality assessment.

Martina McBride knows no such line, apparently.  Perhaps the line is red, and she suffers from Red-Blind Colorblindness.  Perhaps English is a second language to her and she doesn’t fully understand the words that she’s singing.  I dunno.  Whatever the cause, this song is irredeemable.  Pretty voice (albeit, once more, set to very vanilla music), but no artistic value beyond that.  Which, like with Paisley, is sad, is it not?  Talent gone entirely to waste, and truly Awful-tastic.

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BEYOND AWFUL -

I know, i know.  This song is ridiculously popular, and thus i’m an ass for even suggesting that it’s not amazing because by doing so i’m personally insulting tens of millions of people, including some people that i respect and care about deeply.  But, you know what, that’s an albatross that i’m gonna to have to learn to bear, ’cause this song is just complete garbage.

Again, like the last two, here we have a pretty talented individual.  Chick can sing.  You can’t tell that by listening to this particular song, since this is the album cut, and is positively dripping with Autotune and over-production (see: Every other mainstream pop record in the last 6-8 years).  But i think that with Carrie in particular, we, America, have had the opportunity to have heard her sing live enough times to know that she’s got quite a voice on her.  Not a Holy-Crap-Her-Singing-Just-Melted-My-Soul kind of voice, but good.  Very good.  But, to me (in case you  haven’t picked-up on it yet), hearing bad music out of talented musicians is exponentially more offensive than hearing it out of hacks.  Hacks are supposed to make drivel.  That’s inherent in the title “Hack”.  People with talent have absolutely no fucking excuse, whatsoever.

To her credit, this song was written by Brett James, Hillary Lindsey, and Gordie Sampson, and not by Miss Underwood.  They are big-label, hit-machine, 21st-Century-Brill-Building hacks.  The hacks in this equation have been spotted and tagged.  Fine.  Does that let the artist off the hook though?  Not for me it doesn’t.  If Elvis doesn’t get off the hook for all those fluff movies (and attached soundtracks) that he did back in the ’60s (and he doesn’t), then Carrie Underwood doesn’t get off the hook here.

Musically this song is (dare i repeat myself even further) excessively vanilla.  Obnoxiously so, even.  The first time i heard it i felt like i’d heard it 2,000 times already, and that’s not because it “has that rare and timeless quality that you know just has to be genius”, but rather because I ACTUALLY HAD HEARD IT 2,000 TIMES ALREADY.  See: Celine Dion.  See: Mariah Carey.  See: Whitney Houston.  See: Martina McBride.  See: Vanessa Williams.  See: Faith Hill.  See: Every other Pop/R&B/Country “Diva” of the last 20 fucking years.  That’s strike one.

Throw in the Autotune and the offensively bad production, and you’re down in the count 0-2.

Hear:

“Jesus take the wheel
Take it from my hands
Cause I can’t do this on my own
I’m letting go
So give me one more chance
To save me from this road I’m on”

And you’ve just struck-out looking.  Never even got the bat off of your shoulder.  Remember when  i was discussing the late-night lyric sheets that end up in the paper shredder because they’re so bad?  Well this right here is worse than anything i’ve ever written at any hour, and trust me, that’s really saying something.  When i think of all the millions of people who belt that out when they hear this song come on the radio, my spirit shrivels up and dies a little bit.

In other words, it’s best not to think about it at all.

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SO AWFUL THAT THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE A NAME FOR HOW AWFUL THIS IS -

Alan Jackson again.  How did i know we would end up back here, gazing into the soulless, mulletted, mustached mug of this motherfucker again before it was all over?  You know, actually, i’m not sure that there’s anything i can say about this douchenozzle and this song that South Park didn’t already say (click through to see the clip in question on the South Park website; couldn’t find a postable version, sorry).

http://www.southparkstudios.com/clips/104229/?searchterm=A+Ladder+to+Heaven

Alan Jackson is the Rudy Giuliani of the music industry, if you will, and i don’t mean that as a complement.  As if he wasn’t already a pitiful singer, songwriter, guitarist, and human being in general, he gets further points deducted for this kind of malarkey.  Seriously, is there anyone who ISN’T offended by this song?  Point, set, match.

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So, to begin the wrapping-up process, let me get into a bit of minutia  here; a small disclaimer, if you will.  I feel like some explanation is in order, otherwise this whole thing just becomes “Tony Pointlessly Bitching About The State of What Is Known As Country Music And The Existence of Genres”.

Don’t get me wrong, there is some real talent in what i would call “Crap Country”.  I mean, Carrie Underwood has a great voice, and Brad Paisley and Keith Urban are killer guitarists.  But talent and taste are not the same thing.  Shit, Henry Kissinger and Dick Cheney might well be geniuses, but their intelligence doesn’t exactly excuse them for their actions, does it.  A Sell-Out is a Sell-Out, regardless of talent.

Think about all those terrible hair bands of the 80′s.  Most of those guys had truly talented guitarists, no joke, yet the music they were churning-out was completely forgettable and without merit.  Steve Vai may well be the most technically perfect guitarist alive, but the guy’s never made a record that i can bite into (not of the ones that i’ve heard anyways).  Elvis Presley himself, beloved icon, “Founder of Rock and Roll” and hero to millions, had one of the most unbelievable voices anyone’s ever heard, but the man spent the majority of his best years making atrocities like Blue Hawaii and Clambake.  Dude might have been the first Sell-Out in modern history, and his talent does not make up for that (though, really, the tragedy that is Elvis will have to be a topic for another blog).

Back on point: Now, the natural reaction at this stage in the discussion is often to move deeper into the genre game by breaking-out Sub Genres!  In other words, you may be saying, “Well, Tony, it appears that you like ‘Outlaw Country” and dislike ‘Radio Country’” and that kind of thing.

But . . “Outlaw Country”?  What does that even mean?  Does that mean that i’ll probably enjoy Waylon Jennings and David Allen Coe?  ‘Cause let me tell you, i’m not the biggest fan of either of those guys.  I like the idea of Waylon Jennings, i’ve read Waylon Jennings’ fucking autobiography (which isn’t bad, by the way), yet still the man’s music doesn’t do a whole lot for me.  It’s not awful, but it’s not going to find much elbow-room on my iPod any time soon, either.

And would that mean that i won’t ever like the stuff that gets on country radio?  That’s a possibility, as i loathe what all non-student broadcast radio has become anyways, but weren’t Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson country radio staples at one point (for decades and decades)?  “Oh,” you may say, “But those are ‘Alternative Country’ stations, or ‘Classic Country’ stations, and not representative of ‘Real’ Modern Country’”

OK.  Am i, then, likely to dig Faron Young, Conway Twitty, or Hank Williams?  Does that preclude me from liking Keith Urban because he’s “Modern”?  And, hey, where does Bluegrass fit in?  Is that “Classic Country”, or does it pre-date “Classic Country”?  What about “New Bluegrass” or “New Alternative”?  Is that “Country” at all?  What about folk?  Is folk country?  “For the love of Simon and Garfunkel, help me out, here!”  i scream as i plummet deeper and deeper into the maddening abyss that is this chain of reasoning (i’ll cut this line of rhetoric here for your sake, but let me tell you, i could go on like this for a long long while).

I maintain that trying to solve the Genre Dilemma by introducing more and more splinter genres is exactly the wrong approach.  That our brains seem to require classification at any cost to the truth does not mean that we must be slaves to such delusion.  And yet, at this point in the discussion, it should be mentioned that voyaging into the realms of complete individualistic subjectivity is also dangerous and equally unrealistic.  In other words, to say that the words “Country Music” are so obtuse that they’re meaningless is as much a fallacy as the tendency to sub-genre ourselves into the sanitarium.

The foundation of language is communication, and, clearly, if you say “Country Music” to someone you are communicating something very real.  What comes to their mind is undoubtedly different than what comes to your mind, but it is communicating a certain block of ideas and experiences to the other person.  So the phrase has meaning; it communicates a “real” set of images, sounds, names, memories, and emotions.

And there are grey areas, aren’t there.  Examples are abundant.  Is “Country Music” an accent?  Is it steel guitar in the background?  Is it “rootsy” lyrical content?  Is it a chord progression?  A sparkly jacket?  A cowboy hat?  A belt buckle?  An American flag?  A Confederate flag?!?  Is it where you were born, or where you grew up?

IS THIS COUNTRY MUSIC?

HOW ABOUT THIS?

THIS?

TOTALLY, RIGHT?

CLEARLY

BUT HOW ABOUT THIS?

OR THESE?

EH?

SURELY

GRATUITOUS, I KNOW

THIS TOO?

HOW ABOUT THIS?

Ok, that may be stretching it a tad   But i think you get my point.

HOW DO I RECONCILE THIS

AND THIS

being in the same genre? I love both songs, but i defy you to make a case that they belong next to each other.  And yet i would classify all of those songs as “Country”, even if they don’t all come from “Country Artists”.

I think i’ll leave you with one last clip.  He may be from Liverpool, but you can’t tell me that this guy doesn’t know “Country Music”, whatever that is.  Maybe i should ask him to explain to me what “Country” is supposed to mean.  I’m not sure i quite get it, after all: