Tag Archives: country music

Careful With That Rhinestone Axe, Eugene (Radio Free Nashville)

Johnny Cash said that Nashville’s had a hard time figuring how to sell country to New Yorkers with boots. It’s a national advertising demographic thing now.

Well, country ought to be personal and interactive. Nobody in new country makes you think of Marty, Hank or Lefty – not because they weren’t influential, but because real country singing requires life outside a studio, not video appeal. But Nashville, Inc. doesn’t want that – it’s too risky. Why? Well, new country radio is designed to offend no one. Sure, it’s caricature, apology or hip idiom, but nobody laughs at themselves anymore. Politically correct? Maybe, but there’s a lot of cutesy girls and dimpled boys, and nobody’s hands are getting dirty working. It doesn’t reflect reality. God didn’t make these honkytonk angels, unless he’s writing the graffiti in the mens’ room.

Old country doesn’t get on radio because “there’s no money in nostalgia”, but there is quite a bundle in fantasy. Nobody’s ever mad or disgusted in New Country, where a smile and great hair prove your heart is broken. It’s a product for a disposable society, leaving no impressions, taking no stand and requiring no listener commitment.

Real Country is like whiskey – it improves with age. A new country song doesn’t need born-on dating. You know when it goes bad. Praise of mediocrity devalues genius, which is a long-term thing. Singers who survive their twenties, who resist being groomed and shrink-wrapped, and who prefer giving unique memories to each two-bit roadhouse rather than an intimate global satellite experience from Central Park.

Buddy Holly told Nashville, Inc. “My way, or I’m leaving. I’d rather shovel shit in Lubbock.”

Well, until there’s a Buddy in New Country, you’ll just have to pretend that Hank Sr. would have been “discovered” on Star Search.

Share This:

Born Outside of Nashville

rededicated to Johnny Cash

Well, yes, I’ve been in prison, and I have been dirt poor
I’ve spent time in worn out shoes and I’ve slept on the floor
And the hat I wear is there to keep the rain off of my boots
It ain’t no fashion statement, just reflection on my roots

I’ve never roped or wrangled, but I’ve been behind a plow
And it’s been quite a row to hoe to get where I am now
I have played for pennies on the streets just to get by
And I can sing a melody to bring tears to your eye

BORN OUTSIDE OF NASHVILLE and it’s probably just as well
I never was too interested in how much I could sell
They tell me country Music’s all ’bout heart and paying dues
Well, mister, I’ve been country nearly twice as long as you.

I was raised on rock and roll when Elvis was the king
And I won’t lie, I’ll tell you, man, that’s where I learned to sing
But I learned some from the Beatles and as much from Bill Monroe,
Merle Haggard and ol’ “No Show Jones” taught me to love the show

I love hearin’ Hank and Patsy and the Grand Ol’ Opry
But Sam & Dave and Otis Redding sure weren’t lost on me
You might say that I’m not a purist, far as you can tell
But America is my tradition, and I’ve learned it well

BORN OUTSIDE OF NASHVILLE, guess I’ll never be home-grown
But I could never be convinced that’s something you can own
They tell me country Music’s all ’bout heart and being true
Well, mister, I’ve been country nearly twice as long as you.

I’ve never been a Rebel, never fought in any wars
But I’ve met carpet-baggers, slaves and money-hungry whores
I’ve been called trash, and I’ve had cash, ‘least long enough to spend
And I’ve lived through this country in between and at both ends

I’ve spent some time in Memphis, but in northern cities too
And maybe country’s in one place, but I don’t think that’s true
You can keep your rhinestones and your video appeal
As for me, I’ll stand by Austin and the streets of Bakersfield

BORN OUTSIDE OF NASHVILLE and it sure don’t feel like home
Time in Music City makes glad I can still roam
They tell me country Music’s all ’bout heart and paying dues
If that’s the case, I’ve been in country twice as long as you.

1996

Share This: