FORGET PATRIOTISM. LOVE YOUR COUNTRY.
If you were white, young and trendy, you loved the Blues and hated Country music.
You just did.
The reverse, even said in jest, would confer upon you instant pariah status. Friends would become a distant memory. Your chances of getting laid, which were slim at best, became non-existent.
But with age comes wisdom. Sooner of later, even the most fanatical blues lover, comes to realise the awful truth.
It all sounds the same.
Listening to an entire album is an exercise in repetition, matched only by writing ‘ I will be a good boy’ one hundred times.
Now compare the turgid, inevitable and unimaginative misery of :
‘Woke up one morning, with the blues in by head.
I said I woke up one morning, a stranger in my bed’ (repeat)
to the infinitely more pithy and insightful ‘If I’d shot her when I met her, I’d be out of jail by now’.
Or ‘ All my exes wear Rolexes’.
The exquisitely turned phrase ‘Feeling single, seeing double’ is just another example of the literary and intellectually superiority of Country music.
Why it was so roundly despised, even ignored is a black stain on our generation. We can but hope to redress our stupidity by giving credit where it is due.
No other popular music form comes close to matching the wit, the profound wisdom that is sprinkled like gold dust over the genre.
Even Bob Dylan, the poster boy for lyricists who pretend to be poets, falls woefully short. “Times a jet plan, it moves to fast’ is just one example of his ham-fisted attempts at conveying meaning.
In sharp contrast you have ‘She got the goldmine, I got the shaft’. Or ‘ My head hurts, my feet stink and I don’t love Jesus’.
‘Drop kick me Jesus though the goal posts of life’. Here’s a lyric that manages to be both forlorn and optimistic.
The mournful ‘Did I shave my legs for this’ effortlessly captures the disappointment felt by generations of women.
Capturing the pain of a broken love you have ‘ There’s a tear in my beer’.
On a rather crueler note there’s ‘Get Your Tongue Outta My Mouth ’Cause I’m kissing You Goodbye’
Some song titles are reprehensible, misogynistic and inexcusable, but their crass honesty invokes powerful emotions.
How Can I Miss You If You Won’t Go Away?
Get Your Biscuits In The Oven And Your Buns In Bed
‘I Can’t Get Over You, So Why Don’t You Get Under Me?
‘If The Phone Don’t Ring, It’s Me’
The music that accompanies such gems tends to be rudimentary, but this is entirety appropriate given the audience who were best described in the wonderful Blazing Saddles.
‘You’ve got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know… morons’.