Addendum to Lex: With neither the mellow sound of Asleep at the Wheel nor the layers of George Jones or Alan Jackson, here’s another. But its an endless genre. Sometimes, of course, we might wonder at the lives of people guided by “what would Willy do.”
Still, the rebellious music of America’s self-reliant and restless heartland venerates its traditions – in war and in music. Sure, they are evolving, active traditions – living traditions. Frankly, I can’t see it absorbing much that seems to be moving on the surface of our current political and artistic culture.
Maybe I’m wrong. We’ll see. This genre and this culture accepted, molded and was molded by, much from the late sixties and seventies. A favorite Austin memory was a Split Rail night from the early seventies: Freida and Her Firedogs performed a broad range; with long legs and long arms, Marcia Ball’s voice ached as Tammy Wynette’s could. And the gay guys in the front tables asked for “You Ain’t Woman Enough to Take My Man”; it was someone’s birthday. And the rednecks and the students from UT and hippies laughed and applauded. It was a good time. When we look at the culture as it is now, it needs a uniter. I’m not sure who.
OT: I guess I never fully engage with life; that means that CMT is always playing when I’m supposed to be getting grades in. It’s nice that’s now it’s multi-tasking and not, well superficial. Thanks to CMT. They are joining my pantheon of Denis Dutton and Brian Lamb – the people who enrich my life by their aggregation.