"The Hero Isn't So Much Unsung, Here, As Unrecognized..."

Old saying.

It's the thought that counts.

More on that in a moment.

I came across this article on CNN.com written by LZ Granderson.

A young, black, gay man.

And I mention that not to sneak in one last, gasping Paula Deen reference (although, I guess that's exactly what I've done), but, rather, to give you a perspective on the cultural background of the fellow sharing his thoughts.

These thoughts.



LZ Granderson, who writes a weekly column for CNN.com, was named journalist of the year by the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association and was a 2011 Online Journalism Award finalist for commentary.

(CNN) -- Of all the parts that make up my somewhat quirky life, there are few things that raise a stranger's eyebrows faster than discovering I love country music.

Not a "I like that one song by Lady Antebellum" kind of love for country music either. Mine is a "Barack I would love to join you and Michelle for dinner next Saturday, but you see I have tickets to see Eric Church so ..." kind of love.

 

When did this love affair begin? January 24, 1988. The night I met Randy Travis.

 

Back then, it wasn't uncommon for families to gather around the television, and mine had done so that night to watch the American Music Awards. Michael Jackson was receiving a special honor, and Whitney Houston was scheduled to perform. At the time, those two were the most popular singers on the planet but for me, the night belonged to Travis.

 

I had never heard of him or his mid-tempo ballad "Forever and Ever, Amen" before the show.

 

Everyone knew who Kenny Rogers was, but usually the only country music you heard in my house was the theme song to the "The Dukes of Hazzard."

 

But something about the purity of Travis' voice captured me.

 

And even at the relatively immature age of 16, I found his portrayal of never-ending love so beautifully constructed by the lyrics of "Forever" that to this day, it eclipses almost every other love song I have heard.

In fact, when I put together a brief video asking my better half to marry me, "Forever" was the only song I put on the soundtrack.

 

That's why I was so sad to hear Travis was in critical condition in a Texas hospital. He was an unlikely voice of my youth. About as unlikely as you could be.

 

Instead of listening to the latest from L.L. Cool J or Public Enemy, I would go to the record store and play his song "Diggin' Up Bones" over and over again. My friends would snicker and mock the twang in his voice. What they couldn't understand was that the various inflections in Travis' voice were the commas in the stories that he spun. Stories so universal that a white adult man from a small town in North Carolina could touch a skinny black kid in Detroit without ever meeting.

 

When I'm in the car singing "Forever and Ever, Amen," I imagine someone 1,000 miles away is cranking that song up in the car and for three minutes and 31 seconds, we're connected.

 

"They say that time can play tricks on a memory,
make people forget things they once knew.
Well, it's easy to see
It's happening to me
I've already forgotten every woman but you..."

 

Complete strangers can stand silent next to each other in an elevator and not even look each other in the eye. But at a concert, those same strangers could find themselves dancing and singing together like best friends. That's the power of music. And when you've experienced this magical bond with strangers, there is even a greater connection to the artists that provided the vehicle for that bond.

 

That's why it's hard for to see Travis this way.

 

We've all watched once-beloved music icons such as Jackson and Houston fall from grace in similar fashion -- ensnared by drug abuse, publicly humiliated, fighting for and sometimes losing their lives.

 

As Travis lies critically ill in a hospital bed, those of us who count ourselves his fans, pray his story doesn't end in the same way.

 

But we've watched the declining grip he's had on his life for a handful of years now.

 

The bitter divorce.

 

The uncontrollable drinking, the arrests.

 

And now this. It's just sad.

 

Because of Travis, I learned Waylon Jennings was the man who sang "The Dukes of Hazzard" theme song.

 

Because of Travis, I have developed lifelong friendships with some amazing people who work in and perform country music.

 

Before Travis, I used to think "soul music" had one certain sound.

 

Because of Travis, I learned that wasn't true.
 

 

 

It's a pretty safe bet that every country music fan appreciates both the personal sentiments expressed on Randy's behalf, as well as the positive things this young fellow has say about country music as a genre'.

 

Rightly so.

 

And if there's any nit to be picked with his sharing, it is, admittedly, not a large one.

 

But, in my humble o, still worthy of said pick.

 

The impact that Randy's singing had/has on LZ is obvious.

 

And since LZ is a "civilian", music business wise, it's understandable that he would overlook something that has been, traditionally and unfortunately, eminently overlookable.

In the world of acting, it's expressed like this.

"If it ain't on the page, it ain't on the stage".

Simply put, if nobody writes, there is nothing to perform.

Laurence Olivier was once lauded as one of the great actors of his generation.

Indeed.

Without the words written by William Shakespeare, however, Olivier's star might have shined just a little less.

The Nashville Song Writers Association, a respected advocacy group looking out for the interests of those who aim to make a living creating catchy tunes and catchy lyrics has a pretty catchy slogan of its own.

"It all begins with a song".

Well, okay, not all that catchy.

But, "if it ain't on the page..." was already taken, so one does what one must.

The point, almost tediously obvious by now, is actors have nothing to act if writers don't write.

And singers have nothing to sing if songwriters don't write.

But, quick, pop quiz.

Who was the star of, say, Raiders of The Lost Ark?

Right.

Now, who wrote the script?

Ah.

Okay.

Who are Don Schlitz and Paul Overstreet?

Uh, nice try.

But, no, they didn't write the script of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

They wrote a lot of hit songs in Nashville.

One, in fact, titled "Forever and Ever, Amen".

Sung, as it turns out, by a guy who turned LZ Granderson into a country music fan.

Good job, Randy.

And Don.

And Paul.

 

 

 

"...He Stopped Loving Her Today.....They Stopped Paying Attention Years Ago...."

George Jones is dead.

And the tributes, accolades and lauding and magnifying of his glorious country star name began to flow, from the first beat of the news mere moments after the last beat of his heart, like a river of the smooth whiskey that was so much a part of the man's legend.

Given his life accomplishments, both professional and personal, the outpouring of praise was both understandable and, even to the most hardened cynics in the crowd, deserved.

Truth told, though, I feel a little inclination to squirm when I read other's offering up assessments that passionately proclaim George was "the greatest country singer ever" or "the singer by which other singers will always be measured".

But that's not meant as a denigration of the either the gifts he possessed or the manner in which he shared those gifts with country music listeners throughout the years.

I simply instinctively discount the kind of hyperbole that puts any one performer at the head of the line.

There's an apples and oranges thing that comes to mind.

There is one exception to my personal hyperbole rule, though.

And it applies here.

I'll be happy to grant any and all that the passing of George Jones represents the proverbial "end of an era."

With a slight exception to my exception.

Not to split hairs or intentionally annoy and/or irritate.

George Jones died Friday.

The era he most dynamically represented preceded him in death by, at the least, a few years now.

A period in the country music timeline where writing and performing were ends in themselves.

And not just means to the end.

A period in the country music timeline where style mattered less than substance, where gifted writers and musicians and singers collaborated to create their own unique, hopefully tasty, recipes, offering them up to the country music fan with an outward approach that said "friends and neighbors, we'd like to do a little number for you now and we sure hope you enjoy it", but always, lurking just underneath, a gritty, true to the country bone attitude that said, "but like it or not, this is what we do, so if you're looking for something from the cookie cutter, turn off the radio and wander on down to your local bakery."

A period in country music when , as a rule, only the first few notes of a vocalist's tone and timbre were required to recognize and identify that vocalist.

When you heard Patsy Cline, you knew immediately it was Patsy Cline.

When you heard Tammy Wynette, you knew immediately it was Tammy Wynette.

And when you heard George Jones....

...well, the rest, as well as the work, is history.

In fairness, it's naive', at best, to think that any era has been free of its "bandwagon" riders. And it's a mistake to overly romanticize or coat our perspectives of the past with too much "good old days" gloss.

The heydays of Patsy and Tammy and George, et al surely experienced singers who were doing their best to be the "next" Patsy or Tammy or George, et al.

The key difference being that, in those "good old days", very few of those folks kept listeners interest, or their record deals, for very long.

And none of them became the "next".

Put another way, lots of folks putting brush to canvas get their stuff hung on the walls of Holiday Inn's from coast to coast.

Only one Mona Lisa.

Having spent thirty plus years as a writer, producer and studio musician/singer in Nashville, I've heard and seen a lot of country roads country has traveled. These days, in the course of assembling a weekly country music broadcast, I spend, by necessity if not interest, a fair amount of time researching and reviewing pretty much the complete "library" of what's going on in contemporary country music.

Here's what I hear from my seat in the concert hall.

The craftsman's shop has been replaced by the manufacturer's factory.

The goal of making music in hopes of selling product has been replaced by the goal of selling product by means of making music.

The once upon a time studio atmosphere of "what can we all do to make this next song unique" has given way to the atmosphere of "what can we do to make this sound like PLACE THE LATEST TOP TEN HIT TITLE HERE?"  ...

The sweet smell of country cooking has been pretty much overwhelmed by the sweet smell of cookies.

Ready to be cut from the baking sheet.

When the platitudes and tributes currently being offered up include "there'll never be another one like George Jones", those paying that tribute likely don't fully appreciate the irony of the observation.

First of all, obviously, there will never be another one like George Jones.

George was, in every way, shape and sound, one of a kind.

But even if George could be "replicated", it wouldn't happen.

Today's country hopefuls are too busy trying to sound like Blake Shelton.

Or Luke Bryan. Or Carrie Underwood.

Or...

One more irony worth noting.

The flood of George Jones music that filled the country radio station playlists from almost the moment the Possum passed.

Country radio stations that, one second prior to that passing, wouldn't have played a George Jones song if they had a gun to their heads.

I suspect that a man of his life experiences had to be blessed with a pretty solid sense of humor.

It couldn't possibly have gotten past him that a hard living, hard singing, hard drinking country music icon like George Jones could have bent so many rules and flirted with the long arm of the law so many times.

Only to come to a place in his career, at the end, where he couldn't get arrested.

"Who's gonna fill his shoes?"

No one.

Those shoes went out of style a while back.

But they'll always be classic.

For that, and for a lot of great music, thanks, George.