A Country Music Song (Revisited)

I confess that my musical tastes have always leaned toward Rock and Roll.

My teenage years were spent in the seventies, the pinnacle of Rock. While most of my friends listened to the pop music drivel of the day, I rollicked in the reveries of the future "classics." It was the glory days: Led Zepplin, Pink Floyd, Hendrix, The Who, The Rolling Stones, Clapton, Stewart, Springsteen, Boston, Kansas--oh yes, the list could go on. I climbed the "Stairway to Heaven", drove down the "Highway to Hell", and took a ride on the "Magic Bus."

Now you might be thinking, "what's a central Alabama hillbilly doing listening to that stuff?", and that would be a legitimate question. Perhaps I wanted to be a hipster hillbilly. I don't know. But it's not as unlikely as you might think. After all, we had our own versions of Rock in the South. Bands like ZZ Top, Lynyrd Skynyd, Molly Hatchet, Charlie Daniels, and the Allman Brothers. Music that has withstood the test of time.

The eighties Rock music left me cold. Only U2, Tom Petty, and the late great Stevie Ray Vaughn stand out in my musical memory.

As a consequence of the eighties Rock vacuum, I began to listen to a little Country music while in college. In what is now considered "Classic Country", I found lyrics that I could relate to. Artists who looked like me, talked like me, and had similar life experiences. I discovered the genius of Nelson, Haggard, Jennings, Williams, Cline, Oslin, Lynn and of course, Cash.

There was only one Johnny Cash, and there will never be another. The Man in Black, who though at the end of his career and rejected by his own, showed the world that he could take anyone's song and make it his own.

I think familiarity was the original appeal of Country Music. Songs with lyrics that hit you right where you live. Songs about life day to day. At least that was the appeal for me. I've been "so lonesome I could cry." I've seen "blue eyes crying in the rain." I've had bad bosses, empty pockets, and lingering cases of "the lovesick blues." I love momma, trains, and pickup trucks, and "my heroes have always been cowboys."

Some early rockers picked up on this and crossed over to Country as they grayed. I heard this old one recently, laid down by Jerry Lee Lewis, the original wild-eyed banger of the keyboard:

"But today he turned forty years old, going on twenty.
And he hears of sordid affairs, but he ain't had any.
And the young thing beside him, you know she understands,
That he's middle-aged crazy, trying to prove he still can."

Oh yeah, Jerry, I hear you. I know what you're saying. I've been to the intersection of that street, stopped at the light, and looked both ways. But I didn't go there. I put on my turn signal, took a right and drove on. But I understand you brother--I feel your pain.

Most of what I've heard that passes for Country music today leaves me as cold as the eighties Rock. It is artificial, country-fied pop, and with rare exception, lacks that gut-wrenching familiarity.

A few months ago, I wrote some lyrics for a Country music song. It was written as a joke. You can read that story here.

I had a lot of positive feedback from the post. Perhaps it was due to the familiarity aspect that I mentioned earlier. It apparently describes a situation that a lot of people can relate to.

My friend Jennifer, a lovely and talented musician (as well as a home-schooling mother of four) liked what I'd written and decided to put music to my lyrics. Last weekend I was treated to a debut performance. So without further delay, here's Jennifer singing "Why Don't You Get Off My Laptop, and Come and Get on My Lap."



Be forewarned, Music Row. There may be a new songwriting duo headed your way.

The Man in Black

Stray bombs kill kids in Afghanistan.
They're building the big one in a lab in Iran.
A war is coming, it'll be here before long,
And Satan is whistling a Johnny Cash song.

Street gangs control the heart of downtown.
Gunfire and sirens the usual sound.
The meek may inherit, but for now it's the strong,
And Satan is whistling a Johnny Cash song.

Earthquakes and storms pile up bodies like wood.
The line is blurred between evil and good.
Some people try, but they don't try too long,
And Satan is whistling a Johnny Cash song.

The dealer promised it would make her feel right.
Give her a high that would last through the night.
The highs kept on coming, but never as strong,
And Satan is whistling a Johnny Cash song.

They're no longer in love in spite of the vow.
Their futures alone look brighter than now.
The kids will be fine, if they learn to be strong,
And Satan is whistling a Johnny Cash song.

The horses are restless and saddled to ride.
Rank upon rank and side by side.
A river of blood, as deep as it's long,
And Satan is whistling a Johhny Cash song.

Put on your black suit and stand in the rain.
Listen up close--you'll recognize the refrain.
He whistles upbeat, 'cause he knows it's his time,
"Because your mine, I walk the line."

Things in this world seem to be going his way.
More bodies and souls he's collecting each day.
But the truth of it is, he's a thief and a liar,
And the Cash song for him is really "Ring of Fire."

She Takes a Hike

A walk in the woods is what I need.
Nature's charms to clear my mind and relieve the stress of modern life.
Happiness is found in the glimpse of a fleeing deer,
white tail waving 'goodbye' as she bounces over the hill top.
God's voice in the shrill of a red-tailed hawk.
Peace in the gurgle of the stream.
I'll follow the direction of the deer,
Hopefully get another glimpse.
What a glorious day for a walk.
Minutes fly by like hours.

I should have bought one of those GPS thingys
that "Outdoor Life" said every hiker needs.
There's that white oak in the hollow.
Isn't that where the deer jumped up?
Maybe I'll just follow the creek downhill to a river,
The river all the way to the Gulf of Mexico.
The beach will be at the Gulf.
That would be nice,
Not as many trees and a better breeze.
Doesn't moss grow only on the north side of the tree,
or does it grow thicker on the north side of the tree?
Maybe it's just the rolling stone that has relevance to moss.
Why do I need to know which way north is anyway?
I'm not going to Canada.
Is there a view of civilization from the top of the ridge,
Or only a view of the next ridge?
Is it safe to drink from this stream?
I'm not really thirsty but I should probably stay hydrated.
Are the bright red berries edible or poisonous?
Am I really hungry enough to eat berries?
Have I been gone long enough to be hungry at all?
I wonder if there are snakes in these woods?
I think it goes "red touch yellow, kill a fellow."
Or maybe it goes "red touch black, you better stay back."
Do squirrels get rabies, and if so, will they attack?
If I'm bit by a rabid squirrel, how long before I start to foam at the mouth?
Do bees hibernate?
If I get stung will I swell like a balloon?
Can't I start a fire by rubbing two sticks together?
What kind of sticks should I use,
pine or hardwood?
Is it really cold enough for a fire, anyway?
Isn't that one of the symptoms of hypothermia,
to not feel cold even though you are cold?
Is it 'Stage One' or 'Stage Two' hypothermia,
this falsehood of warmness?
How many stages before I die?
Maybe I should start that fire now.
If I start a fire will it escape my control and become a forest fire?
That would be embarrassing.
But at least some men would have to come and put it out.
I should have dressed in layers.
Multiple layers--cotton, wool, and Gortex.
What kind of name is Gortex, anyway?
Is it an acronym or simply some inventor's name?

Oh, thank God.
There's my car.

I love a good walk in the woods.
It's so relaxing.

A poem for tuesday

I have a LOT of friends divorced, getting divorced, or struggling. This prompted a long thought and a short poem.

Marriage

In a world that is round
Every departure is an eventual arrival.
If fuel were not a consideration,
Every plane leaving the Atlanta airport
Flying on a due course
Would, in due course,
Arrive back at the Atlanta airport.
Such is the nature of circles and cycles.

In a world that is round
Two lives joined follow similar circuitry.
Every departure of feelings for each other
Should arrive back at love,
And the journey of hearts started long ago.
Such is the nature of circles and cycles.
In due course, love flies on a due course,
Unless we run out of fuel.

A Country Music Song

My cousin Mike and his lovely wife Sarah came down from Nashville this weekend to visit. They were married a few months ago, so this was the first time we've had to visit since the wedding. I took Mike hunting Saturday morning, and we were all tickled that he bagged a nice ten-point buck. Sarah and Becky did some shopping and toured the Auburn campus while we were in the woods.

Saturday afternoon we sat around and visited and watched some football on T.V. Sarah told us some about her first husband, who is a fairly successful country music song writer. I don't listen to "modern" country music, so I was probably not sufficiently impressed as she listed some of the stars he writes songs for (I thought "Diamond Rio" was a jewelry store at the mall). This guy has apparently made a very nice living and won some major awards in Nashville. Mike remarked that he needed to learn to write songs so he could experience some of that wealth and recognition.

The conversation turned to this and that. Tired from hunting, Mike stretched out on the couch with his head in Sarah's lap. Somehow, we got on the subject of computers, and more specifically laptop computers. Someone remarked that they could never get on their laptop since the other person was always using it.

And then it hit me--there's your country song.

So, this is my first (and probably last) attempt at country music song writing. It's called "Why are you on my laptop, instead of on my lap?"

My nights sure seem so lonely,
I can't find much to do.
I read and watch some T.V.
But I'd rather be lovin' you.
Since you started that Facebook stuff,
I'm left to sit alone.
I haven't felt so lonely
Since I was out on my own.

Don't you want my arms around you
every night of the week?
Sitting on our couch at night
Lovin', cheek to cheek.
I got to ask you honey,
Wouldn't we both like that?
So why are you on my laptop
Instead of on my lap?

What do you find on that Internet
that's so much more than me?
Are you chatting with some other guy
Living in a fantasy?
I know you can surf most anywhere
there's so much online to see.
But that cyber stuff ain't flesh and blood
That can love you like me.

Don't you want my arms around you
every night of the week?
Sitting on our couch at night
Lovin', cheek to cheek.
I got to ask you honey
Wouldn't we both like that?
So why are you on my laptop
Instead of on my lap?

If you don't log off real soon girl
I'm headed out the door.
And we'll find ourselves both on our own
Like we were before.
You can stay in your electronic world
but you know I'll be alright,
'cause I'll find a girl that wants real love
and knows how to treat me right.

You need the real thing honey
And you know we'd both like that.
So please get off my laptop
And come and get on my lap.

Anybody know how to play the fiddle? Have your people call my people.

A poem for Wednesday

I make a living from the land. Actually, the past few years I've made a living selling land. Mostly farms and woods, and mostly to people who were looking to "have a place in the country." It is, for the most part, an enjoyable job. And I was fortunate to be able to make quite a few sales. Things were going so well that I quit my original profession (forestry) to devote all my time to real estate.

And then about a year ago the recession hit. Land sales slowed, then virtually stopped. I started looking for forestry jobs until thing "picked back up", but there were none to be found. After several months of no income, I was able to find some contract work marking timber for a friend of mine. Low pay, but I was thankful for it. I wrote a bit of somewhat whiney poetry about my experience:

Timber Marker

I walk this Russell County tract hemmed in:
Lumber baron land to the north,
Old Federal Road on the east,
Paper company clearcut to the south,
U.S. 51 on the west.

Twenty years as a forester.
Master of Science.
Returned and reduced by Obamanomics
to entry-level woods work.
This is my bailout.

I make my mark on this landscape
one tree at a time.
One pull of the paint gun trigger and
a sixty year old loblolly pine
Is sentenced to a short stay on death row.

These woods are a story that only a forester can read.
Current condition--species, size quality
A reflection of timber cutting in previous economies.
Someone's need to pay down a loan or
a grandchild became the first in the family to go to college.

My story will be here for the next thirty years.
Hidden in the trees that I spared
And in the open spaces of those I did not.

As a footnote, I'm happy (and very thankful) to say that I've been rehired as a forester by the company I originally left for full time land sales. I will also continue my attempts to sell land. Hopefully things will get better soon economically for all of us.