Salt of the Earth

I've been listening to a lot of country music lately.

I'm not talking about most of the rancid stuff they play today. Most of that sounds like two people fighting with chainsaws. Just the mere thought of listening to a Florida Georgia Line song makes me want to commit unholy acts and swear like a Methodist losing a poker game.

No, I'm talking about old school...and whatever era you are thinking about when I use that ter, go back further.

Now keep going a little further. There. That's it. Names like Hank, Merle, or Buck should be popping into your head. Ernest, Patsy, Lefty, & Kitty should be there too.

I've always been a traditionalist. That's a code word to avoid using the term old.

I spent my younger days listening to rock music. Still do. Again, my tastes lean towards the classic. You'd be hard-pressed to find anything past 1980 on my playlists. I was raised on the musical triumvirate of Elvis, The Beatles, and The Rolling Stones. I played in a rock band whose setlists were primarily made up of music from that era.

Country music strikes a different nerve in me though. I grew up hating it, but time has a way of changing your palate.

Just hearing the opening steel guitar twang of a Hank Williams song causes me to actually smell beer. "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" gets me every time. If that song doesn't move you, then you probably wear black socks and sandals at the beach and root for the Phillies.

Willie Nelson would have been legendary if he had only written "Crazy" and "Hello Walls." This was all before he grew his hair and became The Red Headed Stranger. A Patsy Cline song is best listened to coming out of a jukebox. When I hear Bob Wills play "San Antonio Rose", it makes me crave barbecue.

Music does strange things to people,

I could listen to Marty Robbins for hours. In fact, I have listened to Marty Robbins for hours. "El Paso" would be a fantastic story, even if the words weren't set to music. I have visualized Rose's Cantina and Faleena with her eyes blacker than night many times. I love the lyrics to the good old country songs. Merle Haggard was called the "Poet of the Common Man" for a good reason. Just look at the opening lines of "Hungry Eyes":

A canvas covered cabin in a crowded labor camp

Stand out in this memory I revived

Cause my daddy raised a family there, with two hard working hands

And tried to feed my mama's hungry eyes.

Lord have mercy.

I've walked the stage of the old Ryman Auditorium where they used to hold the Grand Ole Opry. It smells of linseed oil and hard times. There are ghosts roaming the place, but don't worry - they're friendly ghosts wearing cowboy hats, gingham, and rhinestones. A few years ago, WSM Radio - the "Air Castle of the South" and home to the Opry since 1925 - played shows from the 1940s and 1950s on Friday nights. There were ads for Martha White Flour, Purina, and Prince Albert Tobacco. I bet my ancestors listened to these exact shows, but I'm pretty sure they didn't do it on their iPad like I did.

I don't know. Maybe getting older makes me crave things that provide a little more meaning in everything, music included. Maybe it's because thet music from that era makes me think of my dad. He loved the artists from that time. It might be that I just like the music.

Could be all of that.

May the circle be unbroken.