Book Chase

>America lost one of its most precious national treasures yesterday when singer Hazel Dickens died at age 75.  Hazel, who died of complications from pneumonia, had been ill for some time, finding it more and more difficult to travel to concert dates around the country.

Hearing Hazel Dickens sing in a live performance was like being handed the keys to a time machine set to stop at a time when country music was still in its raw infancy.  Those wondering what original country music sounded like before it was commercialized in the 1920s have only to listen to a Hazel Dickens recording to feel the power and beauty associated with the music of those early days.  Thankfully, Hazel leaves behind a respectable number of recordings for those of us still here.  Sadly, however, we are no longer able to ride that time machine back to a Hazel Dickens concert.

I was lucky enough to climb on that time machine only once – in June 2007 when Hazel performed at the International Bluegrass Music Museum’s annual festival in Owensboro, Kentucky (ROMP).  Regular ROMPers were not surprised when a huge thunderstorm began to roll in to Yellow Creek Park that afternoon, complete with spectacular displays of lightning and loud bursts of thunder.  Hazel was in the middle of her second song of the day when festival organizers decided to clear the stage for the safety of the performers; the danger of a lightning strike was just too great to allow the show to go on even though it was still not raining.  But the rain did come, and it came in buckets for more than an hour.  By the time the stage was deemed safe again, Hazel (probably for health reasons) had left the park for good.

Hazel was scheduled to appear at ROMP the next year but had to cancel her appearance on her doctor’s orders.  She was simply too ill to travel to Kentucky that year, but even though I never had the chance to see her perform again, I will forever treasure the one-and-a-half songs I witnessed that June 2007 afternoon in a secluded little Kentucky public park.

Hazel Dickens was a union advocate, a feminist, and one of the women who paved the way for females to make their mark in bluegrass music.  She and her partner, Alice Gerrard fronted their own bluegrass band when that was simply not done.  Their vocals used the same arrangements used by their male counterparts, breaking new ground for women, and changing the music in a way that opened the door for all those female bluegrass singers who have followed them.

Hazel was very special to me and my bluegrass-loving friends and we will miss her greatly.  Considering her ill health, her death is not a shock or a surprise – but realizing that I have forever lost my chance to climb back onto the Hazel Dickens time machine really hurts.

Rest in peace, Hazel.  We loved you then, and we love you now.

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Dailey & Vincent, band and tour bus

This is going to be one of those weekends (actually Fri-Sun) during which my reading takes a backseat to another favorite hobby of mine: real country music, as in the form of some of the best bluegrass music on offer today.

I drove up to a little town just west of Ft. Worth called Argyle yesterday morning – almost exactly a five hour drive at my pace – so that I could be sure to get one of the 400 tickets to be sold at the door for last night’s show.  By four p.m., ticket in hand, I drove the eight miles to Denton, TX, grabbed a motel room, and returned to the festival location for some great BBQ, potato salad, and beans.

The show was excellent, as it included three of my favorite bluegrass bands.  My only complaint is that the show was opened by another of those bands that play jazz using bluegrass instruments.  I have no doubt that these guys are all excellent musicians; I know they are from their numerous years performing in some of the best bluegrass bands of the last 25 years.  It’s just that I don’t have an ear for jazz; it all sounds like musical gibberish to me, and after an hour of it I’m ready to pull my hair out.

But the rest of the evening was a gem.  First up was Adam Steffey and The Boxcars, a relatively new band composed of some veteran musicians and singers who have regrouped to have some fun together.  Then came a band that I sincerely believe has the best country music stage show out there, bar none: Dailey & Vincent.  Their 70-minute show is a combination of upbeat songs, gospel music, traditional bluegrass, and a whole lot of comedy.  I’ve seen them several times now and it has been fun to watch them grow into such a topnotch act.  Last up for the evening was Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver.  Doyle is one of the bluegrass oldsters, having been in the business for 48 years, but he surrounds himself with young musicians and singers who are as good as it gets.  His new banjo player, for instance, just turned 20 a few weeks ago – and looks about 14.  I got the “bluegrass fix” I needed to get me through to June when I’ll hit the road for four days of concerts in Kentucky.

Selena Gomez

The festival lineup for today is a good one, too, but I had to drive back to Houston this morning to rest up for tomorrow’s visit to the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo.  I promised my granddaughter several weeks ago (not realizing that I had a conflict) that I would take her and her brother out there because she really wants to see Selena Gomez.  From what I understand, Selena Gomez is a Disney Channel star whose main claim to fame is that she’s Justin Bieber’s current girlfriend (I’m sure I’m shortchanging the girl’s vocal talents – I hope so, anyway, for my sake).

Oh, and I’m reading a Vince Flynn political thriller right now and have managed to get about half way through the book, but that’s mostly because it is such easy reading.  That’s about all I can handle this weekend.

Wish me luck for tomorrow.  This could be painful.

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In Chinaberry Sidewalks: A Memoir, Rodney Crowell uses his remarkable storytelling skills to pay tribute to his parents, J.W. and Cauzette. Along the way, the book provides a good bit of insight into what shaped Rodney Crowell into the man he is today, but make no mistake about it, Chinaberry Sidewalks is primarily J.W. and Cauzette’s story. Rodney just happens to share much of it with them.

J.W. (from Kentucky) and Cauzette (from Buchanan, Tennessee) were married in Evansville, Indiana on September 6, 1942 because of the quickness and ease with which a marriage could be accomplished in that state. Eventually the couple would move to Houston, Texas, where in August 1950 Rodney would be born, as he puts it, between his mother’s “seventh and eighth miscarriages.” Cauzette had managed one earlier full-term pregnancy but Rodney’s brother survived for only 37 hours, and Rodney would prove to be an only child.

To hear Rodney tell it, there was seldom a dull moment at his house on Jacinto City’s (a Houston suburb) Norvic Street. Considering the volatile mix that is a hard-drinking, country-singer-wannabe father and a church-attending Pentecostal mother, along with the strong personalities both parents brought to the marriage, this is likely to have been the case. Rodney’s upbringing may have been loud, and it might have been a bit on the edge, but it was the perfect incubator for one of country music’s future stars.

J.W., who went so far as to make eleven-year-old Rodney his drummer in J.W. Crowell and the Rhythmaires, passed his love for country music (and its legends) on to his son. Cauzette, on the other hand, made sure that Rodney was exposed to another side of show business, including at least one preacher who gave one “the impression that he might burst into flames at any moment.” He was exposed to moving, emotional music in both cases, and Rodney learned from it all.

Chinaberry Sidewalks is filled with stories of growing up in 1950s Houston during those more innocent days when little boys still had the run of their neighborhood streets. Rodney and his friends, as did all boys in those days, formed their own little world, one in which they entertained themselves and of which their parents were only marginally aware. There are tales of near-misses involving bows and arrows, surviving hurricane parties hosted by drunken neighbors, rock-throwing brawls, fishing trips, powerful thunderstorms, and catching the big-name country stars when they came to town.

J.W. Crowell wanted to be Hank Williams, and he did live the life “ol’ Hank” sang about. He even took a barely two-year-old Rodney to see one of Hank’s shows just weeks before Hank would die at age 29. That the show made such an impact on Rodney is probably due more to J.W.’s retelling of the story than it is on Rodney’s actual memory of it, but there is no doubt that Rodney felt as if he were in the presence of a young god that fateful night. That Rodney would go on to have almost exactly the career J.W. wished so hard for himself is a bit sad, but that career still serves as a fitting tribute to the man he loved so much.

Rodney Crowell has done himself, his parents, and his old friends proud with Chinaberry Sidewalks, but potential readers should be aware that this is not a book about his musical career or his life with Rosanne Cash, daughter of John. Those aspects are barely touched upon; here’s hoping that Rodney is saving all of that for volume two.

Rated at: 4.0
 
(Review Copy provided by Publisher)

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I suspect that something like this would never happen in the world of rock, pop, or what people so ignorantly call “country music” today.

Not long into their second set of the day (10-16-10), Rhonda Vincent & The Rage found themselves on stage with no power to the sound system.  There was no way to guess how long it would take to get the power restored, so Rhonda made a quick decision to move her band into the crowd for as long as it might take to get things working on stage again.

The result is what you see here: Rhonda Vincent & The Rage unplugged and working hard to make themselves heard by as many people as possible.  I’ve only seen this happen one other time and that was three years ago when a tremendous thunderstorm knocked out the power at Yellow Creek Park in Owensboro, KY.  Those of us who waited for about three hours in hopes of seeing the last acts of the festival were rewarded with an intimate, unplugged set from the Marty Stuart and Del McCourey bands.

Remember that this was just before dark, thus the washed out color, and that there was zero sound amplification.

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Wow.  I can’t believe I haven’t posted since last Wednesday.  As you probably guessed, I was able to get up to Farmers Branch (between Dallas and Ft. Worth) for the bluegrass festival I mentioned in my last post.  I got back to Houston on Sunday morning where the real world was waiting for me with open arms.

My 88-year-old father fell and broke his hip a few days ago and is in a rehab facility about ten miles north of where I live, so I stopped off there on the way home.  Today was a day of desperation at the office as several of us struggled mightily to get our 4th Quarter forecasts and 2011 production budgets done by noon (second pass).  I expect that after we see the numbers tomorrow there will be a third pass.  Then it was back to the rehab facility to bring my dad some things he requested yesterday – a drive of almost an hour in rush hour traffic.

I have managed to squeeze in some reading but I’m falling behind my self-imposed schedule on reviewing the books I’ve finished.  I have two to write already and I’m finishing up on three other books in the next two or three days.  My main concern is the review of Washington: A Life I need to post on Monday as part of the official blog tour for that one.

Because of all that, I’m going to skip more book talk today in favor of posting one of my favorite performances from the “Bloomin’ Bluegrass Festival.”  This video features Adam Steffey & The Boxcars on October 16, 2010, doing one of the songs Adam originally recorded with Alison Krauss & Union Station.  The weather was great, the music was even greater, and I’m totally exhausted.  Isn’t that the way a good vacation always works?

The Boxcars: Adam Steffey (mandolin), Ron Stewart (banjo), John Bowman (fiddle), Keith Garrett (guitar) , Harold Nixon (bass)

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The 2010 Texas Book Festival, as started by Laura Bush in Austin when she and George lived in the Governor’s Mansion there, is fast approaching – and I am faced with a choice I never expected to have to make.  It turns out that the Book Festival is being held two weeks earlier this year than in 2009, the weekend of October 16-17, to be exact.  Well, guess what?  That’s the exact weekend that what is probably the best bluegrass festival held in Texas every year will be happening up near Dallas.  Even though the bluegrass festival ends late Saturday night, there is no way I can get to Austin early enough on Sunday morning to catch even the second day of the book festival.

What’s a guy to do when the art gods conspire against him?  I’ve been thinking about this for a week now and – get ready for this – have decided to go to the music festival and skip Austin this year.  The way I look at it, quality bluegrass music is harder to find in this state than are quality book events.  I still can’t believe the two festivals are overlapping this way, though…never saw that one coming.

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Acclaimed songwriter and recording star Rosanne Cash, is a reluctant celebrity at best. She never wanted a public life, always preferring to maintain her privacy rather than to share the details of her life via the numerous lowbrow celebrity-worship outlets so common today. Over the years, her fans have come to understand that choice, and to respect it. Those same fans now will be pleasantly surprised at the depth to which Cash willingly shares the details of her life in Composed: A Memoir.

Rosanne Cash’s father, of course, is none other than Johnny Cash, a man for whom the word “legend” is insufficient to describe his place in music history. Cash grew up in her father’s shadow, sensing early on that her achievements would be forever judged in comparison to his – a pressure-filled, no-win situation she wanted to avoid. She witnessed the performer lifestyle first hand and knew it to be harder work, and much less glamorous, than outsiders could ever imagine. She was certain she wanted no part of it. And, because she had always been good with words, even to believing that some day she would make her living as an author, Cash decided that songwriting offered her the best chance to work in the “family business” and still maintain the privacy she desired.

Rosanne Cash’s life has always been about music and journeys. As she puts it, “I have learned more from songs than I ever did from any teacher in school. They are interwoven and have flowed through the most important relationships in my life – with my parents, my husband, and my children…For me music has always involved journeys, both literal and metaphoric.” In Composed: A Memoir, she shares some of those journeys with her readers.

Cash, the oldest of her father’s children, starts at the beginning, recalling what it was like to grow up in Southern California at a time her father’s road habits were destroying his marriage and her mother’s health. She discusses her attempts to distance herself from her father’s style of music, including the London sojourn during which she served as a gofer at a London record label for several months (a job arranged by her father). She beautifully recounts her journey toward becoming a recording star and successful songwriter, and how proud her father was of her success. Along the way, she revisits her marriage to Rodney Crowell, a marriage that filled her home with daughters, and describes her relationship with John Leventhal, the man to whom she has been married for the past fifteen years, the father of her only son.

Beyond a doubt, first and foremost, Rosanne Cash is a writer. Her prose is at its best when she describes the devastating series of deaths she and her family endured beginning in early 2003 and the unusual brain surgery she herself suffered in late 2007. On May 15, 2003, June Carter Cash died and John followed her on September 12. Just six weeks later, her stepsister Rosie would die of carbon monoxide poisoning, and in May 2005 she would lose her mother, Vivian, to lung cancer. Cash spoke at the funerals of her parents and June Carter Cash; Composed includes each of their eulogies.

Indeed, Rosanne Cash is good at words. I suspect her father would be very proud of his daughter’s story.

Rated at: 4.0

(Review Copy provided by Publisher)

>It’s already after midnight here in Owensboro and I still have to pack up for an early exit in the morning so there won’t be much in the way of detail, photos, or video until I make it back to Houston on Monday morning.

Yellow Creek Park was a little warmer than the day before – and the humidity had to be a lot higher today – so, bands, and fans alike, had to struggle a bit out there. The stage was still a hot, hot place to work according to Mike Snider (whose show did not end until about ten p.m. ) but the bands all did remarkable jobs up there. More later.

This band was intriguing:

Although one member is an American, this bluegrass band calls Hungary home. It was, I think, their first ever appearance in this country and they seemed totally thrilled to be in Kentucky, so close to Rosine, the official birthplace of bluegrass music (Owensboro is about 30 miles from Rosine). They played a little Hungarian music at one point – although the song they played sounded very Celtic or Irish to my ears.

>I am running late this morning but I want to share a handful of photos I took yesterday at Yellow Creek Park during this year’s ROMP event. It was markedly “cooler” yesterday than it had been the day before and it really cooled off nicely as the sun went down. The real blessing, though, in addition to the lower humidity, was the absolutely top notch bluegrass music that I heard for about thirteen hours.

Yesterday’s bands included Steel String Session, Jack Hicks & Summertown Road, Stringtown, Twenty-Three String Band, The Professors of Bluegrass, New Appleseed Band (Japan), Michael Cleveland & The Flamekeeper Band, Claire Lynch Band, Josh Williams Band, Dailey & Vincent, and G2 Bluegrass Band (Sweden). I have to tell you, though, folks that Dailey & Vincent stole the show, as usual. These guys just get better and better and I doubt there is a more entertaining band in any kind of music.

I’ll start with a picture of a portion of the Steel String Session and will follow with photos of Summertown Road, The Professors of Bluegrass, New Appleseed Band, Michael Cleveland & Flamekeeper, Claire Lynch Band, Josh Williams Band and Dailey & Vincent, in that order:

I also sat in on Michael Cleveland’s fiddle workshop yesterday afternoon (even though I don’t play a lick):

>(Photo: RBI Radio interviews former Bluegrass Boys – including Tom Gray, Bluegrass Boy for 2 days)

Even while enjoying all the great bluegrass music in Owensboro this week, a guy has to eat. And yesterday I received unexpected treats at both lunch and dinner.

I walked a couple of blocks from the International Bluegrass Music Museum to a little Greek restaurant that does great lunchtime business. It was so crowded, in fact, that the only way I could get a seat was to share a table with a couple who walked in the door behind me (two Kentuckians in town on other business). About ten minutes after we sat down, the door opened and in walked Hisashi Ozaki and four people who traveled with him from Japan to Owensboro for ROMP 2010. Since our table was large enough to seat an additional five people, I invited Mr. Ozaki and his group to join us – and they graciously accepted the invitation. Ozaki is well known in bluegrass circles as the co-founder of the very first bluegrass band in Japan and he will display his mandolin skills later today when he sits in for a song or two with New Appleseed Band, a Japanese bluegrass band whose performance I am looking forward to enjoying.

That was the beginning of a full hour of conversation about bluegrass and country music in Japan, an hour during which I confirmed that lovers of real country music are the same all over the world. Takao Nakanishi, Secretary General of the Kamakura Opry, and Tetsuo Otsuka, disc jockey and President of the same Opry, were quick to remark that what’s passing for country music today (whether it’s called New Country, Young Country, or some other marketing lie) is definitely not country music. It was nice to see that the CMA is fooling no one these days; not even people on the other side of the world can be convinced that New Country is real country music.

During a break between sets, I stumbled upon Eddie and Martha Adcock sitting on a bench in the hallway and had a nice conversation with Eddie about the interest that Japanese television has in the complex brain surgery that allowed him to regain his picking skills. Eddie is looking good (he remarked that he has more hair on his head than when I saw him last year) and he says he is feeling very well. I spoke with Martha, in some detail, about the state of the recording industry today and how the digital music revolution is impacting the average indie artist out there. Martha has some interesting insights into what is happening to record labels and whether or not the internet is making it easier or more difficult for new artists to break into the business – and for established ones to find new listeners. According to Martha, it is up to the artist now; no more big brother to take care of all the marketing details. The Adcoks, as always, are two of the nicest people in town this week – and that says a lot when Owensboro is filled with friendly people wanting to do nothing more than share the music.

Dinner at RiverPark Center at a table filled with four of Bill Monroe’s former Bluegrass Boys was the perfect way to end the day – but there would still be sets from The Whites and Doc Watson, plus a recognition ceremony honoring about 70 bluegrass legends and Bluegrass Boys. At my table were Yates Green (Bluegrass Boy in 1956), Ernie Graves (1957), Bill Keith (1963) and Doug Hutchens (1971). It was fun to hear their stories about life on the road with Monroe, especially the stories about the four-hour shifts they had to put in behind the wheel getting the band from show-to-show, and some of the practical jokes the guys played on each other. The nice thing is that ROMPs are like big reunions for these guys and they seem to be having as much fun here as the rest of us.

I also spent some time with Steve Leatherwood of WGWG radio who hosts a three-hour bluegrass show on the station every Wednesday night with the help of his son Jeremy. Talking music (and small town life) with Steve was the perfect segue into the great music that ended day two of ROMP 2010. You can listen to WGWG here.

And there are two days yet to go. Gotta run.

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(Photo includes Tom Ewing, Curtis Blackwell, Danny Jones, Randall Franks, Bob Black and other former Bill Monroe Bluegrass Boys)

My drive to Owensboro this year was a little different than those of the past four summers. For me, driving long distances on Interstate Highways is a combination of boredom and sheer terror. I am either fighting sleep or desperately trying not to be run over by the endless convoys of big trucks bearing down on me from behind. So this year, thanks to my trusty little GPS device, at least 95% of my driving was done on state highways. The only time I got on an interstate was a short stretch of about 40 miles on I55 just before I reached Kentucky – and that is one of the more deserted interstates in the country.

I was even able to chop about 100 miles off my total driving distance this way. Of course, I added about two hours in driving time because of all the little towns I passed through on those winding two-lane highways. And you know what? I loved it. This drive was a good reminder of what America is all about – lots of people going about their business, working hard for themselves and their families, just trying to do the right thing despite the harm their elected representatives are determined to do up in Washington.

This first day of ROMP 2010 (and most of tomorrow) is a celebration of the legends of bluegrass, those guys and gals who were there when Mr. Bill started it all. Today, I had the pleasure of listening to about two dozen former Bluegrass Boys get together on stage and out in the lobby of the theater for song after song. Let me tell you, folks, these guys are still some of the finest musicians in the business.

Among today’s performers were: Curtis Blackwell (guitar), R0ger Smith (fiddle), Ben Pedigo (banjo), Danny Jones (mandolin), Scottie Baugus (guitar), Bob Black (banjo), Randall Franks (fiddle), Gregg Kennedy, Wayne Jerrolds, Jim Moratto, and Bill Box…and others. And the good news is there will be even more Bluegrass Boys here tomorrow for Day 2.

As one of the guys said on stage, Bill Monroe passed so many musicians through his Bluegrass Boys they called it “making sausage.” Well, Mr. Bill knew how to pick them, for sure, and a few dozen of them are here in Owensboro, Kentucky, tonight.

(Former Bluegrass Boy – banjo – Ben Pedigo)

>One sentence in the September 2009 issue of Bluegrass Unlimited (my favorite magazine) has created a small firestorm of criticism from a few people who took offense at the style in which the article was written.

The article in question is a feature on Charlie Sizemore written by Chris Stuart. Mr. Stuart decided to use a direct, and very emotional, quote from Charlie in the first paragraph of his piece. Charlie, speaking of the time in the seventies when he was the lead singer for Ralph Stanley & the Clinch Mountain Boys (as a teenager, no less) had this to say about how upset he was about one of his appearances with the band, “Ralph, I’m sorry. I can’t sing for shit.” The point of Charlie’s story is that Ralph Stanley’s sympathetic response was perfect and that it might very well have saved his career in bluegrass music.

One little word, and not a particularly offensive one, in my opinion, resulted in letters and emails to the editor of Bluegrass Unlimited threatening to cancel subscriptions to the magazine. You know the drill – nothing new here except for how little it took to cause some folks to demand their own version of censorship, the rest of the readership be damned.

Daniel Swanson, via email said, “I got as far as the first paragraph before being floored. Needless to say, I quickly moved on to the next article. I have decided two things: I won’t read any more articles by the foul-mouthed Chris Stuart and if you don’t clean up your formerly fine magazine in the future, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my subscription.” – a silly, but very direct and aggressive response.

Jim Griffith of Ashland, Kentucky said, “I was very surprised that you printed the language used in the article about Charlie Sizemore…This type of language will cheapen your magazine if continued. I hope you will leave this type of language out in the future, as I would like to enjoy your magazine for many more years.” – a silly, but more passive-aggressive approach than the one quoted above.

These were the only comments to the article published in the January issue of Bluegrass Unlimited – two over-the-top reactions to what is in reality a fairly innocent little word, a word that, in this case, perfectly describes the emotion being felt by Charlie Sizemore when he approached Ralph Stanley all those years ago. Chris Stuart even had the nerve to use the word “hell” a couple times in the article but I doubt that our two wannabe censors read far enough into the article to find them.

I was happy to see in the magazine’s March issue that Ron Thomason, Robert Grosz and Dale Martin have written letters in defense of Chris Stuart’s judgment to use the quote exactly as he heard it from Charlie Sizemore’s mouth. Well done, guys.

Bluegrass music is as real as any music being made these days. Good songs are about emotion, be the emotions joy or despair, and, as a fan of the genre, I would be shocked if my favorite singers and songwriters did not honestly feel what they write and sing about. I want to hear real songs from real people, not censored claptrap from a bunch of phonies.

I cannot imagine a better introduction to the Charlie Sizemore piece than the one Chris Stuart chose for it and I find myself dumbfounded by the reaction of those who believe that any word in that article is offensive or out of place. Their desire to play the role of censor is what I find offensive, not the words “shit” or “hell.” Come on, people.

>When it comes to country music history, Ralph Stanley has pretty much seen it all. Now, at age 82, he has partnered with author Eddie Dean to share some of that with the rest of us. The book they co-authored, Man of Constant Sorrow: My Life and Times, will, of course be especially appreciated by bluegrass fans, Stanley Brothers fans, and fans of the work Ralph has done since Carter’s death on December 1, 1966. Others, even those that are not fans of Stanley or of bluegrass music, will find the book to be a remarkable snapshot of a pivotal period in American music history, a time during which musicians like the Stanley Brothers earned their livings through live radio shows, relatively primitive recordings, and driving countless miles from one paying gig to the next.

Stanley was born in 1927 in the Clinch mountains of southwestern Virginia and he still lives very near the old home place where he grew up with his older brother Carter. Carter and Ralph were still teenagers when they began performing as the Stanley Brothers and, for the rest of their lives, the brothers would depend on music to provide their living, difficult as that would often prove to be (think about the impact of Elvis Presley). Carter would be gone much too soon, dead by age 42 primarily because of an inability to control his alcohol consumption, but Ralph would find new lead singers to keep the music of the Stanley Brothers alive to the present day.

First to replace Carter was18-year-old Larry Sparks, but Sparks would be followed over the years by others, including an even younger Keith Whitley who joined the Clinch Mountain Boys with his singing buddy Ricky Skaggs. As Stanley recounts, Whitley would move on to a successful stint with J.D. Crowe before himself dying of alcohol poisoning when just on the verge of a career-making mainstream breakthrough.

Man of Constant Sorrow includes stories about many of the men that have been members of the Clinch Mountain Boys for the past six decades. Stanley shares both the good and the bad about his life and he does the same for the men with whom he worked all those years, even to providing details (as he understands them) of the murder of Roy Lee Centers and the legal system that let off his killer with the lightest of sentences imaginable. Stanley speaks often of losing band members to death or illness and addresses how difficult it was for him to fire various Clinch Mountain Boys over the years.

The beauty of Man of Constant Sorrow is that it is told in Ralph Stanley’s voice, mountain dialect and spelling, included. The voice is so accurate (and, at times so rambling) that one has to believe that Dr. Ralph’s contribution to the book was largely made via a recording device into which he spoke his memories and that Eddie Dean’s job was to put everything in the proper order for a book presentation.

This stream-of-consciousness approach also contributes to an unpleasant surprise or two for those of us who know Ralph Stanley only through his onstage persona. Stanley, it seems, has a tendency to give praise to others with one hand while, with the other, explaining that he does it better than they ever did (be “it” music or some standard of behavior), and a willingness to tell degrading stories about the people he does not like or approve of, even if they are long dead. I was particularly struck by the paragraphs devoted to how delightful if was for the band to have a dim-witted picker on the road with them, someone at whom the rest of the band could always laugh to relieve the tension and fatigue of the road. This light streak of cruelty and lack of empathy in some of Stanley’s stories truly surprises me and exposes an inability to see himself through the eyes of others.

Man of Constant Sorrow suffers, too, from the glaring gaps left in its chronology. Very little is said about Carter Stanley’s children and how they survived after Carter’s death despite the fact that one of them, Jeanie, is herself an excellent bluegrass singer. There is also the matter of Ralph own first marriage, to which I can find only one quick reference where Stanley discusses his mother’s reaction to his surprise marriage to Jimmie: “My first marriage didn’t really count in her book. And not in mine, neither. I had to go through the bad marriage to be ready for a woman like Jimmie, I reckon.” To those unaware of Stanley’s first marriage, this is the equivalent of a neck-twisting double-take, and I still wonder where in his long story this failed marriage fits. Lastly, there is little mention of Ralph’s own children, despite the fact that Ralph Stanley II was a Clinch Mountain Boy for about 20 years and that one grandson is a current member of the band.

Despite the gaps in the book, and, in my personal opinion , some of what Dr. Ralph reveals about his nature, Man of Constant Sorrow is a worthy addition to country music history and it deserves a wide audience. It is, after all, Ralph Stanley’s story – and he gets to decide what he wants to share and what he wants to reveal about himself in the process.

Rated at: 4.0

>I haven’t been posting here in the last few weeks about my love for country music because I don’t want to run anyone off for good. But my love for the music is as strong as ever – so I started a new blog exclusively devoted to country music, bluegrass music, and the written word about anything pertaining to roots music.

I remembered tonight that several of you did seem to have a genuine interest in the music, so I decided to post the link to my second blog here.

It’s called Bluegrass and Honky Tonks (a title which has offended a few purists on both sides of the equation already). I am posting lots of video that I’ve taken in the last several months, much of it local to Houston, lots of music news, and even some heartfelt opinion guaranteed to offend at least 50% of the people who read it. If you are interested, or even curious, feel free to click on the link and check out how it’s grown since June 6, the day I posted there for the first time.

>Rosine, KY, the birthplace of bluegrass music is about a 40-minute drive from Owensboro and the International Bluegrass Music Museum. Despite my attendance at the ROMP festival for the last four years, I have found it difficult to make it to Rosine. ROMP ends late on a Saturday night and the Bill Monroe home in Rosine does not open its doors to the public before 1:00 p.m. on Sundays – timing that does not work out for someone who has over 900 miles of driving to do that day.

This year, however, it was so hot in Owensboro that three of us decided to make the drive to Rosine one morning, opting to hit Yellow Creek Park a little later in the day when things might be a bit cooler (fat chance, that, as it turned out).

The Rosine Barn Jamboree is sure to catch your eye as you drive into town. The barn is right next door to a little general store and cafe that should not be missed either. The store is a great place to get directions to the Bill Monroe Home Place and something cold to drink on your way out to the house. The cemetery in which Bill and much of the Monroe family is buried is just a few hundred yards from the interesection in which the store and Barn sit.

This is a close-up of the circular plaque on the left side of the Rosine Barn Jamboree building:

Just a couple of miles from the general store is this sign marking the way to the old Monroe home, my favorite “dangerous curve” sign of all time:

A few hundred feet down the winding road pictured on the sign will bring you to the Bill Monroe Home Place, the house Bill lived in for much of his life. Monroe was born in a log cabin on the site of this home but the cabin burned to the ground when he was five years old and by 1918 the family was living in this “Cumberland home.” The home was fully restored in 2001, by salvaging about 80% of its original wood, and it contains personal furniture, pictures, and other items that belonged to the Monroe family.

The home includes a living room, kitchen, three bedrooms and a back porch on which the family took many of its meals. Bill had the smallest bedroom to himself, his five brothers shared a larger bedroom, his parents had one to themselves, and his three sisters slept in the living room.

This is the scene just off the back porch of the home:

Photos from the Rosine cemetery, including the burial spot of Bill Monroe and much of his family:

And there you have it. Rosine, KY, the birthplace of Bill Monroe and bluegrass music is simply not to be missed. It took me four years to finally get to Rosine but I plan to go back again next year for a more “informed” look around the home place and cemetery. Now that I know what’s there and what to expect, a second visit will probably be even better than the first one.

One side note about a nice surprise we got in the general store – Bill Monroe’s daughter sitting at a table in the little cafe part of the store, and along side her were the legendary Tom Gray and his wife.

>ROMP 2009 moved to Yellow Creek Park yesterday for its final two days, two of the hottest days I’ve ever experienced in Owensboro. The temperature supposedly hit 96 degrees yesterday and the humidity is very high – a bad combination for folks staying outdoors for 10 or 12 hours, many of those hours in direct sunlight.

It appears that the heat may have kept some of the locals from coming out this year because the crowd appeared smaller than in past years, especially early in the day. Here is a look at the park as folks gradually trickled in for the performances:

That’s the legendary Bobby Osborne (with Rocky Top X-Press) in the last two pictures, of course. The crowd enjoying Bobby’s music was considerably larger than it appears to be from these photos because most people were farther back, taking advantage of the shade line offered by the trees in the park.

Today’s events include appearances by The Dixie Bee-Liners, The Special Consensus, Grasstowne, Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver and The Dan Tyminski Band. It will be another hot day – but a good one. There’s just no such thing as a bad day at a bluegrass festival. I make my drive back to Houston on Sunday and will have a whole lot more next week to say about my four days in Owensboro.

>Several weeks ago, I marked this weekend on my calendar as one of those rare ones I hoped to fill with nothing but a whole lot of live country music. It was almost too good to be true the way things were coming together for that weekend, and you know what happens when something is too good to be true – it doesn’t happen.

For starters there was an extremely rare bluegrass concert in a little town just 20 miles north of me. Then there was the private party I snagged an invitation to that was featuring one of my favorite country bands and two other really good ones. And there was the big Country Roots show at Houston’s Trader’s Village, a huge flea market only 15 miles from home.

Work obligations caused me to miss out on the bluegrass festival but I hoped to make up for that loss by attending the party. Then it happened – lightning, thunder, heavy rains, and even a little flash-flooding. I sat in the car waiting for things to lighten up but, after 40 minutes listening to rain pound the roof and hood of my car, I gave up because the grounds were soaked and that much lightning around tall trees scares me to death.

So everything was washed out for me until today when the weather finally cleared up and I made it out to Trader’s Village where I experienced a fun afterfnoon listening to four great bands. I’m posting one video that I shot this afternoon featuring Amber Digby & Midnight Flyer. I have to tell you that my copy of this song is much clearer than what shows up via this YouTube video – why, I have no idea. Something bad happens in the upload process to YouTube, that’s for sure.

Amber Digby, Dicky Overbey on steel, Randy Lindley on lead guitar, Ben Collis on bass guitar

> The amazing thing about Chris Willman’s Rednecks and Bluenecks is how much has changed since he wrote the book following George W. Bush’s second election victory. At that time, Democrats seemed in disarray and even the staunchest supporters of the party were struggling to get over 2004’s loss to a newly re-elected President Bush. Flash forward to early 2009 and the fortunes of America’s two main political parties have done a complete flip; now it is the staunchest of Republicans who are trying to cope with what happened in the last election.

The remarkably swift turnaround in the fortunes of the two parties makes much of Rednecks and Bluenecks outdated, but the book retains value as an interesting snapshot of the politics of country music at a volatile time in America’s political history. Country music in the early 2000s was well into a musical decline (a decline that has yet to bottom out) that saw it overwhelmed by singers and producers willing to kill its traditions if that would sell more music to the soccer moms chosen as its target audience. Country music went pop and producers created, and discarded, dozens of young singers in an attempt to move product. Tradition, musically or otherwise, did not seem to be much of a concern in Nashville, Tennessee.

However, Chris Willman found in 2005 that conservative politics still dominated the country music industry, despite all the new blood in the city, and that liberal country music stars and executives felt vastly outnumbered by their conservative counterparts. Some of the more liberal recording artists and producers, in fact, told Willman that they feared being too open and outspoken about their politics in an industry within which they were such a small political minority – the same reaction, of course, experienced by conservative entertainers based on either coast of America.

Willman interviewed major country music artists and executives from both sides of the political spectrum, paying a bit too much attention, in the process, to the Dixie Chicks blowup that ended with the Chicks abandoning country music for good. That incident is a good example of the disconnect between country music fans and some country artists but it ended as a media circus milked for profit by those on both sides of the argument – and is not necessarily what it appears to have been on its surface.

Willman points out that the political split between country music artists was influential in creating the alt-country genre, a genre greatly influenced by liberal singers who were at one time part of the hardcore country music family. These days, singers like Rodney Crowell, Steve Earle, Kris Kristofferson, Roseanne Cash, and others like them are no longer part of country music’s mainstream and have been joined in the alt-country movement by younger artists who share the same politics. Mainstream country, watered down though it may be, is still known for its core values and the conservative singers who best represent those values: Alan Jackson, Brooks & Dunn, Toby Keith, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, etc. Though as rockers like Keith Urban, rappers like Cowboy Troy, and teens like Taylor Swift continue to invade country music, it will be interesting to see whether conservative artists will be overwhelmed by this influx of non-country invaders who are likely to be less conservative than those they replace.

Country music is in the midst of an identity crisis, nothing new about that. Haggard and Cash have themselves straddled both sides of the liberal/conservative line for decades, proving that it can be done successfully. Rednecks and Bluenecks, however, focuses largely on a generation of country music artists that is not being replaced by likeminded singers and pickers. Country music is no longer country and one has to wonder how long it will be before the conservative voice of country music becomes the genre’s new minority. Rednecks and Bluenecks may have snapped a picture of country music’s last hurrah.

Rated at: 3.0

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>I heard very early this morning that the great voice of Vern Gosdin was silenced last night and I’ve had Vern on my mind ever since. Vern Gosdin was one of the best stylists in the history of country music and, for the most part, he stayed true to the genre by refusing to slide into the watered-down claptrap that passes for country music today. Of course, that meant Vern had to kiss country radio goodbye a long time ago – but he knew that was coming anyway because country radio, with rare exception, refuses to play anyone over 40 years old (much preferring the music of 17-year-old girls who cannot sing without an autotuner in their hip pockets).

I know that I’m ranting – but when I think of all the great talent that gets pushed aside for the likes of those who become “stars,” my blood pressure tends to rise dramatically.

This, though, is about Vern Gosdin, the man called “The Voice” by those who love real country music and know its colorful history. Enjoy.

“Chiseled in Stone” was the 1989 country music song of the year and no one can possibly ever match Vern’s version. The emotion he displays, in combination with how he uses his voice to sell this song, is simply superb. Vern was under-appreciated by the general country music audience but those who know country music best (singers, musicians, critics and astute fans) always place him among the very best singers in country music history. And, without a doubt, they are correct.

Rest in peace, Mr. Gosdin. Your fans thank you and hope to catch you on the other side.

>2008′s hottest new bluegrass act continues to shine in 2009 with the release of its second album, Brothers from Different Mothers. How hot were these guys last year? Just look at the list of IBMA trophies they took home:

Entertainer of the Year
Vocal Group of the Year
Male Vocalist of the Year (Jamie Dailey)
Album of the Year (“Dailey & Vincent”)
Gospel Performance of the Year (“By the Mark”)
Emerging Artist of the Year
Recorded Event of the Year (Everett Lilly project)

That is an armful of awards for a group of guys who have been performing together for only about eighteen months. Now, with the release of their second album, Dailey & Vincent prove that their 2008 success was no fluke.

Brothers from Different Mothers is all about traditional bluegrass music, a style lovingly embraced by Dailey & Vincent, and one at which they excel. The harmony on this album is simply spot on, whether it be in the form of duet, trio, or quartet, and there is not really a weak song in the twelve album cuts.

The guys cover all the bases.

There are Southern gospel songs, including one written by Jamie Dailey called “When I Reach That Home up There,” perhaps one of the best bluegrass gospel songs I have ever heard – and a very special one, “On the Other Side,” written by former Statler Brother Jimmy Fortune. Background strings were added to this one at Darrin Vincent’s suggestion and the strings set the perfect tone for this tearjerker of a feel good song (yes, there is such a thing).

The strength of Dailey & Vincent, of course, is their traditional sound and they prove here that they can sound as authentic and traditional on new material as they do on bluegrass classics. First-time listeners to “Winter’s Come and Gone,” the new song written by Gillian Welch and David Rawlings will find it hard to believe that the song is not decades old. “Girl in the Valley,” a Jamie Dailey song that Jamie also sings on Doyle Lawson’s “You Gotta Dig a Little Deeper” album, further proves that bluegrass tradition is far from dead.

Jamie Dailey and Darrin Vincent are real fans of the Statler Brothers and two Statler songs, “There Is You” and “Years Ago” are included here. “Years Ago,” in particular, reminded me how great the Statlers were and Dailey & Vincent have inspired me to go back into my LP collection to recapture some of that great music. I was also pleased by the appearance of Statler Brother Harold Reed in his Lester “Road Hog” Moran persona, the first time that Reed has ever recorded with anyone other than the Statler Brothers or Johnny Cash.

Dailey and Vincent used their road band on the album (something that is not always done in country music): Jeff Parker on Mandolin, Adam Haynes on fiddle, and young Joe Dean on banjo. In addition they received contributions from an all-star band of musicians: Ron Block on banjo, Bryan Sutton on guitar, Tim Crouch and Stuart Duncan on fiddle, and Andy Leftwich on mandolin.

Yes, I’m enthusiastic about this album, but more important to me is the way that Dailey & Vincent are keeping tradition alive in a world in which tradition seems to be less and less important to people. There is still hope in this world gone mad.

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>This has turned into an unexpected three-day weekend for me because my company is in the process of relocating to its new office building. The opportunity to sleep in on Friday and Saturday mornings gave me the chance to double up on some fantastic live country music (maybe even triple up if I can find another live show tonight) and I’ve really enjoyed the gift of that extra time. (I love living in a city where this kind of music is still available almost every night of the week.)

Last night, it was James Hand at Blanco’s, my favorite Houston honky-tonk where he included the song shown in this recent YouTube video of one of his recent Austin shows:

Now if I can just cram some reading in between some little league baseball this afternoon and, hopefully, another show tonight…all will be well in my world.

>I can’t find anything on the net yet, but I’ve just heard, from someone who should know, that one of country music’s legendary performers passed away today.

Mr. Hank Locklin was one of the greats of early country music and had just turned 91 years old about three weeks ago.

Here’s a amazing clip of Hank singing one of his signature songs, “Send Me the Pillow That You Dream On.” I’m not sure what year this performance is from but the man still had remarkable vocal control, that’s for sure.

Another great one is gone – and country music is a mere shadow of what it was in the days when the real thing was being recorded. That’s what makes a death like this one doubly sad.

>This is almost too good to be true.

Miss Leslie is offering her latest album absolutely free of charge to anyone who emails asking for a copy. This is the same CD, with the same packaging, that is selling for full retail price all over the web, not some cheap throwaway version.

This is the third Miss Leslie & Her Juke-Jointers album and, in my opinion, it is the best yet. Leslie, who wrote all the songs on the album, has never sounded better, the band is tight, and the album displays some really fine sisters harmony. This is Leslie’s way of getting the word out about her music, so take advantage of it if you are a real country music fan – I’m not talking about the crud that plays on country music FM stations today. This is hardcore honky tonk the way it was done back in the sixties – but a girl singer is up front the band.

If you decide to take advantage of the offer, please tell Leslie I said hello. But hurry because the Houston Chronicle publicized this offer last Sunday and when they’re gone, they’re gone.

>CMT, just in time for the holidays, of course, has highlighted some great new books that will interest country music fans (for the uninitiated, CMT stands for Country Music Television). The highlight of the article, for me, is the focus on Marty Stuart’s new release of Country Music: The Masters, a more affordable version of his great collection of photos of the legends of country music in various stages of their careers than has been available up to now. Stuart started taking photos at age 13, by the time of which he was already a professional musician in Lester Flatt’s great band. In fact, the story goes that the first photo taken by young Marty (at 13) was of his favorite star, Connie Smith, the woman to whom he has been married for quite a few years now.

Others mentioned by CMT:

Veteran Nashville journalist Robert K. Oermann went to great lengths to shine the spotlight on country legends — past and present in — Behind the Grand Ole Opry Curtain (Hachette Book Group). The profiles include detailed stories about pioneers such as Patsy Cline and Minnie Pearl, living icons including George Jones, Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton and contemporary stars such as Martina McBride and Trace Adkins.

Randy Owen, Alabama’s lead singer, takes fans inside the workings of the supergroup with his Born Country: Born Country — How Faith, Family and Music Brought Me Home (Harperone). Fans of historic country music radio shows can travel memory lane with Chad Berry’s The Hayloft Gang: The Story of the National Barn Dance (University of Illinois Press).

Also in the country chute: Waiting for a Train: Jimmie Rodgers’s America, edited by Mary E. Davis and Warren Zanes (Rounder Books); Adam Victor’s The Elvis Encyclopedia (Overlook Press); and Sybil Rosen’s Living in the Woods in a Tree: Remembering Blaze Foley, a study of and tribute to the Texas singer and songwriter who wrote Merle Haggard’s “If I Could Only Fly” (University of North Texas Press). Tom Moon’s 1,000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die (Workman) includes a section of country picks.

I find several of the titles interesting but I’ll be focusing on the Marty Stuart book and 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die. I have a collection of almost 25,000 recorded songs, covering the years 1910-1990 primarily (starting with wax cylinders), so it will be interesting to see how many of the 1000 recordings I have in the collection. Of course, over 20,000 of my recordings are country songs, so I doubt that I’ve made much of a dent in the book’s list.

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>Time for me to put on my other blog hat for a few minutes, guys, the country music one. I’ve been a fan of real country music almost as long as I’ve been a book nut. That’s a long, long time.

Two country singers have been very special to me for most of my life. I discovered George Jones when I was about 13 years old and Merle Haggard came along three or four years later. Those two singers have been constants in my life for more than 40 years now. These are men whose lifestyles are accurately reflected in their music: heavy drinking, heavy smoking, drugs, multiple marriages, run-ins with the law, etc. You name it, and they probably did it. And amazingly both mellowed soon enough to have now reached their early seventies.

They are as surprised about that as I am, I suspect.

But now comes news that doctors discovered a tumor in Merle’s right lung sometime in May and that he refused to be treated for it. It seems that his family finally convinced him to allow doctors to remove the tumor and that he is recovering at home. God knows what that really means at this point.

According to the Dallas Observer,

A recent biopsy revealed that Haggard had non-small cell lung cancer (a form of the disease that has a much better cure rate), so surgery to remove the upper lobe of his right lung became mandatory. According to the surgeon, Haggard woke from the operation, yodeled and smiled. And his post-operative progress was so rapid that he was discharged on Saturday.

That’s good news for all involved as Haggard is still one of the preeminent country singer-songwriters in music–country or otherwise.

Merle is one of the great ones and I want to have him around for a long, long time. He still sounds great and I’m looking forward to some new Merle Haggard music – lots of it.

Merle singing one of the best country music songs ever written – written, of course, by him (along with his first wife, Bonnie Owens)

Time for me to put on my other blog hat for a few minutes, guys, the country music one. I’ve been a fan of real country music almost as long as I’ve been a book nut. That’s a long, long time.

Two country singers have been very special to me for most of my life. I discovered George Jones when I was about 13 years old and Merle Haggard came along three or four years later. Those two singers have been constants in my life for more than 40 years now. These are men whose lifestyles are accurately reflected in their music: heavy drinking, heavy smoking, drugs, multiple marriages, run-ins with the law, etc. You name it, and they probably did it. And amazingly both mellowed soon enough to have now reached their early seventies.

They are as surprised about that as I am, I suspect.

But now comes news that doctors discovered a tumor in Merle’s right lung sometime in May and that he refused to be treated for it. It seems that his family finally convinced him to allow doctors to remove the tumor and that he is recovering at home. God knows what that really means at this point.

According to the Dallas Observer,

A recent biopsy revealed that Haggard had non-small cell lung cancer (a form of the disease that has a much better cure rate), so surgery to remove the upper lobe of his right lung became mandatory. According to the surgeon, Haggard woke from the operation, yodeled and smiled. And his post-operative progress was so rapid that he was discharged on Saturday.

That’s good news for all involved as Haggard is still one of the preeminent country singer-songwriters in music–country or otherwise.

Merle is one of the great ones and I want to have him around for a long, long time. He still sounds great and I’m looking forward to some new Merle Haggard music – lots of it.

Merle singing one of the best country music songs ever written – written, of course, by him (along with his first wife, Bonnie Owens)

>Faron Young, who is today one of the more underestimated country singers of his generation despite his long career and many hit records, was a hard man for even his friends to peg. That is because, as so aptly described by Diane Diekman in her Faron Young biography, Live Fast, Love Hard: The Faron Young Story, he was a man of strong contradictions.

Faron Young was one of the nicest men in the world but he was one very mean drunk and no one wanted to be around him when he was drinking heavily (and that was much of the time). He was extremely generous to those who had less then him (often they were songwriters on the way up, such as Willie Nelson) and were in need of a few hundred dollars to tide them over, but was known to refuse his road band the extra five dollars a day that would have made all the difference in the world to them. He loved his children and considered himself to be a good family man but he made it a point to speak of his youngest daughter as his “only little girl” and never publicly acknowledged the other daughter he had out of wedlock or how terrible his relationship with his oldest sons really was. Faron could curse like a sailor, and he usually did, but would behave respectably around the wives of his band members. He had lots of longtime friends and he had lots of longtime enemies. He was an astute businessman who made some terrible business decisions that cost him a whole lot of money.

All of these contradictions, taken as a whole, are probably why so many people explained their toleration for Young’s behavior by saying, “That’s just Faron.” Connie Smith used those words to explain how someone with her temperament could endure working on the road with the fast-living Faron Young. And even Jean Shepard, as brash as she sometimes appears to be, finally refused to go on the road with him any longer.

Longtime Faron Young fans who witnessed him in his prime will probably still find some surprises in, or have their memories nudged by, Diane Diekman’s well-researched and detailed biography. She reminds us that Faron was founder of the influential Music City News and reveals just how much personal money he put into the newspaper in order to keep it afloat long enough for it to pay its own way. Her readers also learn that he would have had more hit records, and number ones, if he had not refused to let his label use payola to move his records up the charts the way record labels bought higher chart positions for so many other singers.

And that is just the beginning of what is packed into Live Fast, Love Hard. The book covers the childhood that may explain Faron’s own cold approach to fatherhood, the national, though bogus, scandals that damaged his career, his failed marriage, and his tragic death at his own hand. About the only thing missing is a comprehensive discography of Faron’s recordings, although the book does mention most, if not all, of his record albums and notes which ones include his biggest hits.

So this is a book both for those who are already fans of Faron Young’s great voice and for those to whom he is hardly more than a name from country music’s past. Put a copy of “Wine Me Up” on the turntable, grab a cold one, prop your boots up on the foot stool, and enjoy this book. If you’re not already a Faron Young fan, you probably will be by the time you finish Live Fast, Love Hard.

Rated at: 4.5

Faron Young, who is today one of the more underestimated country singers of his generation despite his long career and many hit records, was a hard man for even his friends to peg. That is because, as so aptly described by Diane Diekman in her Faron Young biography, Live Fast, Love Hard: The Faron Young Story, he was a man of strong contradictions.

Faron Young was one of the nicest men in the world but he was one very mean drunk and no one wanted to be around him when he was drinking heavily (and that was much of the time). He was extremely generous to those who had less then him (often they were songwriters on the way up, such as Willie Nelson) and were in need of a few hundred dollars to tide them over, but was known to refuse his road band the extra five dollars a day that would have made all the difference in the world to them. He loved his children and considered himself to be a good family man but he made it a point to speak of his youngest daughter as his “only little girl” and never publicly acknowledged the other daughter he had out of wedlock or how terrible his relationship with his oldest sons really was. Faron could curse like a sailor, and he usually did, but would behave respectably around the wives of his band members. He had lots of longtime friends and he had lots of longtime enemies. He was an astute businessman who made some terrible business decisions that cost him a whole lot of money.

All of these contradictions, taken as a whole, are probably why so many people explained their toleration for Young’s behavior by saying, “That’s just Faron.” Connie Smith used those words to explain how someone with her temperament could endure working on the road with the fast-living Faron Young. And even Jean Shepard, as brash as she sometimes appears to be, finally refused to go on the road with him any longer.

Longtime Faron Young fans who witnessed him in his prime will probably still find some surprises in, or have their memories nudged by, Diane Diekman’s well-researched and detailed biography. She reminds us that Faron was founder of the influential Music City News and reveals just how much personal money he put into the newspaper in order to keep it afloat long enough for it to pay its own way. Her readers also learn that he would have had more hit records, and number ones, if he had not refused to let his label use payola to move his records up the charts the way record labels bought higher chart positions for so many other singers.

And that is just the beginning of what is packed into Live Fast, Love Hard. The book covers the childhood that may explain Faron’s own cold approach to fatherhood, the national, though bogus, scandals that damaged his career, his failed marriage, and his tragic death at his own hand. About the only thing missing is a comprehensive discography of Faron’s recordings, although the book does mention most, if not all, of his record albums and notes which ones include his biggest hits.

So this is a book both for those who are already fans of Faron Young’s great voice and for those to whom he is hardly more than a name from country music’s past. Put a copy of “Wine Me Up” on the turntable, grab a cold one, prop your boots up on the foot stool, and enjoy this book. If you’re not already a Faron Young fan, you probably will be by the time you finish Live Fast, Love Hard.

Rated at: 4.5

Country singer, and national icon, Willie Nelson has teamed up with Mike Blakely to write A Tale out of Luck, a western novel with a bit of a mystery thrown into the mix.

Hank Tomlinson has probably fared better than most Texas Rangers who were suddenly thrown out of work when the Rangers were disbanded in Reconstruction Texas following the Civil War. He operates the Broken Arrow Ranch and owns most of the businesses in Luck, the little town that he founded in order to attract the services that were not in the area when he began his new life as a rancher.Things are going so well, in fact, that he has just brought a Kentucky thoroughbred back to the ranch that he hopes will make him a bundle in breeding fees.

But when Jay Blue, Hank’s son, and Skeeter, the orphan taken in by Hank as a youngster, do a poor job on guard duty one night and the new mare disappears, things change for Hank and the people of Luck, Texas in a big way. Barely one step ahead of Tomlinson and his anger, the boys race off, determined to recover the lost horse, and find themselves in the adventure of their young lives.

Along the way they meet and befriend an albino Negro who captures and tames wild horses for the U.S. Cavalry and a young Apache warrior who has been critically wounded during the massacre of his people by the Calvary and a few ranch hands who were along for the ride, two people who will come to play important roles in their future.

Suddenly the folks in Luck, Texas, are faced with warring Apaches and what appears to be a lone Indian assassin from Tomlinson’s past who makes everyone nervous by peppering two people with arrows and scalping them before disappearing again. When a policeman from Austin comes to town to further complicate matters, things get a little hot for the Tomlinson clan before the book reaches its rousing climax.

Willie Nelson and Mike Blakely have touched most of the Western genre bases with A Tale out of Luck. There are bands of marauding Indians, cavalry troopers racing to the rescue in the nick of time, cattle rustlers, wild horses, a beautiful, world-wise but kindly saloon keeper, a jail escape, a bigger-than-life good guy, and an equally bigger-than-life villain to menace him. The authors combine these elements in a clever way, managing to include a surprise or two, so that the novel is a fresh and fun read even for those who have read dozens of westerns in their day.

A Tale out of Luck hits the bookstores in September and western fans should take a look because Nelson and Blakely make a good team.

Rated at: 3.5

>Country singer, and national icon, Willie Nelson has teamed up with Mike Blakely to write A Tale out of Luck, a western novel with a bit of a mystery thrown into the mix.

Hank Tomlinson has probably fared better than most Texas Rangers who were suddenly thrown out of work when the Rangers were disbanded in Reconstruction Texas following the Civil War. He operates the Broken Arrow Ranch and owns most of the businesses in Luck, the little town that he founded in order to attract the services that were not in the area when he began his new life as a rancher.Things are going so well, in fact, that he has just brought a Kentucky thoroughbred back to the ranch that he hopes will make him a bundle in breeding fees.

But when Jay Blue, Hank’s son, and Skeeter, the orphan taken in by Hank as a youngster, do a poor job on guard duty one night and the new mare disappears, things change for Hank and the people of Luck, Texas in a big way. Barely one step ahead of Tomlinson and his anger, the boys race off, determined to recover the lost horse, and find themselves in the adventure of their young lives.

Along the way they meet and befriend an albino Negro who captures and tames wild horses for the U.S. Cavalry and a young Apache warrior who has been critically wounded during the massacre of his people by the Calvary and a few ranch hands who were along for the ride, two people who will come to play important roles in their future.

Suddenly the folks in Luck, Texas, are faced with warring Apaches and what appears to be a lone Indian assassin from Tomlinson’s past who makes everyone nervous by peppering two people with arrows and scalping them before disappearing again. When a policeman from Austin comes to town to further complicate matters, things get a little hot for the Tomlinson clan before the book reaches its rousing climax.

Willie Nelson and Mike Blakely have touched most of the Western genre bases with A Tale out of Luck. There are bands of marauding Indians, cavalry troopers racing to the rescue in the nick of time, cattle rustlers, wild horses, a beautiful, world-wise but kindly saloon keeper, a jail escape, a bigger-than-life good guy, and an equally bigger-than-life villain to menace him. The authors combine these elements in a clever way, managing to include a surprise or two, so that the novel is a fresh and fun read even for those who have read dozens of westerns in their day.

A Tale out of Luck hits the bookstores in September and western fans should take a look because Nelson and Blakely make a good team.

Rated at: 3.5

Country singer, and national icon, Willie Nelson has teamed up with Mike Blakely to write A Tale out of Luck, a western novel with a bit of a mystery thrown into the mix.

Hank Tomlinson has probably fared better than most Texas Rangers who were suddenly thrown out of work when the Rangers were disbanded in Reconstruction Texas following the Civil War. He operates the Broken Arrow Ranch and owns most of the businesses in Luck, the little town that he founded in order to attract the services that were not in the area when he began his new life as a rancher.Things are going so well, in fact, that he has just brought a Kentucky thoroughbred back to the ranch that he hopes will make him a bundle in breeding fees.

But when Jay Blue, Hank’s son, and Skeeter, the orphan taken in by Hank as a youngster, do a poor job on guard duty one night and the new mare disappears, things change for Hank and the people of Luck, Texas in a big way. Barely one step ahead of Tomlinson and his anger, the boys race off, determined to recover the lost horse, and find themselves in the adventure of their young lives.

Along the way they meet and befriend an albino Negro who captures and tames wild horses for the U.S. Cavalry and a young Apache warrior who has been critically wounded during the massacre of his people by the Calvary and a few ranch hands who were along for the ride, two people who will come to play important roles in their future.

Suddenly the folks in Luck, Texas, are faced with warring Apaches and what appears to be a lone Indian assassin from Tomlinson’s past who makes everyone nervous by peppering two people with arrows and scalping them before disappearing again. When a policeman from Austin comes to town to further complicate matters, things get a little hot for the Tomlinson clan before the book reaches its rousing climax.

Willie Nelson and Mike Blakely have touched most of the Western genre bases with A Tale out of Luck. There are bands of marauding Indians, cavalry troopers racing to the rescue in the nick of time, cattle rustlers, wild horses, a beautiful, world-wise but kindly saloon keeper, a jail escape, a bigger-than-life good guy, and an equally bigger-than-life villain to menace him. The authors combine these elements in a clever way, managing to include a surprise or two, so that the novel is a fresh and fun read even for those who have read dozens of westerns in their day.

A Tale out of Luck hits the bookstores in September and western fans should take a look because Nelson and Blakely make a good team.

Rated at: 3.5

Don’t panic. I”m not asking anyone to reach for their wallet or checkbook.

I just want to quickly mention another project that I spend a good bit of time working on along with a group of my good friends who share an interest in traditional country music, the kind that is seldom heard on the radio today. For several years now we have been promoting traditional country music, honky tonk country, bluegrass, and old-time string band music as actively as we can.

We suffered a bit of a setback last year when our websites were suddenly abandoned by the person who had everything registered under her name and who refused to respond to our requests to let us go on without her. All of that work has disappeared but we learned a whole lot in the process of creating it – and losing it.

Starting from scratch was a long and, at times, discouraging process but the good news is that we are starting to regain our old momentum and our four country music sites are coming along nicely. We now operate, under the Real Country Radio umbrella, a blogsite that features articles, pictures, book and CD reviews, and artist interviews, a “forum” site that encourages open discussion of our favorite kind of music, a MySpace site to help traditional country music artists find us and a very fine internet radio station that features real country music. Thankfully, I am part of a group of folks who are willing to put in the hours to make all this come together, folks who simply refuse to let the music die.

Speaking for all of them, we’d love to have you join us in our quest to spread the word that real country music is still alive and well – and that it is being created by people from their teens to their eighties.

Bus of Real Country – free internet radio station

Real Country Radio blogsite – Reviews, pictures, interviews, etc.

Real Country Radio Forums – Open discussion and breaking news

Real Country Radio @ MySpace

>Don’t panic. I”m not asking anyone to reach for their wallet or checkbook.

I just want to quickly mention another project that I spend a good bit of time working on along with a group of my good friends who share an interest in traditional country music, the kind that is seldom heard on the radio today. For several years now we have been promoting traditional country music, honky tonk country, bluegrass, and old-time string band music as actively as we can.

We suffered a bit of a setback last year when our websites were suddenly abandoned by the person who had everything registered under her name and who refused to respond to our requests to let us go on without her. All of that work has disappeared but we learned a whole lot in the process of creating it – and losing it.

Starting from scratch was a long and, at times, discouraging process but the good news is that we are starting to regain our old momentum and our four country music sites are coming along nicely. We now operate, under the Real Country Radio umbrella, a blogsite that features articles, pictures, book and CD reviews, and artist interviews, a “forum” site that encourages open discussion of our favorite kind of music, a MySpace site to help traditional country music artists find us and a very fine internet radio station that features real country music. Thankfully, I am part of a group of folks who are willing to put in the hours to make all this come together, folks who simply refuse to let the music die.

Speaking for all of them, we’d love to have you join us in our quest to spread the word that real country music is still alive and well – and that it is being created by people from their teens to their eighties.

Bus of Real Country – free internet radio station

Real Country Radio blogsite – Reviews, pictures, interviews, etc.

Real Country Radio Forums – Open discussion and breaking news

Real Country Radio @ MySpace

Don’t panic. I”m not asking anyone to reach for their wallet or checkbook.

I just want to quickly mention another project that I spend a good bit of time working on along with a group of my good friends who share an interest in traditional country music, the kind that is seldom heard on the radio today. For several years now we have been promoting traditional country music, honky tonk country, bluegrass, and old-time string band music as actively as we can.

We suffered a bit of a setback last year when our websites were suddenly abandoned by the person who had everything registered under her name and who refused to respond to our requests to let us go on without her. All of that work has disappeared but we learned a whole lot in the process of creating it – and losing it.

Starting from scratch was a long and, at times, discouraging process but the good news is that we are starting to regain our old momentum and our four country music sites are coming along nicely. We now operate, under the Real Country Radio umbrella, a blogsite that features articles, pictures, book and CD reviews, and artist interviews, a “forum” site that encourages open discussion of our favorite kind of music, a MySpace site to help traditional country music artists find us and a very fine internet radio station that features real country music. Thankfully, I am part of a group of folks who are willing to put in the hours to make all this come together, folks who simply refuse to let the music die.

Speaking for all of them, we’d love to have you join us in our quest to spread the word that real country music is still alive and well – and that it is being created by people from their teens to their eighties.

Bus of Real Country – free internet radio station

Real Country Radio blogsite – Reviews, pictures, interviews, etc.

Real Country Radio Forums – Open discussion and breaking news

Real Country Radio @ MySpace

Ernest Jennings Ford was at heart a family man devoutly devoted to his wife and two sons. At the very peak of his Hollywood success, the man who will forever be known as “Tennessee Ernie” Ford, the radio character he created for himself, decided to walk away from all the glamour because of his concern for what the Hollywood lifestyle was doing to his family. The great irony of his life is that Ernie Ford would die in October 1991 under the care of a second wife who was determined to deny his two sons any part of his legacy, financial or otherwise, a woman who even tried to deny them access to their father’s funeral.

In River of No Return, Jeffrey Buckner Ford, eldest of the Ford sons, mixes his fond memories of growing up next door to Bob Hope and of the several successful television series that his father hosted with sad recollections of how alcohol and pills ended up destroying both his parents. He speaks frankly of the addictions and dissatisfaction with her life that resulted in his mother’s suicide after several earlier attempts had failed, and he speaks just as honestly of how his father failed to do the things that might have saved her life. Perhaps saddest of all is his disclosure of how Ernie Ford’s decision to protect his sons by moving them from Hollywood was doomed to failure because of what the boys witnessed in their own home, wherever it might be located.

Betty Jean Heminger met Ernie Ford when he was stationed at Victorville Army Air Base in California, where she worked as a secretary; she was only nineteen years old when they married. Betty Jean, an avid reader and an accomplished artist, was at first content to be labeled simply an entertainer’s wife but, as the years went by, she seemed to grow frustrated with her role, turning to alcohol and drugs to get through her day. Ernie and her sons sensed when she was losing control, but though they did their best to protect her from herself, they were not always successful. As the couple grew farther and farther apart, Ernie turned more often to alcohol to ease his own pain, a decision that would eventually lead to liver disease, severe memory loss, and ultimately his death.

But River of No Return is not just about the bad times. Jeffrey Buckner Ford celebrates the good times as well, and his pride in and love for both his parents are evident. He remembers the times when being around his parents was sheer joy, days spent on the set of his father’s television shows, his brief encounter with Bob Hope when he crawled through the hedges dividing their property in order to sneak a picture of Mrs. Hope, whom the neighborhood boys insisted swam in the nude in her backyard, and days spent basking in “celebrity” as only the child of famous parents can.

Ernie Ford was a spectacularly successful entertainer, a man with the voice and talent to sing any style of music but who, almost by default due to his “Tennessee Ernie” image, became best known as a country music singer. At the peak of his career, he was world-famous and played to particularly large audiences in England. As so often happens to a singer, today he is probably best-known for a single recording, “Sixteen Tons,” which in 1955 became the fastest selling single in the history of the record business. Ernie Ford received numerous honors during his career, but four of them particularly stand out because they reward his decades as an entertainer: the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1984, induction into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1990 and the Gospel Music Hall of Fame in 1994, and three stars on the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame (one each for television, recordings and radio).

Jeffrey Buckner Ford presents the contrast between Ernie Ford’s public success and the frustrating failures he experienced in private in what is often a conversationally ironic tone, an approach that makes the sadness of Ernie’s life especially vivid. Longtime fans of Ernie Ford are certain to find River of No Return a gratifying experience despite its sad revelations about his personal life. Those not as familiar with Ford as a performer will likely read the book more as the cautionary tale it is but might, at the same time, find themselves compelled to investigate his musical history. They will be better off for having discovered why Ernie Ford is still considered to be an American music legend.

Rated at: 5.0

Originally published on Curled Up With A Good Book at www.curledup.com

>Ernest Jennings Ford was at heart a family man devoutly devoted to his wife and two sons. At the very peak of his Hollywood success, the man who will forever be known as “Tennessee Ernie” Ford, the radio character he created for himself, decided to walk away from all the glamour because of his concern for what the Hollywood lifestyle was doing to his family. The great irony of his life is that Ernie Ford would die in October 1991 under the care of a second wife who was determined to deny his two sons any part of his legacy, financial or otherwise, a woman who even tried to deny them access to their father’s funeral.

In River of No Return, Jeffrey Buckner Ford, eldest of the Ford sons, mixes his fond memories of growing up next door to Bob Hope and of the several successful television series that his father hosted with sad recollections of how alcohol and pills ended up destroying both his parents. He speaks frankly of the addictions and dissatisfaction with her life that resulted in his mother’s suicide after several earlier attempts had failed, and he speaks just as honestly of how his father failed to do the things that might have saved her life. Perhaps saddest of all is his disclosure of how Ernie Ford’s decision to protect his sons by moving them from Hollywood was doomed to failure because of what the boys witnessed in their own home, wherever it might be located.

Betty Jean Heminger met Ernie Ford when he was stationed at Victorville Army Air Base in California, where she worked as a secretary; she was only nineteen years old when they married. Betty Jean, an avid reader and an accomplished artist, was at first content to be labeled simply an entertainer’s wife but, as the years went by, she seemed to grow frustrated with her role, turning to alcohol and drugs to get through her day. Ernie and her sons sensed when she was losing control, but though they did their best to protect her from herself, they were not always successful. As the couple grew farther and farther apart, Ernie turned more often to alcohol to ease his own pain, a decision that would eventually lead to liver disease, severe memory loss, and ultimately his death.

But River of No Return is not just about the bad times. Jeffrey Buckner Ford celebrates the good times as well, and his pride in and love for both his parents are evident. He remembers the times when being around his parents was sheer joy, days spent on the set of his father’s television shows, his brief encounter with Bob Hope when he crawled through the hedges dividing their property in order to sneak a picture of Mrs. Hope, whom the neighborhood boys insisted swam in the nude in her backyard, and days spent basking in “celebrity” as only the child of famous parents can.

Ernie Ford was a spectacularly successful entertainer, a man with the voice and talent to sing any style of music but who, almost by default due to his “Tennessee Ernie” image, became best known as a country music singer. At the peak of his career, he was world-famous and played to particularly large audiences in England. As so often happens to a singer, today he is probably best-known for a single recording, “Sixteen Tons,” which in 1955 became the fastest selling single in the history of the record business. Ernie Ford received numerous honors during his career, but four of them particularly stand out because they reward his decades as an entertainer: the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1984, induction into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1990 and the Gospel Music Hall of Fame in 1994, and three stars on the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame (one each for television, recordings and radio).

Jeffrey Buckner Ford presents the contrast between Ernie Ford’s public success and the frustrating failures he experienced in private in what is often a conversationally ironic tone, an approach that makes the sadness of Ernie’s life especially vivid. Longtime fans of Ernie Ford are certain to find River of No Return a gratifying experience despite its sad revelations about his personal life. Those not as familiar with Ford as a performer will likely read the book more as the cautionary tale it is but might, at the same time, find themselves compelled to investigate his musical history. They will be better off for having discovered why Ernie Ford is still considered to be an American music legend.

Rated at: 5.0

Originally published on Curled Up With A Good Book at www.curledup.com

Ernest Jennings Ford was at heart a family man devoutly devoted to his wife and two sons. At the very peak of his Hollywood success, the man who will forever be known as “Tennessee Ernie” Ford, the radio character he created for himself, decided to walk away from all the glamour because of his concern for what the Hollywood lifestyle was doing to his family. The great irony of his life is that Ernie Ford would die in October 1991 under the care of a second wife who was determined to deny his two sons any part of his legacy, financial or otherwise, a woman who even tried to deny them access to their father’s funeral.

In River of No Return, Jeffrey Buckner Ford, eldest of the Ford sons, mixes his fond memories of growing up next door to Bob Hope and of the several successful television series that his father hosted with sad recollections of how alcohol and pills ended up destroying both his parents. He speaks frankly of the addictions and dissatisfaction with her life that resulted in his mother’s suicide after several earlier attempts had failed, and he speaks just as honestly of how his father failed to do the things that might have saved her life. Perhaps saddest of all is his disclosure of how Ernie Ford’s decision to protect his sons by moving them from Hollywood was doomed to failure because of what the boys witnessed in their own home, wherever it might be located.

Betty Jean Heminger met Ernie Ford when he was stationed at Victorville Army Air Base in California, where she worked as a secretary; she was only nineteen years old when they married. Betty Jean, an avid reader and an accomplished artist, was at first content to be labeled simply an entertainer’s wife but, as the years went by, she seemed to grow frustrated with her role, turning to alcohol and drugs to get through her day. Ernie and her sons sensed when she was losing control, but though they did their best to protect her from herself, they were not always successful. As the couple grew farther and farther apart, Ernie turned more often to alcohol to ease his own pain, a decision that would eventually lead to liver disease, severe memory loss, and ultimately his death.

But River of No Return is not just about the bad times. Jeffrey Buckner Ford celebrates the good times as well, and his pride in and love for both his parents are evident. He remembers the times when being around his parents was sheer joy, days spent on the set of his father’s television shows, his brief encounter with Bob Hope when he crawled through the hedges dividing their property in order to sneak a picture of Mrs. Hope, whom the neighborhood boys insisted swam in the nude in her backyard, and days spent basking in “celebrity” as only the child of famous parents can.

Ernie Ford was a spectacularly successful entertainer, a man with the voice and talent to sing any style of music but who, almost by default due to his “Tennessee Ernie” image, became best known as a country music singer. At the peak of his career, he was world-famous and played to particularly large audiences in England. As so often happens to a singer, today he is probably best-known for a single recording, “Sixteen Tons,” which in 1955 became the fastest selling single in the history of the record business. Ernie Ford received numerous honors during his career, but four of them particularly stand out because they reward his decades as an entertainer: the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1984, induction into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1990 and the Gospel Music Hall of Fame in 1994, and three stars on the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame (one each for television, recordings and radio).

Jeffrey Buckner Ford presents the contrast between Ernie Ford’s public success and the frustrating failures he experienced in private in what is often a conversationally ironic tone, an approach that makes the sadness of Ernie’s life especially vivid. Longtime fans of Ernie Ford are certain to find River of No Return a gratifying experience despite its sad revelations about his personal life. Those not as familiar with Ford as a performer will likely read the book more as the cautionary tale it is but might, at the same time, find themselves compelled to investigate his musical history. They will be better off for having discovered why Ernie Ford is still considered to be an American music legend.

Rated at: 5.0

Originally published on Curled Up With A Good Book at www.curledup.com

Townes Van Zandt is a music legend in Texas and was, without a doubt, one of the most talented songwriters of his generation. In addition, Van Zandt had a memorable singing voice and style that make him instantly recognizable to anyone even casually familiar with his work. Sadly, Van Zandt also was an alcoholic of epic proportions and that contributed to the fact that, though he is legend to many, he is largely unknown to even more. John Kruth’s To Live’s to Fly, the first official Townes Van Zandt biography, could help change that.

Those expecting to read the Townes Van Zandt story in typical biography-style will be somewhat disappointed in To Live’s to Fly. John Kruth made little effort to portray Van Zandt’s life in anything remotely resembling chronological order, relying instead on recollections of Van Zandt intimates to provide details of their personal experiences with him in a way that often has the reader jumping from year-to-year and decade-to-decade in confusion. In fact, because it relies so heavily on page after page of long, detailed quotes, the book reads more like a wake than a biography, a gathering of Van Zandt’s old friends who decide to spend the night trading stories about the man they all called friend.

Kruth devotes a substantial portion of his book to reviewing the Van Zandt songbook, a review that leaves the reader with the impression that very few Townes Van Zandt recordings are even listenable due to the incompetence and poor decisions of most of the producers working on his projects. It is doubtful that many fans of Van Zandt’s music will agree with Kruth’s assessment of the recordings and, in fact, most of Kruth’s criticisms will seem strange to those who decide to listen to the music in question while reading the book (as I did). Kruth himself is a musician but the fact that he would have produced Van Zandt’s albums differently than they were, in fact, produced adds nothing to the Townes Van Zandt story and his song-by-song criticism of the actual producers soon becomes boring.

This is not a comfortable read because of the way that Kruth jarringly switches between first person narrative and third person narrative at odd times and because he does not always make it clear exactly who it is he is extensively quoting from page to page. Some of the quoted passages run together and it is only well into them that the reader realizes that the speaker has changed from one paragraph to the next. Those geographically familiar with the ground covered in the book will also be irritated by the kind of sloppy fact checking that places the University of Texas in Houston rather than in Austin and mislabels Houston’s Interstate 45 as Interstate 35, a designation it picks up somewhere near Dallas.

But despite its numerous flaws, To Live’s to Fly has something to offer those who are curious about Townes Van Zandt, the man. The numerous stories told by his friends paint the picture of a generous man with a keen sense of humor, a womanizing gambler and substance abuser who was probably lucky to make it all the way to 52 years of age. Those closest to Van Zandt were generally not surprised by his death, some of them remarking that toward the end they could not help wondering if they were seeing him for the last time each time he walked out the door. The poignant chapter detailing Van Zandt’s sudden death at home, and what led up to his final day, is by itself enough to make this book worthwhile. Townes Van Zandt, though, deserves to be remembered for the music he created and left behind rather than for his destructive lifestyle. He will have to wait a while longer for his definitive biography. This is not it.

Rated at: 3.0

Review originally published at CurledUp.com

> Townes Van Zandt is a music legend in Texas and was, without a doubt, one of the most talented songwriters of his generation. In addition, Van Zandt had a memorable singing voice and style that make him instantly recognizable to anyone even casually familiar with his work. Sadly, Van Zandt also was an alcoholic of epic proportions and that contributed to the fact that, though he is legend to many, he is largely unknown to even more. John Kruth’s To Live’s to Fly, the first official Townes Van Zandt biography, could help change that.

Those expecting to read the Townes Van Zandt story in typical biography-style will be somewhat disappointed in To Live’s to Fly. John Kruth made little effort to portray Van Zandt’s life in anything remotely resembling chronological order, relying instead on recollections of Van Zandt intimates to provide details of their personal experiences with him in a way that often has the reader jumping from year-to-year and decade-to-decade in confusion. In fact, because it relies so heavily on page after page of long, detailed quotes, the book reads more like a wake than a biography, a gathering of Van Zandt’s old friends who decide to spend the night trading stories about the man they all called friend.

Kruth devotes a substantial portion of his book to reviewing the Van Zandt songbook, a review that leaves the reader with the impression that very few Townes Van Zandt recordings are even listenable due to the incompetence and poor decisions of most of the producers working on his projects. It is doubtful that many fans of Van Zandt’s music will agree with Kruth’s assessment of the recordings and, in fact, most of Kruth’s criticisms will seem strange to those who decide to listen to the music in question while reading the book (as I did). Kruth himself is a musician but the fact that he would have produced Van Zandt’s albums differently than they were, in fact, produced adds nothing to the Townes Van Zandt story and his song-by-song criticism of the actual producers soon becomes boring.

This is not a comfortable read because of the way that Kruth jarringly switches between first person narrative and third person narrative at odd times and because he does not always make it clear exactly who it is he is extensively quoting from page to page. Some of the quoted passages run together and it is only well into them that the reader realizes that the speaker has changed from one paragraph to the next. Those geographically familiar with the ground covered in the book will also be irritated by the kind of sloppy fact checking that places the University of Texas in Houston rather than in Austin and mislabels Houston’s Interstate 45 as Interstate 35, a designation it picks up somewhere near Dallas.

But despite its numerous flaws, To Live’s to Fly has something to offer those who are curious about Townes Van Zandt, the man. The numerous stories told by his friends paint the picture of a generous man with a keen sense of humor, a womanizing gambler and substance abuser who was probably lucky to make it all the way to 52 years of age. Those closest to Van Zandt were generally not surprised by his death, some of them remarking that toward the end they could not help wondering if they were seeing him for the last time each time he walked out the door. The poignant chapter detailing Van Zandt’s sudden death at home, and what led up to his final day, is by itself enough to make this book worthwhile. Townes Van Zandt, though, deserves to be remembered for the music he created and left behind rather than for his destructive lifestyle. He will have to wait a while longer for his definitive biography. This is not it.

Rated at: 3.0

Review originally published at CurledUp.com

Townes Van Zandt is a music legend in Texas and was, without a doubt, one of the most talented songwriters of his generation. In addition, Van Zandt had a memorable singing voice and style that make him instantly recognizable to anyone even casually familiar with his work. Sadly, Van Zandt also was an alcoholic of epic proportions and that contributed to the fact that, though he is legend to many, he is largely unknown to even more. John Kruth’s To Live’s to Fly, the first official Townes Van Zandt biography, could help change that.

Those expecting to read the Townes Van Zandt story in typical biography-style will be somewhat disappointed in To Live’s to Fly. John Kruth made little effort to portray Van Zandt’s life in anything remotely resembling chronological order, relying instead on recollections of Van Zandt intimates to provide details of their personal experiences with him in a way that often has the reader jumping from year-to-year and decade-to-decade in confusion. In fact, because it relies so heavily on page after page of long, detailed quotes, the book reads more like a wake than a biography, a gathering of Van Zandt’s old friends who decide to spend the night trading stories about the man they all called friend.

Kruth devotes a substantial portion of his book to reviewing the Van Zandt songbook, a review that leaves the reader with the impression that very few Townes Van Zandt recordings are even listenable due to the incompetence and poor decisions of most of the producers working on his projects. It is doubtful that many fans of Van Zandt’s music will agree with Kruth’s assessment of the recordings and, in fact, most of Kruth’s criticisms will seem strange to those who decide to listen to the music in question while reading the book (as I did). Kruth himself is a musician but the fact that he would have produced Van Zandt’s albums differently than they were, in fact, produced adds nothing to the Townes Van Zandt story and his song-by-song criticism of the actual producers soon becomes boring.

This is not a comfortable read because of the way that Kruth jarringly switches between first person narrative and third person narrative at odd times and because he does not always make it clear exactly who it is he is extensively quoting from page to page. Some of the quoted passages run together and it is only well into them that the reader realizes that the speaker has changed from one paragraph to the next. Those geographically familiar with the ground covered in the book will also be irritated by the kind of sloppy fact checking that places the University of Texas in Houston rather than in Austin and mislabels Houston’s Interstate 45 as Interstate 35, a designation it picks up somewhere near Dallas.

But despite its numerous flaws, To Live’s to Fly has something to offer those who are curious about Townes Van Zandt, the man. The numerous stories told by his friends paint the picture of a generous man with a keen sense of humor, a womanizing gambler and substance abuser who was probably lucky to make it all the way to 52 years of age. Those closest to Van Zandt were generally not surprised by his death, some of them remarking that toward the end they could not help wondering if they were seeing him for the last time each time he walked out the door. The poignant chapter detailing Van Zandt’s sudden death at home, and what led up to his final day, is by itself enough to make this book worthwhile. Townes Van Zandt, though, deserves to be remembered for the music he created and left behind rather than for his destructive lifestyle. He will have to wait a while longer for his definitive biography. This is not it.

Rated at: 3.0

Review originally published at CurledUp.com

OK, I admit it. When it comes to real country music, and those whom I believe truly appreciate it as the art form that it is, I am prejudiced. Never in a million years would I believe that some guy from New Hampshire, a writer and editor for the New York Times, of all the newspapers in the word, for crying out loud, would know much about the real thing; no way would someone with that background actually understand the music and those who created it. Well, that was before I read Sing Me Back Home, by Dana Jennings, who is exactly the guy I just described.

I want to apologize, Mr. Jennings, and I salute you, sir.

Sing Me Back Home is not a straight forward history of country music. Books like those serve their purpose, certainly, and there are many worthy ones out there already that take that approach. Jennings, on the other hand, turns the history of country music into something very personal: a way to share his own family story.

As most country music historians (and knowledgeable fans) agree, the years from the late forties to the very end of the sixties mark the period of classic country music. The music reached its peak during those years and has faced a steady, downhill slide since 1970 with the exception of a small (and poorly rewarded) group of pickers and singers that refuses to let classic country music completely disappear. But, overall, country music has probably never been in a sorrier state than it is in today. According to Jenkins, in fact, “It can be entertaining, but the difference between today’s country and the summits of the 1950s and ‘60s is the difference between the lightning and the lighting bug.”

As Jennings puts it, “country music was made by poor people for poor people.” At its best, country music reflected, and maybe even justified, the lives endured by the rural poor who lived all around the United States, not just those from the South or the mountains and coal-producing regions of the Southeast. It is the history of working people, those who made livings with their hands, often at the sacrifice of their health or even their lives, during those two decades. Nothing for them came easy and, when they finally made it to Saturday night, they became walking, talking country songs themselves. They lived the cheating songs and the drinking songs; they spent time in prison, went hungry in the bad times, hit the road out of desperation or despair, had love affairs end badly, and repented on Sunday mornings with the full knowledge that they would backslide again come the very next Saturday night.

But what makes Sing Me Back Home so memorable is the way that Dana Jennings readily fits a member of his own family to every kind of classic country song there is. He lived it – and he remembers it because it made him the man that he is today despite the fact that he sits behind a desk at the New York Times. Song by song, the reader meets members of Jennings’ family who could easily have been the inspirations for those same songs because, not only did these folks love and surround themselves with country music, they lived the lifestyle at its heart.

For those of us of a certain age, and of a certain upbringing, this book is like preaching to the choir. We already knew this deep down in our souls. But having someone as frank, and just as importantly, as articulate, as Dana Jennings come along to tell the real story of country music’s golden age and how its listeners related to those songs, is a real bonus.

Sing Me Back Home fits longtime country music fans like an old glove. But the book is also a perfect primer for those newer fans who wonder about the country music legends that are barely more than names to them today. In fact, the discography at the end of the book is worth its whole $24 dollar cover price. Those willing to spend the money and time required to surround themselves with the albums and box sets listed by Jennings in that discography will learn more about the history of America’s working class than they could ever learn from any textbook.

Despite what David Allan Coe says to the contrary, I do not believe in the perfect country music song. But there just might be a perfect country music book. If so, this is it.

Rated at: 5.0

OK, I admit it. When it comes to real country music, and those whom I believe truly appreciate it as the art form that it is, I am prejudiced. Never in a million years would I believe that some guy from New Hampshire, a writer and editor for the New York Times, of all the newspapers in the word, for crying out loud, would know much about the real thing; no way would someone with that background actually understand the music and those who created it. Well, that was before I read Sing Me Back Home, by Dana Jennings, who is exactly the guy I just described.

I want to apologize, Mr. Jennings, and I salute you, sir.

Sing Me Back Home is not a straight forward history of country music. Books like those serve their purpose, certainly, and there are many worthy ones out there already that take that approach. Jennings, on the other hand, turns the history of country music into something very personal: a way to share his own family story.

As most country music historians (and knowledgeable fans) agree, the years from the late forties to the very end of the sixties mark the period of classic country music. The music reached its peak during those years and has faced a steady, downhill slide since 1970 with the exception of a small (and poorly rewarded) group of pickers and singers that refuses to let classic country music completely disappear. But, overall, country music has probably never been in a sorrier state than it is in today. According to Jenkins, in fact, “It can be entertaining, but the difference between today’s country and the summits of the 1950s and ‘60s is the difference between the lightning and the lighting bug.”

As Jennings puts it, “country music was made by poor people for poor people.” At its best, country music reflected, and maybe even justified, the lives endured by the rural poor who lived all around the United States, not just those from the South or the mountains and coal-producing regions of the Southeast. It is the history of working people, those who made livings with their hands, often at the sacrifice of their health or even their lives, during those two decades. Nothing for them came easy and, when they finally made it to Saturday night, they became walking, talking country songs themselves. They lived the cheating songs and the drinking songs; they spent time in prison, went hungry in the bad times, hit the road out of desperation or despair, had love affairs end badly, and repented on Sunday mornings with the full knowledge that they would backslide again come the very next Saturday night.

But what makes Sing Me Back Home so memorable is the way that Dana Jennings readily fits a member of his own family to every kind of classic country song there is. He lived it – and he remembers it because it made him the man that he is today despite the fact that he sits behind a desk at the New York Times. Song by song, the reader meets members of Jennings’ family who could easily have been the inspirations for those same songs because, not only did these folks love and surround themselves with country music, they lived the lifestyle at its heart.

For those of us of a certain age, and of a certain upbringing, this book is like preaching to the choir. We already knew this deep down in our souls. But having someone as frank, and just as importantly, as articulate, as Dana Jennings come along to tell the real story of country music’s golden age and how its listeners related to those songs, is a real bonus.

Sing Me Back Home fits longtime country music fans like an old glove. But the book is also a perfect primer for those newer fans who wonder about the country music legends that are barely more than names to them today. In fact, the discography at the end of the book is worth its whole $24 dollar cover price. Those willing to spend the money and time required to surround themselves with the albums and box sets listed by Jennings in that discography will learn more about the history of America’s working class than they could ever learn from any textbook.

Despite what David Allan Coe says to the contrary, I do not believe in the perfect country music song. But there just might be a perfect country music book. If so, this is it.

Rated at: 5.0

>OK, I admit it. When it comes to real country music, and those whom I believe truly appreciate it as the art form that it is, I am prejudiced. Never in a million years would I believe that some guy from New Hampshire, a writer and editor for the New York Times, of all the newspapers in the word, for crying out loud, would know much about the real thing; no way would someone with that background actually understand the music and those who created it. Well, that was before I read Sing Me Back Home, by Dana Jennings, who is exactly the guy I just described.

I want to apologize, Mr. Jennings, and I salute you, sir.

Sing Me Back Home is not a straight forward history of country music. Books like those serve their purpose, certainly, and there are many worthy ones out there already that take that approach. Jennings, on the other hand, turns the history of country music into something very personal: a way to share his own family story.

As most country music historians (and knowledgeable fans) agree, the years from the late forties to the very end of the sixties mark the period of classic country music. The music reached its peak during those years and has faced a steady, downhill slide since 1970 with the exception of a small (and poorly rewarded) group of pickers and singers that refuses to let classic country music completely disappear. But, overall, country music has probably never been in a sorrier state than it is in today. According to Jenkins, in fact, “It can be entertaining, but the difference between today’s country and the summits of the 1950s and ‘60s is the difference between the lightning and the lighting bug.”

As Jennings puts it, “country music was made by poor people for poor people.” At its best, country music reflected, and maybe even justified, the lives endured by the rural poor who lived all around the United States, not just those from the South or the mountains and coal-producing regions of the Southeast. It is the history of working people, those who made livings with their hands, often at the sacrifice of their health or even their lives, during those two decades. Nothing for them came easy and, when they finally made it to Saturday night, they became walking, talking country songs themselves. They lived the cheating songs and the drinking songs; they spent time in prison, went hungry in the bad times, hit the road out of desperation or despair, had love affairs end badly, and repented on Sunday mornings with the full knowledge that they would backslide again come the very next Saturday night.

But what makes Sing Me Back Home so memorable is the way that Dana Jennings readily fits a member of his own family to every kind of classic country song there is. He lived it – and he remembers it because it made him the man that he is today despite the fact that he sits behind a desk at the New York Times. Song by song, the reader meets members of Jennings’ family who could easily have been the inspirations for those same songs because, not only did these folks love and surround themselves with country music, they lived the lifestyle at its heart.

For those of us of a certain age, and of a certain upbringing, this book is like preaching to the choir. We already knew this deep down in our souls. But having someone as frank, and just as importantly, as articulate, as Dana Jennings come along to tell the real story of country music’s golden age and how its listeners related to those songs, is a real bonus.

Sing Me Back Home fits longtime country music fans like an old glove. But the book is also a perfect primer for those newer fans who wonder about the country music legends that are barely more than names to them today. In fact, the discography at the end of the book is worth its whole $24 dollar cover price. Those willing to spend the money and time required to surround themselves with the albums and box sets listed by Jennings in that discography will learn more about the history of America’s working class than they could ever learn from any textbook.

Despite what David Allan Coe says to the contrary, I do not believe in the perfect country music song. But there just might be a perfect country music book. If so, this is it.

Rated at: 5.0

It’s been a busy Memorial Day weekend so far and it looks like it will stay that way for me. But I did have a chance to make a quick visit to Barnes and Noble yesterday to finally pick up my copy of Elizabeth George’s latest Thomas Lynley book, Careless in Red, something I’ve looked forward to every year since I stumbled into the series way back in 1988. It’s hard to believe that the series is 20 years old now. I also picked up a marked down copy of a book I’m completely unfamiliar with, Lisa Unger’s Beautiful Lies after reading the first three pages of its first chapter. I’m still not sure exactly what it’s all about but the writing is crisp and the basic plot description made me curious enough that I knew I would regret walking away from it.

The day was capped off for us by a Saturday night 40th wedding anniversary party for some friends of ours for which an amazing Cajun band was booked. It was a real treat to watch these guys do their magic and to see just how alive Cajun music still is. The band, Lost Bayou Ramblers, played many of the old traditional Cajun songs that I’ve heard all my life and they did it with great flare. Their driving beat had the dance floor pretty much filled all night long and the event turned into one very fine celebration of a marriage that is beginning its fifth decade.

Oh, and by the way, Lost Bayou Ramblers, was nominated for a Grammy this year and, although they didn’t win the thing, it must have been the experience of a lifetime for them.

For those unfamiliar with Cajun music, this is typical of the sound and it’s the kind of thing that had people dancing all night long…as usual when a Cajun band is in the building.

This picture was taken at the Grammy Awards show in February.

It’s been a busy Memorial Day weekend so far and it looks like it will stay that way for me. But I did have a chance to make a quick visit to Barnes and Noble yesterday to finally pick up my copy of Elizabeth George’s latest Thomas Lynley book, Careless in Red, something I’ve looked forward to every year since I stumbled into the series way back in 1988. It’s hard to believe that the series is 20 years old now. I also picked up a marked down copy of a book I’m completely unfamiliar with, Lisa Unger’s Beautiful Lies after reading the first three pages of its first chapter. I’m still not sure exactly what it’s all about but the writing is crisp and the basic plot description made me curious enough that I knew I would regret walking away from it.

The day was capped off for us by a Saturday night 40th wedding anniversary party for some friends of ours for which an amazing Cajun band was booked. It was a real treat to watch these guys do their magic and to see just how alive Cajun music still is. The band, Lost Bayou Ramblers, played many of the old traditional Cajun songs that I’ve heard all my life and they did it with great flare. Their driving beat had the dance floor pretty much filled all night long and the event turned into one very fine celebration of a marriage that is beginning its fifth decade.

Oh, and by the way, Lost Bayou Ramblers, was nominated for a Grammy this year and, although they didn’t win the thing, it must have been the experience of a lifetime for them.

For those unfamiliar with Cajun music, this is typical of the sound and it’s the kind of thing that had people dancing all night long…as usual when a Cajun band is in the building.

This picture was taken at the Grammy Awards show in February.

>It’s been a busy Memorial Day weekend so far and it looks like it will stay that way for me. But I did have a chance to make a quick visit to Barnes and Noble yesterday to finally pick up my copy of Elizabeth George’s latest Thomas Lynley book, Careless in Red, something I’ve looked forward to every year since I stumbled into the series way back in 1988. It’s hard to believe that the series is 20 years old now. I also picked up a marked down copy of a book I’m completely unfamiliar with, Lisa Unger’s Beautiful Lies after reading the first three pages of its first chapter. I’m still not sure exactly what it’s all about but the writing is crisp and the basic plot description made me curious enough that I knew I would regret walking away from it.

The day was capped off for us by a Saturday night 40th wedding anniversary party for some friends of ours for which an amazing Cajun band was booked. It was a real treat to watch these guys do their magic and to see just how alive Cajun music still is. The band, Lost Bayou Ramblers, played many of the old traditional Cajun songs that I’ve heard all my life and they did it with great flare. Their driving beat had the dance floor pretty much filled all night long and the event turned into one very fine celebration of a marriage that is beginning its fifth decade.

Oh, and by the way, Lost Bayou Ramblers, was nominated for a Grammy this year and, although they didn’t win the thing, it must have been the experience of a lifetime for them.

For those unfamiliar with Cajun music, this is typical of the sound and it’s the kind of thing that had people dancing all night long…as usual when a Cajun band is in the building.

This picture was taken at the Grammy Awards show in February.

This was one of those rare weekends for me when I spent almost no time at all on the computer. Believe me, that doesn’t happen very often. But when a great country music show comes to my part of town, and the price is right (as in free), I’m there. So it was two days of listening to some folks who understand the difference between the faux-country music that’s played on FM stations today and the real thing that’s still sung in the honky tonks around the country.

Here’s just a sample of some of the people I saw. Despite what lots of people think, there are some young country singers out there who are still singing in the traditional style. And we love them in Texas.

Amber Digby and Justin Trevino on a duet they did today (this video is a couple of years old, I think)

Miss Leslie & Her Juke-Jointers – this was actually recorded only a few hours ago

Tony Booth (shown here at Blanco’s, a Houston honky tonk I’ve been known to frequent)

Others performing this weekend included Fort Worth’s Jake Hooker & the Outsiders, Wayne “The Animal” Turner (recently retired from a 28-year stint with Hank William Jr.’s band) and Country Jim & His All-Stars who do some great old Bob Wills-style music.

It will be back to books the rest of the week…just wanted to record this here for my own record.

>This was one of those rare weekends for me when I spent almost no time at all on the computer. Believe me, that doesn’t happen very often. But when a great country music show comes to my part of town, and the price is right (as in free), I’m there. So it was two days of listening to some folks who understand the difference between the faux-country music that’s played on FM stations today and the real thing that’s still sung in the honky tonks around the country.

Here’s just a sample of some of the people I saw. Despite what lots of people think, there are some young country singers out there who are still singing in the traditional style. And we love them in Texas.

Tony Booth (shown here at Blanco’s, a Houston honky tonk I’ve been known to frequent)

Others performing this weekend included Fort Worth’s Jake Hooker & the Outsiders, Wayne “The Animal” Turner (recently retired from a 28-year stint with Hank William Jr.’s band) and Country Jim & His All-Stars who do some great old Bob Wills-style music.

It will be back to books the rest of the week…just wanted to record this here for my own record.

This was one of those rare weekends for me when I spent almost no time at all on the computer. Believe me, that doesn’t happen very often. But when a great country music show comes to my part of town, and the price is right (as in free), I’m there. So it was two days of listening to some folks who understand the difference between the faux-country music that’s played on FM stations today and the real thing that’s still sung in the honky tonks around the country.

Here’s just a sample of some of the people I saw. Despite what lots of people think, there are some young country singers out there who are still singing in the traditional style. And we love them in Texas.

Amber Digby and Justin Trevino on a duet they did today (this video is a couple of years old, I think)

Miss Leslie & Her Juke-Jointers – this was actually recorded only a few hours ago

Tony Booth (shown here at Blanco’s, a Houston honky tonk I’ve been known to frequent)

Others performing this weekend included Fort Worth’s Jake Hooker & the Outsiders, Wayne “The Animal” Turner (recently retired from a 28-year stint with Hank William Jr.’s band) and Country Jim & His All-Stars who do some great old Bob Wills-style music.

It will be back to books the rest of the week…just wanted to record this here for my own record.

I reviewed A Guitar and a Pen back on April 28 and I well remember the short story that is causing author Robert Hicks a few problems this week. It was one called “He Always Knew Who He Was” and featured a real life visit that Bluegrass music originator Bill Monroe made to the White House. The story was attributed to country music journalist Hazel Smith who has now come forward to say that she did not write the piece. Robert Hicks admits to having ghost written the story and is apologizing for some apparent inaccuracies contained in it according to the Country Hound website.

The story is presented as a true account, first-person narrative in which Smith accompanied Bluegrass great Bill Monroe on a trip to the White House. Monroe performed and received an honor from former President Bill Clinton. Smith maintains she was not present for the event, and that the only person who was with Monroe on the trip was his agent, Tony Conway.

Conway argues the story itself is incorrect. The trip Monroe took as described in “He Always Knew Who He Was” actually took place in the 1980s, when Ronald Reagan was President. In today’s Tennessean.com story, Conway said, “I think this guy (Hicks) had heard the story at some point in his life and just kind of embellished it from there. He might have heard it four or five times from different sources, but he got the story wrong.”

Hicks and his publisher, Center Street, will make corrections to future printings of the book and current electronic copies. Said Hicks, “I regret it and I take full responsibility for it. It turns out that the story’s point of view isn’t correct. It’s a story I have told personally for many years, and I was wrong.”

Either way, it has the makings of a fine tale.