Good Riddance

Before September 11, 2001, my music of choice was rock and roll.  On September 12^th, it changed to country and western.

 

Those unprovoked attacks on America, by Islam - the “religion of peace,” sent me searching for something to which to listen.  The only radio station that filled my needs was the sole country radio broadcaster.  They played patriotic songs between the calls from distraught listeners, who seemed to reflect my sympathies.  I came, I listened, I stayed.

 

It wasn’t long before I became familiar with the artists and their songs.  Country music had gravitated away from that twangy, nasal style from the 1950’s.  Hank Williams had been summarily replaced by the likes of Tim McGraw, much to my delight.

 

I still enjoy music from Patsy Cline but, that may be because the recording fidelity is so good. 

 

My early years were spent helping the black and white TV cowboy heroes round up desperados across the west.  Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, and Gene Autry are a few of those good eggs known as “singing cowboys,” which not only maintained the law, but also entertained us while doing so.  But, I digress.

 

Because there was nothing else on TV, my sainted wife and I tuned in some sort of country music award show.  Expecting to see country singers singing country music, we were both decidedly disappointed to see country singers singing anything but.

 

Bands consisting of two, three, four, and sometimes more artists, climbed up onto the stage to perform “crossover” songs.  But, this venue was a country music show, not a crossover music show.

 

More rock and roll, and whiny sappy songs, than anything else, we patiently awaited something resembling country music.  Alas, there was none.

 

Taylor Swift, goddess du jour, uttered some pathetic noise akin to a cat being beaten by a fiddle.  Some group, oddly named Florida Georgia Line, pranced about the stage wearing t-shirts and scarves – likely avant garde in the bowels of New York City, appeared out of place where cowboy hats and boots were expected.  Again, there were too few to make a difference.

 

Times were when women wore fringed skirts, boots, and cowboy hats.  Men of the time wore crisp suits, boots, embroidered shirts, and cowboy hats.  Like sports teams, they could be easily identified simply by the clothes on which they were clad.  Occasionally, the star would enter the stage wearing blue jeans and a cowboy hat; no more is that man to be located at a country music award show.

 

My best guess is that these performers point their creative compasses in the direction of the money.  The country music listening crowd may be dwindling, but the pop and rock music worlds are expanding.

 

Kenny Chesney left the country music scene years ago when he began singing reggae music in videos shot in the Caribbean Islands.  It’s too bad the rest of the lemmings are headed in that direction.  They forgot where they got their starts.  Good riddance.