I love music. Be it Classical, Jazz, Blues or Pop, I like it. I discovered much of my favorite music long after I left Lubbock, but my music foundation was laid there, on the High Plains. Buddy Holly grew up across town and when I left, he and Elvis and Fats and Jerry Lee were starting to challenge Frank Sinatra, Pat Boone, Doris Day and Diana Shore for the hearts (and ears) of our generation. How could they possibly fail? In addition to this, country music was always there. It was the music of the Plains and could not be ignored. This is my take on one "country" artist. Maybe soon, I'll write about another favorite---Dakota Staton. For now, bear with me and enjoy this, regardless of your music preferences.
I was driving though San Saba the other day, and they have this old, cornpone disc jockey, talking about the weather and playing country music on the local radio. He sounded a lot like I probably would on the radio, and that fact alone will keep me from entertaining any notions of a broadcast career. Not withstanding all that, the man played great music. I heard Lefty Frizzel, Hank (Williams, Snow, Thompson, Locklin, and Junior), Johnny Cash, Tom T. Hall, Charlie Walker, Merle Haggard, George Jones, and a bunch that I remember well but can’t readily identify. (Is that happening to anyone else?) He played “Please Don’t Play A-11..” I think Johnny Paycheck did it and it’s the best song he ever did. Beats “Take This Job and Shove It”, all over the place. “A-11” is a high class, number one beer drinking tear jerker. Not many of those left.
The man also played “The Little Lady Preacher,” a half-forgotten tune by Tom T. Hall, who has been one of my favorites for years, but was never really that commercial. He has written hits for everyone else, songs like “Harper Valley PTA," but his own recordings have always been sort of half song, half poem narratives that strike me deep in the soul. Unfortunately, they seem to leave the record buyers a bit cool. He writes his songs from the perspective of a poor farm boy, void of sophistication, looking out at a complicated world full of people “who know a lot more than I do.” That perspective may say a lot more about me than I’d want you to know.
In a song called “The Funeral”, Tom and Fred and Joe were paid five bucks to dig a grave, and then they watched the services from afar. Tom wants to “mosey over” and get a better look at a big, shiny, black Cadillac. He says, “That won’t do no harm”, preparing himself in advance in case anyone official tries to run him off. He comments on the widow, “Some women do look good in black.”
Then, there was, “The Time I Almost Starved to Death in Roanoke, Virginia.” Tom works a week without any money and with very little food, but his focus is always on the meal he will have when he gets paid. Most folks would consider him stupid not to ask for a handout, or a loan, but ole Tom T. and I understand. We admire that guy. (When he did get paid, he told the waitress,”Give me half a pound of that ground round, ma’am, and please don’t cook it long.”)
Once, he was thrown into jail for speeding through a little southern town. He says, “I told them who I was and that I’d better be on my way. That part about who I was did not impress them.” (Oh, I’ve been there, Tom.) The jailer’s wife was ugly, but she brought, “Hot bologna, eggs, and gravy,” every day. On Monday he declined, but by Thursday he was looking forward to the bologna and asked the jailer’s wife if “she would like to run away.” When the sheriff finally shows up and asks, “Which one of you guys thinks this is Indianapolis?” Tom knows he’s in trouble.
Another story-song starts “Me and Yates, an army buddy of mine.” He tells a story that is familiar to every G.I. who was stationed in post-war Germany. (About the time Elvis was there.) As I remember the girl said “Darcy, cee vee Gliden” which Tom translated, “Why don’t you all sit down here with us?” Later, “They’s M.P. ‘s on the way, “ and finally, “I laughed all the way home, knowing he missed.” Maybe you had to be there.
The song that triggered all these memories was called, “The Little Lady Preacher from the Limestone Church.” She dressed all in white, and sang hymns and preached the gospel every Sunday morning on the local radio. Tom was a young man, and played something called “The doghouse bass” in her backup group. As Tom described her, “She was nineteen years of age, and developed to a fault, and I clung to every word that passed her lips. She was down on booze and cigarettes and high on days to come, and she punctuated the prophesy with movements of her hips.” Tom was in love and I can’t blame him.
The little lady’s lead guitar player was ole Luther Short, “A hairy-legged soul lost out in sin”, according to Tom. The story goes on, “She didn’t mention Luther, but she said a prayer for me. I told her in a way, I’d been praying for her, too.” One Sunday morning her father showed up and said she wouldn’t be there. It seems “She and brother Luther got the call.” Tom ends the story philosophically, “I had to face the heartbreak, unemployment, and all.”
Tom’s biggest hit goes, “I was sitting in Miami, pouring blending whiskey down, when this old gray black gentleman, was cleaning up the lounge; uninvited, he sat down, and opened up his mind, on old dogs and children and watermelon wine.” With this song, Tom revisits a theme that seems to come and go through all his music. For want of a better description, I’ll call it, “The meaning of life.” I know that phrase is worn out, but I don’t have the talent to come up with a clever substitute that means the same thing. Tom keeps stirring around, looking for it, asking about it, and wondering about it.
Tom decides, in a song called, “The Cowboy and the Poet”, that the secret of life is “Faster houses, younger women, older whiskey and more money.”
In “Watermelon Wine”, the old gray black gentleman says, “Ain’t but three things in this world worth a solitary dime---old dogs and children, and watermelon wine.” In a ballad acalled “I love,” it’s “old pickup trucks, coffee in a cup, and bourbon in a glass.” Tom never exactly finds the answer---he lets his listeners decide about that, and he seems to know it’s going to change as we change. For instance, when I was nineteen, I didn’t have much use for younger women or older whiskey. Tom knew I’d grow out of that foolishness.
I know that Tom has had a good life, and a successful career. My kids grew up on his “Sneaky Snake” and other “Songs of Fox Hollow.” He did a great one about George, his basset hound. In the end though, I don’t think he ever gained the popularity that he deserves. Oh, he’s rich and famous, and married to Miss Dixie, but there’s no way for him to know how much some of us have enjoyed his music. From the novelty and humor in some of the songs I mentioned, to the pain and sorrow in, “I Remember the Year that Clayton Delaney Died”, and on to the absolute guilt trip some of us went through when we first heard, “The Homecoming”, Tom T. Hall has taken us all on a magic trip through life.
I can’t think of a better artist to describe the transition this country has been going through during the past thirty years. Moving from the country to the city may have been inevitable, but was it healthy? Going from self-reliance to welfare may have been the path of least resistance, but does that make it right? Tom doesn’t try to answer those questions. He doesn’t judge anyone. He just recognizes the innate dignity of every man (and woman too, damn it, Ana and Amy) and reminds us of simpler times, of cooler water, and greener grass.
(I wrote this in 1996. One day, I may identify my two "Women's Liberation" girlfriends, Ana and Amy--they are both so very talented and all grown up now.)
Jim
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