Perspective

Now that the new baseball season is under way, it’s time to reflect on the rites of passage for a sport — the millions upon millions of baseball hopefuls from age 9 to 90, and Americana itself. Back in the 1970s, an American car manufacturer said, “They go together, in the good old USA — baseball, hot dogs, apple pie, and (insert your rhyming car make here).” The manufacturer made a good point. All those things are certainly American — but when it comes to country music, looking back on the ambassadors for the nation as good, wholesome, true All-American guys, look no further than The Statler Brothers. It’s hard to believe the Statlers have been retired from music for over 20 years. And they aren’t a group that keeps coming back for reunion tours now and again. When the Statlers hit the proverbial “wall” in the music business, they knew it. They walked away and didn’t look back, except for Jimmy Fortune, who was younger than the other three and set out on a solo career. There are a lot of myths about the Statlers, and some of them are even true. It’s true that only two of the four members of group were brothers (Harold Reid and Don Reid), and it’s true that all four of the memorable quartet hailed from Staunton, Virginia — a place that might just as well be known as “Hometown USA.” It’s a myth that anyone associated with the quartet was named “Statler,” but it’s a fact that they came up with the name from a brand of tissue they had seen in a motel room. It’s also largely a fact that the Statlers were the first official music “group” in modern country music. While other groups that followed (the Oak Ridge Boys, Alabama, Shenandoah, etc.) may share some similarities, the Statlers were originals, a quartet that crossed over from gospel to country. The group won countless awards even beyond its heyday, the Music City News Country Awards being among their most frequent achievements. But what could one expect? The Music City News (since defunct) was the newsletter of the industry, and just about every little old lady who ever traveled to Nashville to see a taping of “Nashville Now” subscribed. So, the Statlers’ popularity carried on far longer than it otherwise might have, both thanks to little old ladies and the fact that the group was truly “red, white and blue” (and they even wore the matching stage outfits to prove it). While many songs the Statlers released are well known as hits, hundreds of others never made it to the radio waves. They are found on vinyl records spanning from 1955 to 2002, and there is a lot to explore. But, since its baseball season — and the Statlers are the originals when it comes to being all-American country music performers — let’s look at a baseball song from the group’s 1979 album, aptly titled “The Originals.” “When the Yankees Came Home” is a baseball story penned by Don Reid, who sings lead on most Statlers’ songs. At first listen, “When the Yankees Came Home” might seem straightforward — but when you put your mind to it, it’s more complicated than it seems. Even Don Reid, who based the song on a sports headline that became the title, admits the song can be interpreted many ways. “The phrase,” he said, “’the Yankees come home,’ can mean so many things.” He added that the Yankees’ reputation (you either love them or hate them) made writing a song that appealed to both Yankees fans and Yankees haters an interesting endeavor. “When the Yankees Came Home” is a ballad following the lives of a ballplayer and his girlfriend as the young man embarks on a pitching career. “Some way, I’m gonna play in the big leagues someday,” sets the tone for the story that follows. The girl realizes her boyfriend has a dream, unfortunately one that didn’t necessarily focus on her. She hangs around for a few seasons, but then “she left him one spring, Triple-A second string, and went home and married a friend.” This is where the song starts to get interesting and, if you will, a bit confusing. In the next “scene,” we find the girl, now a woman, at home with her family, which includes two sons. It seems these sons have elevated her ex-boyfriend to hero status, as he finally made it to the big leagues. They beg their mom to “come and see, here on TV. It’s the last and biggest game of the year. The count is full. The score is tied. Ninth inning, bottom side. He’ll strike him out. Wait and see. They both cheer.” Next we learn that our hero has taken the mound against the Yankees, a team “he loved to hate.” At this point it doesn’t really make a difference — and the lyrics don’t reveal — for what team he pitches. But we do know he’s pitching in New York. The fact he’s on the mound in the bottom of the ninth inning, when the home team bats, tells us the Yankees are in their home ballpark. The lyrics never tell us what happens. They only say the boys’ mother knew his dream was coming true. Then the song ends with the line, “The family wondered why there were tears in Momma’s eyes, because she cried when the Yankees came home.” So, what does the story mean, and what happened in that last inning that set Momma to crying? It’s hard to say. Interpreting the lyrics as they are written will probably lead you to believe the pitcher failed, the Yankees came home (as in “scored a run at home plate”), and she’s crying because her former love failed. If we didn’t know the game was played in New York, we might interpret the lyrics differently. “When the Yankees Came Home” could have meant they disembarked from the train or airplane as losers. But that can’t be the case, because it is clear the game was played in New York. On the other hand, “the Yankees came home” could be interpreted that it didn’t really matter which team won “the last and biggest game of the year,” because the Yankees had already made the playoffs and would simply be playing the first game in their home stadium. It’s a conundrum, and one Don Reid created intentionally. He admits as much in the album notes. Pick your favorite team and place them in the song, and it will come out just the way you like it, he essentially wrote. Well, if I’m putting my favorite teams in place of the Yankees, I’m probably happy. From all indications when interpreting the song, the Yankees likely won the game. On the other hand, if I put my favorite team on the mound, perhaps the moral of the story is that we live and die with the teams we cheer for. After all, it’s the American thing to do. Until next time, keep in mind that the highways are no place for games. Keep your eyes open for all the possibilities.

If one is to look at the television, it seems murder is all the rage these days. You have a choice of “NCIS (insert your city here)” — and little else. Television networks are systematically wiping out cities to the tune of a dozen or more murders a week. Take “Longmire,” for instance. Over 63 episodes, the producers killed off half the population of Wyoming. But crime and murder are nothing new. I once read that Chuck Conners killed 241 men over the course of the “The Rifleman” series in the 1950s and 1960s. All the while, he had fireside chats with his son and reminded him that killing a man is not a decision to take lightly. Ahh, for the gentle days of the Old West, when Pa always knew what was best. Well thinking along those lines, country music is a microcosm of America. It’s really no surprise that in the 100 or so years of country songs, more than just a handful have focused on murder or its aftermath. And of those songs, no tune spoke more blatantly of murder than The Louvin Brothers’ 1959 hit, “Knoxville Girl.” Ira and Charlie Louvin (aka Loudermilk) arrived on the music scene in 1940 as gospel performers. Singing in a bluegrass style, Ira played the mandolin, and Charlie rhythm guitar. It was the well-tuned harmonies of their music that made the duo famed singers of early country music. But despite their gospel beginnings, the Louvin Brothers — particularly Ira — didn’t learn from the songs they were singing. Ira Louvin was a drunk, a womanizer and a man with a violent temper. Married four times, he attempted to strangle his third wife, but she turned the tables on him. She wound up shooting him six times. When taken into custody, she famously told the police if that didn’t kill him, she’d come back and finish him off. Ira survived, but the marriage didn’t. Ira was a classic case of a man who was fine — when he wasn’t drinking. The problem was, he was always drunk. He was known to smash his mandolin in the middle of a performance, only to be found trying to glue it back together after the show. As for Charlie he was the opposite of his brother Ira. A foot shorter, he was the most levelheaded of the pair. In fact, he frequently chastised his brother for his various addictions and shortcomings as a husband. As it turned out, Charlie left his brother behind for a solo career in 1963. Two years later, Ira and his fourth wife died in a car accident. At the time, a warrant was out for Ira’s arrest on a DWI charge. Considering the tension between the two, perhaps it’s not surprising that the Louvin Brothers released the album “Tragic Songs of Life” on Capitol Records in 1956. Murder ballads were the hallmark of their debut album with Capitol, and they sang under the influence of other bluegrass musicians like Bill Monroe and The Blue Sky Boys. One of the singles released from “Tragic Songs of Life” was “Knoxville Girl.” If the Louvin Brothers weren’t already straying from their gospel roots, “Knoxville Girl” provided a direct line toward Satan. In fact, at the time the song was released, they had already recorded another album titled “Satan is Real.” It seems those Baptist boys from Alabama had fallen for secular music — the hard way. “Knoxville Girl” is an unusual song, not for its harmonies or bluegrass style, but for its lyrics. Until the release of this song, country music was fairly tame. No doubt, lots of love had been lost in country songs over the years, and most of it for the right reasons. But the Louvin Brothers entered a whole new — and sinister — territory with “Knoxville Girl.” “Knoxville Girl” wasn’t exactly a new song. In fact, it originated in Ireland and was based on the story of a murder that took place in 1683. Several variations of the song had been sung as folk music over the years — but, again, none were as unapologetically violent as the Louvin Brothers release. “Knoxville Girl” begins casually enough. The Louvin Brothers sing of courting their girl on the front porch of her Knoxville home. But before the end of the first stanza, the song takes a murderous turn: While out for an evening walk, the narrator sings, “I picked up a stick off the ground and knocked that fair girl down.” The second stanza is a description of the girl begging for her life as the narrator continues to beat her. Eventually, her blood covers the ground. But the tortured lyrics of “Knoxville Girl” don’t stop here. In third stanza, the narrator describes how he twists the girl’s blond hair as he drags her to the river. There, he slings her body into the water while singing, “Go down, go down, my Knoxville girl. You can never be my bride.” The narrator doesn’t have peace for long. After lying to his mother about the source of the blood on his clothes, he experiences a miserable night. “Rolled and tumbled the whole night through, as troubles was for me. Like flames of hell around my bed and in my eyes could see.” At some point, guilt overcomes the murderer. The lyrics suggest he confesses and is hauled to jail. No one can (or will) put up his bail. He leaves us with the words, “I’m here to waste my life away down in this dirty old jail, because I murdered that Knoxville girl, the girl I loved so well.” While he admits to his crime, no motive is ever suggested. Plenty of artists have sung of murder since “Knoxville Girl” was recorded. Lefty Frizzell hauntingly played the part of an innocent dead man in “Long Black Veil.” Vickie Lawrence — and eventually Reba McEntire — turned the tables and played the part of the killer in “The Night the Lights went out in Georgia.” And, perhaps most disturbingly, The Chicks (formerly known as the Dixie Chicks) sang “Goodbye, Earl,” a statement against domestic violence told in what they believed was a humorous way in 2000. The video (I say with sarcasm) is about as funny as the hopelessly poor song. But in reality, the theme of this song is no worse than “Knoxville Girl.” Only the reputations of the artists make the difference. Until next time, if you have the hankering for a little crime story while behind the wheel, pull up your favorite murder mystery podcast … or just play a country album. Before long, you’ll be hearing about the murders that are all the rage in American entertainment.

In last month’s column, Kris Rutherford kicked off the first of a series about Jimmy Buffett. To read the previous piece, click here. Summarizing the music of Jimmy Buffett in a few hundred words is akin to partaking of Shakespeare a thimbleful at a time. While it might be argued that Shakespeare has a lasting power that Buffett has yet to prove, Buffett’s body of work has grown over a half-century. For all his fame, Shakespeare’s activity was spent after just 28 years. Likewise, both artists dabbled in a variety of arts — Shakespeare in poetry, prose, literature and as a playwright, and Buffett the same. Like Shakespeare, Buffett has written of comedy, tragedy, and most purposefully, self-discovery. But at a basic level, poetry is what connects William Shakespeare to Jimmy Buffett. To prove my argument: Years ago, I had a college English professor who told me as much. Music critics in general — a group that has not been a proponent of Jimmy Buffett over the years — have laughed off some of Buffett’s most famous lyrics as nothing more than novelty music. And, to an extent, they are correct. Much of Buffett’s work falls into what one might consider novelty, comedy or “party” music. “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” “Volcano,” “Gypsies in the Palace,” “Fins,” and “You’ll Never Work in Dis Business Again” have all proven that Buffett is both funny and a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Even the lyrics of his masterpiece, “Margaritaville,” have a humorous aspect as a one-time vacationer tries to recreate the beach — or the essence of “Margaritaville” — once back home in less humid air. Still, it’s Buffett’s ability to combine humor with self-discovery that has truly allowed him to master his craft. An overview of lyrics from some of Buffett’s best-known and little-known songs is like a gentle rain of self-discovery. Take for instance, “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes” where, once again, Buffett addresses true life against a background of partying. The opening line, “I took off for a weekend last month just to try and recall the whole year,” offers an idea that what’s to follow will be an introspective song. And it doesn’t disappoint. Buffett sings of the “places and faces” he’s seen and wonders why they’ve all disappeared. Later he recognizes that reviewing the year may be of little help in his effort to discover if the events have meant anything: “Yesterday’s over my shoulder, And I can’t look backward to long. There’s just too much to see waiting in front of me, And I know that I just can’t go wrong.” In between, Buffett reminisces of the freedom he has sought, as well as of how the constant changes in life somehow hold him prisoner. In what could be considered hindsight’s look at “Margaritaville,” Buffett’s “When the Coast is Clear” isn’t a song that takes him from the coast northward but rather the reverse: “That’s when it always happens, The same place every year, I’ll come down and talk to me, When the coast is clear.” In this case, it’s not a matter of longing for the party life on the coast and what “Margaritaville” promises; rather, Buffett is looking at how commercialized the coast has become. As a native of the Gulf Coast, he feels he must escape the area in the summertime. Only when the tourists have left can he get a true sense of the ocean and its ability to help him clear his mind, to heal. After all, while the coast is clear, Buffett admits that he speaks to “Mr. Other Me,” something he yearns for but only occasionally achieves. Another Buffett song that offers an introspective view on life is “He Went to Paris.” Buffett sings of a man who went to Paris “looking for answers to questions that bothered him so.” The man who takes the trip is young and vibrant, full of potential and has already experienced success. But as he fell for the love affair many have with Paris, he became lost, and “four or five years slipped away.” With the Paris experience behind him, did the man return home? No — instead, he went to England, played the piano, and had a family. “And all of the answers To all of the questions Locked in his attic one day. He liked the quiet Clean country living, And twenty more years slipped away.” Later, we learn the young man went to Paris before World War II and lost his family and half his sight to a war that left him “recalling the answers he never found.” Ultimately, the man finds himself a fisherman on the Gulf Coast, where he recalls after 86 years that “some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic, but I had a good life all the way.” Finally, it’s hard to discuss the poetry that pours from Buffett’s pen and guitar without mentioning “A Pirate Looks at Forty.” In a song written about a friend in Key West, Buffett starts the lyrics paying homage to the sea. “Mother, mother ocean, I have heard your call” sets the stage for a journey into a way of life that lives and die on the sea — piracy, in both its modern and historical contexts. “Watched the men who rode you, Switch from sail to steam, And in your belly, you hold the treasures Few have ever seen, Most of ’em dream.” Buffett goes on to admit he’s a pirate — but 200 years too late. And he laments “I’m an over-forty victim of fate arriving too late.” He is also troubled by the fact that he illegally made enough money to buy Miami over the years but squandered it all — it was “never meant to last.”In the end he concludes that his lifestyle, despite all that it brought him, has brought him to a changing point. “I feel like I’ve drowned, gonna head uptown.” So much wasted, and to think the poor fellow has at least half his life left! We could drone on and on about Buffett’s songs and whether he is a hard partier, a beach bum or a marketing genius. Ultimately though, we’ll wind up having the conversation in some harbor bar somewhere. In fact, if we’re lucky it may be that “One particular harbor, so far and yet so near, where I see the days as they fade away and finally disappear.” Until next time, remember that even though Jimmy Buffett is a poet, at his core he is singing of the issues everyone faces now and again. He helps explain how much we have left to discover. And in that context, there is no question that his music can easily be categorized as “country.”

Truck drivers navigating the interstates aren’t much different than other American workers. Every worker thinks often of reaching the next destination, of finishing the next run. Why? Because whether the job is delivering beans or counting them, everyone who works for a living looks forward to the same thing. With every successful haul, the worker bees of America are one step closer to the gift for a year’s toil – the vacation When it comes to the music business, few performers have carried their listeners on more “vacations” than Jimmy Buffett. The man has a special talent for conjuring up images of full vacations in the span of a three-minute song. The idea that Buffett’s entire life is a vacation is a myth. The performer, who has been on stage for more than half a century, has matured from his early years in the 1960s and ’70s. Back then, every Buffett song brought along a party. Over the years, he settled down and became wildly rich, based on his own myth. Few would characterize Buffett as a “one-hit wonder,” but the reality of the phrase is closer to truth than to what his legions of followers — or “Parrotheads” — want to admit. Over the course of Buffett’s career, America’s most famous beach bum has released 67 singles. Other than a 20-second guest spot on Alan Jackson’s “It’s Five O’clock Somewhere,” none have reached the top of the Billboard charts. Only a small handful have managed to make it into the Top 10. In fact, on the major Anglo record charts since 1969, Buffett’s singles have had the opportunity to reach No. 1 over 350 times. But all of the charts — U.S., Canada, and Mexico — show the music world has repeatedly rejected his work. He’s received little radio play over the course of his career. The reasons why aren’t easy to explain. Buffett self-describes himself as an “adequate” musician with only a “fair” voice. But it’s hard to judge Buffet’s style because his music isn’t easily categorized. When you venture into iTunes (or a “record store” for those old enough to remember), you might find Buffett filed under one of several headings — country, folk, rock, pop, or even adult contemporary. The fact is he’s a blend of all five genres and many more. It’s not too far of a stretch to say Buffett invented his own genre, one that music critics call “Gulf and Western.” Other artists, like Kenny Chesney, have tried to jump on board, but Buffett has an unbreakable stranglehold over his unique style. Gulf and Western music is nautical in theme, and reminds listeners of some favorite vacation spots — the U.S. Gulf Coast and the Caribbean. For a few minutes, any of Buffett’s 29 studio albums will take you to the sea, if only in your mind. And that is why Jimmy Buffett is so popular. No matter where you are, with a flash of vinyl, he can take you on a private Caribbean cruise. Buffett’s most popular song, “Margaritaville,” carries millions on mini-vacations every day. It’s the only Buffett song that receives steady airplay, and has since its debut in 1977. For a song that only reached No. 8 on the country charts, it’s done well for Buffett: It’s built the performer into a household name even beyond the music business. Like many of Jimmy Buffett’s songs, “Margaritaville” tells a story of self-discovery. The lyrics and Caribbean instrumentals allow the listener to drift into a trancelike state. With each passing verse, a piece of the real world falls away and “reality” — the true meaning of life — becomes clear. In “Margaritaville,” reality erases self-denial, and the singer realizes most of his troubles are self-inflicted. But it’s not an unwelcome awakening. As many have written, “Margaritaville” isn’t a place on a map; it’s a state of mind. One can be lost in the Yukon in January or at a July 4 celebration in Key West. It doesn’t matter. “Margaritaville” is there to sweep you to a place where the myths of life give way to reality. But don’t get too carried away. Buffett doesn’t want you to let go of the myth — at least not yet. For Buffett, the reality of “Margaritaville” is a billion-dollar business empire. The song has helped him fill stadiums coast to coast each year as aging “Parrotheads” gather and party like it’s 1977 all over again. A typical Buffett concert is a sellout regardless of the venue. “Margaritaville” is the most important cog in a playlist that offers up the likes of “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes,” “Last Mango in Paris,” “Volcano” and the crowd favorite, “Fins.” With a nod to one of Buffett’s “greatest hits” albums, a live performance is a compilation of “Songs You Know by Heart” — even if those songs never received respect from Billboard or radio program managers. And despite his overwhelming popularity at the ticket window, by 1984, Buffett thought his music career was about to come to an abrupt end. That’s when his college course in business paid off … by hundreds of millions of dollars. Buffett largely gave up on dreams of a successful music career (at least what Billboard considered success) in the mid ’80s. After his “Riddles in the Sand” and “Floridays” albums flopped on the charts, he looked over his legion of Parrotheads and recognized what had been staring him in the face for nearly 20 years. Jimmy Buffett — and “Margaritaville” — represented wells that had barely been tapped. As Buffett stated in an interview for CBS’ “60 Minutes,” he saw Parrotheads wearing shirts purchased from independent retailers that had his name spelled. He saw an Ohio Army-Navy store owner selling hundreds of Hawaiian shirts whenever Buffett performed in the area. And most importantly, he saw “Margaritaville.” The song, and its state of mind, were pasted on every face in the huge crowds he drew at every tour stop. So, Buffett got smart. He went into merchandising. And among his first steps was to trademark “Margaritaville.” Today you can find a lot of merchandise related to Margaritaville. It’s a chain of restaurants where you can buy a real Cheeseburger in Paradise (complete with lettuce and tomato, Heinz 57, french-fried potatoes, a big Kosher pickle and a cold draft beer). It’s “lost shakers of salt” lining store shelves licensed to carry Jimmy Buffett merchandise. It’s replica parrots, shark fins, beach towels, Hawaiian shirts, key chains, and T-shirts inscribed with lyrics to Buffett songs. And it’s intense protection of the brand. If a Mom & Pop shop in North Dakota sets its eyes on making a few bucks off some Jimmy Buffett knock-off merchandise, Buffett’s people know about it. Before long, the merchandise police will return the offending shop to selling “I’d rather be fishing” and “Big Mouth Billy Bass” trinkets. Finally, for Jimmy Buffett, it’s a new lifestyle – one far from the myth his music exalts. Today, Buffett spends more time in New York City than Key West, and rather than going barefoot, he wears designer shoes (who knows, maybe even under the brand name “Margaritaville”). He manages what has grown from a million-dollar business in the mid-1980s to a cash cow taking in nearly a billion dollars a year. He has indeed been successful, both as a musician and a businessman. Next time, we’ll look at a couple of Jimmy Buffett songs that may not have had the commercial success of “Margaritaville” but will take you to the same destination. Until then, as you blow past each exit sign, thinking about your next vacation, throw Buffett a bone and pull up “Margaritaville” from your playlist. In no time, you’ll find yourself on a raft somewhere around Trinidad and Tobago — and you might learn something about yourself in the process.