Perspective

Downt-downt-da-downt-downt-downt. Downt downt-downt-downt-da-down. Scrutinizing readers will immediately recognize the above lyrics as those the late country star Roger Miller sang to accompany the guitar licks in his hit song “Dang Me.” While Miller made a name for himself with his comedic twists on his music and lyrics like “My pappy was a pistol; I’m a son of a gun,” he wasn’t the only of his era to be regarded as a “funny man.” In fact, Del Reeves’ “Doo-da-do-do-doo. Doo-da-do-do-do,” earned far more play time on 1960s country radio than Miller’s, but it was only because Reeves sang the syllables as the introduction to so many of his songs. When it comes to voice-inflected guitar-picking, it’s hard to beat Roger Miller’s longevity. Then again, Reeves had his share of popular records back in the heyday of “Country Gold” — and more than one of them was a trucking song. Franklin Delano Reeves was born just days after his namesake accepted the Democratic nomination for president of the United States in 1932. He was the last of 11 children; most of Reeves’ older brothers fought in World War II. They all had musical talent, though, and Reeves’ mother didn’t see any reason for their instruments to sit around gathering dust when they fought overseas. Instead, she took it upon herself to teach young Reeves the instruments his brothers played, particularly the guitar. While his brothers were still at war, Reeves made his debut on a Sparta, North Carolina, radio show when he was just 12 years old. While Reeves received plenty of support from his mother, his father was more realistic about his son’s budding musical career. “As a child, I told my father I was going to sing on the Grand Ole Opry one day,” Reeves once said. “He said, ‘Yeah, sure.’” It took Reeves another 20 years, but in 1966, he appeared on the Opry. Over the next 40 years he appeared before up to a million fans a year on the revered Nashville stage. The nonsense syllables Reeves introduced in song began with his first No. 1 hit, “Girl on the Billboard.” The song sold a million copies for Reeves in the early to mid-1960s and represented his first foray into the growing subgenre of trucking music. His long question repeated throughout the song is quintessential. It doesn’t have the triple meaning of the Brown’s 1954 lyric, “I was looking back to see if you were looking back to see if I was looking back to see if you were looking back at me” — but there’s little doubt the song “Looking Back to See” inspired Reeves’ own lyrical question. And Reeves’ song took a leap into the risqué, at least for 1960s radio. “Who is the girl wearing nothing but a smile and a towel in the picture on the billboard in the field near the big old highway?” may be the longest run-on lyric in country music history. It certainly gives “Looking Back to See” a run for its money. The man asking the question in Reeves’ song is a truck driver, one who makes a daily run from Chicago to St. Louis and back. The highlight of his trip is seeing that billboard twice daily. He laments that a “double-clutching weasel” couldn’t ever get a girl to look at him the way the girl on the billboard does. The driver seems to keep an eye on the billboard in hopes of what might come next. “I bet it wouldn’t take her very long to be gone if someone would pull a dirty trick and take her towel away,” Reeves sings in another long lyric. He claims to slow his rig down to 20 mph every time he passes, noting that the billboard causes a wreck for each mile per hour he’s traveling every day. He even starts to question his sanity, realizing that he’s wanting to hold her rather than just look at her picture. But, as all sad songs must end, “Girl on the Billboard” does as well with another of Reeves’ signature run-on lines: “… sleepy-headed painter said the girl wasn’t real and I better be getting on my way…..” In the end, there’s nothing left but pieces of the driver’s heart scattered between Chicago and St. Louis. “Girl on the Billboard” wasn’t Reeves’ only hit trucking song. Like many others, he scored a hit with “Six Days on the Road,” and he also recorded songs like “Highway 40” and “Trucker’s Paradise.” In all, Reeves recorded 55 charting country records, the second most popular arguably being “Looking at the World through a Windshield.” “Looking at the World through a Windshield” is essentially opposite to “Girl on a Billboard.” In the latter, the lyrics focus on a specific girl seen traveling in a specific place — between Chicago and St. Louis. But “Looking at the World through a Windshield” is the story of the girl the driver can’t see — the one he has waiting for him in Nashville. With his mind on Nashville, the sites he sees are those in Baltimore, along the Pacific Shore, in the Rockies, Los Angeles and “down around Dallas.” If the girl on the billboard was one he just stared at, the one in Nashville had the driver seeing his life in a different light, one that focuses on what he can see rather than what he cannot. Other Reeves hits include “The Belles of Southern Bell,” “Women Do Funny Things to Me,” “Good Time Charlie’s,” “Be Glad” and “The Philadelphia Fillies.” Give them a listen, and you might conclude that Del Reeves thought himself to be a ladies’ man. The reality, however, was much different. When asked what he hoped to be remembered for, Reeves said, “I couldn’t really sell a ballad. It had to be material on the lighter side. Under this clown’s face, there’s a serious guy. But I never got to show it because I got tagged as that clown. I’ve been clowning as long as I can remember.” Being a clown did Del Reeves well. Until next time, allow me to leave you with a little ditty: Doo-da-do-do-doo. Doo-da-do-do-do.

If you’re going to be an ambassador, it’s best to know two things: What you represent and who you’re representing it toward. That’s the way an ambassadorship works. When it comes to country music, it’s hard to find anyone better qualified for the title of “ambassador” than Marty Stuart. Not only has Stuart forgotten more than most folks have ever known about country music, but he’s also versatile — versatile to the point he can relate to other musical genres, performers and fans. Representing country music on the world stage is what Marty Stuart does best. And he doesn’t do a bad job as a performer either. Stuart was born to be a country musician. His life’s work has earned the respect of other musicians and executives in the country music industry. In many ways, Stuart is the face of the business. Whenever a media outlet wants to talk to someone about country music history, Marty Stuart is the man they call. He stands for tradition — but he also plays music that falls into just about every subgenre beneath the country music umbrella. Why? Because that’s what ambassadors do. They introduce other “cultures” to the one they represent. And, yes, in the process, Stuart has even cut a truck-driving record or two. One of the many songs Stuart performs as a cover artist is among the most well-known trucking songs ever recorded — “Six Days on the Road.” Paul Davis originally cut “Six Days” in 1961, but it became famous two years later when Dave Dudley recorded it as the title song on an album of trucking songs. Dudley’s “Six Days” wasn’t the first trucking song ever recorded; it just seems that way. It gave birth to a new generation of songs about the working man that was followed by Merle Haggard, Red Sovine and a host of performers who made a living off trucking music through the 1970s. The song has also done well for musicians other than Dudley. It’s been covered by many performers over the years, not the least of which is Sawyer Brown, a band that reprised Dudley’s No. 2 hit song and reached No. 13 on the country charts 35 years later. Stuart doesn’t do a bad job with “Six Days” himself. Lyrically, Stuart’s version of the trucking classic remains in harmony with the original. He doesn’t change any words, and he even sings with some of the same voice inflections and mannerisms as Dudley. But that’s where the similarities end. Stuart, whether backed by his “Fabulous Superlatives” or a couple of other musicians, brings a distinct bluegrass style to the song. The style, heavy on acoustic instruments — including Stuart’s favorite, the mandolin — offers instrumental interludes throughout and features a traditional bluegrass and country upright bass. With the lyrics telling the story of a driver’s trip from Pittsburgh headed down the eastern seaboard, Stuart’s bluegrass effort almost feels like it’s focused on the leg of the trip passing through coal mining country like West Virginia. The cover isn’t as gritty as Dudley’s version, and it’s not as commercial as that of Sawyer Brown. Stuart applies his personal style to the song and makes it his own. And “Six Days” is not not the only of Stuart’s songs to fall into the theme of trucking music. In “Whole Lotta Highway” (also known as “Truck Drivin’ Man”), Stuart and his band stick to his signature acoustic sound to tell the same tale so many other songs have told about driving trucks. Whether it’s piling up the miles, knowing waitresses at every truck stop in the country, or measuring his paycheck by his logbook, as Stuart sings, he’s “seen a whole lotta highway with a million miles to go.” If you’re looking for something a bit more original from Stuart, look no further than “Truck Driver’s Blues,” a song he reportedly wrote for Connie Smith — the singer he vowed to marry when he was 12 years old (and, in fact, did eventually marry in 1997). The song is heavy on acoustics, and the lyrics cover just about everything you’d want to hear in a trucking song — a rig that takes the curves, “two tons of steel” shaking his nerves, countless hours on the highway and gallons of coffee all make an appearance in the lyrics. And, of course, the trucker has a “honey waiting back home” — or as Stuart refers to her, “a hillbilly honey.” He’s even named his truck after her: “Connie, Connie, Connie.” Pumping brakes and slamming gears, Stuart sings of not being home in what seems like 10 years. The upbeat tempo gives a “road rhythm” to the song, but it’s a departure from Stuart’s usual heavy bluegrass influence. Sure, Stuart features his mandolin, but it’s band member Kenny Vaughn on the acoustic guitar that truly carries this truck driving song home. For a change of pace, Marty Stuart’s “Way Out West” isn’t exactly a truck driving song (although the narrator HAS been on the road a long time), nor is it a clean-cut road song. The tune is more spiritual or mystical in tone and revolves around the aftermath of pills — like the little white pills so many performers sing of in “Six Days.” The lyrics aren’t so much about a yearning for home either. Frankly it’s hard to follow the lyrics unless you’ve popped one of the little pills Stuart sings of, whether they’re green, black or blue or provide an “indigo haze.” It’s not a particular good song to listen to behind the wheel. “Way Out West” will have, as Stuart sings, your world spinning “round and round and round and round and round.” Still, the song is another example of Stuart’s versatility as an artist. Until next time, remember as you roll down the road with your classic country songs blaring from iTunes, there’s someone in Nashville keeping those tunes alive for future generations. Marty Stuart is the 21st century’s classic country jukebox.

The country music industry is filled with musicians and performers who are critically acclaimed yet have limited commercial success. No. 1 hits are rare for these artists, and you’re more likely to find their names among those nominated for Grammys as opposed to Country Music Association (CMA) awards. Many of these lesser-known performers are actually driving forces behind the songs of commercial artists. These songwriters and studio musicians are well known throughout the business. One such musician — Marty Stuart, an ambassador for the genre — likely falls into this category for many country fans. Along Stuart’s musical journey, he’s even turned out a trucking song or two. But before focusing on his songs, let’s explore the evolution Stuart’s style. After all, it’s one that encompasses nearly 100 years of country music history. While you may associate Marty Stuart with bluegrass, don’t let his instrument of choice — the mandolin — fool you. His style spans the farthest reaches of country music. Stuart was born in the deep south — Philadelphia, Mississippi — in 1958. He shared a passion for music with his father and grew up watching what he refers to as “Hillbilly Hollywood” on television, syndicated shows that featured 1960s artists like Porter Wagoner and the Wilburn Brothers. The visual appeal of country music struck Stuart, and the rhinestone suits and other characteristics of country performers fascinated the youngster. As he grew older, Stuart could be found hanging around Philadelphia’s Busy Bee Café Juke Joint, where he was introduced to the acoustics of bluegrass music. At age 11, Stuart attended his first Johnny Cash concert in nearby Jackson, Mississippi. Standing against the stage before being pulled away by security, the youngster was mesmerized by Cash’s performance. At that moment, he recalled, he wanted to BE Johnny Cash. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy. While still a pre-teen, Stuart started his first band. In 1970 he attended a concert in Philadelphia featuring Connie Smith, his mother’s favorite singer. He met Smith and took photographs of her, later telling his mother that he would someday marry the singer, despite the fact she was 29 years old — 17 years older than young Stuart. But marriage would have to wait. First, Stuart had to find his start in the music through which he’d eventually make his career. A mandolin he purchased before he turned 14 became his ticket to success. As a teenager, Stuart joined his first road band, the Sullivan Family Gospel Singers, touring with them in the summer of 1972. The experience was like a “fantasy camp,” he said. The return to his freshman year in high school didn’t sit well with him. By September, he’d left school and traveled to Nashville at the behest of Roland White, a member of Lester Flatt’s band. In short order, Stuart also joined the band. He’d found his life’s calling. During the 1970s, he continued to grow as a musician, becoming proficient on several stringed instruments. By decade’s end, Stuart had come full circle when Johnny Cash invited him to join his touring band. Over the next five years, Stuart toured with Cash, and he married his boss’ daughter, Cindy (not Connie Smith) in 1983. Although Stuart recorded a couple of independent albums early in his career, commercial success eluded him. But in 1985 he signed with Columbia Records. After nearly 15 years in the music business, he finally set out on his own. By year’s end, Columbia released his self-titled album, and he arrived on the billboard charts with his first single, “Arlene.” Although the song wasn’t a major hit (No. 19 on the charts), it was a Top 40 single, and success appeared on the horizon. But the follow-up singles from the album received less airplay, with only one reaching the Top 40. Through the remainder of the 1980s, Stuart struggled commercially, recording three albums but only achieving one additional Top 40 single. That all changed in late 1989 when Stuart left Columbia for MCA records. His first album for the new label, “Hillbilly Rock,” became his breakout record. The title track from the album shot to No. 8 on the charts, boosted by a music video. The single launched a string of hits for Stuart, and he had five more songs reach the Top 10 through early 1992. In 1991, he wrote “The Whiskey Ain’t Working” for a rising star, Travis Tritt, and was invited to perform on the singer’s second album. The song climbed to No. 2 on the charts. It would be the high-water mark of Stuart’s commercial career. Throughout the 1990s, Stuart continued recording albums, and the critics generally loved his work — but airplay was elusive. Stuart never cracked the Top 40 again. “The Whiskey Ain’t Working” did land Marty Stuart his first award after some CMA and ACM nominations, but it came from the Grammys, not country music’s awarding committees. He was nominated, along with others, for several compilation and concept albums during the 1990s and early 2000s, but the Grammys continued to best recognized Stuart’s contribution to music. Perhaps his most notable award came in 2001 when Stuart brought home a Grammy for Best Country Instrumental Performance for the bluegrass favorite, “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” As his commercial career declined, Stuart started a new band in 2002, “The Fabulous Superlatives.” Much in the way of critically acclaimed performers like BR549 and Junior Brown, the band developed a cult following and offered opportunities to showcase Stuart’s talent. Beginning in 2008, the band backed him up on “The Marty Stuart Show,” an RFD-TV produced television show. For Stuart, the show took him back to his youth and his fascination with the visual aspect of country music. He dressed in faded blue jeans and a rhinestone-studded jacket — and in a nod to the golden era of country music, he wore a tight scarf around his neck. But it was his hair that made Stuart universally recognizable. His long, flowing tresses have been equated to the mane of an elegant horse by some writers. Despite all of Stuart’s accomplishments as a singer, songwriter and instrumentalist, he gained his most significant fame as a country music historian. A traditionalist, Stuart has been a promoter of the genre’s history throughout his career, serving as a six-term president of the Country Music Foundation. The role offered a pulpit to campaign for the preservation of country music’s heritage. It also helped him reach the genre’s highest achievement in 2020 when he was elected to the Country Music Hall of Fame. Until next time, pull up some Marty Stuart on your smartphone and give it a listen. We’ll delve deeper into the performer’s complex style — and his trucking songs — in the next column.

Country music has always been, like the country in which it was born, a “melting pot” of musical genres. Take a fresh dose of gospel, mix in a handful of blues, add a few pinches of soul, a few ounces of bluegrass, a spoonful of rockabilly and a dash of jazz, and the result will usually be something that will fall into the country genre. Then again, when country takes in some of the lost performers who don’t fit perfectly into any other type of music, it sets itself up for hypocrisy. The hypocrisy of the country music melting pot came into full focus in the early 1970s when Charlie Rich took the genre by storm. A self-described jazz musician who was never accepted by the jazz community, Charlie Rich’s run of success began in 1973 when the title track of his album “Behind Closed Doors” topped the Billboard Country charts and crossed over to the Billboard Hot 100. His follow-up single, “The Most Beautiful Girl,” was even more successful, reaching No. 1 on all Billboard and Canadian RPM charts. “Behind Closed Doors” pocketed Rich a closet full of awards, including the 1973 Academy of Country Music (ACM) and Country Music Association’s (CMA) Album and Single of the Year, as well as Top Male Vocalist. A year later, “A Very Special Love Song” helped Rich claim Album of the Year honors from the CMA, as well as country music’s top honor, CMA Entertainer of the Year. In 1975, Rich started the year riding a wave of country music success into all musical genres. He released three albums in ’75, two of which topped the country charts, and produced three Top 5 hits. Then it happened. In less than two minutes, in the autumn of 1975, Rich — the sly, smooth crooner known as “The Silver Fox” — watched his career go up in flames at the hand of his own Bic lighter. You see, Rich’s success as a multi-genre musician who had been adopted into the country music scene led others whose style searched for a home to take a similar path. In the mid-1970s, the most successful of these was John Denver, whose megahits “Take Me Home, Country Roads” and “Thank God I’m a Country Boy,” endeared him to country fans if only for their titles. After all, the idea of “country roads” had inspired countless road songs, and even a few trucking songs, in the years leading up to Denver’s classic single. For Rich, however, neither Denver nor his music were country enough to suit him. The CMA nominated Denver for Entertainer of the Year in 1975, and as customary, the previous year’s winner — in this case Rich — presented the award. Denver wasn’t present for the nationally broadcast awards ceremony, having been on tour in Australia. But thanks to satellite technology, the audience and the rest of America could see and hear him from an Australian studio. Denver could hear the audio, but he had no video feed. Rich, who’d been waiting back stage for over three hours, was finally introduced. From the moment Rich emerged on to the stage, something appeared “off.” He limped toward the microphone, and quickly it became obvious he had been sampling the post-award party’s beverages since the show began. The next few moments are fairly indescribable, so a “screenplay” of Rich’s own slurred words and actions after he reached the podium best tell the story: Rich first looked down at the award trophy, cradling and staring at it with what can only be described as a “lustful” look in his eyes. “This is the most beautiful thing in the world, right here…. Most beautiful thing. Thank you very much.” The fact that Rich was making a play off the title of his most successful single seemed lost on the audience, which was looking on in bewilderment. Rich then paused for a long, awkward moment. “I know the people who are up for [this award] are suffering right now, the way I did last year,” he said. “I mean, suffering, you know, like … gut,” he added, punching himself in the stomach. Then he broke into his prepared speech. “The nominees for the country music Entertainer of the Year are: John Denver, Waylon Jennings …” Rich again paused, then noted, “The reason I’m talking so correct is ’cause I just got back from London. I’d rather be in Nashville.” He then continued with his presentation. “… Loretta Lynn. Loretta, would you like to go out tonight? “Ronnie Milsap. First time I saw Ronnie, our bandstand broke. 18-foot bandstand. Bam,” Rich explained in another tangent. “And my friend from Arkansas … Mississippi … wherever he wanna be, Mr. Conway Twitty.” (Conway Twitty’s wife looks on in obvious disgust.) Rich then opened the envelope containing the winner’s name, ruffled the paper for a moment, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette lighter. As he said the long-awaited words, “The winner is…,” he lit the corner of the slip of paper on fire and again paused as he watched the flame grow. Finally, he announced, “… my friend, Mr. John Denver!” From his satellite feed in Australia, Denver looked somewhat shocked that he had won, but considering what the people watching on television had seen, his smile and round-lens glasses made him appear to be a combination of naïve and ignorant. The country music community was shocked at what it had watched transpire. The CMA blackballed Charlie Rich from all future events, and the blackball carried over to his acceptance as a country musician. Rich had a couple of hits later in the decade, the 1977 single, “Rollin’ with the Flow” the most successful, but his career took a nose-dive from which it never recovered. Rich’s true intent during his speech that 1975 evening has been debated. Some believe he thumbed his nose at a country music establishment that had turned to crossover artists — but then again, Rich was the primary beneficiary of the movement. Others, including his son, say he was a victim of circumstance. According to Charlie Rich Jr., a few days before the CMA awards show, his dad had broken his foot, and just making it to the show required a heavy dose of pain medication for the performer. The elder Rich had devised the plan to burn the award slip, expecting to get a lot of laughs. But then, for three hours, Rich sat backstage priming the wet bar. The combination of pain pills, alcohol and an ill-devised plan for a bad joke backfired, his son says. As it turned out, no one thought Rich was funny; rather, they thought he was a surly drunk, insulting another musician. Of course, a planned insult would require knowing that Denver had won before Rich opened the envelope. If Twitty had won, would Rich have lit the flame that sparked his downfall? You decide. Until next time, during your travels, take it easy on those country roads. Their ease of navigation can be deceiving.

I recently discovered a satellite radio station, and it brought back a lot of memories. It’s not just the songs the station plays (it specializes in moderate country hits that haven’t received commercial radio airplay in decades). It also reminds me of personal experiences when country music was becoming an obsession for me. The late 1970s and early ’80s turned me into the narrow-minded fellow I am today. It’s when I gave up all other forms of music for country. Many of those songs eventually became “classic country.” I don’t expect I’ll ever turn back. Where I grew up, country artists didn’t appear at the local fair — or much of anywhere, for that matter. The largest arena in the area, seating all of 6,000, might book one, sometimes two country acts a year. In 1980, Charley Pride traveled to the area for a show, and as usual, I bought some of the first tickets sold. It wasn’t just Pride who intrigued me, however. Razzy Bailey, although over 40 years old, served as the opening act. Bailey had just started stringing a few hits together, and I liked his sound. A few months after the concert, he made music history before coming out with a trucking song that turned into a No. 1 hit. But Razzy Bailey’s story began long before he arrived on stage that evening in 1980. Rasie Michael Bailey, who later adopted the name “Razzy,” sprang from country in the truest sense of the word. Born in Five Points, Alabama, a town with a population of less than 800 at upon his arrival in 1939, Bailey was raised on a farm in nearby LaFayette. The town where he grew up was just as country as his birthplace, although the population was twice as large. But in true-life country fashion, Bailey got his start in music as a member of the LaFayette High School’s Future Farmers of America string band. In short order, he could be found on stages in nearby venues, where he gained regional popularity. In 1966, Razzy Bailey wrote and recorded his first song, a single titled “9,999,999 Tears.” The tune received little attention at the time, but when Dickey Lee recorded it a decade later, Bailey’s songwriting gave him a name in Nashville. The single rose to No. 3 on the country charts and crossed over as a pop hit. Lee charted another Bailey-written song a year later with “Peanut Butter.” By this time, RCA Records recognized Bailey’s talent and hired him as a songwriter — and soon gave him a shot as a performer with a recording contract. Bailey’s first album, “If Love Had a Face,” hit No. 33 on the charts and produced four Top 10 singles. Still, country fans didn’t widely recognize Bailey’s work. All that changed in 1980 with the release of his self-titled album, “Razzy.” “Razzy” produced three Top 10 hits, including two No. 1s — “Loving Up a Storm” and “True Life Country Music.” The pair of songs marked a rare feat in country music; they formed Side A and B of the same 45 rpm single. “True Life Country Music,” might be considered Bailey’s response to David Allan Coe’s hit, “You Never Even Called Me by My Name.” Bailey packed as much country music history into a two-and-a-half-minute record than anyone ever had. In early 1981, Razzy Bailey released his third album, “Makin’ Friends.” It was even more popular than “Razzy” and included another three Top 10 hits, including two more No. 1s. In fact, the two No. 1 songs on the album again achieved double-sided hit status. “Friends” and “Anywhere There’s Jukebox” marked Bailey’s third and fourth No. 1 hits in a row, and the four occupied just two 45 rpms. Consecutive double-sided No. 1s had never been produced in Nashville before Bailey arrived. Very quietly, Bailey went on to a career in which he recorded 15 Top 10 hits, seven of them rising to No. 1. And it was all achieved over a four-year period after Bailey released his first album. In 1981, Bailey’s song “Midnight Hauler” marked his sixth consecutive No. 1 hit. The tune’s Side B companion failed to reach No. 1 however, topping out at No. 8 on the charts. The double-sided Top 10 hits meant Bailey barely missed a third consecutive history-making effort, one that would have been astonishing. Still, when it comes to staying power, “Midnight Hauler” is arguably Bailey’s most memorable song. Like “True Life Country Music,” which is packed with “country gold” song references, “Midnight Hauler” included most everything its writers knew about trucking. In “Midnight Hauler,” Bailey is both the singer of and subject of the song — that is, assuming his reference to “old R.B.” is self-directed. “R.B.” is making a nighttime crossing of the desert Southwest with a heavy, strapped-down load in an 18-wheeler. In a time before ELDs, the driver mentions that he’s been driving all day but has no intention of bedding down for the night. After all, he “just pulled out of Santa Fe,” and if he’s going to make it to his hometown of Kansas City by “the break of day,” there’s little time to waste. Like many good trucking songs, there’s a woman waiting for the driver in Kansas City, and he’s ready for the trip in his Peterbilt. Like Dave Dudley in “Six Days on the Road,” R.B. has two full fuel tanks and a “belly full of coffee and whites.” He’s using his C.B. to keep track of law enforcement and notes that he’s “cannonballing her home.” It’s a good night to make time, he claims. It’s a Saturday night, and he’s the only one on the highway, after all. That makes his Peterbilt a streak across the desert. The song doesn’t really come to an end, unless you count a rockabilly closing instrumental segment. But lyric-wise, the story, we can assume, continues on through the Texas Panhandle and Oklahoma, all the way to Kansas City where he’s reunited with his “little woman.” After all, isn’t that the ending so many trucking songs lead us toward? Following “Midnight Hauler,” Bailey only had one more Top 10 hit before he spent the rest of his recording career in the bottom half of the Top 100. But he’ll be best remembered for his 14 consecutive Top 10 hits during the ’70s and ’80s, as well as his consecutive double-sided No. 1s, something that has never been repeated by another country artist. Bailey died Aug. 4, 2021. The obituary notes that Bailey served as a deacon in the Cowboy Church of Nashville and as a mentor to a generation of singers who came to Nashville searching for stardom. Until next time, remember that the desert night may make for a great driving atmosphere, but a truck or two has been known to fall off the shoulder of even the flattest straight roads around. Plus, you never know when a roadrunner might appear like a flash on the highway.