Country Music

Classic Country Music Hits

Chưa phân loại

THE FIRST RECORD HE PUT OUT HAD HIS FATHER’S NAME ON THE FRONT AND HIS OWN NOWHERE ON IT. Ronny Robbins was born in Nashville in 1949. In the seventies, Columbia put out a record by him and titled it after the man who was not singing on it: Columbia Records Presents Marty Robbins Jr. He was in his twenties. The name on that cover had been famous for twenty years already. His father had a third heart attack on December 2, 1982, went in for bypass surgery, and died six days later at fifty-seven. His last film appearance had come earlier that same year, in a Clint Eastwood picture about a country singer who is dying. In 1984 the Nashville Network gave Ronny an award called Star of Tomorrow. He quit anyway, and the reason was not tragic. He did not like touring. By the late eighties he was running Marty Robbins Enterprises instead, and the work was specific: keep the name and the likeness off cheap merchandise, and keep them from disappearing out of a town with no interest in looking backward. He said it plainly once — in Nashville, history only goes back as far as Garth’s fifth album. “El Paso” came out in 1959 and won a Grammy. Ronny still sings it now and then, on television. He is not auditioning for anything. He is checking that it still carries.

0 Comments

The Name on the Cover Ronny Robbins was born in Nashville in 1949, and for a long time his life…

Chưa phân loại

ON APRIL 6, 2016, AT TWENTY MINUTES PAST NINE IN THE MORNING, A MAN DIED IN HIS OWN HOUSE IN PALO CEDRO, CALIFORNIA, ON THE SEVENTY-NINTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE DAY HE WAS BORN. He came into the world in a converted boxcar outside Bakersfield, to parents who had driven west out of Oklahoma ahead of the dust. His father died when he was nine. Everything after that was an institution he got out of early. He ran from reform school again and again. Then came a drunken burglary of a Bakersfield roadhouse he and a friend believed was closed for the night. It was still open. San Quentin. On New Year’s Day, 1958, Johnny Cash played the prison. Merle Haggard was in the audience. He said afterward that music was the only thing that kept him from making a career of crime. Paroled in 1960. Thirty-eight number one records. Songs about men who could not get out, written by a man who barely had. In 1972 the governor of California pardoned him outright. A week before the end, he told his family which day it would be. He was right, to the day. He got out of everything early. He served that last one in full.

0 Comments

Merle Haggard’s Final Date in Palo Cedro On April 6, 2016, at twenty minutes past nine in the morning, Merle…

Chưa phân loại

“HE DIDN’T CHASE THE SPOTLIGHT. HE KEPT THE DOOR OPEN.” Marty Robbins died on December 8, 1982. A heart attack, at 57. He’d been on the Opry stage weeks earlier. His son Ronny was 33. Ronny had already tried the business — Columbia billed him as Marty Robbins Jr., and in 1984 The Nashville Network named him Star of Tomorrow. But he never loved the road the way his father did, and by the late ’80s he’d stepped back from chasing a career of his own to run Marty Robbins Enterprises instead. Not a retreat. A choice about what he wanted to spend his life protecting. So when he does sing now — “El Paso” on Larry’s Country Diner, “Big Iron” on Country’s Family Reunion, “Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me” — it isn’t an impression. It’s the same tone, the same soft landing at the end of a line, coming from the only other person who ever had that voice in the house. Here’s the part Marty never got to see: “Big Iron” was an album cut from Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs in 1959, a modest No. 5 single in 1960. Then a video game put it in the ears of a generation born decades after he died, and it became a meme, a remix, a TikTok sound. The songs found their own way to the new listeners. Ronny just made sure the door was still open when they got there.

0 Comments

He Didn’t Chase the Spotlight. He Kept the Door Open. Marty Robbins died on December 8, 1982, at 57, after…

Chưa phân loại

HE ASKED FOR A PRIVATE FUNERAL. THE FAMILY HELD ONE. NO CAMERAS, NO CROWDS, NO NASHVILLE FAREWELL — JUST A SMALL SERVICE, EXACTLY THE WAY HE WANTED IT. The obituary ran four lines. Private family services have been held. In place of flowers, he asked for donations to the Wounded Warriors Project. The musicians couldn’t leave it there. Two weeks later, on September 15, they packed into Douglas Corner in Nashville for a free concert — no ticket, no promoter, no label behind it. Guitarist Richard Smith, who organized it, said they heard the news and everyone was gutted, and that there were a lot of musicians who wanted to pay their respects in their own way. Brent Mason played. So did Thom Bresh, Merle Travis’s son. So did Jerry Roe — Reed’s own grandson. Joe Galante, who ran Sony BMG Nashville, said everything about him was distinctive: the guitar playing, the writing, the voice, and especially the sense of humor. He’d written Guitar Man for Elvis. A Thing Called Love for Johnny Cash. Misery Loves Company for Porter Wagoner — a No. 1 before most people knew his name. Three Grammys. Two of them shared with Chet Atkins, the man who told him to stop writing for everybody else and start singing his own songs. He wanted no fuss when he went. The guitar players threw him a party anyway.

0 Comments

He Asked for a Private Farewell, and the Music World Heard Him Anyway He wanted no cameras, no crowd, and…

Chưa phân loại

IF YOU TAKE “OKIE FROM MUSKOGEE” LITERALLY, YOU HAVE TO TAKE THIS ONE LITERALLY TOO. THAT’S THE PROBLEM WITH THE MAN THEY SPENT FIFTY YEARS CALLING A REDNECK. The verdict was set in 1969. Merle Haggard wrote the song the whole culture war rallied behind, and from that day forward everybody knew exactly what he was. Reactionary. The voice of the people who wanted the sixties to go away. Here’s what he wanted to release next. “Irma Jackson” is about a white man in love with a Black woman, and about the fact that the world won’t let it stand. He wrote it two years after the Supreme Court had finally made that marriage legal at all. He wanted it to be the follow-up single — the very next thing out of his mouth after Muskogee. Capitol said no. The world wasn’t ready, they told him. They handed him another patriotic anthem to sing instead, and he sang it. “Irma Jackson” got buried on an album three years later. Never a single. Thirty years on, Merle said it was the only time in his career a label ever interfered with his music. They judged him by the song he was allowed to release. What would they have called him if they’d heard this one first?

0 Comments

What Merle Haggard’s “Irma Jackson” Changes About the Story of “Okie from Muskogee” For years, Merle Haggard was boxed into…

Chưa phân loại

NO ONE UNDERSTOOD WHY LORETTA LYNN COULD SING ABOUT HER HUSBAND’S DRINKING TO MILLIONS, YET AVOIDED ONE SONG AROUND HIM… UNTIL SHE REVEALED WHAT HAPPENED AS HE DIED. No one understood why Loretta Lynn could sing about her husband’s drinking to millions — yet avoided one song around him. “Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin'” was about Doo. She wrote it about him, sang it in front of him, and he was proud of it. But there was one song she never sang when he was in the room. Not because it was bitter. Not because it exposed anything. For the opposite reason entirely. They married when she was 15. Nearly 50 years — four kids before her 20th birthday, his affairs, the times she left and came back. She wrote all of it into songs. That’s how she survived it. Then in 1996, Doo was dying. Diabetes, heart failure. She sat by his bed through those final days. And he asked her to sing it. The one song she always avoided — not out of anger, but because she knew she’d never make it through a single verse. She said later that she tried. She didn’t finish. But he heard her. “I hated him at times,” she once said. “But I never stopped loving him.” Some songs we can’t sing — because they’re too true. Do you know which Loretta Lynn song it was?

0 Comments

Why Loretta Lynn Avoided One Song Until the End of Doo’s Life For millions of listeners, Loretta Lynn was the…

Chưa phân loại

FORGET JOHNNY CASH. FORGET “FOLSOM PRISON BLUES.” ONE SONG OF MERLE HAGGARD WAS WRITTEN BY A MAN WHO ACTUALLY STOOD IN THAT HALLWAY AND WATCHED A FRIEND WALK PAST HIM FOR THE LAST TIME. When people talk about prison songs in country music, they reach for the famous one. The one performed for the cameras, by a man who had never served a day. But Merle Haggard wasn’t singing about San Quentin. He was inmate number 45200 inside it, serving fifteen years for a botched robbery at twenty years old. There was a man in there with him — James “Rabbit” Kendrick. Rabbit planned an escape and invited Merle to come. Then he changed his mind and told him to stay: you can sing, you can write, you can be somebody someday. Merle stayed. Rabbit went. Two weeks later Rabbit shot a highway patrolman on a freeway near Victorville, and they brought him back to San Quentin to die. Merle and the others waited in the yard to see him pass. Rabbit stared straight ahead the whole way — until the last second, when he lifted one hand toward them. That was all. That was the entire goodbye. Years later Merle Haggard wrote a song about a condemned man’s final request, and said plainly: I believe I know exactly how he felt that night. That song hit No. 1 and charted for 17 weeks. Rolling Stone later ranked it among the saddest country songs ever recorded. Every artist who has covered it — and there have been many — was singing about a man they never knew. Cash performed prison. The outlaws sold prison. Merle Haggard carried a man’s last wave in the yard for the rest of his life. Some songs are written about someone. This one was written for someone who never got to hear it. Do you know which song of Merle Haggard that is?

0 Comments

Forget Johnny Cash, Forget “Folsom Prison Blues”: The Merle Haggard Song That Carried a Last Goodbye When people talk about…

Chưa phân loại

BEN HAGGARD PLAYS HIS FATHER’S SONGS, ON HIS FATHER’S BUS, WITH HIS FATHER’S BAND, USING HIS FATHER’S GUITAR. PEOPLE CALL IT A TRIBUTE ACT. MERLE ORDERED HIM TO DO IT. The criticism isn’t hard to find, and it isn’t stupid. A famous last name, a ready-made audience, a catalog he didn’t write. Every night, standing in a shadow so big nobody can see around it. Plenty of sons have done less with more. Except he didn’t inherit the chair. He won it. Merle didn’t even know the kid could play until he walked past Ben’s bedroom one night, heard it coming through the door, and asked his wife how their son learned to play like that. Theresa’s answer was four words long: he’s been watching you. Ben was in the Strangers as a teenager and held the lead guitar seat for eight years while his father was alive to fire him. Then April 6, 2016 — Merle died on his own 79th birthday, and the instruction he’d left his son was blunt as everything else he ever said: you’d be an idiot not to take my guitar and my bus and sing my songs as long as you can. Go out there and play until there’s nobody left to play to. He’d told Ben something else growing up, too: son, you’ve got to create your own thunder. A tribute act doesn’t get handed both of those. Only a son does.

0 Comments

Ben Haggard and the Weight of a Famous Name When people talk about Ben Haggard, they often start with the…

Chưa phân loại

MILLIONS EVENTUALLY KNEW MARTY ROBBINS THROUGH SONGS ABOUT MEN WHO RODE TOWARD DEATH. BUT IN REAL LIFE, HE KEPT RACING STOCK CARS UNTIL ONE MONTH BEFORE HIS OWN. In “El Paso,” a cowboy rides back toward the woman he loves even though he knows armed men are waiting. Marty sang that final ride with such calm that listeners could almost forget how frightened the man should have been. Perhaps that was because Marty understood the pull of danger himself. Away from country music, he spent years racing stock cars, competing against professional drivers on tracks where one mistake could change everything. Even a serious heart attack and bypass surgery did not permanently keep him away. He returned to racing because speed was not a publicity stunt for him. It was another part of who he was. In November 1982, at 57, Marty competed in what became his final NASCAR race. On December 8, following another heart attack, he died. The man who wrote so many endings never seemed interested in living cautiously. He sang about riders moving toward the inevitable, then spent his own life pressing the accelerator. Maybe Marty Robbins understood those men because he was never standing safely outside their stories.

0 Comments

Marty Robbins, the Voice of the Last Ride Millions came to know Marty Robbins through songs about men who rode…

Chưa phân loại

PEOPLE CALL JOHNNY CASH AND JUNE CARTER THE GREATEST LOVE STORY IN COUNTRY MUSIC. IT STARTED AS AN AFFAIR, AND HIS FIRST WIFE NEVER FORGAVE THE WOMAN WHO WON. Here’s the version the legend leaves out. When they fell for each other, both were married to other people. Johnny had a wife, Vivian, and four daughters. Vivian filed for divorce in 1966 over his addiction and an affair she’d already sensed. In her own memoir she wanted one thing on the record: that June pursued Johnny, not the other way around. She said June once told her, plainly, that he would be hers. So no — not a fairy tale. A marriage ended. Four girls watched their father leave. But look at what the cynics stop short of. June refused to marry him while he was using. She moved into his house with her parents to drag him back from the edge. And even that wasn’t the happy ending — by the late ’70s the addiction had him again, and their son says they were “paperwork away from being divorced.” They forgave each other. They got strong again. As John Carter Cash put it: they didn’t live happily ever after. They lived happily after all. Thirty-five years. June died in May 2003. Johnny lasted four months. Kristofferson said he cried every night to the end. Even Vivian — the wife he left — came to see him after June was gone. Some folks say that love story was built on a betrayal. What do you call it?

0 Comments

Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash: The Love Story, the Heartache, and the Long Road Back People still call Johnny…

You Missed

Chưa phân loại

THE FIRST RECORD HE PUT OUT HAD HIS FATHER’S NAME ON THE FRONT AND HIS OWN NOWHERE ON IT. Ronny Robbins was born in Nashville in 1949. In the seventies, Columbia put out a record by him and titled it after the man who was not singing on it: Columbia Records Presents Marty Robbins Jr. He was in his twenties. The name on that cover had been famous for twenty years already. His father had a third heart attack on December 2, 1982, went in for bypass surgery, and died six days later at fifty-seven. His last film appearance had come earlier that same year, in a Clint Eastwood picture about a country singer who is dying. In 1984 the Nashville Network gave Ronny an award called Star of Tomorrow. He quit anyway, and the reason was not tragic. He did not like touring. By the late eighties he was running Marty Robbins Enterprises instead, and the work was specific: keep the name and the likeness off cheap merchandise, and keep them from disappearing out of a town with no interest in looking backward. He said it plainly once — in Nashville, history only goes back as far as Garth’s fifth album. “El Paso” came out in 1959 and won a Grammy. Ronny still sings it now and then, on television. He is not auditioning for anything. He is checking that it still carries.

Chưa phân loại

ON APRIL 6, 2016, AT TWENTY MINUTES PAST NINE IN THE MORNING, A MAN DIED IN HIS OWN HOUSE IN PALO CEDRO, CALIFORNIA, ON THE SEVENTY-NINTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE DAY HE WAS BORN. He came into the world in a converted boxcar outside Bakersfield, to parents who had driven west out of Oklahoma ahead of the dust. His father died when he was nine. Everything after that was an institution he got out of early. He ran from reform school again and again. Then came a drunken burglary of a Bakersfield roadhouse he and a friend believed was closed for the night. It was still open. San Quentin. On New Year’s Day, 1958, Johnny Cash played the prison. Merle Haggard was in the audience. He said afterward that music was the only thing that kept him from making a career of crime. Paroled in 1960. Thirty-eight number one records. Songs about men who could not get out, written by a man who barely had. In 1972 the governor of California pardoned him outright. A week before the end, he told his family which day it would be. He was right, to the day. He got out of everything early. He served that last one in full.

Chưa phân loại

“HE DIDN’T CHASE THE SPOTLIGHT. HE KEPT THE DOOR OPEN.” Marty Robbins died on December 8, 1982. A heart attack, at 57. He’d been on the Opry stage weeks earlier. His son Ronny was 33. Ronny had already tried the business — Columbia billed him as Marty Robbins Jr., and in 1984 The Nashville Network named him Star of Tomorrow. But he never loved the road the way his father did, and by the late ’80s he’d stepped back from chasing a career of his own to run Marty Robbins Enterprises instead. Not a retreat. A choice about what he wanted to spend his life protecting. So when he does sing now — “El Paso” on Larry’s Country Diner, “Big Iron” on Country’s Family Reunion, “Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me” — it isn’t an impression. It’s the same tone, the same soft landing at the end of a line, coming from the only other person who ever had that voice in the house. Here’s the part Marty never got to see: “Big Iron” was an album cut from Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs in 1959, a modest No. 5 single in 1960. Then a video game put it in the ears of a generation born decades after he died, and it became a meme, a remix, a TikTok sound. The songs found their own way to the new listeners. Ronny just made sure the door was still open when they got there.

Chưa phân loại

HE ASKED FOR A PRIVATE FUNERAL. THE FAMILY HELD ONE. NO CAMERAS, NO CROWDS, NO NASHVILLE FAREWELL — JUST A SMALL SERVICE, EXACTLY THE WAY HE WANTED IT. The obituary ran four lines. Private family services have been held. In place of flowers, he asked for donations to the Wounded Warriors Project. The musicians couldn’t leave it there. Two weeks later, on September 15, they packed into Douglas Corner in Nashville for a free concert — no ticket, no promoter, no label behind it. Guitarist Richard Smith, who organized it, said they heard the news and everyone was gutted, and that there were a lot of musicians who wanted to pay their respects in their own way. Brent Mason played. So did Thom Bresh, Merle Travis’s son. So did Jerry Roe — Reed’s own grandson. Joe Galante, who ran Sony BMG Nashville, said everything about him was distinctive: the guitar playing, the writing, the voice, and especially the sense of humor. He’d written Guitar Man for Elvis. A Thing Called Love for Johnny Cash. Misery Loves Company for Porter Wagoner — a No. 1 before most people knew his name. Three Grammys. Two of them shared with Chet Atkins, the man who told him to stop writing for everybody else and start singing his own songs. He wanted no fuss when he went. The guitar players threw him a party anyway.