Freddie Hart / Sammi Smith / Jerry Reed “Just Us Three”

The title of this 1972 three-artist compilation is somewhat misleading—you might think the three in question, stranded in a lifeboat, making music with a beat-up guitar, improvised percussion, and three voices blending as one—but actually, it’s three songs by each of the three—none of them in the same room. One wants to imagine they shared a stage together at some point, but I don’t know. Very different sounds here, artist to artist, song to song, but they do all have that old country and western feeling and Nashville flavor, so why not. I’m fine with the two guys, but I’ll admit that the reason I bought this record is my obsession with Sammi Smith—I’ll buy everything by her I see—and her three songs here were worth picking it up. But while I’m at it, it’s a good chance to hear some other music—and I do like it all. One wonders just where a lot of the popular radio country music of today has gone wrong. But no more complaining, or searching essays on popular culture, today. Happy Friday. Just this record.

My favorite of the Freddie Hart offerings is the oddball sad song “I’ll Hit It with a Stick”—in the chorus, background singers go: “Here comes that memory…” and then FH adds “I’ll hit it with a stick.” I mean, when you think about it, of all the ways you battle unwanted thoughts—pushing them aside, confronting them head-on, diluting them with good thoughts or good bourbon—hitting the memory with a stick is a new one for me. Maybe there’s a Biblical precedent I don’t know about. Jerry Reed was in a lot of movies—I kind of remember him—a convincing character actor. I like his voice a lot. The three numbers here are upbeat, jaunty, the kind of songs I’d imagine hearing in a honkytonk just before getting my ass kicked. “I’ve Got Everybody Fooled (But Me)” is my standout. We then get to the Sammi Smith songs—nothing against those guys—but she’s why I’m here—her voice in “Sand Covered Angels” is saying one thing, while the words (“a box full of kittens”) is saying another—sentimentally cut with sadness. Now, “He Went a Little Bit Farther” is a bit of a foreboding song title—and it is, especially if you’re the dude being addressed by SS here—you can’t really argue with her—you can’t help being in love with her—but you just got the shit-end of the stick. (“Don’t blame him for stealing me/you let him.”) You can probably guess what “Topless” is about, and it’s funny. And it sounded fun to record. There is some particularly hot guitar noodling on this one (as well as a compelling organ part)—I wonder if I can find out who played on it? No dice. I don’t recommend making a Google-search, unless you’re on the “safe” settings.

Randy California “Kapt. Kopter and the (Fabulous) Twirly Birds”

For some odd reason I’m especially attracted to records by people named “Randy.” Maybe it’s because Randy is such a goofy name. It’s a name you should never give your kids, unless you want them to go into show business, fail, and suffer a broken heart. Anyway, this obsession has sometimes backfired, and I’ve bought some real clinkers over the years, but also some all-time gems, like Randy Lee’s Soakin’ with Tears. And there’s always Randy Newman. And I’ve always been fascinated with Randy California and the band, Spirit. I read on the unreliable internet that Randy California got his handle when he was in a band with Jimi Hendrix and another Randy, so Jimi named them Randy California and Randy Texas. (I’m glad I wasn’t in that band, or I’d be going around as Ray Indiana!) Anyway, I was thrilled to find this LP—the cover is great—it looks like it served for a time as a urinal splashguard—yet it still plays brilliantly. Before even touching needle to vinal, however, I started a review based on the gnarly cover photo and credits, which went something like this: “When you get this jambalaya of odors together—weed, whiskey, BO, menthol cigarettes, patchouli, and dirty hippie feet—which one dominates? That’s kind of a rhetorical quiz question, actually, but all I’ve got to say is, thank god for the patchouli! Is that a way for me to describe the absolutely filthy sound of this record? Well, all I’ve got to go on is the righteous sound, and the black and white photos on front and back—unfortunately (or, perhaps, fortunately)—no olfactory sensations.”

SO, I was wrong to be dismissive, but right about the filthy sound—you almost sense that you’re going to need to clean your stereo after playing it. Besides the gnarly rockstar photos, the song listings and credits are enough to scare away the most reckless bargain bin gambler. No less than two Lennon-McCartneys (one will sink most records) and a Paul Simon! And then… musicians named Henry Manchovitz, Cass Strange, and Clit McTorius! It’s “Danger Will Robinson.” But… I thought I should at least listen to it—and I’m glad I did, because it’s not only an awesome record, it’s become the soundtrack for my life. This is a record where I’ve got to go through song by song—because one gets the impression that they stumbled into the studio, pulled off side one, went out for a bucket of fried chicken and a few drinks, and then went back in for side two.

The first song is aptly called “Downer” and sounds like it never gets fully formed before it falls apart—which is, I mean, great—they sound like they have no respect for their instruments, and that’s cool. The record came out in 1972, which is when I had my first band, and we didn’t even have instruments. (We’d already broken my mom’s guitar, so we were stuck with an autoharp, piano, pots and pans.) We also had no helicopter, like, who I assume are the band members, seen approaching on the back cover—wait… that’s the same helicopter on the front, and they’re right under the blades—they should really be ducking down! And do they really not have cases for their guitars? Next song, “Devil,” is not doing it for me—not converting me to the Twirly Birds or Satan—way too much backwards guitar. Apparently, at some point, someone sang some Satanic messages and then played it backwards on a record to hide the message from all but the Satanists—and ever since, anything played backwards is like shorthand for “Satanic.” I get it. The next song, “I Don’t Want Nobody,” starts out sounding like the Edgar Winter Group, but then the singing starts (RC), sounding a lot like the James Brown song this has shortened the title from. It’s great—this is the one that hooked me—but weirdly, it sounds nothing like James Brown, and is now totally making me think of Fuzzhead—but it couldn’t be influenced by Fuzzhead—not without a time machine. At any rate, now I’m in. I’m into it. So much so, that by the time we get to the next song, “Day Tripper,” I’m open to the idea that it might not be a steaming turd. And it’s actually a lot of fun—it kind of sounds like a cover band at the grange hall who are actually really good—but perhaps helped and hindered by a variety of substances. Last, and the weirdest cover song choice, is Paul Simon’s reggae song from that year, “Mother and Child Reunion”—and sounds nothing like it—but apparently the song is about Chinese food, so maybe the band was ready for a lunch break.

Side Two kicks off with a cover of Sweathog’s excellent song, “Things Yet to Come,” along with some effects that sound like someone squirting some 409 spray cleaner all over the place—maybe it was, but why? Again, this one really reminds me of a Fuzzhead song—but still, no time machine. But then it occurs to me, maybe Fuzzhead was influenced by this very record—I mean literally the one I’m playing—it very well could have spent some time in a basement. After that epic, Alvin and the Chipmunks visit the studio (either that or someone’s having fun with helium). After which the band launches into some unlistenable audio-lame-joke-playing as an into to “Rain”—one of the more druggy Beatles songs (and one of my favorites)—and they kind of continue with the tradition here—drugs, drugs, more drugs, Satan, drugs, and so forth. Nice. After that epic, you figure it’s about time for another snack, but no, there’s another song, called “Rainbow”—the best original on the record—sounding a bit like Hendrix. I can’t make out the lyrics, but the chorus sounds like, “I need protection,” over and over. Think about it—he needs protection from a rainbow? What’s that all about?

Billy Preston “Music Is My Life”

I’m not sure if I remember any songs from this 1972 album from when I was 12—maybe so, because that was apparently an impressionable year for music for me. The first couple of songs sound very familiar, even though I don’t know the songs. Billy Preston wrote or co-wrote everything except for “Blackbird.” This is, by the way, a rare record where a Lennon-McCartney cover doesn’t function as a death-anchor, because he improves the song, at least in my opinion, in spite of a prominent harpsichord (in parts). Speaking of keyboard instruments, the back cover photo is a God’s eye view of BP and no less than ten keyboard instruments—your keyboard geek friend might be able to identify them all (I can’t, except for the Hammond and the Wurlitzer, and I’m pretty sure that one is a Hohner Clavinet—one of my favorite instruments). “I Wonder Why” is an excellent soul number, both political and spiritual. Speaking of God, there are quite a few overtly Christian flavored songs. My favorite is “Make The Devil Mad (Turn On To Jesus).” I do remember Billy Preston either having a heavy Christian period, or always being so, but I’m not going to research his bio and paraphrase it—anyone who’s interested already knows—or can easily look.

What I remember about Billy Preston from my childhood was an imposing looking dude with the biggest afro I’d ever seen. His hair really was impressive—and if you search Wikipedia for “afro,” their first photo example indeed is BP. (This recalls the old joke about looking at the dictionary definition of something seeing someone’s picture… that is almost literally true here!) Then I remember him playing with the Rolling Stones a lot—I recall some pretty excellent photos from Rolling Stone magazine, with the Stones—which lent anyone, at that time, a veneer of danger—though that was mostly mythologizing. Many people, I’m sure, have seen that recent Beatles Get Back documentary, which prominently featured a younger Billy Preston—and so it was really nice for me to see this whole other side of him than I remembered. I used to watch those late-night rock shows like Midnight Special pretty religiously, and also Soul Train, whenever that was on—but I don’t recall seeing BP solo—though it’s likely I did at some point. (A quick check with YouTube, and sure enough—good video, and nice orange suit, too!) “Will It Go Round In Circles” is the song from this record that I know—I heard a lot of that one over the years—it brings back the early Seventies like a time machine. That’s a great song.

Gallery “Nice to Be with You” / “Ginger Haired Man”

Gallery “Nice to Be with You” / “Ginger Haired I must have picked this one up for the attractive label—looking like a squashed pumpkin—how would it look spinning? Kind of awkward—though it might look good at a much faster speed—like 1000 RPM. It’s the Sussex label—overseas? No, an LA address—I wonder if they’re still there, I’ll look it up, 6430 Sunset Blvd.—big, ugly office building—well, it’s Hollywood. “Ginger Haired Man”—I guess I listened to the B-Side first—sounds a little like a forgotten Tommy Roe song—failed to excite me. So, what’s this A-Side, with the most innocuous title ever. Oh. It’s that song. It’s funny to really listen to it now, because the intro, the solo, even the verses all sound like music—but the chorus… “It’s no nice to be with you, etc.”—is so ingrained in my mind—will that kind of deep programming ever go away? Probably not. When did I hear this on the kitchen AM radio? Every single day while eating my Pop Tarts and dreading grade school, 1972, and then probably on the car radio, and in public—it’s a brain tattoo if I ever heard one. A number 4 hit, so hopefully they made some money—I’m sure they’re nice people. Songwriter, band leader, Jim Gold, from Detroit (probably heard this endlessly on CKLW)—weird, I’m watching a movie directed by Jack Gold—same person? No. I get confused because my dad’s name was John James—so he went by those, but also Jim, Jimmy, J.J., and he called people Jack, so I get them all confused. How’d they ever score that excellent band name? Gallery. Jackpot. That could mean art gallery, rogues gallery, the gallery in a golf tournament (AKA, human backstop), or a shooting gallery—in a carnival—or else the dilapidated, roach-infested flophouse where doomed junkies get together and share dirty needles. Really sorry to bring you down, there! What else? It could be the gallery in everyone’s heart—the place where we display the best of ourselves, our natural brilliance, shining genius, and true love.

Skeeter Davis “Skeeter Sings Dolly”

Just as the title implies, this is an album by Skeeter Davis, and she is singing Dolly Parton songs. Ten songs, all written by Dolly Parton (a few with co-writers), originally recorded by her, of course. It would be interesting to listen to them back-to-back, the Dolly version, then the Skeeter version. Next rainy day. The cover is an exceptional photograph (as goes for most Skeeter Davis records). Skeeter is out in the woods somewhere, or maybe a very nice back yard, looking contemplative, and she’s wearing an incredible looking long dress—all I can say about it is, that’s some dress. Should I try to describe it? No—I don’t think I could pull it off. The liner notes are exceptional—there is a full column written by Dolly Parton about Skeeter Davis, and this record, “…she has paid me the greatest compliment anyone could ever pay a songwriter.” And how much she likes Skeeter Davis personally: “I think I’ll call her sunshine.” She even lets on what her favorites on the record are: “Just the Way I Am,” “Daddy Was an Old Time Preacher Man,” and “Down from Dover.” Then there’s a whole column by Skeeter about Dolly, and how much she loves her songs—“I think she is destined to become a writer whose songs will be sung forever.” Remember, Skeeter was about 15 years older than Dolly, and this record is from 1972, when Dolly Parton was only in her mid-twenties—though, of course, already a big star with over a dozen records out. Skeeter also mentions some of her favorites on the record: “In the Good Old Days (When Times Were Bad),” “Just the Way I Am,” and “Down from Dover” (which she says is her favorite on the album). Since they’re doing it, I may as well weigh in on my favorite songs on the record, as well: “Put It Off Until Tomorrow,” “Fuel to the Flame,” and “Down from Dover.” (I made those picks right while listening, before I read the notes, so as not to be influenced by the ladies.) I guess we all agree on “Down from Dover”—and it is a pretty great song. No reason to pick favorites, though, all ten are good. Though I do have a particular fondness for “Fuel to the Flame.” Dolly and I share a birthday. Skeeter is my all-time favorite singer. Dolly’s from Tennessee, Skeeter’s from Kentucky, and I’m from Ohio. I tried to single-handedly rid both their states of their whiskey. Failed.

Rockin’ R’s “Live at the Rusty Rail”

This one gets five stars out of five without even putting the needle on it, the cover is so excellent—a full-size black and white photo of who one might assume are the Rockin’ R’s—five white guys, three with bangs, 2 receding a bit—wearing their matching costumes. White pants and metallic, glimmering jackets that most resemble space alien garb from Lost in Space. Also, each guy has a neck scarf (can’t tell the color, could be red) knotted tightly on the right side. The middle guy is sitting behind a snare drum, three have electric guitars and bass (Gibson and Fenders)—and the big guy with glasses has a tambourine. The album title is just below in rocket orange. On back there are four small headshots (three women, one guy) that look like they could be for the chamber of commerce, along with the 14 song titles and who takes the vocals on each—some which match up to the photos. There’s a booking address and phone number. And then liner notes by Rosemary Ellis—which I hope will explain some of this. It’s a pretty thorough rundown of who does what, more or less, down to the songwriting (on the originals), booking, answering the phone (437-1886), wardrobe, bowling, and horse shoes. It sounds like a collective, a club, a group of friends, a band, a business venture, a cult, a very small town, a sailing ship—I’ll go with band. This is a follow-up to a previous live album. They played in Northern Minnesota (a lot in Austin) and made their way into Iowa, as well.

The record is very well-recorded (by the immortal Johnny Durham) (I don’t know if he’s immortal, but his name is the most prominent one on the cover)—crystal clear and immediate—like they’re right here in the room with me, half a century later. The crowd is polite and not overdone. There are a few instrumentals, but mostly it’s country songs with the vocals so upfront you can almost tell what aftershave they’re wearing (or brand of chewing gum, with the women). I believe there are seven different people taking the vocals, including two women—and there are some duets. The playing is top-notch, the band is tight, and they don’t get in each other’s way. The singing is all over the place, from pretty competent to emanating from the neighbor’s shower to cracking bar glasses and rendering mirrors askew. I hope I don’t sound mean—as I’m sure some people would be—I love the heartfelt styles here—and there are a lot of them. I have nothing against singing that wouldn’t make it past the first round of the Gong Show tryouts—I’m a singer myself and can’t stay in key to save my life. The one song sung by “Fritz” (pic on back) is a particular varnish-melter—fantastic. The monologue at the end of the Hank Thompson number, “I Came Awful Close,” sung by “Harold,” is pretty inspired: “You guys stick around here, maybe we’ll get some snakes out later on, and we’ll open some of that good old Christian Brothers brandy from the Alpine liquors in Austin and have a really good time down here at the Rusty Rail.” Another real standout is “Jane” singing “One’s On the Way”—a hilarious song—I probably should have known it—which was a hit for Loretta Lynn around this time. Jane isn’t Loretta, but then no one is—but Loretta. Interesting, that song was written by Shel Silverstein—weird, because I just, yesterday (I’m not kidding) looked him up on the Big Board to see a list of the songs he wrote—because I had been talking about him to someone (OK, to myself—I do a lot of talking to myself). But yeah—odd coincidence—and odd coincidences keep the world spinning.

Sammi Smith “The Best of Sammi Smith”

I’ve said it before—but I pick out records to review using a random system. At one point I had an elaborate process using a deck of cards, which is a lot more romantic than the way I do it now: I have all my records in a spreadsheet, and I use an online random number generator. Still, it works—and the reason I do this is because otherwise, choosing would be paralyzing. Especially considering I own records by people I know—and even a couple I’ve played on. I have favorites, naturally, as well as records I’ve barely listened to. Anyway, lately, there is no one I’ve enjoyed listening to more than Sammi Smith. I only discovered her because I saw one of her LPs at the used store and I liked the cover. I’d never heard of her. Which might seem like, to her fans, someone saying they just discovered Elvis. Yet, that’s what the entire younger, and yet younger, generations have to do with all music. You’re not born knowing it. So, well, I’m just a big fan of Sammi Smith. I’m like the kind person who might travel somewhere to see her, and it would be like a religious experience—that’s music at its best. So, it’s beyond heartbreaking that she’s no longer with us. But then, heartbreak is like my default state, so I can, more or less, revel in the sadness and longing that are inherent in a lot of these classic county songs, while feeling that extra level of longing and sadness, knowing that I am not living on the same plane of existence. It helps/doesn’t help, that ghostly photo on the cover, and the fan-club intimate notes on back—Height: 5 Feet, etc., and including Favorite Food: Soft Tacos with Ortega Green Chili Sauce.

If it sounds like I’ve been drinking—it’s not so—but I just re-read what I wrote about this record the last time I listened to it—I had opened this document, and wrote kind of freely, thinking I’d post something about it, at some point. Well, what I wrote then REALLY sounds like I’d been dri9nkjing. Maybe I was—after all, if I started drinking again, I’d probably be the last to know. Anyway, in my current “sober” state, it’s quite embarrassing. Fortunately, I have to option, and the authority, to just delete the whole paragraph. And thank God. Maybe by the time I finish the review, I’ll have come to my senses and delete the above paragraph, as well. In fact, maybe I’ll delete what I’m writing right now, and start over.

According to online sources, Sammi Smith released her first LP in 1970—which was called “He’s Everywhere”—after the excellent Gene Dobbins/Jean Whitehead song by the same title that sits in the middle of Side Two on this one. Kind of a sick place to put a song that’s so emotional it nearly makes you want to collapse in a heap. Later, that LP was re-released as “Help Me Make It Through the Night,” as that was a huge hit from that album. That Kris Kristofferson song may be one of the best and most well-known songs Sammi Smith has recorded—it’s one of my favorites—and it starts out this collection. She then put out albums in 1971 and 1972, and then oddly, this “Best of” record in 1972. Is it odd to put out a best of record that soon? Not when it’s this record.

All ten songs are excellent, of course, but—besides the above— particular other favorites here are: the Janette Tooley song, “When Michael Calls” (weirdly, there’s a horror movie with that name, starring Ben Gazzara, from this same year). “Teardrops in My Heart,” by Vaughn Horton, is a great one—a heart metaphor I wouldn’t have thought of. Also, “For the Kids,” by Shel Silverstein (someone I actually was in the same room with). “Then You Walk In,” a song by David Malloy and Johnny Wilson, would be a hit for anyone—but especially this version. My very favorite on this record, though, is another Kris Kristofferson song, “I’ve Got To Have You,” which was a hit for Carly Simon—and I love Carly Simon, but this version is 100 times better. It’s probably my favorite Sammi Smith song, at this point, and that means it’s my favorite song in the world on this otherwise bleak Tuesday in February 2022.

Anna Moffo “Anna Moffo sings Bellini, Donizetti, Rossini & Verdi”

I don’t know anything about opera, and I may have no other recordings of opera among my hundreds of records—and I have to admit, I probably bought this one because of the cover. Also, I like the name “Anna Moffo”—which is nearly palindromic. Anyway, I like opera when I hear it, but like pasta, soccer, and philosophy, I just don’t know enough to be any kind of judge of whether it’s good, bad, competent, groundbreaking, classic, etc. As someone who doesn’t follow opera, I usually only hear it in the context of a movie—usually used during a rather dramatic montage, often depicting extreme events—though that use has become somewhat of a cliché. You can pretty much take any piece of opera and put it to a random, dramatic movie scene with the sound turned down, and it will work, at least for a bit. What’s more, I don’t even know these composers—well, a couple, only by name—but had I seen the names—Verdi, Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti—out of context, I would have guessed: composer, wine, pasta shape, sports car. Or really cool bicycle. What’s with the Italians, anyway—do they make anything that isn’t cool and/or beautiful? I suppose that’s another cliché, but I mean it as a compliment, and why not?

Anna Moffo was born in Wayne, Pennsylvania, which probably sounds more backwoods than it is—but still it’s about as far from Rome as… Wayne, Pennsylvania. She went to Italy to study, and the rest is biography. Notes on the back of the album fill out her history, and status, and also mention that this record was intended to raise money for the preservation of Venice (Italy, not the bar in Kent, Ohio, which might also be a worthy restoration project). As striking in appearance as Anna Moffo was—evident in lots of photos on the internet—especially those where she has big hair or enough eye makeup to swallow up the sun—it’s kind of surprising she’s not pictured on the cover of this record. Though, admittedly, the cover is probably what prompted me to buy it—a huge plate of spaghetti with a liberal amount of bright red tomato sauce being ladled over it. It’s a good one. I wonder, however, if opera fans found it a little offensive—even if it does look delicious, vibrant, and enticing—just like this music. Still, I think Anna Moffo on the cover might have sold more records.

Leon Russell “Carney”

I would have bought this record even if I wasn’t a big fan of Leon Russell, just because he’s in clown makeup on the cover—and if you want me to buy your record—appear on the cover in clown makeup—I’m a sucker for it! Though—he actually looks more like a zombie than a clown—but it’s the context—the circus and carnival theme of this record (if it was called “Zombies in the Park” it’d be a different story). A more traditional spelling of Carney is “Carny”—but this record is from 1972—and seeing how that’s a half-century ago—who knows—plus, it could be a regional spelling. Either way, it refers to a worker in a traveling carnival (and works metaphorically, of course, for rock’n’roll performer). By the way—the 1980 movie, Carny, is worth finding—it’s kind of a lost masterpiece. What if someone told you there was movie with Jodie Foster, Gary Busey (at his best), and Robbie Roberson (also co-writer of the movie)—just hanging out, throughout—well, this is it. (Well, there is a story, there’s drama, but the scenes when they’re just hanging out are the best.) Plus, Elisha Cook, Jr., plays an old-time carny! If you haven’t seen it, you’ve got to check out this movie.

Anyway, this is a fine Leon Russell album, I believe it’s his third. I knew the excellent songs “Tight Rope” and “This Masquerade,” but I thought they were metaphorical (which they are) but didn’t realize they also conform to the circus theme, here. A bunch of good Leon Russell songs on this album, fine playing, and I love his singing. Side two starts off with some utter weirdness—a song called “Acid Annapolis” (which I’m sure is a band name, by now) which sounds like a bunch of ghosts in a cave—interesting song. Pretty much the rest of the songs are beautiful, melancholy songs about regret and being lost, an outsider, struggling along in the world—some of them quite dark. More than one song takes place on the road, sometimes literally, and sometimes on the side of the road. Broken down, weary. Really, a lot of lovely songs on this record.

I will read more and talk more about Leon Russell when I write about more of his records—I have a few, and I keep an eye out for them. If I find one as good as this one, though, I’ll freak out. I know I don’t like some of his later stuff as much, but there’s tons of recordings worth exploring. He’s an interesting guy. Also, here, of note, is the amazing back cover photo, which is L.R. (in his front cover makeup) sitting next to a makeup mirror, outside of a mini mobile trailer—the kind that tiny-home hipsters would totally drool over, now. In an ironic touch, the trailer is hitched to a vintage, very expensive, Rolls Royce. The funny thing is, given the ongoing love for both the car and the trailer, the irony all but disappears in a contemporary setting. The scene would, in fact, be quite easy to reprise, at least in, say LA, and the setup would actually work very well for nearly any current recording artist imaginable.

Tammy Wynette “Stand by Your Man / Bedtime Story”

This is a double record, but not a double record, in that it’s two individual LPs put together in double record format. Stand by Your Man from 1969 and Bedtime Story from 1972—both are great albums. If you could only have two Tammy Wynette records, these two wouldn’t be bad choices. And if you could only have one country record (which would be a sad, inhumane restriction), you could do worse than with this one. Both records are produced by Billy Sherrill. Every song is fine, and there are like 22 of them. The first side starts with the song, “Stand by Your Man,” the number one hit song that—even if you knew no country music—you’d know it. If country music was Mount Rushmore, but there was only one song instead of four presidents—it would be this song. It’s kind of like that southern thing of, anything that’s liquid, calling it a Coke. It was never my favorite, particularly, but maybe that’s just because it’s as ubiquitous as Coke. If I had to pick a favorite song on this album, I’d guess I’d say, “If This Is Our Last Time,” the Dallas Frazier number—but they’re all good. One funny thing about the album cover, the front is the Bedtime Story cover art, with a superimposed Stand by Your Man cover—about the size of a undersized CD cover—in one corner. And on the back, it’s the reverse. There’s a list of all the songs on both front and back. And then it opens up, and there are two, full-size, black and white photos of Tammy Wynette—pretty good ones. No credits or liner notes, just ten matchbook-size, black and white images of ten more great Tammy Wynette albums. By this time, when I was 12 or so, she was something. I will forever regret not going to see her at the county fair.