Vern Gosdin “Never My Love”

Since I’m obsessed with the Addrisi Brothers song, “Never My Love,” I’ll pick up any record with that song, including by the Addrisi Brothers (twice)—and including this one—the album is even named after it. So, I guess you could say the song sold me this record (I mean, not a lot of cabbage changed hands)—rather than the star—that’s often the way it works, with me, with older records. I look at the songs, and songwriters, and then maybe I discover some singer I never knew about. It turns out that Vern Gosdin is a big name in Nashville—he was known as country music’s “The Voice” (I’m trusting the close-internet, here) which would kind of make him like a parallel of Sinatra, at least nickname-wise. (His eyes, on the cover photo, do appear blue, but who knows.) It’s often said that Sinatra has no peer, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a parallel. Well, Vern Gosdin does have an excellent, deep, country music singing voice. Lots and lots of singles, including some Country Number Ones—mostly in the Seventies and Eighties. This LP is from 1978, the year I graduated from high school—definitely before I because a country music fan. It’s a fine version of “Never My Love”—and there’s some other very good songs, like “When I Need You,” and, “I Sure Can Love You” (all of Side One is excellent). Also, “Forget Yesterday,” and “Something’s Wrong in California” (it’s hard to go wrong with a title like that).

A subtly weird album cover. You might not even notice it (as being weird, or at all)—it’s dark, earth-tone, brown—Vern Gosdin looks like he’s lit by a yellowing streetlamp. It looks like he’s peeking out of a doorway, wearing a dark suit and a loud shirt with an enormous collar—or maybe two jackets, one with a massive lapel. The weird thing is, the “doorway” (if that’s what it is) is slanted, like on a 70-degree (estimate, I don’t have a protractor) angle. So, it’s like he’s in an Indiana Jones set, or a Batman villain’s hideout. The back cover—same photo, but he’s looking off to the left, as if at someone making a comment. (Like, “…or are you just happy to see me?”) Or else, meant to show off his profile—highlighting his sideburn and schnoz. And the subtly oddest thing—barely in the shadows, below, it looks like his hand’s in his pocket (you can make out some loud sleeve)… but a thumb is protruding—which looks an awful lot like he’s doing that old gag where you put your hand down your pants and stick a finger out the open zipper in order to resemble… you know. I’m not saying he’s doing this—and it would be very weird (though kind of brilliant) if he was—but other record buyers, other than myself, over the years, must have made this same observation, over the years. This oddity alone (and a nice, listening record) makes me a new fan of Vern Gosdin.

Mickey Newbury “His Eye Is on the Sparrow”

If you’re wondering how many Mickey Newbury records I have, the answer is eight. This one is from 1978—wasn’t the Eighties yet—still the decade of the bleak and hopeless. It’s got a very weird cover photo—it’s super grainy, color washed out except for the reds that pop out. It’s a low angle shot of a young, barefoot girl in a white dress, carrying a large, red flower. I don’t know if she is a young girl, actually, or a small, young woman. She appears to have brown skin, fairly dark, though the photo is low-light so it’s hard to tell. You also can’t tell her nationality, for sure. Even though the photo is somewhat blurry and abstracted, you definitely get a sense that she’s overwhelmed—maybe frightened. In the foreground are painted street lines—she’s in a city street, maybe very early in the morning. In the background, the bottoms of enormous skyscrapers. Also, some older buildings and a “Jesus Saves” sign. I find it a little disturbing—and what does it mean? Will the clues be in the lyrics to one of the songs? All I can do is listen and speculate.

It’s a quiet, melancholy record, really pretty songs, with forlorn lyrics. Everything is very quiet and understated. There’s only one jaunty hillbilly song (“Gone to Alabama”) and even that takes a soulful turn. There are plenty of Jesus references (the title song, in particular, which is a traditional Christian song), but it’s all about needing the strength to go on. That is, it’s not about glory, but about survival. My favorite on the record is “It Don’t Matter Anymore”—a particularly pretty song—it’s short and sweet, and bleak. Mickey Newbury can write a beautiful song, that’s for sure. They are pretty much all beautiful on this record—it may be my favorite of his yet. I think I’ll leave this one out for a while and treat it like I just bought it at the 1978 store and see what it does to me. I guess I’m thinking that the cover might have something to do with the first song—“Juble Lee’s Revival,” because it’s also the last song, “Juble Lee’s Revival Shout”—I’m not really sure what it’s about, but it’s certainly peering, somewhat, into the abyss, by the end. As is the whole record, to some degree.

John Wesley Ryles “Shine On Me”

I’ve heard the title track, “Shine On Me (The Sun Still Shines When It Rains)”—it must have been a hit. A terrible song. No, it’s okay, very poppy, very light—I suppose one of the catchiest on the album. I have absolutely no idea why I have this record—I never heard of John Wesley Ryles—and it’s from 1978—everything after 1974 is pretty much a red flag, unless you know better. It’s a country record, but you wouldn’t know it from the cover—maybe goin’ for crossover. It’s got an absolutely hideous cover—front and back, airbrushed blue sky with clouds. And then a 7 by 5 ½ inch photo of J.W. Ryles with an airbrushed sun in the corner—and either he’s got space alien level complexion or his face is airbrushed as well. Airbrush artist workin’ overtime! He’s got a cool looking jacket, and you can barely make out the edge of a guitar—so it looks like (if you’re not thinkin’ guitar) like there’s a random piece of wood there. The credits make out that he’s a Nashville guy, I guess. Should I look him up? He’s still a young man—been in the business for decades. He had a hit song, “Kay,” when he was 17, so he’s been dealing’ with that for a lifetime. It’s interesting, normally you’d think this would be a songwriter’s record, but he only wrote one, here—“Next Time”—which happens to be the best song on the album (or second best—see below). Seventy percent of the songs were written or co-written by Terry Skinner, who is also recording engineer (but not a credited musician). Funny place, Nashville. Most of his songs are too peppy for me—though “Cry No More My Lady” is quite nice. He does have a theme going—I mean, besides love gone wrong—there’s a lot of sun and rain references—including storm sound effects on “All Day Rain”—a pretty good song. “Kay” ends the record—I presume a newer version of it—it’s a story song, with enough key changes to get you down the Ohio River high and dry. A bit of a “star is born” story. My favorite song on the record is a cover of the Gerry and the Pacemakers song, “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying”—that’s just an excellent song—and Ryles is a fine singer—does it a good turn.

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.

Del & Sue Smart “Singing Country Favorites”

I admit to buying this 1967 record because the cover is so awesome—I had never heard of Del & Sue Smart. It’s a posed photo of Del & Sue Smart out in the woods—trees in the foreground and background—and they’re wearing exceptionally smart, matching, western-wear—suit and dress, with diamond-shaped embellishments and some sequins, it looks like. Some shade of yellow—I would probably call it “mustard”—but maybe I’ll try to figure it out.  Maybe darker than mustard, perhaps goldenrod, or even gold, but non-metallic. Del (I assume) is holding some kind of resonator guitar—I don’t know what company—double cutaway—but I can’t see the headstock. I looked at the whole internet, and I couldn’t match it up to anything. They both have great hair—but I’m trying to keep these reviews under 1000 words. They look like real people, too, and the important thing is, for some reason, they strike me good people—maybe I’m fooled by those smiles, but I’d like to believe. The label—Somerset—I’m guessing they didn’t have deep pockets, but they did a nice job with this cover. I like how the color of the “Del & Sue Smart” letters are matched up with their suits—very effective—the art department was working overtime.

Because I was focused on the cover, it almost seemed like a bonus that the record is not only listenable—it’s quite good. A fine song selection with some serious country playing, and nice duet singing. I love duets, actually, but then, who doesn’t? Good pickin’, strummin’, and whatnot, piano, steel guitar, and the rest. But no musician credits. Ten songs, with no songwriting credits either. I’ll see if I know any of them. The first, one of the best on the record, “Just Between You and Me,” is a song by Jack Clement and was recorded by Charley Pride. I know that because I looked it up on the big computer. I suppose I could do that for all the songs, but I’m not going to—I’m only being paid pennies per word here, after all! I like “Memory Street” a lot—good song! I tend to like the slow and melancholy country songs, rather than the jaunty ones. It’s interesting listening to their solo singing parts, too—both of them have killer voices, on their own—Sue’s is full and polished, like vinegar and fine olive oil, and Del’s is a bit more quirky, not unlike mustard—and then together, voila! They blend really well, like when you make salad dressing and that mustard works as an emulsifier. “Let Me Say I Love You” is another very big favorite here. But they’re all good.

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.

The Best of Sandy Posey & Skeeter Davis

You can probably listen to this record several times in the time it takes you to read the extensive biographical notes on the back cover, which include a short bio of each woman (in which we find out they were born Martha Sharp and Mary Frances Penick) and a couple of glowing testimonials about each singer. Each one gets a side, only four songs each, and these are short songs (from back when no one needed more than three minutes to get the point across), the longest being 2:37. I suppose this was a budget record, and whatever it cost new, it was less than a normal LP. Plus, you get two artists for the price of one, or less! It’s on Gusto Records, and after all, “Gusto” means: light on your bankroll. The only drawback is you have to turn the record over every ten minutes—if you’re listening to it “on repeat,” that is, like the kids do today. The other possible drawback is if you alphabetize your records, by artist, where do you put it? For me, that’s easy, since I’m a bigger fan of Skeeter Davis—so it goes with the Davis. But I’m a fan of Sandy Posey, too, and the songs here are all good, including her hit, “Single Girl.” The Skeeter Davis side includes the country classic, “My Last Date With You.” Great songs—the rest of them too—nothing to complain about—eight fine songs, no filler. And almost like a bonus, the final song on the record is Skeeter singing “I Can’t Stay Mad At You,” an incredibly catchy pop number by Carole King and Gerry Goffin. This record (also available on 8-Track and cassette) came out in 1978, the year I graduated from high school (I would not have appreciated it then) and even though vinyl records are more popular than ever, I can’t imagine being able to buy something this good in 2021 with your lunch money. I’m not saying things were better back then… but different? Yes.

Willie Nelson “Half Nelson”

The intersection of artists who are immensely popular and artists I like is astoundingly small, but that’s where Willie Nelson lies, along with a few filmmakers and few other country singers. I’m not trying to be difficult, I’m just being halfway honest. Ever since I first heard Willie Nelson sing I’ve been trying to figure out what makes his voice sound like it does. The only answer I’ve come up with is: because it’s Willie Nelson’s voice. Even though some of this stuff is previously released, you figure duets with 10 of popular music’s biggest stars should be an automatic home-run—but alas, it’s merely a “half nelson” (a wrestling move that, if you use it in a baseball game, you’ll be ejected from the game and heavily fined). That’s because, besides 10 duet-ists, there’s also a wide variety of arrangements and producers—some aren’t half bad, but some are half-assed. And this came out in 1985, a dismal year for the “hot sounds.” Willie would have been around 20 when Hank Williams died, so technically their duet here could have been recorded in the early-Fifties, but I suspect another method was used: séance. It sounds like Hank, even from the grave. What’s kind of funny is how Ray Charles sounds so much like Ray Charles, and Willie and Leon Russell doing a Rolling Stones song sounds just like a Leon Russell song. My favorite is “Half a Man,” with George Jones (sounds like George Jones, and Willie!) in keeping with the theme—and a nice song. One of my favorite product names is “half & half”—incidentally, and my brother and I started a conceptual band called “Half”—not because we’re each in a different city, but because there’s music, alright, but no real band. The hideous album cover looks like it took a half-hour from conception to print-ready—ugly, too—it would cause me psychic harm to even describe it. I’ve got to get some better Willie Nelson records—I really do like him, and he’s put out maybe thousands, I don’t know. I wonder if there are other funny play-on-words titles—no doubt. Though I believe “Full Nelson” is a Willie Nelson tribute band—you have to wonder if they “antiqued” their guitars, and just how much the singer sounds like Willie—kind of doesn’t seem possible.

Sammi Smith “Help Me Make It Through the Night”

Not long ago, a year or two—who can keep track of time—I had never heard of Sammi Smith—believe it or else. Had I heard the name, I might have thought it was the young English singer, or the old English brewery. I came across one of her later albums and bought it out of curiosity—and it was great, so I bought a few others, including this, her first LP (another one from the magical year, 1970), which was originally titled “He’s Everywhere,” but changed, I guess, when her version of the Kris Kristofferson song, “Help Me Make It Through the Night” became a hit. It’s a great song, and this is my favorite version of it I’ve ever heard. I like every song on this record—there are some country classics—other standouts include: “Saunders’ Ferry Lane,” “There He Goes,” “With Pen in Hand,” “Lonely Street,” “He’s Everywhere”—hell, I may as well just say “all of them”—and I guess I already did. Sammi Smith’s singing is soulful and deep—I like her voice as much as any country singer I’ve ever heard. She is considered part of the “Outlaw Country” singers—though you wouldn’t necessarily make that association with this record. Maybe it’s the two Kris Kristofferson songs, including “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down”—with its famous line: “And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad, so I had one more for dessert.” I love that song, and this is, by far, my favorite version of it.

The album cover is low-budget looking—I wonder what the original version looked like. If I see it, I’ll buy that one, too—that’s how much I like this record. There are liner notes by Eddie Rabbitt, who hadn’t discovered the “shift” key, but that’s okay, it’s poetry—actually a kind of beautiful love poem for Sammi. Also liner notes by Kris Kristofferson who, being a Rhodes scholar, uses proper punctuation, and is also a lot more eloquent than my clumsy review, here. I should probably just retype the whole thing he wrote, but I’ll leave you to discover it—if you find this record (it shouldn’t be hard—it sold a lot of copies—and used country records are undervalued). Of course, if you already know this record, you’re lucky. I’m not in the habit, anymore, of spewing reckless hyperbole, since I don’t get paid by the adjective, so when I say that, at this moment in time, this is the record that finds its way to my turntable more than any others, I mean it. If you’re only going to own one country record (that’s sad, but whatever) this is the one. It breaks my heart to know that Sammi Smith passed away (at the age I am now) back on the exact date I played my last live show (ended with a John Prine song) (okay, I’m not sure if it was the exact date, but it wouldn’t surprise me, considering the prankster writing this uncanny script). Sorry to dwell so much on Me, but I’m just trying to figure out why I have such a visceral reaction to this record. But I’m sure it’s not just me. We’ve all had broken hearts—some just more broken then others. Hopefully there’s more to life than that, but here’s your soundtrack for heartbreak breakfast, heartbreak lunch, and heartbreak late-night vigil.

Tammy Wynette “The Ways to Love a Man”

This was maybe Tammy Wynette’s seventh or so LP, released in 1970. The cover is a dramatic, larger than life-size portrait, her head leaning forward as if she’s about to kiss you. I’m sure the epic decision-makers at Epic Records were thinking “sex sells”—as its title could be misconstrued to be all about sex, after all—rather than heartbreak and forgiveness, acceptance, Jesus, and supper. As I’ve told everyone who will listen, I didn’t care for Tammy Wynette when I was growing up, and at the county fair, I’d skip her concert for the demolition derby. Of course, now, I love her, and I’d find a way to see her if I could—and the demolition derby. Every song on this record sounds like a country classic—it’s produced by Billy Sherrill, who’s the best. There’s one song after another that you can imagine crying in your beer to—those really quiet verses that then explode into a line that’s sung from the deepest depths, and the stomach, the soul, and gives you goosebumps. Great songs, some by Billy Sherrill, some by George Jones and Tammy, and a few by others. I’ve been writing about whatever old vinyl records I’ve been kicking around, for 15 years now, and somehow my “random system” hasn’t picked out a Tammy Wynette LP before this, even though I own a half-dozen. Well, more to come, I’m sure, from down there at the end of the alphabet, lonely street, and the end of the bar.