Patsy Cline “The Patsy Cline Story”

It’s hard for me to write anything about Patsy Cline because I was such a huge fan of her at one time and now, I barely listen to her anymore. Not that I mind listening to her, as I am right now, writing this—it’s just that I don’t normally put on a Patsy Cline record when I’m in the mood for country music, or love songs, or sad songs, or introspection. At one time, I suppose, my love for her had to do with being in the vicinity of “discovering” her—around the time this 1980 LP came out, when I was around 20 years old. It’s a two-record retrospective—one of about a million Patsy Cline compilation releases since her tragic death, at the age of 30, in 1963. I had not been a fan of country and western, in my youth, but my appreciation for it more or less coincided with me becoming a punk rocker (if that makes sense), and also learning about jazz, and also discovering a lot of older music I didn’t know existed.

Quite fascinating to me (and probably no one else) is that at this time (a little hard to believe it was 40-some years ago), I was an enormous fan of The Clash, James Brown, and Patsy Cline—and now I barely listen to those three. It’s not that I don’t have an appreciation of them, on paper so to speak, even love for them—but I’m just not feeling it. Well, The Clash is most confusing to me. It’s almost like I’ve turned against them. (I know, it’s silly.) If someone put on a good James Brown record right now, I’d probably be into it—it’s just that I never choose, these days, to put on James Brown. And I’m listening to Patsy Cline right now, enjoying the music thoroughly, but I don’t feel it the way I once did—so I guess that’s the point. Sad but true.

It’s interesting—when a song comes on that I don’t know that well, such as, “Imagine That,” I appreciate that one a lot more than all the usuals—the big ones that everyone knows—which I don’t need to mention. I suppose that I’ve just heard some of them way too many times—and just wore out the parts of my brain where they reside. Partly to blame, I guess, are movies and TV shows—who will, on occasion, allow one of these songs to do way too much work. “Back in Baby’s Arms” is a good example. I wouldn’t mind never hearing that song again. “She’s Got You,” however, I still feel a fondness for—I liked that one so much I learned to play it, and did (for myself, only) quite often. I can still remember the revelation of “Leavin’ on Your Mind”—my first hearing that—even if I can’t feel it in the same way. “Crazy” is undeniable, but I’ve just heard it too many times. “Sweet Dreams” was always my favorite, and I guess I can’t forget that. It’s still got a little furnished cottage in the nostalgia region of my brain. And… to end on a positive note, there’s the song, “Why Can’t He Be You”—that one’s a killer, lyric-wise, and the way she sings it sure is fine. That might be my favorite at this point. And maybe, if I’m lucky, and some years pass, brain cells under the bridge, just maybe I can come around to all of them again.

Sandy Posey “Single Girl”

Sandy Posey must have sold a lot of records in the late Sixties, because I’ve had no trouble finding inexpensive copies of them—the problem is, Sandy Posey fans listened to these records to death—they are always well-worn. I had a copy of this one, from 1966, earlier, but it was so warped as to be almost unplayable, so I eventually got rid of it. This copy plays okay but it’s so scratchy it sounds like someone used it as a soup tureen. I don’t mind the sound of scratchiness so much, but at this level of scratchiness it makes me feel like it’s doing my stylus grievous bodily harm. It’s such a good record, though, I’ll keep an eye out for yet another copy. I guess she had some big hits at around the time this came out—her first or second album—and so she had the good fortune of recording with some very good Nashville studio musicians and having the pick of some really great songs—sometimes a bit backwards lyrically—but all catchy and beautiful songs. That goes for the other Sandy Posey records I’ve heard as well. The songs, production, and performances fall into this area I like that’s, I guess, at the intersection of country, pop, and early rock’n’roll—kind of the area Skeeter Davis inhabited sometimes—and there is that record I have that’s SP on one side and SD or the other—and it’s a good one. I like all twelve songs on this record, but if I had to pick favorites they’d be: “Single Girl,” “Hey Mister,” “Patterns,” “The Last Day of Love,” “Shattered,” “Don’t Touch Me,” “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now),” and “I’m Your Puppet” (when considered ironically). Also, the album cover is the best of hers I’ve seen—she’s got a pretty menacing expression and is wearing a cadet blue trench coat with the collar turned up. Her monumental hairdo gives her an extra eight inches, easily. The background is blurred out, but she’s definitely standing next to an iron gate and a stone wall—giving the impression that she’s either just outside of a prison—or a factory that’s one step down from a prison. I suppose the idea here might be illustrating Single Girl—and the primary reason she’s single is because her dude’s locked up without much chance of parole. Or, if you want a darker take, seeing how “Single Girl” could be interpreted as an ode to prostitution, maybe she’s the one on the wrong side of the law.

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.

Skeeter Davis “The Best of Skeeter Davis” (1978)

I’m not sure how many “Best of Skeeter Davis” records there are out there—I’m not even going to try to figure it out—some are re-releases of previous ones. If you see one in your price range, buy it—you can’t go wrong—it’s Skeeter Davis. This one from 1978 is on the cheapie Pickwick label, has a 98 cent cover—no picture of SD anywhere on the record! There are only nine songs on the record, which means the total playing time is around a half hour. The songs don’t have anything to do with each other, and the sound quality isn’t even consistent. For all those drawbacks, this is still a great record—in part because Skeeter Davis didn’t do anything but make great music. As far as I’m concerned she could have covered breaking glass and it’d be great. Anyway, this record has its share of cornball old-time love songs, like “Love Takes a Lot of My Time,” and one of those with a lot of speaking parts, “Set Him Free.” There’s a cover of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” which is song I’ve always found beautiful, even though I’ve heard it more times than my stomach growling—and even though there’s an out-of-control fiddler threatening to set a shit-fire, Skeeter Davis’ voice extinguishes it and saves us all. There are more pop songs, too, a King/Goffin, and John D. Loudermilk’s “Sunglasses,” which is dumb, but no more dumb than the beach, which is where I wish I was right now.

Mickey Newbury “The Sailor”

I probably mentioned this before—I heard a Mickey Newbury song on the radio, never had heard of him, so kind of got obsessed with him, then bought half a dozen records—none of which stood up to that song (or the memory of it). Still, he’s an interesting guy, a successful Nashville songwriter and recording artist, without being a big star. I suppose fans of his consider him a big star, but you know, not one of that handful everyone knows—and if you think about it, what’s this obsession we have (in this cultural time and place) with being known even by the people who don’t really care about your art? I guess it’s about money, then, right? This is a nice country record, low key, solid songs, straightforward, Nashville studio pros, I guess, the usual themes. Actually, I’m not listening all that close to the lyrics. “A Weed is a Weed”—yes it is. The cover cracks me up—kind of a half-assed nautical mishmash. It made me think of the one room in my parents’ house that was decked out in a kind nautical, “Polynesian” (influenced, no doubt, by a visit to Disney Polynesian Village), and Tiki bar (influenced by visits to the Kon-Tiki in Cleveland and the Kahiki in Columbus). The closest music they played to country was nothing; I had a Johnny Cash 45, “A Boy Named Sue”—but that was more of novelty record. I don’t remember when I started to really like country music—I believe it was with Merle Haggard. At a certain point I just became open to anything. I can listen to this record, but it doesn’t do much for me. It’s just not weird enough, on any level, to really comfort me in any way. And that subtle harmonica doesn’t help, it’s just so easy on the ears (in a bad way). It just occurred to me that the cover could be the background art for the menu of cheesy seafood restaurant—that made me laugh.

Skeeter Davis “My Heart’s in the Country”

This record has the best cover of all the Skeeter Davis records I own (which is a lot, but not nearly enough of them). It’s a full cover color photograph of Skeeter sitting in a barnyard wearing a red and white gingham dress, holding a baby pig. As cute as she is, the pig’s even cuter. The photo is weirdly cropped, as in it doesn’t look cropped—I’m guessing they took a few, but there weren’t a lot to chose from that had sufficient focus when blown up that large, because, I’m no expert, but I believe those little pigs are kind of squirmy. It’s a great cover. There’s also substantial liner notes on the back, by Skeeter Davis, which I’ll read in a bit. I was going to say this isn’t my favorite of her records, which it isn’t, but now that I’m listing to it a few times, while writing this, it’s growing on me. Skeeter Davis records will do that. The title song (by Larry Kingston and Felton Jarvis) is about a singer who has big city success, but nevertheless, she sings, “My heart’s in the country, on a farm in O-hi-o.” Which, of course, strikes a chord with me, as an Ohioan. She is from Kentucky, so this song is a character, but also her, and southern Ohio and Kentucky do have a border, but it’s not necessarily the one drawn up by The Man. Now that I think about it, maybe it’s the Ohioan in her (as well as the Kentuckian in me) that draws me to her so intensely. This song also has one of those spoken parts, which I’m sure some people find corny, but I love that, especially when Skeeter Davis does it.

One thing that’s interesting about Skeeter Davis is that she had success with both pop and country audiences, which is something she talks about in the liner notes, maintaining that her roots are in the country (and this country music). I’m personally not partial to either the pop music or the country music she’s recorded—I must say, I like both equally—and sometimes you can’t really hear a line between them (but sometimes you can). As I’ve said before, above all, I’m song oriented, so it matters little, the genre or style—I’ll like a song, or not so much. The biggest generalization I make when I’m categorizing music I like or don’t like is the degree of jauntiness—and I’m sure people are tired of me using that word, but it best expresses the thing that often turns me off. (Of course, I’m sure there’s a jaunty song out there that I do like, but I can’t think of one right now.) Naturally, both country and pop songs can be jaunty. On this record, which is all hardcore country songs, we have the jaunty and the not jaunty. The not jaunty ones tend to be sad and melancholy—those are my favorites. A few of my favorites here are “Put It Off Until Tomorrow” (by Dolly Parton and Bill Owens), “I’m Living in Two Worlds” (J. Crutchfield) (not about the two worlds of pop and country—it’s a relationship song—and a sad one). And “Before I’m Over You” by Betty Sue Perry, another in the tradition of losing one’s mind (going crazy, insane, etc.) over a love gone wrong. Of course, there are songs that are kind of in between sad and jaunty, the clever country songs—one here I like a lot is “Guess My Eyes Were Bigger Than My Heart,” by Liz Anderson (I always liked that expression, about eating, and there’s nothing I like better than the tradition of inserting “heart” in every expression imaginable).

These liner notes are Skeeter answering the question, “What’s the country like?” She goes on and on with nostalgic descriptions of the things she remembers and loves about country life—sure, it’s sugary and sweet, but really kind of touching, too—at least to me. My favorite part of it is where she’s talking about mothers and fathers, now gone, their particular smells, and she says, “And they were smells you’d like to smell again, but can’t.” I guess that reminds me of what I like about Skeeter Davis—there is this simplicity, clarity, a kind of innocence, but never without an underlying melancholy and world weariness. It also reminds me that I have this autobiography she wrote, called Bus Fare to Kentucky, which I still haven’t read—I’ve got to read it sometime.