Conway Twitty: "Goodbye Time"

I might have a baby soon, and so I want to leave this video with you until I'm back. It's not a song I knew before finding this video, and it's kind of an 80s style recording, but I love the emotional performance. That's one of the things I love about Conway—how much he puts himself into his voice. And it's always kind of comforting. Like when I hear a Conway song, it feels as though I've come home. Weird, because I only became a fan a few years ago after buying a record on a whim.

Conway Twitty: "Easy Loving"

This is one of my favorite songs.

It's getting harder to find live recordings of the great old country songs, especially with embedding enabled. If you ask me, and I know you wonder what I think, this is a really stupid move for the labels. How do they think music spreads these days? Youtube. Sharing. Embedding. When I hear a great song from a video, what do I do? I go buy it. It's not rocket science.

I posted a song by the Civil Wars recently, but I only bought the album because I could hear the entire song from the bands' YouTube video. The small sample provided by Amazon.com wasn't enough to make me feel like buying it. So what I'm saying is that Universal and Arista and whoever owns the rights to all the live TV recordings done by the legends of country music, should be drudging up the videos from their archives and posting them on YouTube for younger audiences to find. And they will find it. And they will end up buying it.

Duh. It's like I have to hold their hands or something. They have no idea what's going on. I guess that's why all the studios in Nashville are closing down—because, like all the industries that are currently becoming obsolete, we have dinosaurs running things.

Anyway, I love Loretta and Conway together. Not all the songs, mind you—admittedly some of them are um, crappy. But the good ones are really, really good. I almost posted a 1980s live recording of Conway at the CMAs, just because it's awesome despite being so 1980s country. But I know my audience loves the old southern suits and polyester styles worn by country artists prior to the 80s. And deep down, EVERYONE is secretly in love with Conway. Women and men.

Conway Twitty: "Don't Take It Away"

Lest you forget the most brilliant country singer to ever make women swoon, I'm posting another Conway video. It's been a few years, but I think it's best that I never stop posting Conway videos. Yes, I still love him. How can I not? Check out that hair and those smokey gazes. And I sincerely believe country artists should never, NEVER have stopped wearing Nudie suits. That was a big mistake. BIG mistake.




Also, here's a video that I can't embed. But it's also brilliant.

George and Tammy Together in Perfect Harmony

I was just trying to organize my music . . . again . . . and I found this George Jones and Tammy Wynette song. I lost it for a minute, but now it's found. And it's so good, I needed to share it: 



George's hair . . . has that ever been duplicated in all of history? It's perhaps the most amazing 'do I've ever seen. Completely unprecedented.

When George says, "Some love lives..." I die a little. It sounds so great.

There's so much good about this video that I don't know where to begin. Well, scratch that. I began with George's hair, which is phenomenal—right up there with a beard of bees. Then I went to George's voice for a second, which is totally awesome . . . just to recap.

So now let's move to George's outfit. I'm not quite sure who told him to wear that brown top with those orange pants, but I'm pretty certain I have about twenty Facebook "friends" who'd love to get their hands on an outfit of that caliber. You can look for hours at the vintage clothing store and come up several pale orange stripes shy of this work of art. And even then, say you find a pair of those pants. Who's going to give away a vest like George's? No one. There was probably only one made like it in the world anyway, and it's most likely in Marty Stuart's country music relic collection.

But my bohemian friends would love this outfit and I sincerely believe the world would be a better place if there were more outfits like it out in the world. Sadly, what I see more often than not are ugly print tees with pointless words on them like "affliction," "disease," and "no fear" in crude fonts, and holey, carefully distressed jeans.

Also, I think outfits like George's would really be doing us a favor if they could replace all the nasty skinny jeans on men. I'd rather see a thousand pairs of striped orange pants than even one pair of skinny jeans on a guy. And it's not just because I'm a huge fan of striped orange pants. I didn't even know I was until I saw this video. And it's only because of the brown and white vest and George's 'do/chops complementing the pants like a gold chain does a hairy, sun-bronzed chest.

As for Tammy. She's great. I love the blue eyeshadow. It's always been a winner when combined with blonde hair and she pulls it off smashingly. She's got a lot of class. You can tell from the ring and elegant necklace. She's gorgeous. And yes, I love her voice. But I confess, I'm a bigger fan of Loretta Lynn. That's just me. As a combination, George and Tammy are fantastic. I can't complain.

Excellent. I know you'll love the video. Please sample it as many times as you like. I think I watched it a hundred times while I was writing this and I'm still not sick of George's hair.

Eddy Arnold: "Cattle Call"

Sometimes at work I feel a little crazy and neurotic and I can't stand to hear the noises my coworkers make. The constant wheezing sound of the perpetual nose-blower (she "requires" an air filter, apparently being highly allergic to normal air, and seems to fixate on her nose, even though from all indications, there's never anything in it. The sound, you see. It's not a "productive" sound. Like a productive cough, as you're getting over a cold or what have you—yes, I hate it that I've formed opinions about my neighbor's health and her vital signs. It's weird. But that's what happens when someone's blowing their nose all day), and the clickety-clacks of the mad-typer who's always composing lengthy emails to other coworkers comprised of poignant and clever observations, and the constant hacking cough of the smoker (sometimes I'll begin a sweet doze and the smoker will hack and cough out of nowhere, with no warning whatsoever, startling me from my peaceful lucid dreams. It's frustrating, and then I think of Pride and Prejudice when Mrs. Bennet gets mad at Kitty for not timing her coughs well and how the coughs wear on Mrs. Bennet's nerves. My nerves too!).

And today is one of those days. I was suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, and HOT (I think my company believes we'll freeze to death if they don't run the heat at 90 degrees). I can't stand it. So I was melting at my desk and feeling like if I had to listen to the clickety-clack of my neighbor I would explode (or gurgle to death in a pile of ooze, because it's so hot, you see), and that's when I remembered last night.

Last night Stoker was researching the history of the Nashville music scene and he played this one song by a musician everyone but me has probably always known about: Eddy Arnold.

Holy moley. It devastates me in a good way to find out there's always been some awesome musician or singer around being great and I've never known about them. That's the benefit of arriving to the scene late. Like being born in the late 70s and only reaching full maturation (really) the day I hear the artist (because it's like I've never arrived until the day I hear that music). Basically I have everything pre-80s to look forward to discovering over the course of my life.

Last night Stoker played "Cattle Call" and I couldn't believe it. Some people might hear it and scoff. Others probably love it and have a long tradition of hearing it—beautiful traditions of going out to the farm with dad or grandpa and having them sing "Cattle Call" or being forced to listen to it on the 8-track. But I haven't got those experiences.

I have others. But not the "Cattle Call" ones.

How can a guy sing that well? That's my main question. It's absolutely insane to me to hear the recording and know that when he recorded it (he recorded three different versions over a period of about fourteen years....or something. Stoker can tell you. Don't quote me), they didn't have auto-tune. I listened to two versions last night and both were amazing. I guess you'd say it's yodeling, but yodeling has always been awful to listen to, for me. And it's always been like, "Yo-del-eh-eh-hoooooo," which is just about terrible to endure. And I don't think that's exactly what Arnold is saying in the song. He's saying, "Ooooh doooo doooo dooo oooooh oh delo, oh doooo dooo, dwip, deee ooooh, ohhh delop, dooo dee dee." That's an actual transcription. I just sat here and transcribed it, vowel for vowel.

And each . . . cattle call . . . is clear and perfect. It's like clear mountain streams. Unblemished blankets of snow. Something like that. John Denver would be able to describe it better than I can, because it's like "Rocky Mountain High," or "Annie's Song," only it's a guy with a flawless voice and it was recorded in the 50s or something. Take that all you modern singers....

Anyway, so I remembered that I didn't have to listen to my coworkers and all their standard noises because I had this Eddy Arnold album to listen to. I got it last night. After I was slain by "Cattle Call." Thank goodness.

Mel Tillis

I go to the same place for lunch every day to write and work on stuff related to my writing. Sometimes I make friends with people or they make friends with me, either way. Because the same people are there every day.

So when someone new makes an appearance, I tend to notice.

This is Nashville, so occasionally I'll see "celebrities." And throw myself at them, begging, pleading for an autograph and a picture.

No, really, I don't do that. I pretend to be cool. Because that's what normal people do. Though I often wonder if the celebrities wish more people would act impressed with them. Because...well, that's why they became rock stars, movie stars, etc. Right?

Like I saw Ben Folds there. He glared at me because I did a double-take (I think that's why) and then I got out my phone and tweeted about how he was there (but, I can't for the life of my think why he'd glare at me...Keith Urban did the same thing when I saw him at Border's and tweeted about his Bentley being parked by my truck as I was leaving—we'd stood in line together). With a really young, skanky girl sitting on his lap. Hanging all over him. It was weird. So he glared at me. Yeah.

The Lo-Cash Cowboys are always there (at first I spelled it Cowbows. That's funny. Cowbows. They should change their name), looking ridiculously done up in carefully torn jeans and lots of bandanas all over them. And often they have skanky girls with them. And I don't really know who they are, I only found out because they're there all the time, planning their next media, country-star attack and what have you. I suppose they're nice enough, but I can hardly approve of men with veritable ladies-of-the-evening on their arms.

And I guess Ryan Adams and Jack White frequent the place, but I've never seen them. There are always dudes and women there who look like they're "someone" but I can't place them, and probably some of them are just wannabes. The girl from that band, what's their name, Lady Antebellum was there talking about her awards show she was attending that night and the cashier didn't recognize her. It happens. It's a little sad. Not that Lady Antebellum are wannabes. That one song is awesome. Whatever it's called. It's good. Seriously.

But so far, the best has been Mel Tillis.

If you don't know who Mel Tillis is, well, he's sort of legendary and you should know who he is. He's like up there with Waylon, Conway, and Kenny Rogers. Those cats. You know? Apparently he stutters, but when he was talking to me, I didn't notice. And his daughter is Pam Tillis, and some people might know who she is because she had that great song "Maybe It Was Memphis."

Mel struck up this conversation with me and I didn't recognize him. I was sitting there, typing away happily, pretending my writing matters and will someday make a difference, and this person was hovering at my elbow sort of, and I looked up at him and it was this lovely old man.

"Sorry. I'm waiting for my man over there. He's getting us some drinks." He smiled and indicated this schmoozy looking guy in the line. All decked out in business casual attire like you'd buy at J Crew.

I smiled and nodded at the old man, thinking he looked familiar but I couldn't place him. So I went back to writing.

Then he asked me, "Are you writing a book?"

"Yeah," I said bashfully, because isn't everyone writing a book? It seems like it to me.

"You've been typing away for a while. Real fast."

"Yeah, haha." I said.

"I'm writing a book."

"Oh cool, nice."

"Sort of. What's yours about?"

"Um. It's science fiction sort of."

His man came over with some drinks, then some other guy entered the establishment carrying a Mac laptop, waved at them, and approached the group. So now there's like three men hovering around me. And it's crowded. I pack up, not because they're in my way; it was time to go.

"Is this your writing team?" I ask, because he's staring at me expectantly and both of his men had Macs and he had nothing to write with.

"Oh no, no, this is my publicist and this other guy is from the Tennessean. He's here to interview me." (The Tennessean = Nashville newspaper.)

The publicist says something about not being a writer and I laugh and say, "Isn't everyone writing a book, though. Get on board, you know." I grin sweetly. I can be sweet.

The newspaper reporter mutters something grouchy about how he hasn't time for books, he's too busy writing real journalism to pay the bills (I embellish).

The old gentleman asks me what my book is about and tells me he'll read it when it's done. I say how it's for young adults and he doesn't seem to know what that means, but then he tells me some confusing things about his book, it's about a sheriff in Palm Beach (or somewhere) and "just about a bunch of shit" and stuff. I laugh and say well doesn't everyone want to read a bunch of shit? He laughs and then introduces himself and shakes my hand, I guess because I haven't figured out who he is yet.

And I have, sort of. I figured he was someone I should know (he was being interviewed, he has a publicist, he's wearing cowboy boots, and a great button-down I might add), but I didn't want to ask and embarrass both of us if he wasn't who I thought it was.

I tell him I saw him perform at the Opry. I was backstage when Porter Waggoner did his last performance—the one when Dolly sang "I Will Always Love You" (which, by the way, was heart-wrenching and brought the house down . . . if you know the whole story about that song and Porter). And I remembered Mel because he looked absolutely stunning in a dark brown polyester suit with a harvest-gold button-down dress shirt.

I didn't tell him that whole paragraph. But I wanted him to know I knew who he was. I'm not some naive young person (well, not completely naive anyway) who doesn't have a grasp on the legendary country singers. And it was just a few days prior to that that I was thinking I needed to get some Mel Tillis tracks because I've been sort of starved for new, old, good country.  If only! I could have said, "Oh, man I love such and such. Great song."

Old country music is where it's at. And Mel Tillis. Classy. He was fantastic. I left feeling like a pure moron for not knowing who he was and reducing him to having to tell me. Celebrities don't like that, do they? I mean, it's humbling, right? Our job is to know who they are so they feel worthwhile. :) Right? I slacked on my duties.

I wish I had told him my name because, dang! You know? He offered to read my book. I really hope his book is a hit. He wrote a billion good songs. He's obviously got something going on there.

"Did You Watch That Conway Twitty Video Yet?" and Ruminations About Conway Twitty and What He Means in the Larger Scheme of Things

Did you watch that Conway Twitty video yet? If you didn't, go watch it now and bask in his amazing muttonchops. Some of my readers will think that my infatuation is getting out of hand, and if so, then they obviously haven't watched the YouTube video of him doing "Slow Hand." Because if they had, they would understand how easily it can go this far. That video alone is enough to win the iciest of hearts. If not for the pure karaoke feel of it, then for the way he caresses the lyrics of the song even while balancing precariously on a six foot circular platform in the middle of an unresponsive audience.

The thing I'm so grateful for right now, is the opportunity I have to watch footage of Conway singing before I was even alive. Stuff they wouldn't air on television again except for late at night during Time Life Country Classics Collection infomercials. So thank you YouTube, thank you.

I pinned up a Conway Twitty LP in my cubicle. I've been decorating with LPs for years now (yes, I was the first, actually), but this one is special because it's in my cubicle and it's like airing your alcohol addiction for everyone in your office to see. I don't know where I'm going with that metaphor, but the only thing I could do that would be worse would be to put up an NRA sticker. I have one, yes, it's true, but I put it in my car to really make a statement. The truth is, I find it humorous to really be into sappy crap. And I love the contradictions in all humans, but in myself most of all. I think it says something about life, that life is chaotic but full of beauty. I guess beauty is impossible without an element of the hideous somewhere.

You know what I'm talking about. Like when you're out on a hike, enjoying breathtaking vistas and an endless sky and then you stumble across the fresh carcass of a deer or something. How it hurts, the violent beauty of earth. That's what I mean, and we all have microcosms of that inside us. We have beautiful desires, like the desire to sing a Barbara Streisand song as you walk down the street, serenading the homeless. But everything gets in the way, fear of rejection or even indifference, and so the beautiful desires get suppressed; instead you simply pin up an LP of Conway Twitty in your cubicle--a tiny suggestion of the passion within. And then you drive home from work, cursing your lungs out at the bastard drivers in your way.


Update: The original link to "Slow Hand" was to a higher quality video, which has been removed by the author. The new link is of questionable quality, but these versions are also good:

New Favorite Conway Twitty Song: Your Love Had Taken Me That High

Update: Sadly, this video has been disabled. You can watch it here. This one doesn't allow embedding. :(