![]() It’s no stretch to call Price country music’s answer to Frank Sinatra or to crown his voice the finest to ever sing the music. With these thoughts in mind, what is one then to make of Ray Price and more specifically, his 1963 album Night Life. Consider Porter Wagoner-tall, lanky, slightly goofy in appearance-who could sing a song like ‘Banks of the Ohio’ and recount to the listener, “I held a knife against her breast / as into my arms she pressed / she cried, “my love, don’t murder me / I’m not prepared for eternity”,” with such nonchalance that the effect is chilling with the realization that evil can be gussied up in flashy threads and genial “y’all come back now, ya hear” neighbourliness. As the clerk rang up my purchase, she stared at the album, scrutinizing the man on the cover, looking at the name of the artist, then looking at the man again and saying “I didn’t know there were two Willie Nelsons.” Puzzlement turned to celestial wonder when I told her that the Nelson on the album she was ringing up was the same as the Nelson that is part of country’s iconography.īut even those who were all duded up in Nudie had layers far darker than their attire suggested. Nelson, garbed in a white T-shirt and overalls, is clean and barbered. It brings to mind a few years ago when I was lucky to find a sealed Willie Nelson album from 1965 on RCA. Indeed, there is almost a contrarian glee to listening to something like ‘Just Across the Way’ from his 1970 album, Waylon, and knowing that it’s darn good and it’s something that few have probably heard or remember. Jennings’ point is well taken but even as he closed the yawning gap between the music he felt he should make and the music he was making before he went “outlaw,” it bears some degree of scrutiny. Of course, one may listen to today’s country radio and equally wonder “are you sure Waylon did it this way?” It brings to mind Waylon Jennings who, when reflecting back on his early years in the Nashville Sound mode-well tailored, well coifed and clean shaven-sang “rhinestone suits and new shiny cars / it’s been the same way for years / we need a change” and then posed the question: “are you sure Hank did it this way?” Hank, of course, is Hank Williams, Sr., the patron saint of modern country music. His unwavering commitment to cosmopolitan country may explain why he has often not gotten his just due. It fit him like a glove, particularly in its veneer of urbanity that matched his songwriting and his voice: deep, rich and suffused with the occasional moan that seemed to emanate from the deepest pits of despair. His very early recordings were full of the sway of fiddles and steel guitars but once he signed with RCA, he quickly gravitated to the sweetened style of what was to be called the Nashville Sound. They are beautiful, living documents of a golden era when labels like Columbia, Decca, Capitol and RCA Victor were king but, to take one example, did Don Gibson, who made a fair share of classic recordings, ever make a classic album? Probably not.īringing up Gibson touches on another point that has often been particular to country: authenticity. That’s not to say that there isn’t a thrill to collecting vintage country LPs. The individual tales that are detailed in two or three minutes usually stand out from the twelve-inch package designed to contain them. Country music has, perhaps more than any other genre, been oriented around the song as opposed to the album.
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