Saturday, May 31, 2014

"...We Refer You To The Jimmy Castor Bunch And Their Lyric Line..."Gotta Find A Woman...Gotta Find A Woman....Gotta Find A Woman....."

We ain't exactly Reader's Digest around here.
 
But, we do recognize the merits and benefits of increasing our word power.
 
Ergo...
 
par·a·dox
noun
noun: paradox; plural noun: paradoxes
  1. a statement or proposition that, despite sound (or apparently sound) reasoning from acceptable premises, leads to a conclusion that seems senseless, logically unacceptable, or self-contradictory.
 
Admittedly, when seeking insightful and penetrating perspective on the current state of country music, the first research source that comes to mind is, generally, not People Magazine.
 
After all, there's the pre-conception that very little insight or penetration is going to be found in a publication offering up cover stories, complete with glossy photos, about Princess Kate's supposed baby bump.
 
But, son of a gun (or sum bitch, as traditional Tennessee expression would offer), right there, in plain sight, is a report on the said current state and its now not only obvious but blatantly obvious lack of acknowledgement of the attempted contributions of the estrogen side of 16th Avenue South.
 
 
 
Spend any time at all listening to country radio these days and the gender gap becomes clear. With the occasional exception of Miranda or Carrie, you'll be hard pressed to find a female voice on the air – or a song about something other than drinking on a dirt road/in a field/on the beach/in a truck.

And that gap on country airwaves seemed all the more vast after listening in at Keith Urban's All 4 the Hall benefit for the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum last week. From hard-rocking Brantley Gilbert to Reba McEntire's traditional twang; from Urban's pop stylings to Mary Chapin Carpenter's Americana vibe; from Underwood's pipes to Kacey Musgraves's storytelling, the lineup was a reminder of how big a tent country music can be.

In that spirit, here's our call to country radio's gatekeepers: Keep that tent open wide! It's not just about getting more women's voices out there (though we should), it's about remembering how good the genre can be when it tells the many, nuanced stories of our lives rather than reducing everything to the bottom of a Dixie cup.

Here are six artists we want to hear more of:
 
Kacey Musgraves Yes, she's been hyped – and deservedly so. But despite the Texan's meticulously crafted songs like "Merry Go 'Round" and "Follow Your Arrow" – and a sound that can only come from a honky-tonk-loving heart – country radio continues to look the other way.
Check Out: "It Is What It Is," a beautiful shrug of a song (co-written by Brandy Clark and Luke Laird) about resignation in a doomed relationship
 
 
 
 



Ashley Monroe Like Musgraves, she had one of last year's best releases with her Vince Gill-produced Like a Rose, but even with her pal Miranda Lambert singing praises and some Pistol Annies cred (she and Lambert form two-thirds of the group), Monroe still hasn't found a place on radio as a solo artist. It's our loss – just listen to her album's title song or the wicked humor of "Weed Instead of Roses."
Check Out: "Two Weeks Late," heavy on the pedal steel, it takes on "woe-is-me" with a wink.





Brandy Clark Already a hit-maker for other artists – she co-wrote Miranda Lambert's "Mama's Broken Heart" (with Musgraves and Shane McAnally) and The Band Perry's "Better Dig Two" – Clark saved some of her best work for last year's debut, 12 Stories. Lyrically witty (have a listen to her single "Stripes"), Clark has a voice that's rounded and rich. Her songs are ready-made for country radio, but you won't find her voice there.
Check Out: "Hold My Hand, " a vulnerable ballad about that moment when you meet your partner's former lover.







The three other artists mentioned in the People article can be found at the magazine website.

But these three examples more than illustrate the point, not to mention the aforementioned word with which we are increasing our word power today.

Clearly, any moron can tell that these three ladies, at the very least, are writing and singing the kind of stuff that deserves an audience, the kind of audience that is not only found online and/or in the Opry House seats, but also on the other side of the microphone from what's left of the live voices narrating your periodic journey through country music via your FM of choice.

Yet, turn on that chosen FM at any time day or night and the odds are staggeringly in your favor that what you will hear is yet another guy singing yet another song about yet another truck driving down yet another dirt road either coming from or heading too yet another party where there will be yet another keg of beer to ingest while enjoying the sensual visual delights of yet another glop, drop or stream of honey traversing the curvature of yet another woman's shapely ass.

And although you can't see what you're hearing while you hear it, the odds are equally in your favor that said guy singing said song will be attired in yet another t shirt, not necessarily color coordinated with his ball, train or hunting cap, most likely worn in a manner that would allow said singer to rush from his stage show to his off work time recreation of playing catcher on his favorite pick up team.

Put less verbosely, backwards.

Meanwhile, writers and singers and singer/writers like Musgraves and Monroe and Clark and their fellow non-fellas go on writing their songs, singing their songs, recording their songs while receiving rave reviews, clear and obvious live fan appreciation and zip zero nada in the way of radio airplay.

Well, as I, and many others, have written before as we traveled down this same dirt road, the fact is that we've traveled down this dirt road before.

And there really is nothing new to be said on the matter.

Because, the fact is that what we got here is not so much the ladies failure to communicate.

What we got here....is a dad gum mystery.

A mystery rooted in this unmistakable, undeniable, irrefutable truth.

Somebody is buying all that crap in a backwards ball cap.

And by somebody, I mean a lot of somebodies.

Trust me when I tell you that no deranged individual is sitting in any office of any or all radio station general managers, holding a gun (or guns, that is the right of all Americans, you know) to their head and threatening to remove said head from shoulders unless said station continues to play the dirt road/truck/party/honey dripped on ass playlist, the whole playlist and nothing but the playlist or so help them, God.

There is no need for that.

Because somebody is listening devotedly, even fanatically, to all that crap in a backwards ball cap.

And by somebody, I mean a lot of somebodies.

Therein lies the mystery.

If you read any comment section of any web article having to do with contemporary country music or if you should witness, even participate, in an actual conversation having to do with contemporary country music, you will be hard pressed to find anybody who will admit to liking all that crap in a backwards ball cap.

And by anybody, I mean everybody.

But somebody is buying it.

And by somebody......

Which brings us back to our good intentions to increase our word power.

No one seems willing to admit to liking it, everyone seems willing to complain about it, but the crap in the cap not only rules the radio roost, it's a smack down damn retro return to those glorious yesteryears of clubs that allowed men, all men and only men, so help them, God.

And the women were not only required, but expected, to stay home, stay quiet and/or stay pregnant.

While at the same time, writers and singers and singer/writers like Musgraves and Monroe and Clark and their fellow non-fellas go on writing their songs, singing their songs, recording their songs and receiving rave reviews, clear and obvious live fan appreciation.

But zip, zero, nada in the way of radio airplay.

It's an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, inside a box.

Or, at the very least...say it with me......

...a paradox.

For what it's worth, there is precedent for this kind of thing.

This kind of thing being defined as something that anyone who is asked expresses disdain, even contempt, for yet continues to flourish and succeed because somebody is buying it.

And by somebody, I mean a lot of somebodies.

Not just a little ironically, as it turns out, this particular something is not only female friendly, but as over loaded with estrogen as the country music charts are soaked with testosterone.

Only, in this case, crap would probably be spelled with a K.

People can't stand em, don't want em' and wish that they would just go away.

Country crap in a cap.

Keeping up with Kardashians.

Six of one.

But somebody is buying it.

And by somebody......

Sum bitch.





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