Country Music Broke My Brain (9 page)

She scurried off and in five minutes some embarrassed security guy who recognized Mr. Blackstock came flying out. “Oh, my God, Narvel, I'm sorry.” Mr. Blackstock just waved it off and said, “No problem. That's what's she's supposed to do, and thanks so much for helpin' us out. I really appreciate it.” What class!

Can I mention the Dixie Chicks here? It's because when I think of Reba, I think of the George W./ACM/Dixie Chicks/“We're ashamed that the president is from Texas” stuff. I don't know exactly what Red thinks of the Chicks. She was hosting the
Academy of Country Music Awards,
and all that Dixie Chicks stuff was exploding.

I know I was probably a little hard on them. They could say what they wanted even though I didn't agree with it. I've only met Natalie Maines a few times. I always got the feeling she wanted to shoot at me or something. Nothing overt, it was just that she always seemed a little “tense,” if you know what I mean. I thought the other two Chicks, sisters Martie and Emily, were part of the background and that Natalie was the star. Plus, Natalie chewed gum when she was doing interviews, and I think that's reason enough right there for imprisonment. Wearing headphones while somebody smacks away into a microphone is maddening.

I think the Chicks could have survived the whole “W” comment if they'd left well enough alone. Instead, they got angry. I get that. I do the same thing. They probably felt P.O.'d that people thought they were against the troops, and I'm positive they didn't think that at all. In fact, I've yet to meet anyone who is against the troops. Natalie and the girls started firing back at country music, Nashville, and everyone in their line of sight. It cost them dearly in the music biz.

Now, I will admit that I wrote the joke that Reba told about how “People in Vegas will gamble on anything. They're now taking bets on the chances the Dixie Chicks will perform at the next Bush family barbecue.”

Reba said it, and I thought it was really kinda harmless. As the storm clouds gathered over the Chicks during the following year, it was time for another Reba-hosted ACM show. The Chicks, especially Natalie, had really carpet-bombed Reba, Toby Keith, and others. It got pretty nasty out there. Do you remember seeing George Bush, the President of the United States, getting off a plane and being asked about the Chicks' comment? You should know Reba likes George W. Bush and especially his father, George H.W. Bush. Red and Narvel took a cruise with George the Dad, and she was as excited as I've ever seen her.

So
, you take a whack at Red's friend,
then
you take a shot across her bow, and guess what? You get fired back at. A lot of times I sent stuff to Reba thinking,
There's no way she'll do
this. Those are usually the jokes she does. I wrote something down that was funny to me. It was funny to Ruby Two Shoes. Toward the end of the nationally televised broadcast, Reba McEntire said, “Boy, I don't know why I was so nervous about hosting this show this year. I mean if the Dixie Chicks can sing with their feet in their mouth,
surely
I can host
this
sucker.”

Narvel told me later, “That went off like a bomb in the audience.” People were jumping out of their chairs screaming and applauding. I remember that John Rich shot out of his seat like a cannon. I doubt any of the Chicks will ever speak to me again. They didn't talk to me much anyhow. I like Natalie's haircut.

I got an e-mail from Reba not too long ago that read, “Ger, do you realize it's been twenty-five years since I recorded ‘Little Rock'?”

Yikes! That song, which I cowrote with the great Bob DiPiero and Pat McManus, helped pay for my kid's braces. Twenty-five years? Has it been that long?

Time sure flies when you're not staring at the Grand Canyon.

John Rich Gatlin Boxcar

I
JUST CAME FROM the studio with John Rich—the Rich of “Big &” fame. The John Rich who won
Celebrity Apprentice.
He tweets with Donald Trump. He tweets with Donald Trump's hair. John knows a lot of people.

“Mt. Richmore” is on the front gate of his house. It's a concrete palace he had built atop a quiet neighborhood, over nearly everyone's objections. John does that a lot. I mean, he does a lot of things over people's objections. I really like the guy. He was a second-banana singer in the band Lonestar. Richie McDonald was the usual lead singer of that band. I think it drove John a little nutty, and he quit. I'm pretty sure half the town wrote him off after that.

Oops. He formed the Muzik Mafia, came crashing into people's radios with Big & Rich, and never looked back. It became a rolling-thunder review of singers and midgets and diamond hats and loud guitars. Hey, it's still like Chet said: “If it's recorded in Nashville, it's country music.”

John is one of those people who make Nashville fit them. His grandma still makes his special jeans. His daddy is a preacher. He's got a rhinestone saddle in the massive bar upstairs at his house. He calls his old friends to come write a song. That's how I got to the studio today with John Rich. Larry Gatlin was coming in right after me.

In the old Combine Music Publishing building, there was a grubby little studio in the basement. A lot of hits were made there. Some started out as demos and just got released. “I Can Help” by Billy Swan got cut there 'cause Billy had just bought that cheap little organ you hear on the record. There is a blackboard next to the john downstairs. Folks wrote things there that I never forgot. One of my favorites said, “There's a cat mask in the bottom drawer, please don't make me wear it.”

The other line that stayed for years and never, ever got erased was, “Will Rogers never met Larry Gatlin.” Ouch. Larry Gatlin is perhaps one of the most amazing singers and songwriters this town will ever see. “All The Gold In California,” and “I've Done Enough Dyin' Today” still give me chills. I was such a groupie that I went to see him sing before he ever made it big. The Gatlin Brothers—Larry, Steve, and Rudy—are just magic together. There goes that brotherly harmony thing again. Larry also developed a propensity for sticking white powder up his nose and darn near lost it all. He's fine now. I see him every now and then on Fox Network. Larry's a smart guy but can be tough sometimes. My cowriter Tom Shapiro described a guy we play golf with as “one of my hard friends.” We all have them. You love them and you'd also like to make them wear one of those Hannibal Lecter masks all the time.

Larry would stop singing and berate the audience if somebody talked while he was warbling. I saw him stop and ask a chatty group what they did for a living. Turns out they worked for Otis Elevator. Larry then announced, “Great. If you won't talk during my songs, I won't pee in your elevators.” He was right, of course. They were distracting, but it makes you a hard friend to root for.

John Rich wrote a song with Larry Gatlin, and I bet it's a smash. I feel like the “new” Larry is an easier version. John also called me the other day and said he had cut a song we'd written together. That thrill never loses meaning for me. I hope it's a hit, too.

Big Kenny, who is the “Big” part of the Big & Rich brand, is quite a story himself. He was knockin' around town going broke, from what I hear, and landed on his feet beside John. The Peacemaker and the Hell Raiser. John Rich keeps a massive Mason jar of authentic bootleg liquor in his bar upstairs. You haven't lived 'til you try to finish a song after a couple of belts of that kerosene.

There is something endearing about someone who just keeps going. Just picks it up from wherever they get knocked down and walks on. I admire that in a person. Sometimes this Crazy Town, as Jason Aldean calls it, will allow you to move along.

I worry sometimes about new little baby chick acts—people who become stars from a TV singing competition and are suddenly thrust into the middle of the circus. They have a few hits and then
wham!
Brick wall. The ride is over. If you sift back through the singers who made it to the top three or four
American Idols
in a season, you'll probably remember a couple of them.

Then there are stars who just come out of nowhere. Anybody remember Boxcar Willie? Yes, Boxcar Willie. What a story
he
was. He got famous from being in some commercials for singers who were kinda well known in Europe but obscure in America. I am not sure
how
you become a star in Europe and remain obscure in the States, but he did it. He dressed up like a hobo and sang nasal, old-fashioned songs about railroadin', ridin' the rails, and generally being homeless. I've never been a big fan of not having any indoor plumbing, but Willie had a knack for making it sound glamorous.

Boxcar had lived a pretty good life before he became famous. Believe it or not, he reportedly sold 100 million records. I think that's probably a little exaggerated, but I'm certain he did sell a trainload.

My favorite Boxcar quote came during a brief radio interview. I asked him if he'd like to appear on one of our charity shows later in the fall. As his faithful/manager/wife looked on, he replied, “Oh, you'll have to ask Mrs. Box about that.”

By the way, John Rich ends his e-mails with, “That's the thing about salted possum. It's just as good the second day.” That makes him good by me.

Kinfolk

COUNTRY
MUSIC AND RELATIVES, hereafter called “kin,” have a long and sometimes successful but mostly troubled history together.

There have been several successful brother acts: two guys from the same mom, who usually wind up with one breaking his guitar over the head of the other—typical brotherly love. For some reason, people like hearing brothers sing together more than sisters. The Everlys, Don and Phil. The Louvins, Charley and Ira. The Bellamy Brothers, Howard, David, and Ralph.

David Bellamy, who wrote “If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body Would You Hold It Against Me?”, exemplifies one of the great uses of a joke in music of all time. David once called me for a long conversation about what exactly scallops were. I wasn't sure and he wasn't, either. He likes them, but he's a little sketchy about them. I feel the same way. What the hell
are
scallops anyway?

There have been sister duets, sister trios, and even sister quartets, those foursomes of DNA that sound like angels, but in country music, there hasn't been much success. Most of the family singin' thing has faded in the past couple of decades. Donny and Marie even recognized that they had to each choose a format for their personalities, hence, “She's a little bit country and he's a little bit rock ‘n' roll.” It's that “Hey! If you hate rock ‘n' roll, she'll be singing country right after I'm done” plan.

The father/daughter duos are few and far between and, frankly, always gave me the creeps. It's one thing to sing with your offspring in the kitchen, but there's something else about cheatin', drinkin', and heaven songs while staring into the eyes of Daddy. It's a little too West Virginia for me.

The Kendalls, Royce and Jeannie, were a father-daughter duo. Their big hit was “Heaven's Just a Sin Away.” They seemed to handle it fine, but it sounds like massive therapy down the road to me. I know singers are playing a part. I know some who won't sing a lyric because they think the audience will assign them that part. Reba always said, “I ain't no hooker, but ‘Fancy' is one of my favorite songs.”

Pop and the Kid, however, can get uncomfortably close to being downright weird if you're not careful. Jeannie Kendall always wore a little hat, too. It gave her a sort of '40s movie/gun moll look that made it even more disturbing. I mean, wantin' to hold somebody tight and be with them tonight is
not
what I want to hear from Daddy and his little girl. Think about it: “Heaven's just a
sin
away?” With Daddy? I'm pretty sure there's a book of rules against that.

I've also seen a father and his teenage son and daughter take a shot at stardom. I think the problem is, the kids hated him and he loved them. All teenagers think their dads are dweebs. Who wants to watch “eye-rolling with banjos” onstage for an hour? Most teenagers can barely tolerate Dad for the fifteen minutes he asks them about their day. Imagine the soul-searing resentment of riding on a bus 24/7. Sure, it's fun for
us
to watch, but it has that same uncomfortable feeling you get when you watch a preacher's wife stare at her husband who is holding a press conference to announce he's gay.