His career was on the wane. Mentored into the big time by none other than the now ailing Glen Campbell, in the early to mid-nineties, on the coattails of Garth Brooks, he was one of Nashville’s big-hatted darlings. With a pure country George Strait-ish set of tonsils, he had a string of top ten hits, with album sales in the stratosphere – these were the good days for the music industry generally before the digital era took hold. As the decade moved on and turned the corner into the new millennium, his popularity waned as he lost his freshness and his appeal to the younger demographic on approaching forty. It would seem that his candle would flicker, then snuff out.

Then in 2001 the unthinkable occurred. Fortress America was breached by a coordinated terrorist attack on the symbols of the nation. The USA; the world would never be the same again. The nation grieved for all it lost, clinging to anything, or any words, that could give expression to the countless tears shed as a country came to terms with the certainty that they were no longer impregnable. The guitar picker, a good ol’ country boy at heart, who wore his heart on his sleeve, grieved too. One night, soon after the event, he awoke from his sleep and wrote down some words. He gave his country, that night, the song by which a nation could make sense of all. Alan Jackson gave the people a simple, plain spoken expression of pain and reaction. It helped to ensure that recovery was possible. The song was ‘Where Were You (When the World Stopped Turning)’.

His composition revived his career, although that would have been furtherest from his mind as he sang it to the land he loved at the 2001 Country Music Association Awards not long after September 11. His next album included it, both in studio and live version, soaring up the charts as a result – making up a sizeable proportion of the 80 million in record sales the artist has had globally to date. The collection of twelve songs is ‘Drive’.

I had liked Jackson well before that, adding each new album of his to my CD shelves as it came out. He, along with Clint Black, appealed to me more than Brooks ever did during the era of the big hats – before Billy Ray Cyrus became the new golden boy. Jackson seemed to offer a purer, less razz-ma-tazz, approach to his music in the true country way. It is a little ironic then that my favourite collection of his, ‘Like Red on a Rose’, has been derided as against the values of his hitherto oeuvre. But back to ‘Drive’.

Jackson has been married to the one woman since 1979. His Denise has had a New York Times best-selling book during that time – ‘It’s All About Him’ – about ‘Finding the Love of My Life’. In part it references her hubby’s 1998 indiscretion which saw the couple separate temporarily. They regrouped with the help of their faith. After all those years together it would seem she truly is his ‘Once in a Lifetime Love’ – the track on ‘Drive’ that is the point of this exercise.

Some people have it, some people don’t
Some people never will
Sometimes it’s hard to know when you’ve got it
Sometimes it’s perfectly clear

Well I know it’s out there I’ve seen it happen
I know the way it should feel
Cause there’s no mistakin’
That good kind of achin’
Of a once in a lifetime love

And those readers who know this old scribbler well will no doubt by now know where I’m heading with this. At the present time I’m amidst quite a large dose of ‘That good kind of achin‘. You see, it took me a while to find her, so now I can’t bear to be away from her for too long – after having spent many years of our relationship being a bi-coastal couple. The love of a son – and his dog – now sees me again at the opposite end of the island to our snug abode on the southern river. And as much as I have, during these six weeks of separation, come to adore the little seaside town of Bridport and its attractions, I am missing her terribly.

So if you think you’ve got it
If you feel it inside you
Don’t let it slip away
Cause you may not ever find what you never
Thought you’d have anyway
And if you’ve always had it and just realized it
You know how lucky you are
To wake up beside what some never find
A once in a lifetime love

Maybe the above words, scribed by Jackson, are a reference to what he almost let happen back in ’98 to cause him to almost ‘… let it slip away.’ Many of his ballads are patently about his lovely lady, the mother of his three daughters. I’d like to imagine, now that his career has again quietened and Nashville again having moved on to the young guns whose names mean little to me – and I suspect him – that in his dotage he has found the quietude, contentment and continued love with his Denise as I have with my Leigh.

Late last year Jackson was again grieving with the passing of his good mate George Jones. He was asked to perform The Possum’s signature tune ‘He Stopped Loving Her Today’ at the old country warbler’s funeral. He did it simply, without fanfare – and from the heart, as always. He’ll never stop loving his Denise; I’ll never stop loving my Leigh-Leigh.

Once in a lifetime love
A love like we’ve all dreamed of
It may go disguised
Right before your eyes
A once in a lifetime love

Jackson at George Jones’ funeral

Alan Jackson website = http://www.alanjackson.com/welcome.html

YouTube – Once in a Lifetime Love = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xo969dnqcOA

YouTube – Jackson at the 2001 CMA Awards = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlhOHSCHV6c

YouTube – Jackson at George Jones’ Funeral = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbjpbqowX3Y

You knew they’d play it – it was a given. In forty teaching years – for at least two decades of that it was a given at any school social I attended. Along with ‘Nutbush’ and ‘The Time Warp’, it was a given. This tune, though, had a sting in its tail. – something that’d get the  ‘too cool to dance’ set out on the floor – and even those too scared to normally would also join in. They knew, we knew, they’d soon be bellowing out the words that were forbidden in any school situation. And bellow they did – gleefully, with passion. For those few seconds, after each chorus, every kid was a rebel; snubbing their noses at the mainstream. They’d shed their cool, they’d shed inhibition. Up would go their fists, pumping in time with those beloved expletives – and there wasn’t a bloody thing we, as supervisors, could do about it. They were taunting us – daring us. But nor did we want to ruin the moment if the truth be known – for this was an Aussie anthem. It was almost sacred. Given half the chance we’d be bellowing it out with them. We all knew those words – it would be un-Australian not to. Where did it all start? Well the man himself knows. He’d have loved a dollar for the number of times he repeated the tale over the years – of that first time, when he looked down from on high, heard it – half amazed, half bemused. In part that refrain – those words, have made him a legend. And now he’ll rock it out no more in this life.

Australia has produced a pantheon of great front men; guys who could walk on stage to hushed anticipation and in minutes have a crowd in an ecstatic frenzy – be they playing to beer barns or stadiums. He was one of those. These are guys, who with their swagger and ‘mercurial’ struts, gave the punters more than value for their dollar. Most of all they possessed those great rock voices. You know the names – they’re etched into our lives. They had that special something – Stevie Wright, Bon Scott, Michael Hutchence, Dazza in his pomp, Barnesy of course. JO’K had it in the beginning – and for me Gerry Humphries was an under-rated master. But the Doc almost took it to Freddie levels. Dancing onto the stage, arms raised with that scarf between them – with the Doc it was as much about his show-stopping presence – dangerous, threatening – as it was the music. With the Angels behind him thumping out that pub rock beat, he was up there, spittle and sweat flying. The Doc, well, he just simply imposed himself.

When I saw him last year as part of the RocKwiz juggernaut, wending its way around the country, he really struggled up there on stage in his ‘Who Can It Be?’ role. He was ill – that was plain for all to see. Still he had to sing that song. And the crowd, packed into the showroom, responded with gusto, pounding back that inevitable response to him. It wasn’t long before word filtered through, later to be confirmed by his ‘Australian Story’ profile, that his remaining time with us would be short, unless a miracle occurred. The miracle never came.

After the show Julia, Brian, Jo Jo Zep and the Doc lined up to greet the fans. When I made it to him I asked if he’d have his photo taken with me me and he complied. I had a brief conversation – he was patently ‘spaced out’. Still he placed his arm across my shoulders and I responded. Sadly the photo didn’t come out. But all wasn’t lost. Doc had a signing pen in his hand and he inadvertently scrawled it across my jacket in indelible purple texta. Every time I wear that coat I think of Doc Neeson – and ever will. Tonight he’ll be up there, beyond the silver lining in the sky, belting out ‘Am I Ever Going to See Your Face Again’ to the angels.

Doc rocks it out one more time = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z87GJiNA7dE

It was an album of music of its time. The scribbler of the article that caused me to attempt this piece, Peter Vincent, described it as being one of ‘…classic, cheesy 1980’s power pop ballads…’ even if he felt the duetists ‘…share a tremendous empathetic quality in their voices that is irresistible…’ Seems to me he’s having it a bit both ways. Still, at the place I was at then, it just seemed perfectly to reflect my state in 1989 – as well as the years till the watershed event in my life. Back then the world had lost its normal routines for me and for this punter, a life in transition was more than just a little bit scary. I was floundering and I knew it. Eventually, as clichéd as it sounds, but nonetheless remarkably, redemption came in the form of the most special woman in the world. The result of this occurrence being that the album has rarely emerged out of its case since. Would I purchase it now? Not likely – Nick Cave is warbling away on my music machine as I compose this. Circumstances change; tastes change.

Previous to her collaboration with Aaron Neville on ‘Cry Like a Rainstorm, Howl Like the Wind’ (even its title is so passé ), Linda was already a favourite. A purveyor of Laurel Canyon country rock, her clear, faultless voice on 33⅓ revolutions per minute was often emanating from my speakers – ‘You’re No Good’, ‘When Will I Be Loved’, ‘Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me’, ‘Distant Drum’. These, and others, were amongst the litany of hits from the doe eyed lover of then (and now) Governor of California, Jerry Brown, ruling the MOR airwaves of the world back in the day. I purchased later albums too on the new CD format – collections of songs where she teamed up with such diverse luminaries as sweet Emmylou, Dolly and Nelson Riddle. She also recorded in Spanish, due to her part-Hispanic background. In her pomp she won ten Grammys, but now Mother Time has caught up with her more than most. She has Parkinsons has Linda Ronstadt. It has taken her voice – her incredible voice.

Linda Then

Vincent, in his interview with her for ‘The Silent Songbird’ article, seemed to harp on about her affliction, wanting her to answer in depth about it. He describes her as responding testily at times. If I was the proto-diva I would be thoroughly pissed off too, particularly as she was on the promotions treadmill trying to talk up the recent release of a collection of past collaborations with other noteworthy trillers. Wouldn’t you be peeved too if you knew exactly that what afflicts can only get worse and ultimately cause one’s demise? In a way it already has. But she does pass on this lovely quote – that Australia is ‘…the dream that was promised by Southern California, but never delivered….it’s like delivering pizza. They delivered it to the wrong place.’ I like that.

Linda Today

When our interviewer quizzes her on how, in light of that quote, she would regard our present leader and his treatment of asylum seekers, her response was a pithy one stating that ‘immigrants’ ‘…are the best people because they’ve come the furtherest and they’ve come through the most adversity. That’s what adds to society. They’re going to be the hardest working, best people.’ That’s her family background in the US – so she has some affinity with those suffering under the Abbott/Morrison regime of callous cruelty.

The new collection features the Aaron Neville duets plus numerous others. Same question – will I buy it? I picked it up in JBs, then put it back. It just didn’t seem to be the time any more – even if tracks like ‘Don’t Know Much’ would remind me of how far I’ve come – how lucky I’ve been.

Thank you Linda.

Peter Vincent’s article = http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/music/linda-ronstadt-the-silent-songbird-20140410-36e7g.html

Linda and Aaron – ‘Don’t Know Much’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VD6TfEWtIYI

You give your hand to me
Then you say hello
I can hardly speak
My heart is beating so
And anyone can tell
You think you know me well
But you don’t know me

Look at her picture. It’s of its time, but there’s no doubt the dame is one beautiful lady – and talented to boot. She gave up the above lyrics to the world, to be recorded by hundreds of singers planet wide. You name them, they’ve done it – Willie, Ray Charles, Michael Bublé – the list is endless. Down though the years it will be added to. It’s just one of those songs. If one classic wasn’t enough, there are her other offerings – five hundred or so that have been recorded, including such timeless ditties as ‘Distant Drums’, Dream Baby’ and ‘In the Misty Moonlight’. She was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1997 and in 2006 Willie released a tribute album of her songs – just nine days before she passed away.

Of course we know the facts about CindyWalker’s public career, but precious little of her private world. In 1918 a Texan farm saw her birth. By the 1930s, as a young girl, she was already writing songs about Dustbowl America. By decade’s end Cindy was also a popular chanteuse in her local area. In 1940 she was so determined to further her career she took the long drive to LA, straight to Bing Central, hopped out of her car and demanded that Crosby himself listen to her latest tunes. He didn’t, but somebody did and soon ‘Lone Star Trail’ made it to the great crooner. He was impressed, recorded it and she was on her way, Walker soon had a gig on Gene Autry’s show with such luminaries as Bob Wills, Webb Pierce and Eddy Arnold having her songs on the airwaves. In later times came Elvis, The Byrds, Chet Atkins, Jim Reeves, Roy Orbison and more.

For me, though, her signature song is ‘You Don’t Know Me’. It could have been about her own self – how she kept her feelings under wraps; how she was notoriously private. Then again, it could be about any of us who like to keep our personal doings closely guarded; who prefer anonymity to notoriety.

The now standard first hit the charts in 1956 with Jerry Vale, but these days it seems that Ray Charles ‘owns’ it. Mickey Gilley had a Number 1 with it in 1981. Meryl Streep sang it in the movies during ‘Post Cards from the Edge’, as did Robert Downey Jr in ‘Two Girls and a Guy’. It featured in ‘Caddyshack’ and recently, Lizzy Caplin trilled it on the small screen in ‘Masters of Sex’.

Ms Walker hid away from public view, particularly when her stage appearances decreased as the royalties for her songs went in the opposite direction. She revealed in later life that she was once married for a short time, but it didn’t suit her. She did not appear to have any other lasting relationships of a romantic nature. She lived with her father, in humble circumstances in small town Texas, for a long time – he helping out with the lyrics to her music. After his demise, in 1991, she further withdrew into herself. No, we didn’t really know her, or who she was referencing, if anybody, in this example of her iconic songsmithery –

No you don’t know the one
Who dreams of you each night
And longs to kiss your lips
And longs to hold you tight
To you I’m just a friend
That’s all I’ve ever been
No you don’t know me
Eddy Arnold was the guy who came up with the idea for the song. Was it the country superstar she had in mind when she added the bones to his notion for this paean to unrequited love? We know Eddy was married to his sweetheart Sally for an incredible sixty-six years. Is there more to know?

To me the version of her tune that moves me the most is that by Charlie Rich. It is the second track on an album entitled ‘Pictures and Paintings’, recorded in 1992 during the twilight of the Silver Fox’s career.. This collection of covers, purchased several decades ago, would have to be the CD that has graced my various music machines the most down through the years, with the Walker contribution the stand out. The whole album is a marked contrast to his mega hits of the early seventies – ‘Behind Closed Doors’, ‘The Most Beautiful Girl’ and ‘A Very Special Love Song’. He hated his music career – country was by no means his first love. By mid-decade he was totally disenchanted with Nashville and what his label did to his songs, increasingly embellishing them with massed strings rather than guitars. Instead of joining Willie, Waylon and others, also similarly pissed off, in becoming ‘outlaws’, he turned to the grog. He embarrassed himself at one awards ceremony when, very drunk, he insulted John Denver, whose music he considered too pop to be country. He came to be regarded as unreliable by those with the power behind the scenes. He struggled on, having a couple more hits, notably ‘Rolling With the Flow’, but alcohol and frustration eventually forced him into semi-retirement. Now Rich was free to turn to the music he loved best – jazz and blues. He became a lounge singer. Eventually a record company agreed to take a chance on him in this style and thus, we have ‘Pictures and Paintings’. This bought him some critical acclaim but only moderate sales – just enough for him to take to the road for the last time. Surprisingly, in this, Tom Waits was his support act. The come-back he’d hoped for didn’t last. He went back to self-imposed obscurity. Travelling to a Freddy Fender concert in 1995, he stopped off at an inn en route and The Silver Fox passed away in his sleep. The year was 1995. He was 62.

Listening to the album, one can only agree with the inestimable Mr Waits, who made mention of him in his song ‘Putnam County’

The studio’s spitting out Charlie Rich
He sure can sing, that son of a bitch

I wonder if it is still available, this collection I love – certainly no ‘Pictures and Postcards’ were listed on eBay when I checked. It is a beautiful set of tunes without a dud on it. Listening to it you can picture Rich at the piano, his silver mane ascendant; his gnarled, hoary hands coaxing the ivories, surrounded by a smoky fug. He loathed the happy, poppy stuff that dominated the charts throughout most of his Nashville years – now he was in his element. With ‘You Don’t Know Me’ he could almost be giving the Nashville Sound the ‘bird’ for what it tried to turn him into.

Back when he started with Sam Phillips, at Sun, in the mid-fifties, the legendary producer loved the jazz infused stuff Rich pitched to him, but told him to go away and get countrified. His style, well it simply would never sell records up against this new fad rock ‘n’ roll or country. Charlie did as he was told, to the degree that Phillips thought he’d have a bigger career than Elvis. Sam Phillips wasn’t wrong very often. Apart from a brief window, Charlie never came close. It wasn’t for lack of talent – it was just that Country Music City neutered him. The real Silver Fox only appeared on this last issue – by then it was all over bar the shouting:-

Afraid and shy
I’ve let my chance go by
The chance that you might
Love me too

Cindy singing ‘You Don’t Know Me’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TsoQ945fqkY

Charlie singing ‘You Don’t Know Me’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GRDdz7DS3tI

I’m excited. The Blue Room has discovered Spotify. It promises to be the perfect tool. It hasn’t arrived yet. Our computer is in dry-dock. When it’s back a family boffin will install it allowing the listening of whole albums legally, rather than just snippets. Thus a firmer base for the purchase of music ‘discoveries’ can be deduced. The Blue Room’s scribe, me, loves to find new stuff. I would like to think I am not your typical 60 plus year old stuck in a musical time warp of the musical heroes from my pomp – such as it was. And I still purchase actual CD albums – yes, I know, this techno-ignoramous is a throwback to another age compared to the hipster generation, but I still value having the music in my hand rather than somewhere up in the clouds.
And in 2013, even after the passing of the years since I bought Sgt Peppers way back in 1967, the beat of rock/country still flows through me. This year purchasing and playing new music has still enhanced my world. I know, as befits my age, I am not really up with the latest musical wonders – but my sources – ‘Uncut’ magazine, my BTD (Beautiful Talented Daughter), Paul, Caleb, Troy et al, all of whom recommend what they think I’d like, knowing my parameters pretty well. I’d like to think that I am reasonably eclectic – you may scoff but judge for yourself contemplating my list of the best of the last twelve months below. They are the albums I genuinely love – the ones that have been on high rotation on my music machine during the year. So here you go, presenting the Blue Room’s top albums of 2013:-

10. ‘Old Socks’ – Eric Clapton – Old Slowhand was probably just going through the motions recording this – I’ll grant you that. But as I can’t get enough of God, these renderings of some hoary covers will have to do.

09. ‘The Low Highway’ – Steve Earl – Here the sexiest man in alt country – BTD’s words, not mine – has produced his best for a while. This much married troubadour still has the fire.

08. ‘Imitations’ – Mark Lanegan – Another covers collection delivered in that voice of gravel – a departure from his attractive collaborations with Isobel Campbell.

07. ‘Even the Stars are a Mess’ – Whitley – The year’s most infectious song (Track 2 – ‘TV’) surrounded by plenty of other quality product. He’s been away to find himself but now he’s back with a good’un.

05. ‘English Rain’ – Gabrielle Aplin – ‘Discovered’ by yours truly on a UK talk show, the CD was cheap in JBs and I fell in love with it. And what a beautiful young lady to boot!

04. ‘My Favourite Picture of You’ – Guy Clark – The old songwriters’ songwriter’s paen to his life partner who is no more – heart-wrenching.

03. ‘The Beast in its Tracks’ – Josh Ritter – His last was a tad disappointing, but he is back with a bang and how!

02. ‘All the Little Lights’ – Passenger – a voice to love (me) or hate – but for my money two classic tracks with classy supports.

01. ‘The Great Country Songbook’ – Troy Cassar-Daley/Adam Harvey – this unlikely hit has now morphed into the year’s most controversial release thanks to Christmas Grinch John Williamson. It’s a buoyant collection of old chestnuts from two knockabout lads having a great time in the studio, as well as live. It took us all back to other places and other times. Only a crusty old curmudgeon would dis its success.

A couple of this year’s hopefuls just failed to make the cut. I’ve only been in possession of Nick Cave’s ‘Push the Sky Away’ for a few days but I am currently obsessed – sonorously magnificent. Neko Case’s ‘Worst Things Get……’ and Camera Obscura’s ‘Desire Lines’ were the best of the rest. The Hunters and Collectors tribute ‘Cauldron’ is well worth a listen, as is John Fogerty’s set of Duets recreating CCR’s hits with various folks – ‘Wrote a Song for Everyone’. The Emmylou Harris/Rodney Crowell collaboration ‘Old Yellow Moon’ stands up, as does Laura Marling’s ‘Once I was an Eagle’. Kim Richey (‘Thorn in My Heart’) and Patty Griffen (‘American Kid’) also had fine issues.

So, over to you BTD, as well as anyone else up for the exercise.