I hate country music; it’s so predictable, so repetitious and so corny that it’s unlistenable. That’s the attitude I developed as a teen, and I knew that I knew better than my parents.

Born in Newcastle upon Tyne but raised in South Dakota and Wyoming, I remember hearing Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, Ray Price, and Hank Snow playing on the radio atop our kitchen refrigerator. I ignored it; at least I thought I did.



-- Devil's Tower National Monument, Wyoming

I knew my tastes were more refined. I listened to real artists like Bruce Springsteen, The Eurythmics, and Tom Petty. As I got older, I got interested in John Prine, John Hiatt, and Lucinda Williams. It never occurred to me that I was returning home. Yeah, once in a while I’d listen to George Strait sing “Love Without End, Amen” and “All My Exes Live in Texas”, but I was drunk at the time. Then, one day, I was listening to Lyle Lovett and Randy Newman sing, “Long Tall Texan” and it occurred to me, “My God, this is Country music!” I passed it off as a guilty pleasure and not my mainstream interest.

But there was no ignoring the signs. Over time my guilty pleasure grew stronger. I locked-in two country stations in my car. I found Brooks and Dunn, Alan Jackson, and even Dolly Parton in my CD collection. One night I found myself in a marathon music session, listening to nothing but Johnny Cash, Jerry Jeff Walker, Merle Haggard, and Waylon Jennings … and I knew all the words! I finally had an epiphany the next morning. I was a closet Country music lover. I got on the computer and raced to Free IQ Test.com to diagnose my brain damage and then to Lumosity.com to rebuild my synapses. Satisfied I could still construct complete sentences, I just accepted it. “No need to share this with anyone else, though”, I told myself.

More time passed. Driving in the car one day with my youngest daughter, Alan Jackson’s “Gone Country” came on the radio. About three bars into the song, she turned the channel. “Go back! Go back!”, I said. That was it; the jig was up. “You like country too?” she asked. “Well, yeah, kinda … I do”, I answered. Turns out, my whole family is a bunch of fiddle-lovin’, pedal steel guitar pickin’, fans of Country music. That Christmas was one to remember; there were more damned Country music CDs exchanged that morning than you’ll find in most Wal-Marts. I even got a favorite as a ringtone gift: Neil Young’s “Emperor of Wyoming”. The transformation was complete.


-- Jerry Garcia plays the pedal steel guitar

You can argue that Country music has been polluted by the corporate masters, that mediocrity has replaced the intent of Country music as art for the everyman, but set all that aside for a few moments. Listen to Cody Jinks sing "David", Alison Krauss sing “Down to the River to Pray", Emmylou Harris sing “Ballad of a Runaway Horsel”, or Radney Foster sing “California”. If that doesn’t pique your interest in becoming at least a closet Country music fan, well then, there’s just no hope for you.If you'd like to learn more about country music and how it came to be what it is, here is a collection of interesting articles:
Songs of the South

Featured song: Neil Young's "Emperor of Wyoming"