1983's Amarillo by Morning is a good example of the difference between capturing a moment in the life of someone who just happens to be a cowboy - story-telling in its most basic sense - and perpetuating a stereotype, which is what country music seems to do best nowadays. George Strait's pared down delivery coupled with an equally austere instrumentation complement the story of someone who is actually pretty nebulous, between towns and between lives.
This particular cowboy's thoughts do not travel much past later that day, bucking at the county fair, though it's clear it's a long way to fall from where he once was. The melody is haunting, but never becomes mawkish, and at the end, the fiddle keeps going after everything else has stopped, until it too fades away like the night, leaving me with the impression that the song is still playing somewhere, for someone.
And what fuels a road trip, what sparks wanderlust with greater fidelity, than the maddeningly delicious thought of everything that's going on at any given moment in all the places you aren't?
"I ain't rich, but Lord I'm free..."
 |
HORSE'S ASS - My one and only trail ride was spent sneezing and wheezing my way through an allergic fit, and culminated with two swollen, red eyes and congested lungs. I think my expression, as I gratefully guide 'Moose' back to his stable, says it all.
|
#85) "The Secret of Life" by Faith Hill - Penned by one of the best songwriters in country music (Gretchen Peters), Faith Hill brings to life this reflection on priorities and simple pleasures, makes it 'ready for prime time' with her voice and star power. Once more, I generally don't go for songs bent on teaching me a lesson, but Peters' philosophy and wit temper the preachy-ness here, and the song turns into a potent cautionary tale for one powerful line, at just the right moment.
"Ad on TV says 'just do it' / hell if I know what that means..."
#86) "The Boys of Summer" by Don Henley - To me, The Boys of Summer isn't so much a song as an experience.
It's what it sounds like when rain starts to drench a sidewalk that's been baking in the sun all afternoon, and it is the feeling that comes when that storm has passed, when all that remains are flooded streets to splash through, and you realize that you are at a crossroads in your life, that it might very well be the end of an era, and the wind that follows the storm, which comes from the southwest and is warm in the manner of slowly drawn butter, means more than it ever has before, and might ever again.
"Out on the road today, I saw a deadhead sticker on a Cadillac..."
