I don’t listen to Country music.
I don't pretend that I do.
And as a matter of fact, I have barely a conception of what Country music is. You see, Country music is not – in my defense – relatable to a 24 year-old Asian male living in the concrete jungle of Los Angeles. Although at its core the songs of Country music might touch upon and delve into the universal themes of love, hate, and having fun, the surrounding layers of frolicking in the barn, shooting varmints, and chugging PBR in the backseat of Uncle Bubba’s Chevy truck just don’t quite jive with me and my lifestyle.
Lest you declare that I am an ignorant know-nothing, let me at least say that I do NOT hate Country music; I’m actually indifferent to its musicality yet I harbor a ton of respect for it as an art form and a culturally and historically-rich music style born out of an oppressed subculture’s therapeutic need for a creative outlet. I do, however, want to impart several observations that today’s Country ain’t no longer like your dad’s Country. Consequently it’s not within my pedestrian powers to judge Country music, but I will say this: Country’s gone dirty.
To reiterate, I don’t listen to Country music. I’m not too familiar with it, but these are the only artists of that genre that I can readily name: Carrie Underwood, Garth Brooks, Reba McIntyre, Johnny Cash, Sara Evans, Winona Judd, Dolly Parton, and Toby Keith. Before you go on and think that I lied by claiming that I have barely a conception of Country music, I have to assure you that I know these names only as a by-product of being familiar with these respective artists’ second-hand careers. I learned of Carrie Underwood by way of American Idol; Garth because he once tried out for the San Diego Padres; Reba through her sitcom on the old WB network; Johnny Cash was portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix in Walk the Line; Sara Evans went through that crazy divorce scandal while she was a contestant on Dancing With the Stars; Winona has this hot sister named Ashley; Dolly - obviously for her Parton's; and Toby Keith because he’s, well, that big guy singing angst-ridden lyrics in the late-night infomercial peddling his anti-terrorist album.
Thus, what I know of Country music is random. I’ll glance at a music video or hear a snippet of a song now and then when I’m channel surfing the tube, or my car stereo’s memory buttons might have gotten reprogrammed and I accidentally switched on a Country station. When I think of Country, I think of classically-penned love songs with soft melodies and uplifting harmonies. I think innocence and purity – the type of music that compels you to dance with the pretty girl next door without leading to dry-humping and demonstrating horse riding with the girl playing the role of the horse. In contrast to some hip-hop songs’ obsession with girls and money (dollar dollar bills, ya’ll) and some rock and roll songs fixation with drugs and destruction, Country singers croon playfully about wooing the opposite sex and make records in support of our troops overseas. In that sense, Country music stands noble.
But alas, it is disappointing to realize that even Country is not immune to what has already tainted every other musical genre. Nowadays, Country music is no longer cowboy hats and Southern belles – everything’s become more provocative and risqué. Lyrics have their share of more underlying sexual innuendos and the image of the Country singer has gotten edgier. In one puzzling case I thought NSYNC was reuniting, but I eventually found out that the frost-tipped and designer jeans-wearing dudes I had mistaken for JT and the gang were actually a Country band called Rascal Flatts. I once discovered there was a music video playing on the Country Music Television channel that featured a female singer naked in the bathtub and posing seductively with suds upon her. It simply didn’t make sense – this sordid image paired with a Country tune. I couldn’t comprehend that juxtaposition.
In further evidence that Country has lost its innocence, even Faith Hill – the Queen of Country – provided a moment that would live in Country wholesomeness infamy. This past year in Lafayette, LA at a joint concert with her husband, Tim McGraw, Faith responded to the actions of a front row concert attendee who had unequivocally stepped outside her boundaries. During the course of the show, this gutsy and opportunistic concert attendee copped a feel at Tim’s package. After discovering this, an enraged Faith fired back and confronted the concert attendee from the stage by scolding, "Somebody needs to teach you some class, my friend. You don’t go grabbin’ somebody else's - somebody's husband's balls, you understand me?”
Now, “balls” is surely a common word – diction that’s often used by children and adults alike. But Faith Hill? Unless she’s telestrating football formations or decorating her Christmas tree, it just seems plain wrong to hear it spew from her mouth. Whatever Tim and Faith do behind the curtains as a happily married couple is perfectly acceptable, but once she starts freely brandishing a word like “balls” in public Faith Hill becomes little bit less Country and little more Rock and Roll.
Oh, and who could forget about Keith Urban's stint in rehab?
Country music has lost its luster and shine as the last remaining squeaky-clean music genre. It seemingly grew up and started hanging out with the goth kids and cheerleader sluts. Although I never avidly listened to it or even had the desire to want to, I always looked at Country music as that surviving remnant of musical purity. Despite being disconnected to it, there was a certain richness of traditions held within the songs of Country music – a remarkable history as told through Country’s lyrics, illustrating a time and place that is uniquely American. Its colors and warmth is fleeting, and in the end it sort of makes me yearn for the days of frolicking in the barns, shooting varmints, and chugging PBR from the backseat of Uncle Bubba’s Chevy truck. That, indeed, was an innocent time.
