February 26th, 2008Delen: Going Country
HOW do you know if you are already in Baguio? This was a question that we asked ourselves back when we were still in college a handful of years ago.
The answer was … you can hear country music over the airwaves. 99.9 F.M, the only country music station in the city then was one of the most popular stations. It was therefore not surprising that one of the most crowded bars at that time especially on weekends was the Wild (Wild) West. From the very few times that I’ve been there before it permanently closed, I found the atmosphere lively. The music was good but my ears simply couldn’t stand the decibel level. I like my sounds smooth and mellow.
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Unfortunately, country music these days seem to have taken a back seat. PUJs plying the city is either playing pop music or teeny bopper music with the occasional wailing that pass for music from rock groups. Thank God the Republic of La Trinidad where I live still has many jeepneys with die hard country loving drivers.
Country music did not start as such. It used to be called Western Music with singers like Don Williams, Merle Haggard, Hank Williams and Willie Nelson. And I sure am proud to say that I already loved the genre at a time when it wasn’t popular. “I loved country when country wasn’t cool” as one song goes. Call it genetic but our father (God bless his soul) never did play anything on our old turn table but western music although at times he would relent and allow the voice of Nat King Cole to fill the house. The staple though was either Jim Reeves or Glen Campbell. I was already in High School when I first heard the mellow voice of Don Williams. Growing up in Tabuk (it was a long way from becoming a city then) I had the sophistication of a Neanderthal when it came to music. I most often woke up to the voice of Yoyoy Villame being played on the one and only A.M radio station in the area.
Now, I would like to think that I have gone up a few notches above the hapless Neanderthal man in music appreciation. I still do not remember the lyrics and quite frankly I don’t even recognize songs from mere titles but hey, now I have other options aside from Yoyoy. No offense meant. But one thing is certain; I would most likely go through a lot of genres but would eventually return to country music.
For one, this genre does not mince words. Some songwriters have this tendency of using metaphors that at times, one wonders if the song means anything at all. Country songs are not that complicated. Toby Keith in one of his songs said … “I like talking about you usually but occasionally I wanna talk about meeeee.” If that aint direct then I sure don’t know what is. It is also a direct reference to the tendency of the fairer sex to dwell on everything about them.
Another characteristic that has drawn me to country is the story that goes with almost every song. Right, so most songs have a story (duh) but if you really concentrate, pop songs tend to focus on one recurring theme and that is love. We have songs for the newly in love, the broken hearted, the recovering sot who got dumped unceremoniously for one reason or another and so on and so forth. Country songs are similar in that area but once in a while, you get a song like Alan Jackson’s tribute to 9-11 (Where were you when the world stopped turning). I am really bad at titles (I had to look it up on the internet) but I do remember that the first time I heard this song in the jeepney of all places, I had goose bumps. It tells of different reactions after that fateful day when America realized that despite its superpower status is far from safe after all.
Lastly, country songs have their own kind of oomph that seems to be missing in other genres. I don’t know … call me a prejudiced country bumpkin but despite my forays into other music styles, I always find myself gravitating toward western music. (I am repeating myself.) Never mind that my friends kid me about it. I even owned a pair of boots once that was confiscated for qualifying as a deadly weapon.
Still unconvinced? Well it doesn’t matter. Once you hear Alan Jackson howling about having a “Hurricane” at lunch because though it is only half past twelve, it is five o’clock somewhere you’d most definitely get hooked. So …go ahead, Pour me something tall and strong. Make it a “Hurricane” before I go insane. It’s only half past twelve but I don’t care. It’s five o’clock somewhere.
