"Nobody Can Sing The Blues Like Blind Willie McTell"

Okay, I have to admit it: I've started listening to some bluegrass and country.

In my defense, the only member of my family who hasn't started down this road is Scott, and he's exceptionally picky about his music (he only listens to like three bands: Journey, Styx, and Boston). Dad has started listening to my uncle's band the way I was when I lived in Oklahoma (which means about every weekend), and they tend to play a lot of country. He doesn't seem to mind. Clif has really gotten into Johnny Cash and Hank Williams (among his presents this Christmas: a song book of Johnny Cash and one of Hank Williams and the Johnny Cash box set). Mom owns a freakin' Rascal Flatts CD (which I had to give her no end of trouble about: I mean, Johnny Cash is one thing, but Rascal Flatts? That's just pop with some twangy whine to it).

Me? I've been drifting that direction ever-so-slowly. It all started with Glen Phillips, oddly enough. His collaborations with Nickel Creek got me interested in that band. His interest in another band really set me down the path, though: Wilco.

Yeah, I started listening to Wilco because I heard someone request a Wilco song on one of Phillips's live sets I'd downloaded. Yeah, that's right: he didn't actually play one of their songs, but someone had clearly heard him do their stuff before, and he clearly liked their stuff.

I've had this problem--if it can be called that--for years. I have a tendency to seek out music I've heard someone else talk about simply because they talked about it. I started listening to Cake, Pearl Jam, Pink Floyd, the Barenaked Ladies, Moxy Fruvous, and Wilco this way. There are others. For instance, I purchased an Alison Krauss CD just this evening because my uncle mentioned that he liked them.

So I started listening to Wilco. About the same time, I heard a Rhett Miller CD playing in Borders one evening, bought it on a whim, and then began pursuing albums by the group he was in, the Old 97s.

These two bands opened me up to the joys of alt-country. I started listening to Uncle Tupelo, and Whiskeytown, and Ryan Adams, and Blue Mountain, and Healthy White Baby. I heard the Greencards open for Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson, and I pursued their music as well. I pursued the roots of American music, seeking out the beginnings of the things I listen to now.

And I figured out why I really enjoyed these bands, this style of music and things of similar ilk like Woody Guthrie, Dylan, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and even the Band and Neil Young: because this was music about feeling, emotion, about conveying something in one's playing and one's voice that goes beyond the mere words sang or hitting the right key or playing note perfect. The way I figured it, there are two kinds of musicians out there. This applies mostly to folk, country, rock, and the blues (especially the blues), but to an extent it applies to all music. The first kind of musician relies on precision and perfection to convey emotional content. Good examples include BB King, Clapton beginning around his stint with Derek and the Dominoes, and Sting. Their music is designed to be expressive via its exactitude. BB King, for instance, plays every single note of his guitar solos perfectly. There's never a mistake, and that precision conveys a piercing, sharp emotion: his blues. Clapton is much the same way.

On the other hand, you have people who rely on tone and energy to convey emotional content. Let's face it: Dylan, Young, and so many of the others I enjoy can't sing at all. Dylan and Young are especially guilty of not being able to carry a tune in a bucket. But while they may not hit every note perfectly--and are in fact quite sloppy sometimes--they compensate by putting significant energy into their work. When Dylan sings of a wounded heart or a girl who has done him wrong, you feel it in your gut. When he sings that the world is so fucked up that the only man who could sing about it effectively is Blind Willie McTell, you feel that the world is that fucked up in your very gut. The emotional content is exhibited in the enthusiasm and the effort, not in the precision. This is why some Dylan albums really fall flat: his music is not compelling when he phones in his vocals. Take Slow Train Coming, for example. The music is decent if not exactly memorable. It could be a decent album in the hands of a precise singer, but Dylan doesn't sing like that. His vocals are flat on this record, and it kills the emotional content of an album that ought to be all about uplifting the spirit and presenting Dylan's new worldview.

The whole point of all this is that most country, folk, blues, and bluegrass musicians (though bluegrass to a lesser extent than the others) focuses on crafting a tone or feeling for the music through effort of will rather than precision or skill. Dylan's not the best singer or guitarist in the world, but his best work is exceptionally evocative nonetheless. These folks get it: you don't have to play perfectly to get your point across. Sure, precision is an excellent way of conveying emotional content, but there are other ways that don't require perfection. A lot of the bands I listen to now are steeped in this idea of getting the emotional content across in whatever way is necessary or possible, and it's a method I myself try to employ (mostly because I'm not all that good at playing or singing, either).

Anyway, tonight I purchased the aforementioned Alison Krauss CD (which is great: I mean, it's got a cover of Woody Guthrie's "Pastures of Plenty." How could you not like it?) and the Greencards. I haven't had a chance to listen to the latter CD yet, but I've heard them in concert before, so I know it'll be worthwhile.

~chuck

Song of the Moment: Alison Krauss and Union Station, "Pastures of Plenty"