Monday, November 30, 2009
I apologize for the recent fixation with "golden age" country pop stars, but there's nothing that makes my skin crawl more...it's akin to craning ones neck while passing by a car wreck in some bizzarre subliminal hopes of catching a glimpse of something aweful. Perhaps it's the sheer spectacle of it all. The audacious, devil-may-care abandon. The tableau, if you will. We find the same circumstance with the entire pop culture collective at any given point in time, but there is just something uniquely hideous about THESE people at THIS time that seems to make me recoil with shame at being of the same species.
Take, for example, Mr. Larry Gatlin here - The knowing, come-hither gaze. The fingers confidently fixed in the classic psychiatrists bundle that seems to say, "I'm listening". Maybe it's the waist-hugging shirt or the dainty ladies bracelets. Or maybe its the medallion nested in the soft bed of chest hair which, no doubt, is fragranced with Stetson.
Couple all of this with the poetic lyrics-
"I don't wanna cry this early this morning
But cry I will if you go through with leaving me alone
I don't wanna cry this early this morning
So lay back down and love me and leave the leaving to later on" - and you've got a recipe for some of the worst culture the human race has ever chosen to adore.