What I’ve been listening to: Willie Nelson edition
I never wanted to be one of those old people who only listens to the music of their youth, so every morning I wrestle with my Spotify algorithm and try to actively seek out new music. This… is harder than it should be. For an app that apparently has access to all the music in the entire world, Spotify sure plays a lot of Josh Ritter! Seriously, why isn’t there a “Random” button on that thing?
When I got off The Ice this year, I bought Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die by Willie Nelson in a used bookstore in Christchurch, New Zealand. He has a two-page section where he lists “good pickers,” and I figured that was as good a place as any to discover new music. I mean, if these musicians have the Willie Nelson stamp of approval, they must be good, right? Here, now, are a few pithy observations about some of ol’ Bill Nelson’s recommendations:
“West Virginia My Home,” by Hazel Dickins
They don’t make songs like this anymore… I mean, unless they’re about California. Mourning, yearning, real emotion about a very beautiful state most people treat like a joke where the punchline is “methamphetamine.”
“It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels,” by Kitty Wells
Reedy vocals, and the song moves at the pace of a walking horse, and it’s syrupy, dusty, and sad.
“One’s On the Way,” by Loretta Lynn
A funny song, without a trace of resentment or cynicism, about the flaws of first-world feminism.
“Smoke! Smoke! Smoke!” by Tex Williams
I gotta admit, this song made me laugh. If this song came on at a club, I would tell everyone in my life to go to that club.
The only song in this little essay that I’m not embarrassed to show other people. Some musicians know how to make their instruments talk, and some know how to make them sing. Chet Atkins knows how to make a guitar tell a story.