I’ve been on a bit of a Willie Nelson kick here of late. Which is sorta like saying that animals had a bullet problem when Teddy Roosevelt was around. I just finished reading the massive Joe Nick Patowski (part of becoming a naturalized Texan is adopting three names, it’s on the checklist) biography of him. I’ve also read the autobiography he wrote with Bud Shrake. As well as the two humor/philosophy/memoir books he co-wrote and the western novel he wrote with Mike Blakely. Not all at once, mind you, but over a period of say, four years. All of them were entertaining, and when they weren’t full of good ideas, they were full of dirty jokes. Good advice and dirty jokes will always find a welcome ear. I’ve got a slew of his albums on various formats. I’ve seen him a few times, and if I could, I would follow him around all summer (but not all year, even I’m not that obsessive) at least once.
I was rearranging my vinyl collection the other night and noticed something, looking at all the brightly colored covers. I’m pretty sure the one thing Willie Nelson has never said is “No, I won’t wear that.” Country music now is full of over groomed southern guys dressed like western guys. And they all sound like Bon Jovi. In a climate like that, appearing on an album cover looking like you just fell out of a laundry chute qualifies as more than a fashion statement, it’s a statement of artistic integrity.
The first time I saw Willie, he had carpal tunnel syndrome. The guy that played his kid in Honeysuckle Rose played guitar for him. It was at the Roswell UFO Festival. Merle Haggard opened. I took my Dad for Father’s Day. A crowd of teenagers who were volunteering at the door walked past us, the leader exclaiming “Let’s go sniff Willie’s bus”. Dad still chuckles at that. Willie wore a brace on his arm. I told my Dad “If Willie can feel pain, it MUST be bad.” He put on a good show, even if he didn’t play guitar. Merle had previously threatened to jump on the first UFO that offered him a ride with a startling earnestness. After a statement like that, On The Road Again doesn’t have quite the same excitement.
The last time I saw Willie, he was playing guitar. Opening for Dylan, in Albuquerque. It was a really great show, he played a bunch of his hits and some old honky-tonk chestnuts. I specifically remember that he played a lot of sacred songs. No one batted an eye or seemed aggrieved by this. I found them particularly moving. Out of the context of sitting in church, they seemed to be serving their intended purpose, uplifting people’s spirits. “He must have thought Albuquerque needed some Jesus” I told my Dad, after the fact. Albuquerque is pretty liberal for the rural west. My Dad, not one to miss a beat, said, “He was probably right.”
This is what I have figured out about Willie. Willie plays music because it makes him happy. Willie’s music makes people happy. Willie gets happy that people are happy with his music. Willie makes happier music. People get happier. It just keeps cycling upwards. When you think it can’t get any better, that the level of happiness can’t possibly get higher, he calls it a night. There was no peak, and you’re left wanting more. No one gets let down. I’m sure there’s a life lesson in that. The lesson I’m taking away from this, dear reader, is that I should wrap this thing up right here. It’s Willie’s world kids, and we’re just living in it.
No comments:
Post a Comment