Saturday, June 09, 2007

Upon those rare occasions...

...that Pittsburgh sports and record digging collide. I have come across a copy of a mid-70's country record entitled "So Lonesome I Could Cry". It features that song. No big deal. However, it's made by this guy:

I have no problem with Steeler crap. I've eaten the Heath Miller chocolate bar and I own The Black Six. The thing that bothers me about the Terry Bradshaw records is that there's nothing wrong with them. They're fine by the standards to which they ought to be held.

If there's not very much gap in quality between Terry Bradshaw's country records and someone like Jud Strunk or Randy Travis or later, drunker Glen Campbell, then really how much credence can one pay pop country. These are the seeds of what came later and is now our contemporary garbage country music. This really might be a totally shit genre. I refuse to believe that someone who has achieved so much in something so elusive (There are only 1696 current pro football players in any given year, .000006784% of the population) is equally as good in something so demanding as music. There has to be a flaw. Either: a) there's a fault with football, b) pop country and the people who play it suck, or c) Terry Bradshaw is a Emperor of the Universe.

I cannot accept two of those.

Frankly, it's the lack of balls. It's the fact that nobody is a badass in country and hasn't been for years and years. They're all tender love songs about dumb shit and being tame and shit. I'm very disappointed. For a demographic that loves guns and whiskey they sure as hell keep it out of their music which, frankly is reversed. Music ought to have a balanced endowment of violence. Society could use little less.

Thanks pop country, for raping our society.

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