Switching around the dial as I often do today (while at stoplights of course and not whilst driving; that would be idiotic) I stopped for a while on what has the audacity to call itself a country music station. Apparently, to call yourself a country music station means playing an endless succession of Brad Paisley, Kenny Chesney, and Taylor Swift songs.
However, on this particular day, a Garth Brooks song came across the air waves. Having listened to the previous crap on the air, hearing a Garth Brooks song was like driving a Bentley after being accustomed to a Honda Civic. It then occurred to me that country music is dead. Real country musicians like Loretta Lynn, Conway Twitty, Hank Williams and, yes Garth Brooks (to name a few) have been replaced. Now, country fans have to settle for Gretchen Wilson, Kenny Chesney and (God Help Us) Toby Keith. Musicians like this are to country what Taco Bell is to Mexican food. In other words, they’re more “country inspired” than actual country music.
And, come on; Keith Urban? Really? He’s not even American! That’s like a gangsta rap group claiming to be from South Central LA and really being from a much more tame part of the city. . .well, aside from Cypress Hill I mean. Anyway, Keith Urban THIS.
Rascal Flatts? Give me a break. They’re a good band but it’s a stretch to call them country. They’re much more of a rock group.
Putting on a cowboy hat, saying “y’all” and singing about Miller Lite and John Deere tractors do not a country artist make. They make a poseur, certainly, but the country artists of today don’t deserve to carry Dolly Parton’s bra.
I don’t deserve to either-despite how much I’d like to.