Rednecks, White Socks, and Piña Coladas?: Country Music Ain't What It Used to Be . . . And It Really Never Was

Abstract

Country Music Ain't What It Used to Be ... And It Really Never Was Just the other day, I read lengthy piece suggesting that the Grand Ole Opry is about to fade away. Fans of contemporary country apparently don't find Little Jimmy Dickens or Porter Waggoner terribly relevant, and the current chartbusters among the younger generation of artists are loathe to forgo the big bucks from lucrative road gigs for the paltry $500 or so that the Opry pays. Such news is certain to set off new season of wailing and hand-wringing from those who fear the imminent demise of so-called traditional country music. Before we get too lathered up, however, let me point out that we've heard all this before. Actually, every time Garth Brooks or one of his big-hatted buddies kicks off an other over-hyped mega-tour or cuts new CD), somebody tells us that if ol' Hank were alive today, he'd be spinning in his grave. Now, don't get me wrong. The more fashioned or down home country song is, the better I like it. They simply don't come too maudlin or twangy for this boy. Still, I'm not ready to throw in with those who reject everything they hear on the radio these days as nothing but over-produced, pop-oriented drivel and long for the good old days when times were bad and country music was pure, unadulterated reflection of the life experiences of rural southern whites. As is often the case, these self-described purists are actually worshiping something that was never pure in the first place. In fact, as I see it, the entire history of country music reflects the manner in which southern culture at large has survived by accommodating rather than resisting the forces of change. Technology, especially the advent of the phonograph and the radio, seemed to pose formidable threat to the region's traditions and values, yet these contraptions also served as vehicles by which southern music would reach listeners around the nation and ultimately the world. Likewise, technology brought other musical forms into the South and encouraged the lyric and stylistic intermingling and cross-fertilization that marked southern music from the beginning. As early as the turn of the century, Harvard archaeologist Charles Peabody was dismayed to find black southern workers singing not only hymns but ragtime tunes that were undoubtedly picked up from some passing theatrical troupes. By the time folklorists began their early field recordings in the South, as Francis Davis put it, a supposedly authorless and uncopyrighted song learned by ear for generations might be in reality song once featured in vaudeville revue or written or recorded by some long-forgotten professional entertainer. Historian Edward L. Ayers clearly had both early country music and the blues in mind when he observed that what the twentieth century would see as some of the most distinctly southern facets of southern culture developed in process of constant appropriation and negotiation. Much of southern culture was invented, not inherited.(1) For southern whites, the nostalgic and weepy Victorian parlor songs popular throughout the nation at the turn of the century were particularly appealing, and songs such as Pale Amaranthus were soon southernized into the famous Carter Family classic Wildwood Flower. Early recordings of southern rural musicians, black and white, proved so commercially successful that recording companies quickly dispatched talent scouts who fanned out across the region in search of new singers and new songs. The quest for fresh material soon exhausted the available reservoir of folk, spiritual, gospel, and dance tunes and encouraged performers such as Fiddlin' John Carson and Ernest V. Pop Stoneman to try their hand at songwriting. Although these early country composers frequently retained the old Anglo-Saxon ballad format, they often lifted their subject matter directly from recent headlines. …