You know, Country & Western!
This ain't your Dad's country music. It's your Granddad's! None of that new Nashville bullshit either. This is where you'll find what I consider the best in Country (Classic and Alt), Folk, and Americana.
Robbie Fulks - I Told Her Lies
Happy 50th Birthday Robbie!
Robbie Fulks - Tears Only Run One Way
Had a chance to see Robbie play last night in NYC. Short set, but good to hear new songs and old classics.
Robbie Fulks - I’d Be Lonesome
Priming the pump for the anti-Valentine’s contingent. Join my army!
Robbie Fulks - I Push Right Over
Blue eyes and face so pretty
One look and I hit the floor
I’m begging you, stay here with me
I’m never gonna need you more
Robbie Fulks - Can’t Win for Losing You
Robbie Fulks - Fuck This Town
from South Mouth (1997)
It’s ironic that after decades of trying, the closest Robbie Fulks has ever gotten to a hit song is this hilarious and scathing middle finger to the Nashville music business. Those years of frustration were worth it, though, because this three minute burst of pure, intense catharsis is immensely satisfying. For Fulks, “this town” is Nashville, but it could just as easily be Hollywood, or New York, or any other city full of frustrated artists shaking hands, busting ass and doing lunch but ending up with shit to show for it. (It’s also remarkable that in a genre that prides itself on honesty, this is one of the few tunes to touch on the struggles of, you know, actual working musicians.) And just to sweeten the pot, Steve Byam tosses off some red hot steel guitar on the bridge. Fuck!
Howdy there, I Love Country.
Robbie Fulks - Every Kind of Music But Country
Ping Pong Day 4: A-11? He had a copy of that old 45 at home and played it anyway. Which led to another record and another… Robbie Fulks - The Buck Starts Here
Robbie Fulks - Roots Rock Weirdos
The room grew deathly silent, then up from the stinking ranks
Rose a homely social worker in a bowling shirt marked “Hank”
And dropping the fake black diction, he said, “Since you enquired,
Let me take stock of what we roots rock — ahem! — ‘weirdoes’ desire….”
Fishnets for every woman, and lipstick as red as flame
For every man a tatoo, a Chevy, and a dumb nickname
Cigarettes in every shirtsleeve, black leather on every back,
Fanzines in every bookstore, LPs in each record rack.
Three chords in every pop song! Four white guys in each band!
A ruthless media empire to saturate this land
Then, with our alt.country comrades, and our brothers in neo-swing,
We’ll reclaim music from the kids for our fat dead cracker king!”
Roots rock weirdoes, Christ! They’re everywhere!
A little Doc Pomus in their hearts and dark pomade in their hair
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
Dressed up like it’s 1951.