My relationship with country music

I grew up hating country music. While my classmates in elementary and middle school were listening to whatever country music artists were big back then (I don't know, because I wasn't listening), I was listening to The Beatles. I was a weird kid, I guess.
In high school, the songs everyone else was crazy about like "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" just made me feel more alienated from the country music genre. I just didn't get it. Did these people really feel connected to this song? Did they think tractors were sexy? I sure didn't.
I don't know if it was me or the music that changed, but now at 25, the songs I feel most connected to are country. NO, I still do not think tractors are sexy, and there are still many, many country artists I will not listen to. But I think as I've gotten older, I've come to appreciate more where I'm from and the wonderful things about the South that people from other parts of the world don't understand. Zac Brown Band perfectly describes life in the South with "Chicken Fried" and "Toes," and I swell with pride when I hear those songs.
But, on a deeper level, country artists tend to better capture my emotions. They aren't so concerned with being poetically vague and artistic with their lyrics. They just say what they feel. While I'm not a big Taylor Swift fan and I find her sugary songs like "You Belong With Me" the one about Romeo and Juliet to be a little too naive (maybe I'm just jaded), her song "Cold As You" perfectly describes what it feels like to love someone who won't love you back. Everyone writes about unrequited love, but no other song has ever hit me as hard as this one. It's so simple. She doesn't try to be too metaphorical and cliche. It's the right mixture of sadness and anger, and the super simple line "Oh, what a shame" just completely nails it.
Another country girl who totally gets me is Carrie Underwood. Again, it's so simple and direct. Her song "Undo It" says what every girl has felt: "You stole my happy, you made me cry. You took the lonely and took me for a ride, and I wanna undo it." How much more to the point can it get? It's not fancy, it's not overdone, it's just real.
There's nothing like listening to a song and thinking "This was written for me!" They tend to come along at just the right time and make you feel not so alone in your feelings.
I find the second verse of Taylor Swift's song "Cold As You" to be particularly strong. It's sad, for sure, and she's lamenting the fact that he wouldn't let her tear down his walls, but at the same time she's pissed off, and the line "You come away with a great little story of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you" is packed with so much anger. Who is he to think he's too good for her? I can just see this arrogant guy talking to his friends about this dumb little girl who had the "nerve" to fall for him. It's so much more effective than the typical lamentation songs, just crying over a guy. This more fully explores that feeling, because there's always anger that comes along with it. I like that she acknowledges that.


Taylor Swift "Cold As You":

You have a way of coming easily to me
And when you take, you take the very best of me
So I start a fight cause I need to feel something
And you do what you want cause I'm not what you wanted

[Chorus:]

Oh what a shame, what a rainy ending given to a perfect day
Just walk away, no use defending words that you will never say
And now that I'm sitting here thinking it through
I've never been anywhere cold as you

You put up walls and paint them all a shade of gray
And I stood there loving you and wished them all away
And you come away with a great little story
Of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you

[Repeat Chorus]

You never did give a damn thing honey but I cried, cried for you
And I know you wouldn't have told nobody if I died, died for you
(Died for you)

Oh what a shame, what a rainy ending given to a perfect day
Every smile you fake is so condescending
Counting all the scars you made
And now that I'm sitting here thinking it through
I've never been anywhere cold as you

Braves vs. Mets

This is the matchup I've been waiting to see for years. As I said, I've had beef with the Mets since they stole Tommy Glavine from us. I was glad to see other Braves fans shared my sentiments and the Mets were welcomed to Turner Field by boos from the crowd.
Monday night was perfect with a breezy relief from the steamy weather and a Braves win. The high point was a homerun from Chipper Jones. It was a bittersweet moment, since this could be my last Braves trip for the summer and this could be Chipper's last year with the Braves. That could have been the last Chipper homerun I'll see in person. I think he hit it into the stands just for me.
Tuesday was less than perfect. A pop-up rain shower during the game not only forced us inside for a while, but back outside it was humid and sticky. To top it off, the Braves lost this one to the Mets and to top that off, the hit that put the Mets in the lead was by Jeff Francouer, a former Brave and local Atlanta boy. What a slap in the face.
That game wasn't the best way to end my summer of baseball, so I'll just pretend it didn't happen and keep the memories of the Monday night game. Go Braves!

Summer of Baseball continues

I was in Houston, TX a couple of weeks ago and I got to go see the Astros play the Reds. I was more excited to see the Reds play, since the Astros have been nicknamed "The Lastros" and "The Disastros" this summer, so I figured they wouldn't be much to see. Turns out, I was wrong. It was actually quite entertaining to see them put on their comedy routine, er, play baseball. Wild pitches that hit batters, guys jumping over the ball, guys chasing after the ball and running into each other...it was a good show. They lost, of course, but I got to experience a game under the roof of Minute Maid Park (I'd been before, but it had been a while). Since it was about a thousand degrees in Houston, the roof over the park seemed really appealing going in, but when they opened the roof after the game for the fireworks show, I realized we'd have been better off letting a little night air in the whole time. It was a little stuffy with the roof, and honestly, the park loses some of its charm when it's closed up. It doesn't quite feel like a baseball park.
Overall, it was a good time. I stuffed my face with barbecue and hot dogs, which makes up for the lack of really good baseball.

A couple of days later, I watched the last game of that series from a bar in Chattanooga, where I watched the Astros vs. Reds game and also the Braves vs. Marlins game. Isn't it a sign of the apocolypse when the Braves lose and the Astros win, especially in this season? Well, that's what happened that Sunday, and not only was I irrationally grumpy about Atlanta's loss, I was sure I would meet my Maker soon, as this had to be a sign of the end of time.

Tomorrow I'll travel to Atlanta to see the Braves play the Mets. Finally. This is a match-up I've wanted to see for years. I have no reason to hate the Mets other than the fact that my beloved Tom Glavine left the Braves to play for them, and it was painful to see him a Mets uniform. He was a Brave. He should have always been a Brave. I imagine this particular feeling is what a lot of LSU fans feel toward Alabama and Nick Saban (although, I'd like to point out to those tragically misguided LSU fans who seem to have forgotten Saban left LSU to coach for the Dolphins, not for Alabama). Anyway, my hatred of the Mets is second only to my hatred of the Yankees (duh, right?), so I'm thoroughly looking forward to watching my Braves kick some Mets butt tomorrow.

THIS IS...Alabama Football

When I started school at The University of Alabama, the North end zone addition to the stadium had just started. The addition would raise the stadium capacity from 83,000 to 93,000. My walk to class every day was in the shadow of the stadium, and I watched its progress through the spring semester. The first thing to go up was the stairs. These massive cement staircases went straight up into the air, attached to nothing except at the base, and it was a creepy sight. I called them "the stairs to nowhere" because they just went up into the nothingness, and some people referred to them as the "stairway to heaven." I got sweaty palms when I looked up as I was walking by the stadium. I couldn't wait until they added the rest of the addition, but I had a feeling I'd need to avoid ever having to sit in that section because I'd always remember what the stairs to nowhere looked like.
In my last months living in Tuscaloosa after I graduated, work began on the south end zone addition. It was appropriate, I thought, that when I arrived in Tuscaloosa they were adding on to the stadium and when I left Tuscaloosa they were adding on to the stadium. As was the case 4 years earlier, the stairs were the first thing up, a new set of stairs to nowhere, but this time I could envision where they'd lead to at the end of construction. I had seen the north end zone full of Crimson (and once seen it full of "highlighter orange" as Tennessee fans filled the section, leaving early as we kicked their butts and shook our keys at them, saying "See ya, Volunteers!"). I knew pretty soon this new section would be full of Crimson, full of life and full of Bama pride.
This year the stadium will hold 101,000 fans. I can imagine how impressive the roar of "Rammer Jammer" will be and how loud the cheers will be at the first game when the home crowd welcomes the National Champions back to their stadium.

Summer of Baseball

Baseball used to be my favorite sport. From the time I was 10, and I went to my first Braves game and got my first Chipper Jones jersey (which I have to this day), I've loved the whole atmosphere of the sport. There's no place quite like a baseball park, especially in the middle of summer.
My college experience at The University of Alabama converted me to football, which is my very oxygen in the fall and now holds the position of "favorite sport" for me, but Fall is coming, and so are all the football blogs. This one is about baseball.
I guess my Summer of Baseball started without my planning it when I spent a week in Houston taking my brother to his little league games. Not quite on the same level as The Braves, but hey, those kids are the future major leaguers. The intentional kickoff of Summer was the first weekend in June when I went to see the Braves play the Phillies at Turner Field. Walking up to the gates and breathing in deep the smell of hot dogs, beer, grass and wet dirt put me officially in a summer frame of mind. I love seeing everyone walking around in their jerseys, inevitably seeing names of players who haven't played for the Braves in years. I love seeing the little kids on their daddies' shoulders and wondering if it's their first game. I love seeing Alabama caps and Georgia caps and Tennessee caps and realizing we can all agree on at least one thing and for once (and only once) we can cheer for the same team. But the presence of these hats shows even when we're in baseball mode, we still have to make it known where our football loyalies lie. Two Bama fans can high five each other and give a "Roll Tide" right before high fiving a Georgia fan over a Braves homerun. For a few months, we can live in harmony.
I ventured into minor league territory next, going with my best friend to see the Birmingham Barons play the Tennessee Smokies. The level of baseball isn't quite the same, but the atmosphere is the same. The crack of the bat, the pop of the ball in the catcher's mit, the cheer of the crowd, it's all there and all part of what makes baseball so wonderful. After trying unsucessfully to "check out" the players from our seats, my friend and I decided to go in together to buy a program so we could better pass judgment on cute and not-cute baseball players. Ultimately we decided the Smokies players (from afar) looked cuter than the Barons players, to our disappointment.
A couple of weeks later, it was back to Turner Field for Braves vs. Royals. My record number of Braves games in one summer is a sad 2, and I hope after tying the record so early in this season this year that I can set a new one this summer. Bring on the Braves vs. Mets in August! I've wanted to see this matchup for years, ever since I developed a dislike of the Mets when Tom Glavine left the Braves to play with them. Every summer in years past when I went to my last game of the year near the end of the season, leaving the game, walking away from Turner Field always made me blue. That sad feeling of the end of summer walked out of the park with us, everyone carrying their foam fingers and tomahawks home to pack them away until next year. I'd go home and put away my Chipper jersey until baseball started up the next season. One year during a game I dropped a glob of nacho cheese down my jersey and neglected to wash it off before packing it away, so the next June when I dug it out, there was last year's cheese dripped down the front.
But this year, not only did I get a quick and fierce start at my record, but I've dubbed this summer my "Summer of Baseball," and 3 games does not a "Summer of Baseball" make, so I've got places to go and games to see. Take me out to the ballgame!

"Good Times" with Charlie Robison

When my dad first moved to Texas in 1996, he wasn't a fan of country music. I shared the same sentiments (even now, don't bother me with your Garth Brooks, Brad Paisley crap), so when he started playing Texas music in the car on our visits in Houston, to say I was appalled would be an understatement. I was beyond disgusted. Was he trying to make me jump out of the car? Because several times riding through Houston neighborhoods I contemplated risking dangerous contact with the hot pavement to escape the excruciating sounds of Texas music. I just didn't get it at all.
It took years for the music to start growing on me a little bit, and even then I wasn't about to add it to my own music collection at home. I could tolerate it on road trips to Galveston, but you wouldn't catch me listening to it in my room at home.
In 2007 when my sister and I made our annual summer trip to Houston, we were informed we'd be traveling to just outside Austin to see Charlie Robison live at Lost Pines in Bastrop, TX. I was excited about Austin and about the cool resort where we'd be staying, but the idea of a live Texas music show wasn't particularly thrilling to me. Granted, Charlie was the least of the evils, in my humble music snob opinion. By this point in my life I didn't totally hate listening to him. Still, I had little desire to see him live. But whatever. If that's what would get me the weekend stay in the resort with the lazy river, then so be it.
As hard as it was to admit (come to think of it, I don't think I did admit it), I loved the show. Absolutely loved it. The songs had so much more charm when I was watching this sloppy, cranky cowboy sing them. Charlie lumbered out on stage after the band started playing, slung his guitar over his shoulder and started singing "Pick up the pizza, pineapple ham. Put it in the back of the good times van. Go out and pick up the rest of the band, we gonna have a good time," without acknowledging the crowd at all. The music was spunky and lighthearted, even when it was depressing. His song "Sunset Boulevard" lamented a broken heart, but made everyone laugh at the same time with lines like "I wish that the Enquirer would spread a rumor that I was gay."
I went home and quietly bought all of Charlie's music on iTunes, where it became a regular part of my playlist.
My sister and I went to see him in Birmingham, AL a year later, where he was even more surly and rough around the edges. His grumpy attitude and tendency to tell the crowd to "shut the hell up" made his shows endlessly entertaining.
Maybe Charlie Robison really is a cranky old cowboy off the stage, and maybe he's not, but either way, it's in large part his stage persona that makes his shows so much fun. I like that he curses at the crowd between songs and randomly wanders off stage, leaving the crowd wondering if he's coming back. He chugs beer and goes through a pack of cigarettes and always looks like he just rolled out of bed. But if he was clean cut, mild mannered and pleasant, he would contradict his own music. It's not offputting at all to hear him drop the F bomb and roll his eyes at loud bar patrons. It's his character. His music and his stage presence are a package deal.
With Charlie, you never know what you're going to get. You always know he's going to give you a few really good renditions of his fan-favorite songs, like "El Cerrito Place," but then you might get a rushed and bored version of "Barlight" right after. He might take his beer and walk out and never come back, but he might raise his drink and toast the crowd and dive into "My Hometown." It all depends on his mood, and fans love that about him.
Last night I saw him live in El Campo, TX at Muldoon's Saloon. He sauntered on stage an hour after the listed start time, sang some new songs and some old favorites and gave some words of wisdom ("It doesn't matter how good lookin' a girl is. Somebody somewhere is sick of her shit.") When an audience member ran up to the stage to tell Charlie a high school buddy of his was at the show, Charlie looked out in the crowd and said "You got fat, didn't you? You were always slow, but now you're slow and fat."
He gave us some really satisfying versions of some favorites, but he also seemed to want to get a lot of them over with and get back out to the tour bus. But that was okay. We left shaking our heads and saying "That's Charlie all right," and knowing we'd go see him again tomorrow if we could.

Clapton was "wonderful tonight"

My mom and I went to see Eric Clapton in concert in February, and it blew my mind. I consider myself to be misplaced, convinced I should have been alive in the 60s, so being in the same room with an icon from my favorite decade was a dream come true for me. The only thing that would make my little hippie heart happier would be seeing Paul McCartney himself live in concert.
I sat down the day after the concert to write about my experience, and I ended up with something that wasn't at all what I'd set out to write. But these were my true and honest thoughts after the show.

I was sitting in the 60s this weekend. I was listening to Eric Clapton play and watching his legendary hands slide up and down the guitar making sounds I didn’t know a guitar could make. The year is actually 2010 and Eric Clapton is not a young man and the audience is not a wild bunch of hippies passing around a joint and moving to the beats. The mostly older audience is almost all seated, bobbing their gray heads and definitely not stoned. But I blocked all that out and I imagined it was, in fact, the heart of the 60s and I tried to feel the music the way people might have back then.
As I was deep in thought, a tiny gnat started buzzing around my face. I swatted at it absently at first, but it kept coming back. It bumped into my face and landed on my head and tried to get in my eye. The funny thing is I wasn’t annoyed that the gnat was bothering me and taking my attention away from the stage, but rather I was annoyed that the dumb gnat clearly did not understand who it was playing guitar up there. What a lucky gnat, I thought, to come into existence in this place on this day. Some gnats live dull little short lives when they are born and live in a typical household kitchen or around a neighborhood dumpster. But this gnat gets to live out its life at an Eric Clapton concert. I was annoyed that the gnat was wasting its time buzzing around my head, as I am no one special, instead of flying on up to the stage to buzz around the head of the greatest guitarist who has ever lived. He could just float up there and no one would stop him and ask him for his ticket and security would not grab him and throw him out of the concert. Gnats can pretty much go wherever they want. I feel sure if this gnat had known I’m just an unemployed college graduate but in the very same room was a rock and roll legend, he would have reconsidered his choice.