Minneapolis / St. Paul Music Blog

​ The second month of the new year is now well underway, and brings us five opportunities to see five national country acts at five different venues. The first and last artists of the month I can firmly get behind. I'd bet my credibility and my horse, noting I do not own a horse, that these two shows will be do-not-miss events. The three sandwiched between? Um... go because they might be kinda funny. You've never seen a country show at the Fine Line, right? And the Medina - I'll bet your parents hang out there. Why not spend a night with them seeing a very respectable country artist? And a band whose only big hit was about their affection for beer guts...on women? They're playing the Cabooze.

Pretty sure your interest has been piqued by that one.

​ So I'm more excited than a bag full of rattlesnakes here. The World's Toughest Rodeo is coming to the Xcel Energy Center this weekend for two shows (Friday 1/29 and Saturday 1/30, 7:30). Here's what I reckon we're gonna see down there.

​ Happy birthday to Mac Davis, who turns 68 today. Who the hell is Mac Davis? Well, in addition to writing songs made famous by Elvis Presley like "In the Ghetto" and "Don't Cry Daddy," Davis is well known for writing my favorite ramblin' relationship-phobe song, "Baby Don't Get Hooked On Me." In honor of Mac's special day, and in honor of relationship-phobes the world 'round, my top ten "Baby, don't mind me, I'm just a ramblin' man!" songs.

Photo by Nikki Miller

​ Dolly Parton is 26 years young. Rather, her breasts are. The rest of her turns 64 today. In honor of this milestone, BGO Productions hosted "The Dolly Parton Birthday Extravaganza" at the Bryant Lake Bowl Monday night.

Photo by Nikki Miller

​The self-proclaimed "first naughtybilly band evar," Courtney McClean and the Dirty Curls dream of cousin sex. Of going gay for a gal with a nice pair of tits. Of drunken three-ways with strangers, videotaped for posterity. And sex in the posterior? Probably a little'a that, too.

​ Every day is special. Yesterday was National Cuddle Day. Tomorrow we celebrate Man Watcher's Day, and on Saturday, Play God Day. Cuddle Day was good to me. I'll check out some men on Friday, and perhaps manipulate them come Saturday. But today, today is extra special. It's "I'm Not Going to Take It Anymore Day." Before you get that stupid Twisted Sister song in your head, here's a playlist in honor of the day. Girlfriend got a cheatin' heart? Hate your boss? Husband give you a black eye? Damn it, you're better than all that! Today, you can tell everyone to shove it. You have some national day-maker's permission, as well as mine. Listen here for inspiration, and go to it, then, you big badass.

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No, just do the former.

According to figures from the Minnesota Department of Public Safety, in 2008 there were 35,736 impaired driving incidents in the state. 163 people were killed and 2,896 injured in alcohol related crashes. And during the month of December, over 400 law enforcement agencies across the state have been joining efforts to add extra enforcement to the roads for enhanced drunk driving enforcement.

Not that it's ever a good time, but now's an especially bad time to pull back one too many at your local saloon then crawl into your pickup or on to your riding lawn mower to mosey on home, even if your woman's no longer driving you to drink as George Jones parodies in his 1996 single "Honky Tonk Song."

​I dedicate this to my mother, who has for nigh on a quarter of a century nursed my unhealthy fixation on a particular Christmas album.

The holidays are a time for reminiscing. I remember the time Santa Claus ran into my dad outside our house on Christmas Eve and passed along a gift for me and my sister: Talking Big Bird, who read us books when we'd stick a tape up his ass. I remember hiding when Santa would stop by our house in the flesh, and screaming bloody murder when placed on his lap. I remember Kenny Rogers made a less intimidating version of Santa Claus for his 1984 Christmas album and CBS special with Dolly Parton, Kenny & Dolly: A Christmas to Remember. I remember a time when my family and I would listen to this album every year while decorating our tree with unattractive little trinkets my talentless ass made in grade school.

I remember a time when Kenny and Dolly still looked like human beings.

​We're nearing year's end, and I'd lose whatever shred of credibility I have left if I was to offer y'all a list detailing my favorite songs in country of the past year (note: some of them are included in the list I am offering you below; I won't say which). And so in keeping with the relative disdain for popular country we all ought to share, I instead present to you the top 10 most ridiculous songs in country of the past year. Songs that take literal lyricism to its most extreme. Songs about tractors, and tractors and, well, more tractors. Songs that make my friends laugh in disbelief when I explain their concepts. I've made a bar room pastime out of it, in fact. "Hey, you gotta hear this song this guy wrote about his tractor! No, this other one! No, not that one. Another one!"

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Alright ladies.

1, 2, 3, 4.

Right vine, diagonal heel/clap, left vine, diagonal heel/clap, step together, diagonal heel/clap, step together, diagonal heel/clap, swivel heels right, left, right, center, stamp, stamp, kick, kick, ball-change, stamp, kick, kick, forward, hook behind, back, hitch, back, hitch, forward, scuff/turn, and do it again.

Photos by Nikki Miller

Gabe Barnett

​So I ask my friends where I can go to see some good local country. "Go hear... no wait that's not country, that's folk. Go see... no wait that's not country, that's bluegrass. You should check out... no wait that's not country, that's Americana. Roots. Naw, that's more rockabilly."

So what's country?

All photos courtesy of muzikmafia.com

MuzikMafia

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As with all forms of music, country music can at times be a bit schizophrenic. The Kid Rock song "All Summer Long," which topped the country charts in 2008, borrowed elements from Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" and Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London" (with kinda disastrous sampled-guitar results, I cringe). When Jewel and Darius Rucker (of Hootie & the Blowfish) became relevant only to those VH-1 "Hey guys, remember the 90s?" specials, they both crossed over to country. And what do Willie Nelson and Snoop Dogg have in common? I mean, other than that.

Photo by Nikki Miller

Hank III

​In the past year I've been to only a handful of shows that really stand out, and seeing as how I've been to more concerts in my lifetime than the number of pills choked back by Johnny Cash, Hank Williams and Mindy McCready combined, it's usually not the performances anymore that make a show memorable - it's the crowd.

Courtesy of myspace.com/hank3

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Far be it from me to endorse any of the activities mentioned in the Hank III-penned song dedicated to that rollin'-in-his-own-shit punk rocker GG Allin, be they drinkin' a lotta whiskey, smokin' all the time, doin' cocaine, startin' up fights, spittin' in anyone's faces or generally not givin' a fuck. Lord knows I never partake in any of that. I'm a good girl. And I most definitely give a fuck.

But his music makes me kinda wanna. I mean, the first three. Nothing illegal, folks.

Photo by Nikki Miller

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"I dunno, he's kinda skinny."
"You wouldn't know he was so skinny from his voice!"
- Women assessing hotness of William Elliott Whitmore. At his show, November 4, at 7th St Entry.

I don't know ladies - he's not that skinny. Thar's a cute li'l beer gut I do say I spy. And he is pretty hot. He winked at me and I 'bout died, 'til I realized the Entry was packed full of ladies 'bout ready to die over the dude and I lost interest. Who can stand for such competition?

Oh, but that voice.

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Let's talk about the Yankees, shall we?

I think the World Series kicked off last night. I think the Yankees played the Phillies. But I don'know shit about shit and and I definitely don'know shit about baseball so I'm not gonna stand behind the veracity of either of those statements. I think we're supposed to hate the Yankees because they have a lot of money to buy a lot of really good players who use a lot of really good steroids. And because we're supposed to like the Twins.

Really, I just wanna talk about Charley Pride.

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I swear I didn't smoke any illicit substances before I headed to Mystic. And I most certainly was not drinking wine out of a jug, classier than that I am (I'll request that the peanut gallery kindly keep all commentary to itself). But Emmylou Harris' Sunday night show at Mystic Lake Casino left me feeling as relaxed as, ahem, if I had.

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But it is too often the stuff of criminals.

Last weekend I was spending some quality time over 45s with a guy I used to date. A guy who used to really get my goat. A guy with whom, if I had a gun, I could have had a relationship the stuff of which would have made for a really good country song. Don't use this as motive should he ever show up in the river; I am, of course, being facetious in the interest of perpetuating country music themes. Hey buddy, can't wait to go see Emmylou with you this weekend! (I promise I still don't have a gun. You are safe!)

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Well actually, she's been cured since 1995, but on this day in history, 1990 (well actually, in two days from now in 1990), Naomi Judd of mother-daughter country act The Judds announced that she would be retiring from performing because she was ill with hepatitis.

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Here again I'll ramble on about some country musician I wanna make out with.

Am I sincere?

Well, not about that. In a week, I will not make out with Luke Bryan. But for a moment now yes, I will be. Bear with me.

​ Fuck you, indie rock.

I'll never tire of defending country music. Never! You want to hear me go on, and on, and on about it? Give me a beer. Hell, I'll do it sober. You want to tell me about your rock band? Zzzzzzzzz... but hey, listen to me while I detail the finer points of that song Miranda Lambert wrote about cheatin'! And yes, you will listen. Read on.

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Goddamn! Jeee-zus Christ.

I take the Lord's name in vain as I reach to change the radio station. Oops. Goddamn second commandment, right out the window (third if you're a Baptist Methodist Evangelist or Presbyterian but I grew up Catholic and it was number two). Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. But it's just that this goddamned radio station has been asking me for donations to finance the construction of some tower in Sudan to reach the masses of heathens with the word of God across the airwaves! What the hell is this? Since when is Jim Bakker running my favorite country station? Praise Jesus! Praise Jesus! WHY DON'T THEY JUST PLAY SOME GODDAMNED WAYLON AND SHUT THE HELL UP? Ahem--It has been 17 years since my last confession.

​ You wanna do something Friday night that I'll bet you ten rounds with Jose Cuervo will make you the most original person in this whole damned town? Something none of your friends would even imagine doing? Something that will make you a brave and unique individual?

No, I'm not gonna say "Go ride the bull at Cowboy Slim's." Hold on that 'til Saturday when the new Uptown bar, which contrary to its name normally does not feature a mechanical bull for cowboys to ride, is hosting Stand Up for the City, a fundraising event for the PEACE Foundation's Northside Youth StandUp program featuring live music, a BBQ, dunk tank, everyone's favorite frat drinking pasttime known as "tippy cup" and a mechanical bull (5:00-close, $10 admission). If you must go to Cowboy Slim's on Friday night, you're not gonna find a bull to ride but you can pretend you're in New Orleans, instruct your male friends to go up to the rooftop at Stella's with beads and wave them in the air at the women on the patio at Slim's and maybe you'll get to see some tits. I dunno. Just seems like that kinda place.

And oh honeys, it was hot.

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Here ya go. Ten ways I'd put the hurt on Kanye West.

One. I'd steal his vocal vocoder.

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Hank Williams, Jr. hit the campaign trail with a stop in Minnesota on Sunday night. Naw, I'm just pullin' your leg. He has announced intentions to run for a 2012 U.S. Senate seat in Tennessee but he wasn't campaigning at last night's Mystic Lake Casino show. That is, unless you imagine the banner decorating the drum riser reading I'll keep my freedom, my guns, my religion, you can keep the "change" (also displayed on t-shirts for sale in the lobby) was some sort of announcement of his platform.

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Dear Barbara,

I'm sorry I thought you were an evil cunt all these years. See, my Grandma Florence told me you were. Well, she didn't use the word cunt but you get the idea. Maybe I should have learned not to listen to Grandma Florence. She also used to show me pictures from The National Enquirer of aliens abducting humans from their beds and tell me that they take you up into their spaceships and probe your asshole while you sleep. If I hadn't'a believed her then I wouldn't still be sleeping with my eyes open after all these years (single, in a double bed).

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Shout-outs ain't only for hip-hop and all-staff meetings at work. "I'd like to give a shout-out to Annie, in Purchasing, for creating a new spreadsheet detailing paper product prices."

Hollerin' at your homeys. Sayin' howdy to your peeps.

Pardon me, pardners, let's forget I said either of those things. That was really dumb. Anyway, the notion of making mention of your comrades has been a part of country music for as long as folks have been singing about their dogs and pickup trucks.

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Howdy. I'm at the state fair and I'm SHITFACED!

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Today I head back from three nights of country music at my hometown's county fair.

Ugh.

It was a rough three nights.