I have a confession to make.
What I’m about to confess isn’t really a secret anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. I guess I just want to make a formal, coming-out type gesture, so we can all accept it and then move on with our lives.
I love country music.
And I don’t just love what many people consider the only “good” country music: the classics like Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, and so forth. I don’t just love the more musically intricate country: bluegrass. No, I love it all, and what I might love the most is what most people consider “bad country.” I love the corniest, redneck-est, most ridiculous country music that’s ever been written. This includes such gems as “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk,” “Beer For My Horses,” and “Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy.” I love them all. In fact, the cheesier the song, the more I may love it.
Many of my friends probably consider this a sacrilege. They may even take personal offense to it. On some level, I can get why. I, like they, grew up listening to lyrically and instrumentally intelligent indie music. It was sophisticated. The lyrics were less like lyrics and more like poetry. They were deep. The music—not the lyrics, but the music itself—told stories. This kind of music is meant to be, above all else, art. It is designed to make you think. And, to its credit, it always did make me think. But it didn’t make me happy.
The problem with what I call in my head “intelligent music” is that, in addition to its pretentiousness (which even its most avid fans really can’t deny), it’s really depressing. I don’t think its depressive quality is intentional; it’s more that it’s unavoidable. Anything designed to make you think is going to be depressing. Because once you start thinking about deep things like how the world works, you’re forced to think about all the terrible and horrible facts of said world, and then it’s all downhill from there. Seriously, tell me Wilco’s “Spiders” makes you feel like rainbows and sunshine.
Not country music, though. The twang and drawl of country music is far from lyrically and/or instrumentally sophisticated. The music is simple. The lyrics are corny. The words “momma,” “bubba,” and “yee-haw” are thrown around like candy. This kind of music is not designed to make you think. It’s not meant to be art in the way that “intelligent music” is. It’s meant to be entertainment more than anything. And what else is entertainment, really, than a way to distract oneself from the terrible horrible deep facts of the real world?
This is why I love country music. It makes me happy. It’s fun. When I listen to it, I want to put on a pair of cowboy boots and dance around the kitchen. It doesn’t make me want to stew in my own piss in my room and cry myself to sleep. And I think that’s awfully nice.
For the record, this is the same approach I have to all forms of entertainment. I’ll take a sitcom over a murder mystery any day. I can’t force myself to sit through any of those serious, deep, thought-provoking movies; I need something light and flashy that keeps my attention, like Toy Story 3. My standards are pretty much met as long as whatever I’m watching has a sense of humor compatible with mine. I’m an intelligent person, but I do not have intelligent taste in music, movies, and TV shows.
And why is this? Because when the day is over, I’ve done enough thinking for two or three people. I could continue thinking and pop in Band of Horses, but I’m pretty sure if I allowed my mind to keep working 24/7, it would literally explode. Because my mind is about six steps ahead of me at all times, my mental fatigue by the time the day is over is too overwhelming to continue thinking. So I listen to some country music while I’m riding the bus home from work. I don’t have to think or process or realize anything. I just have to enjoy, and I have to dance in my seat a little bit.
Seriously, how does anyone listen to a banjo and not have the urge to dance?
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