loveMELT Newsletter #026: South Sippin' from New York
I’m writing to you from my pre-owned lazyboy couch with both of my butt cheeks stuck to the leather because I’ve taken off my jeans to plump on the recliner and blab on about my life, trying to make sense of any life in my living room turned studio, presently turned sauna as the heat clanks out from the radiator of the pre-war building I rent in south Brooklyn. I’m sitting here, not wanting to go to bed, avoiding swirling thoughts about work I’m behind on and failed relationships I’ve left for dead.
Tonight, I took an alternate route home from the office, roundabouting on the Q train to visit my good friends Thompson and Emily at my favorite watering hole. Discussing the highs and woes of our days, the tears in our hearts, and what’s gettin’ done for each of us to say ‘I’m okay if I die today’, it’s the connection and reprieve I yearn for over glasses of what we ceremoniously deemed the ‘poor man’s wine’ this evening, the cheapest glass on the menu spritzed with grapefruit rind meant to tingle your tongue the same way coke does…without all the cost.
While I love this neighborhood bar, the music that tends to play over the speakers is music I don’t tend to listen to. Some of it I can get with. Throw me some Susan Tedeschi. Keep it real with Lucinda Williams. But you can count me out for most of the country and the occasional Dave Matthews Band bouts.
It’s not that I’ve never heard what’s playing and can’t relate. It’s that I grew up with country, so much of it I can taste. I have real, raw feelings towards the music. I heard all the mainstream country as a kid. One year for Christmas, I asked for a stereo player and my dad helped pick out CDs for me to play. They included Shania Twain and The Chicks. I listened and I liked the songs at the time, and over the years I’ve gained deep respect for any female pursuing a career in the creative industry, but man did I transcend out of anything I’d ever known the first time I got my hands on Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magik and It’s Dark and Hell is Hot by DMX.
By high school, I was too grown, too outside the box for country hits. I’d seen how Southerners could view others that looked or lived different from them and I wasn’t about that life. So you can sure as hell bet when I left Nashville, I wasn’t listening to country to take me home when I missed my family and friends.
But still young at the age of 35, I’m coming back to country with a new ear. Maybe part of it is aging or nostalgia, maybe part of it is paying more attention to words and lyrics over the years, but when I listen now, albeit I’m digging into the older hits rather than the new ones, I hear a realness to the tunes I’m attuning to. I hear working on the grind, I hear living through depression, I hear the same kind of hard loving and the hard falling I’ve been fumbling my way through.
There’s an intriguing podcast episode by Malcolm Gladwell called The King of Tears I first listened to several years ago about country songs. It began opening my mind back up to the music genre. After debating country music with Emily and Thompson tonight (only after discussing our plights), I decided to listen to Malcolm once again on my walk home to this recliner. And while I don’t love Malcolm calling out Tutti Frutti lyrics by Little Richard as an example of vague lyrics, as opposed to more specific lyrics country music entails (since not only were Little Richard’s original lyrics changed to become more acceptable to a wider audience but he is the person who catalyzed what rock n’ roll music and performance is today and to this day does not receive the recognition he deserves (if you haven’t seen the Little Richard I am Everything documentary, please watch it)), I do get the story he’s put together in regards to country music being real and being real specific, which makes it personal, which makes it relatable. So when narrow-mindedness, bigotry, racism, and sexism feels to be again more typical in this world, especially in places where country songs tend to be made, there remains truth in some of the tunes, truths that are still worth getting to, however they’re styled.
There’s A Hole in This Tooth
Sadie Monroe
There’s a hole in this tooth that mouths where the pain is from a woman who swallows down trouble by talkin’ straight and drinkin’ double A sliver of a silver spoon could be the filler to soothe her impositions A catch that comes with lovin’ certain fellas but doesn’t work for a woman who sparks a lotta fires for better and for higher yet often gets her gone That pain in her mouth roots to an ache in her chest from fallin’ in love with a man who couldn’t keep up with her heart So she ended it all to keep herself sharp creatin’ her life’s work She’s been in the dark a dozen times before n’ knows she’ll get through drinkin’ proof, throwin’ darts Gettin closer to bullseye every sunrise She’s a hell of a woman like the one Miss Nenni’s singin’ Bonafide and rye She’s been pushed around but her lovin’ won’t lie So she pushes right on and she’ll keep pushin’ you to be more than others want you to see Most times she’s alone and she’s never been needy Nothin’s wrong but her choices don’t get her much forgivin’ It’s real buck ridin’ holdin’ her head up survivin’ It’s a life with no sugar daddy a life as no darlin’ a life dared to be lived by seldom young women and fewer prized sons Most think her foolish and some call her selfish But really she’s a giver with family and friends leanin’ on her shelter She may strike a nerve with her bold givins’ but she’ll tell ya things untold things to cherish more than gold And if you come as you are and love her as she’s livin’ you’ll feel love more endurin’ than the rodeo’s record holdin’, high-money winner
That Nashville
Sadie Monroe
There’s a lotta things to hate about Nashville I hate what it’s becoming Not because we lost Nashville but because we’re losing every goddamn thing to short-term thinking And I’m not sayin’ Nashville was all great I left for a lotta reasons I’m just sayin’ the parts that I think make it great aren’t being saved… they’re being rapidly replaced So let me tell you ‘bout some of the good, bad, n’ ugly of the Nashville that made me the way I am so you can think about the place you stay and salvage the parts, which makes you the heart you wanna maintain But first, let me squeeze this in like Nashvegas tourists in denim I can tell you at least one thing I know to be true What I got from Nashville can’t be found on a pre-wedding weekend or on the 4th floor of a pop-country music star’s overly-themed bar Okay, now we can begin I’m that Nashville who grew up camping in the woods I’m that Nashville who spent more time outdoors than in I’m that Nashville who played every sport a girl was allowed to play then I’m that Nashville who ate cereal for breakfast in four coca-cola wrapped walls complemented by carpet in the kitchen I’m that Nashville obliged to wear frilly dresses sewn by her grandmother on special occasions I’m that Nashville who made biscuits in nightgowns on sleepovers at great grandma Mamaline’s I’m that Nashville who lived in a neighborhood where nothing was built in a previous century I’m that kid Nashville who ran away from home by riding her bike in circles around the block I’m that Nashville who learned nothing about different cultures in class I’m that Nashville who had no idea what it actually meant to be cool I’m that Nashville who went to church camp with friends to fit in I’m that Nashville who learned what work meant in high school I’m that Nashville who vaguely knows how to line dance ‘cause she learned it in PE I’m that Nashville who grew up in the ‘burbs but made her way downtown I’m that Nashville who took her first stage dive at a friend’s punk show at Exit/In and got down to soul sounds at the same venue the very next weekend That venue that was just bought out to build something tall and thin I’m that Nashville who moved her ass to Chicago to learn a thing or two about nothin’ related to Nashville I’m that Nashville who was embarrassed to say she was from Nashville as soon as she left I’m that older Nashville who repeatedly left and came back skint I’m that manual Nashville who’ll drive circles around your automatic ass I’m that Nashville who would rather play ball than play hard to get I’m that Nashville who says hello and makes eye contact with you on the street I’m that Nashville who’s today told it’s a cool place to be from I’m that Nashville who maintains a love-hate relationship with her hometown I’m that Nashville who wants nothing to do with the bachelorette parties drunk stomping their never-worn boots downtown I’m that Nashville who gives a flying fuck about bachelor boys night at the restaurant she’s serving fried chicken for dinner And I’m not the only one I’m that Nashville who now sees Nashville from the outside in I’m that Nashville who may’ve stayed if she didn’t feel trapped by its dildo-led politics I’m that Nashville who smiles big but talks fast ‘cause she taught herself how to talk back and had a mouth since she was ten I’m that Nashville who’ll give you a heart attack and stop you in your tracks with her facts I’m that Nashville who wasn’t the first and isn’t the last I’m that woman Nashville who’s a tangled twist of anger and polite I’m that bye Nashville who’s presently stuck in a never-stop day job to pay rent in Brooklyn I’m that new Nashville who’d now have to pay about the same to live back home I’m that Nashville who’s still lookin for a way out to keep the in genuine
PS - I would be remiss if I didn’t call out the two musicians I mentioned above, both of whom I have the privilege of knowing.
I mentioned Thompson Newkirk as my go-to bartender, but he holds a full house in his hand ‘cause he just released a new song that’s gaining quick traction, Pass Mistakes.
And I spoke of Ms. Nenni in my ‘There’s A Hole in My Tooth’ poem. I own Emily Nenni’s newest record, On The Ranch, but she also has a song from 2018 that I admire, Hell of a Woman.
As far as a playlist, which I typically include in my letters, I’ve yet to put together a country music playlist, so please share yours or send me some songs so I can listen. In the meantime, I do have a throwback southern rap playlist I can share. And if you’re not familiar or have a disdain towards the genre, perhaps come to it with an open mind to find the truths.
Apple Music: South Sippin’ Playlist
Appreciatively,
Sadie