As a 1976 baby, we’re really getting to the point here where I actually remember hearing (most of) these songs in heavy rotation on the radio as a kid. Country radio was the default at my parents’ house and in their vehicle, at both sets of grandparents’ houses where I spent big chunks of time, in various public establishments etc. That being said, there were 9-10 songs or so in the 1981 list that didn’t ring a bell for me, more than some of the years well before I was born. Maybe that’s just the imperfect memory you’d expect for a 5-year-old, maybe some of these songs just weren’t as big in the Houston area in the pre-ClearChannel days, or maybe some of these just weren’t resonant enough to stay in rotation after they tumbled back down the charts.
It
started off big enough. Johnny Lee carried over from ’80 then handed off to the
already-venerable-back-then Merle Haggard. Not counting his novelty one-off
with Clint Eastwood from 1980, Hag hadn’t had a #1 since 1976. He hadn’t really
faded, he was still cracking the top 5 on the reg, but unlike most of his old
‘60s peers the ‘80s were going to be really good to him. Age wasn’t nearly the
barrier to chart relevance that it is nowadays; as mentioned before, even the
relative newbies came off pretty middle-aged in content and persona. “I Think
I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink” was an example of how a few artists found a
version of ‘80s production that didn’t sound chintzy or dated, but played to
their strengths.
“I
Love a Rainy Night” crossed over to a pop #1 even though it only topped the
country charts for one week; not a ton of substance, but the finger-popping
catchiness and Rabbitt’s energetic delivery were clearly good for something.
Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5” pulled off the same feat, but with the benefit of an
iconic voice and being attached to a hit feature film. As with the movie, it wasn’t exactly a
heart-toucher but it did have some lasting social relevance, especially for
women who felt overworked and overlooked in a modern workplace. A bit of a
country-pop trifle on the surface, a closer listen reveals some pretty clever
lyrical detail, a reminder that songwriting is one of Parton’s many gifts.
TG
Sheppard was a journeyman by comparison, but “I Feel Like Loving You Again” is
invested with some genuine-sounding tenderness instead of his usual default
swagger. Fellow journeyman Razzy Bailey kept the sort-of-R&B flame going
with the mildly groovy “I Keep Coming Back,” b/w “True Life Country Music”
which was an interesting early example of interpolating titles and quotes from
better-known songs and calling it clever enough. First-time chart-topper Charly
McClain picked up the tempo with the spare, pop-tinged, endlessly catchy groove
of “Who’s Cheatin’ Who,” followed up by warhorse-by-now crooner Mel Tillis with
the eminently forgettable “Southern Rains.” I don’t remember hearing this as a
child, as an adult perusing classic-country stations or playlists, I’ve never
heard anyone cover or mention it, and after listening to it a couple of times a
few days ago to try to jog my memory I couldn’t currently quote you a line or
hum you a snippet of melody. It’s easy to see why folks liked the affable, baritone-voiced
Tillis; I like him too. But it’s hard to imagine what made this one a winner
for him.
Dottie
West wasn’t at her absolute best either on the sad kiss-off “Are You Happy
Baby?,” there’s not a ton of meat on the bone but West’s gravelly conviction
was always good for something. The Bellamy Brothers cannily reprised the
general premise of “If I Said You Had a Beautiful…” with “Do You Love as Good
as You Look.” Similar to their signature hit (even though this time they didn’t
write it), it was built around a direct, only-slightly-clever come-on but it
was so catchy, breezy, and non-threatening that it didn’t come off at all
creepy or obnoxious. Nice addition to a catalog that I think gets underrated
sometimes.
But
for a little while, it was time to shift gears to straight-up legends. Elvis
Presley was four years gone at this point, and most of the King of Rock &
Roll’s old fans were probably more comfortable with country (or maybe easy
listening) radio than the weirder stuff that was prevailing in contemporary
rock music. Elvis’ version of country music mainstay Jerry Reed’s “Guitar Man”
had first popped up on the soundtrack to his 1968 movie Clambake, and
somebody at RCA figured it was ripe for rediscovery so they had Reed and a new
backing band come in to record a new electrified track around Presley’s vocal
from the original. Eventually the recording industry would pull this trick on
all sorts of deceased legends, but at the time this was a bit of a novelty (and
apparently a welcome one at that). Willie Nelson was up next with something
timeless: the glorious heartache and gratitude of “Angel Flying Too Close to
the Ground” should do just fine for the next 100 years with no tweaks needed.
It’s certainly up there with Nelson’s greatest masterpieces as a singer,
songwriter, and (while we’re at it) guitarist.
Hank
Williams Jr. was still early in his transition from mimicking his long-gone
legend of a father to confidently self-mythologizing the both of them, and he
scored his first #1 with the rakishly macho waltz of “Texas Women.” Full of
clever rhymes and loved-‘em-all swagger, it was a pretty solid introduction to
the larger-than-life performer he was becoming. “Drifter,” the first big hit by
mononymous semi-star Sylvia, had much less staying power; an odd little number
that sounds like the theme song to a variety-show parody of a B-western flick,
it’d be overshadowed by other bigger hits of the era including her own. Can’t
say I recall ever hearing it before researching (if that’s the right word) for
this article. Conversely, I can’t remember ever not knowing every word to
“You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma” … that thing was everywhere, and
deservedly so. Lefty Frizzell’s nephew David and Dottie West’s daughter Shelly
might’ve had the benefit of nepotism but they sure didn’t half-ass the
opportunity: as the arrangement gradually swells from a bare-bones crawl to a
harmonica-driven big-sky force of country-pop nature, they’re both up for every
key change and subtle tempo shift, making their characters feel as real as
their voices. It’s a beauty.
“Old
Flame” by Alabama had a nicely subtle glow about it, a quietly catchy little
country lope with layered harmonies, a laid-back counterpoint to the romantic
paranoia of the lyrics. They might’ve been more Skynyrd on stage back in their
heyday, but they were more Eagles on record. Those upstart kids weren’t
squeezing Mickey Gilley off the charts, though: if anything he was getting
better and more tasteful, laying off the too-smooth covers of soul and country
classics and tackling a mournfully clever song like “A Headache Tomorrow (Or a
Heartache Tonight)” that he could make all his own. Conway Twitty stretched his
legs at least a bit by tackling the hearty Bee Gees ballad “Rest Your Love on
Me,” which sounds like it was tailor-made for him anyway, and was backed by the
similarly sturdy “I Am the Dreamer (You Are the Dream).” Ronnie Milsap got in
on the recontextualized-cover game too, reviving the old Jim Reeves chestnut
“Am I Losing You” with his usual abundance of vocal pyro; whether you think
that takes a solid song to the next level or just kind of smothers it is a
matter of taste I suppose. TG Sheppard was relatively laid-back, in delivery if
not libido, on the self-congratulatory stud muffin anthem “I Loved ‘Em Every
One.”
And
then things got downright sublime. Rosanne Cash was, obviously, the daughter of
already-legend Johnny Cash. She didn’t
spin her wheels trying to somehow be a female version of her famous dad, but
she quickly showed that she shared his artistic edge even if she pushed it in a
different direction. “Seven Year Ache” is, to these ears, one of the most
perfect three minutes of music ever put to tape. An insistent but soothing
groove, smartly verbose lyrics that push the envelope of country wordsmithing,
crystal vocals with longing and regret shining just below the surface. She’d
eventually go even further in the arch, moody, not-for-everyone direction that
her breakthrough hints at, but (as we’ll see) in terms of landing
ambitious-sounding singles that still hit with the masses, she was one of the
top commercial country artists of the 1980s. And it feels like that’s kind of been
forgotten since then.
And
then you get “Elvira,” which became a signature song for the
already-established Oak Ridge Boys, casting their four-part harmonies (and,
especially, Richard Sterban’s indelible bass vocal) in more of a novelty-song
direction, reminiscent of oldies acts like The Coasters. It was penned by
Dallas Frazier (who recorded it way back in 1966) and covered in 1978,
coincidentally, by Rosanne Cash’s then-husband Rodney Crowell; his version was
reportedly where the Oaks heard it, possibly around the same time they were
scoping out the same album’s “Leavin’ Lousiana in the Broad Daylight” that they
had their second #1 hit with. Pretty damn circular around here sometimes. As a
kid I liked this song but was distracted by wondering if it was about the comically
sexy-spooky TV personality Elvira (aka Cassandra Peterson, who hadn’t created
the character yet back in 1966, but I bet I wasn’t the only one who wondered if
there was a connection by the time the Oaks got a hold of it).
Razzy
Bailey spun back into the top spot with the easy-listening “Friends” which,
back to my childhood impressions, seemed to be both all over the radio and, as
far as I knew back then, was his only hit (if not only song, ever). Check out Razzy Bailey on Wikipedia, there’s
a picture of him as a genially smiling older man in a straw hat and Hawaiian
shirt. He looks like a composite of every middle-aged songwriter I ever ran
into at an acoustic open mic. He was a
gifted vocalist with a knack for sounding fully invested in whatever he was
singing. But it’s weird that, at five,
he had more #1 hits than Roger Miller, Gary Stewart, and Gene Watson put
together. The more conventionally-starry
Kenny Rogers and Dottie West were up for another duet #1 with the squeezably
soft, forgettable “What Are We Doin’ In Love.”
Dolly Parton’s “But You Know I Love You” was well within the easy-listening
vein too, but as per usual it transcended on the strength of her
performance. Anne Murray’s “Blessed Are
the Believers” wasn’t gonna wake any babies either, but this sort of
intelligent, well-crafted folk-pop was totally in her wheelhouse … it’s easy
listening that’s easy to listen to, which ironically often isn’t the case for
most of us. She was kind of the Mary
Chapin Carpenter of her day, not as prone to wit but with a sweeter voice.
Up
next was another round of Barbara Mandrell, this time with “I Was Country When
Country Wasn’t Cool.” It was sort of a
nod to the Urban Cowboy fad that made a lot of folks suddenly decide they were
cowboys, but despite Mandrell’s charms as a performer it seemed a bit rich
coming from someone who’d mostly trafficked in crossover schmaltz. Her variety show with her sisters was on TV
by the time this hit; cheesiness was kind of her thing, and she was good at
it. Bringing in George Jones for a vocal
cameo and piping in crowd noise to make this sound like a live track all speaks
to the crowd-pleasing calculations that made her a big deal in her day but have
also arguably left most of her music stuck in it.
Earl
Thomas Conley was kind of unassumingly one of the most consistent and successful
singer-songwriters of the era, and the warm grooves and smart lyricism of “Fire
and Smoke” makes for a fine Exhibit A.
Alabama stayed on a soft-rock roll with the wholesomely sexy “Feels So
Right” (I bet Conway was pissed he didn’t get this one) and their friendly
Southern-pride rival Hank Williams Jr. barreled along amusingly through the
Yankee kiss-off “Dixie On My Mind.” I
grew up idolizing Hank Jr., and good on him I suppose for following his own
muse instead of just recording whatever he was asked, but if you take away the
songs about his dad and the songs about being from the South his catalog gets
pretty slim; it’d be like taking the beach songs away from Jimmy Buffett. He kind of was/is Buffett for people who like
whiskey, woods and guns better than margaritas, beaches and boats.
Back
to the country-pop fence-straddlers for awhile: Crystal Gayle stuck to her
tuneful, vaguely elegant groove with the peppy “Too Many Lovers,” Kenny Rogers
kicked up a near Philly-soul level of vocal yearning on the kinda-majestic “I
Don’t Need You,” and Ronnie Milsap brought a little more piano-man swagger than
usual to “There’s No Gettin’ Over Me.”
Up next was Ronnie McDowell, a Navy vet and big Elvis Presley fan. He’d
scored a 1977 pop hit with the mournful self-penned “The King is Gone” and
followed so close in his hero’s footsteps performance-wise that he was
Hollywood’s go-to guy of the era if they needed an Elvis mimic to record vocals
for movies or TV shows. As a country artist, he was bit redundant with the TG
Sheppards and BJ Thomases of the day, but “Older Women” was the sort of catchy
paean to regular folks that couldn’t help but hit a nerve in a good way.
Mickey
Gilley eased back into his cover-band ways with a take on the Eddy Arnold/Cindy
Walker classic “You Don’t Know Me.” His
performance is solid, even nicely nuanced, and this time around it benefits
from not having one definitive version of it out there looming large enough to
make Gilley’s take suffer by comparison (I’d still argue the Ray Charles
version is really where it’s at). Conway
Twitty was up to his old tricks as well, with “Tight Fittin’ Jeans” fitting him
better than actual tight jeans probably did at this point in his life. A rakish little barroom vignette about
meeting a slumming rich babe at a honky tonk (this probably rang pretty true to
life in the Urban Cowboy aftermath), towards the end Twitty sings “In my mind
she’s still a lady, that’s all I’m gonna say.” Which says plenty.
Razzy
Bailey continued his largely-forgotten hot streak with the
actually-pretty-groovy trucker anthem “Midnight Hauler,” his only notably
up-tempo #1. TG Sheppard scored one of his better ones too
with “Party Time,” rocking a nice mid-tempo groove as a counterpoint to lyrics
that are more melancholy than the title suggests. Eddie Rabbitt scored his 9th #1
with “Step By Step,” a bit of sparkly soft-rock reminiscent of Air Supply, in
case that sounds like something you’d be into. Charley Pride, with a massive
string of hits and a few recent hard-country Hank Williams covers behind him,
dipped his toe into variety show country (VSC, around these parts) with the
Vegas-y swirl of “Never Been So Loved (In All of My Life).” The Oak Ridge Boys
continued their peak with the dusky beauty of “Fancy Free” and Roseanne Cash
kept her hot streak going with the chugging, charming throwback of “My Baby
Thinks He’s a Train.”
It
was a nod to a stint of dominance for traditional country. Hank Williams Jr.
scored again with the clever, name-dropping lope of “All My Rowdy Friends Have
Settled Down,” hinting at how guys like Jones, Cash and Jennings that had sort
of provided a bridge between Hank Sr.’s heyday and his were easing into
relatively sober elder-statesmen status. Resurgent legend Merle Haggard hit
again with the dreamy, affectionate waltz of “My Favorite Memory.” Johnny Lee
split the difference between twangy classicism and then-modern country-pop
songcraft with “Bet Your Heart on Me,” followed by heartache maestro George
Jones with the barroom-as-prison metaphor of “Still Doin’ Time.” Somewhere nearby, Willie Nelson was probably
glad to note that sad songs and waltzes were selling that year.
But,
as noted, so was crossover-friendly country-pop. Steve Wariner would build a quietly notable
career out of breezy numbers that sounded more than a little like what would
eventually be called “yacht rock,” but his first #1 out of the gate was “All
Roads Lead to You.” To these ears it
sounds somehow both clunky and weightless; he’d do way better stuff eventually,
but I’m not sure what zeitgeist this one captured. Alabama’s “Love in the First Degree” had a
high soft-rock percentage to it as well but it was a more obvious winner and
holds up pretty nicely, sticking hard to the love-as-a-crime metaphor without
wearing it out. Newer strains of pop
were infiltrating the country sound, but bands like Alabama were doing their
best to prove that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
THE
TREND?
- Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground (Willie Nelson)
- Seven Year Ache (Roseanne Cash)
- My Favorite Memory (Merle Haggard)
- Still Doin’ Time (George Jones)
- 9 to 5 (Dolly Parton)
- I Think I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink (Merle Haggard)
- Who’s Cheatin’ Who (Charly McClain)
- Texas Women (Hank Williams Jr.)
- You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma (David Frizzell and Shelly West)
- Rest Your Love on Me (Conway Twitty)
- But You Know I Love You (Dolly Parton)
- Guitar Man (Elvis Presley)
- Do You Love As Good As You Look (The Bellamy Brothers)
- Fire and Smoke (Earl Thomas Conley)
- All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down (Hank Williams Jr.)
- Feels So Right (Alabama)
- I Love A Rainy Night (Eddie Rabbitt)
- Elvira (The Oak Ridge Boys)
- A Headache Tomorrow (Or a Heartache Tonight) (Mickey Gilley)
- Old Flame (Alabama)
- Fancy Free (The Oak Ridge Boys)
- I Don’t Need You (Kenny Rogers)
- Blessed Are the Believers (Anne Murray)
- You Don’t Know Me (Mickey Gilley)
- Dixie On My Mind (Hank Williams Jr.)
- My Baby Thinks He’s A Train (Rosanne Cash)
- Tight Fittin’ Jeans (Conway Twitty)
- Midnight Hauler (Razzy Bailey)
- Love in the First Degree (Alabama)
- Party Time (TG Sheppard)
- Never Been So Loved in All My Life (Charley Pride)
- There’s No Gettin’ Over Me (Ronnie Milsap)
- Older Women (Ronnie McDowell)
- I Feel Like Loving You Again (TG Sheppard)
- Are You Happy Baby? (Dottie West)
- Bet Your Heart on Me (Johnny Lee)
- Am I Losing You? (Ronnie Milsap)
- Friends (Razzy Bailey)
- I Was Country (When Country Wasn’t Cool) (Barbara Mandrell)
- Too Many Lovers (Crystal Gayle)
- What Are We Doin’ in Love (Kenny Rogers & Dottie West)
- I Keep Coming Back (Razzy Bailey)
- Step By Step (Eddie Rabbitt)
- I Loved ‘Em Every One (TG Sheppard)
- All Roads Lead to You (Steve Wariner)
- Drifter (Sylvia)
- Southern Rains (Mel Tillis)
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