1985 sort of continued the vague sense of mid-decade doldrums that 1984 gave us, but the bright spots were a bit brighter. More interesting nods to country music’s past and future, and some nice instances of oft-lightweight artists delivering relative knockouts. Let’s roll.
Off
to a great start with a hitting-his-stride George Strait and “Does Fort Worth
Ever Cross Your Mind,” a slyly poetic slice of fiddle-drenched regret that
moved many a boot across many a dancehall and hopefully still does (I
admittedly have not hit the dancehall in awhile, I’m probably overdue). Eddie Rabbitt’s “The Best Year of My Life”
was less evergreen, although as twinkly country-pop goes it’s not a chore or
anything. Reba McEntire’s “How Blue” had
more spark and twang, sad on paper but an upbeat wink in the execution. Alabama continued to be at least as much
Eagles as they were Skynyrd, with the compressed, vaguely synth-rock likes of
“(There’s A) Fire in the Night” still coming through sincerely enough in the
delivery despite the unnecessary parentheses.
And Merle Haggard, God bless his weathered soul, could still be as
pensive and downtempo as all hell and make it to #1 for at least another year;
“A Place to Fall Apart” was a masterpiece of melancholy word economy,
co-written with Willie Nelson and Freddy Powers and co-vocalized by the
always-holding-her-own Janie Fricke.
Conway
Twitty was Merle Haggard’s main rival for chart-topping longevity – Charley
Pride had dropped off, they all had a fair head start on Ronnie Milsap and a
huge one on George Strait – and he could still sail to the top on name value
and strength of performance, even with a weird little number like “Ain’t She
Somethin’ Else.” It seems like a devoted
love song, lyrically and vocally, until there’s a weird little twist at the end
that I’m not sure indicates just awkward writing or some implied love triangle
or what. The Oak Ridge Boys followed up
with one of their best, “Make My Life With You,” a layered thing of
beauty. I’m not going to argue that the
Oaks were secretly really cool or vastly underrated or anything; their song
choice was kind of all over the place, and their aesthetic was kind of
hokey. But give them a sincere song,
especially one with a hint of mystique to it, and they could give it all of the
heartfelt vocal firepower it deserved.
From
Oaks to Okies … Mel McDaniel had been putting out albums and singles for about
a decade before snagging his first #1 with “Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On.” Simultaneously folksy and sexually-charged
(not to mention wildly catchy) in that Bellamy Brothers-esque sort of way, it’s
as memorable a celebration of denim-clad curves as you’ll ever hear. It’s too bad this’ll be the only time we get
to celebrate McDaniel’s warm, gritty twang in these pages. Gary Morris had much less of a good ol’ boy
voice and look; he starred onstage in both literal operas (including La
Boheme) and soap operas (albeit playing a blind guy behind big
eye-obscuring sunglasses), and that’s him on the more-or-less definitive cast
album of Les Miserables. I’m not
sure why the country charts were more welcoming that the easy-listening charts
– pretty much all of his hits could’ve gone either way – but for what it’s
worth, “Baby Bye Bye” is a ruefully catchy number worth hearing. It’s preferable to some of the overwrought
stuff he'd subject country radio to in the months and years to come.
The
Statler Brothers already seemed kind of out-of-place by this point. Superficially similar to the Oak Ridge Boys,
they nonetheless had an older-school vibe and look to them. It’s hard not to find the beauty in the
layered harmonies of something like “My Only Love” but it’s also a little weird
that this kind of stuff still had a foothold among all the young upstarts,
crossover careerists, and handful of iconic diehards that were left in the mix. It might be more worthwhile than the feathery
pop of Exile’s “Crazy For Your Love,” but Exile also sounded 100% engineered to
meet the moment with inoffensively catchy radio fodder catered to whatever
on-the-fence grown-ups were deciding this was the year the actual pop and rock
charts finally got too weird for them and drifted over to country radio. I don’t love it, but at least I get it.
Meanwhile,
I could scarcely love “Seven Spanish Angels” more. It’s one of the most-remembered songs of my childhood,
holds up even better today, and just seems like a bit of a musical miracle. Written by music-biz vet Troy Seals – who has
a healthy catalog, but this is next-level even for him – it’s a poetic tragedy
of love and wartime that multiplied its own gravity in the alchemic combination
of Willie Nelson and his similarly iconic buddy Ray Charles. One of country music’s most sincere and
distinctive voices melded with perhaps soul music’s most important progenitor. Touches of flamenco guitars and Latin horns
leading to big string swells and eminently soulful vocal ad-libs. It’s just one of those triumphs that makes
you grateful it was made in the first place and extra grateful that no
stick-in-the-mud record exec decided it was too weird for radio. As with many projects by both Nelson and
Charles separately, it plays by its own rules and gloriously wins.
Kenny
Rogers really liked venturing outside of country music for collaborators too,
but “Crazy” (co-written with soft-rock star Richard Marx) is no “Seven Spanish
Angels.” I don’t remember it at all, if
I’ve ever heard it previous to writing this then I guess it just evaporated, not
terrible but perhaps eclipsed by the half-dozen or so better songs titled
“Crazy.” “Country Girls” by John
Schneider was only as good as it had to be for a hunky Dukes of Hazzard star to
score another hit, wisely kissing up to his obvious demographic. Earl Thomas Conley remained ol’ reliable with
“Honor Bound,” a little more ornate than his usual work but in keeping with his
honest, three-dimensional portraits of troubled relationships. It’s vaguely reminiscent of Journey in its
big-ballad sweep but has been eclipsed with time by his bigger (and arguably
better) hits.
The
Bellamy Brothers were also unassumingly on a roll; “I Need More of You” was
full of wholesome, sunny devotion and endures as one of the best songs in a
solid and underrated catalog. The Judds’
“Girls Night Out” was catchy enough too, I know I wasn’t in the target demographic
for this song then or now but looking back it’s sort of impressive how much of
a country-blues vibe some of their hits had.
Alabama pulled off their usual blend of downhome sincerity and soft-rock
crossover appeal with the devoted “There’s No Way,” and Reba McEntire took a
turn towards stone-cold domestic heartache with “Somebody Should Leave.” To me that’s almost always her best stuff;
she’s an immensely gifted country singer, but her attempts to be brassy, poppy,
etc. often hit the notes but miss the point.
Dolly Parton could shift those gears with her personality intact and
bend the material to her will. With
Reba, your mileage might vary as much as mine.
Sawyer
Brown (that’s a band name, not a singer name) came barreling outta Florida with
their hit debut “Step That Step,” a bit of brisk, motor-mouthed catchiness that
sounded pretty rock & roll in context.
They weren’t envelope-pushing wildmen in the vein of Jason & The
Scorchers or anything, but they dressed more like pop-rockers and were young
enough to not look ridiculous doing so, even when frontman Mark Miller was
getting all happy-feet onstage like a cornfed Mick Jagger knockoff. Fun song and a nice entre for a band that
ended up with surprising longevity, having an eventual resurgence in the ‘90s
country boom. Charly McClain wouldn’t
stick around the charts nearly as long, but “Radio Heart” was a sweetly twangy
slice of heartbreak that was probably intensely relatable to big chunks of the
female audience with its married-young-divorced-also-young narrative.
Conway
Twitty’s choice of material continued to be on a bit of a downward slide
(although what do I know … he was still cranking out more #1s than almost
anyone else ever would). “Don’t Call Him
a Cowboy” sounds like a parody of country music, something Stallone would’ve
mumbled out in Rhinestone while Dolly Parton tried to be nice about
it. Clumsy sex/rodeo puns, a synthesized
horse-clop rhythm track … this should’ve been (if anything) a one-hit wonder
novelty for some flash in the pan, not the 34th triumph of a legend. His chief rival Merle Haggard both retained
and enhanced his dignity with the relatively wonderful “Natural High,” again
bolstered by the writing of Freddy Powers and the backing vocals of Janie
Fricke. Warm, enduring stuff. Ricky Skaggs kind of split the difference
with “Country Boy,” another hot-pickin’ showcase of bluegrass chops in a
radio-country context, a bit hokey but nobody would’ve doubted his
sincerity.
The
Oak Ridge Boys’ “Little Things” was kind of hokey too, but there’s some neat
little synth tricks and vocal arrangements in there nodding vaguely towards
new-wave pop. So at least they were
trying something new. Ronnie Milsap
cranked out one of his better ones with the warm, grateful “She Keeps the Home
Fires Burning,” which alleviated his usual slickness with some believable
blue-collar lyricism that embraced the country genre a bit more than
usual. Exile didn’t transcend their
usual drippiness with “She’s a Miracle” (if anything they doubled down on it)
but fortunately, Willie Nelson wasn’t done with the #1 spot just yet and
“Forgiving You Was Easy” was just as relatable and wise as anything he’d ever
written. The production only had a
little whiff of radio slickness; the country classicism of his songwriting and
the distinctly undiluted twang of his vocals and guitar still prevailed. When the torch was passed to Lee Greenwood,
he made the best of it, transcending his usual whitebread balladry with the
sweet, well-penned country-folk narrative of “Dixie Road.”
Earl
Thomas Conley continued to be Mr. Consistency with “Love Don’t Care (Whose
Heart it Breaks),” mournful in spirit but underpinned by a hearty
heartland-rock pulse. Alabama was
predictably all about the heartland as well, giving a sincere-sounding
shout-out to all the paycheck strivers in the audience with “40 Hour Week (For
a Livin’).” It’s not an all-time great
or anything, but there’s something to be said both artistically and
commercially for country music that gives counterpoint to the escapist
fantasies of ‘80s pop and rock (give or take a Bruce Springsteen or Bob Seger
here and there) and makes the hard-working folks feel seen. Hank Williams Jr., despite only occasionally
snagging the #1 spot relative to some of his peers, was about as
larger-than-life as a country star could hope to be at the time, but even he
was capable of dialing it down to something as relatable as "I'm For
Love." If you'd about had it with
the politicians and taxes and uppity doctors and, uh, cats in the house or
whatever, Bocephus had your back.
Speaking
of larger than life, though … things were about to get seriously
legendary. As the ‘80s eased into the
‘90s, folks who’d been around since the ‘60s or earlier were finally starting
to lose some ground to the younger, fresher acts. But country was still a genre that, more so
than most, had a lingering reverence for both its older artists and older fans
that amounted to more than just lip service.
Columbia Records decided to bet on a quartet of older guys, and I doubt
it ever seemed like that much of a longshot; Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings
were still regular chart presences, having helped define and expand the genre
since the ‘60s. Johnny Cash predated
them as a chart-topping star; Kris Kristofferson was more or less their
contemporary (not to mention a bottomless well of songwriting content for all
the aforementioned) but rarely got much chart action as a vocalist. Cash – despite wandering off the charts and
mostly dropping passion-project concept albums – remained a towering figure of
nostalgia, and Kristofferson was as respected as a songwriter gets (not to
mention a fairly famous film actor). All
of the above were no stranger to album-length collaborations with one another
so teaming up to tackle a fantastic chunk of mystique like Jimmy Webb’s
“Highwayman” came as natural as breathing to the whole crew. A reincarnation narrative that starts with
Willie as a noose-bound bandit and wraps up with Johnny Cash hollering about
flying a starship, it’s absolutely awesome, a worthy use of the talents and
personas of four unimpeachable greats.
Dolly
Parton and Kenny Rogers were arguably legends by this point too, albeit of a
glitzier, less-grizzled pedigree than the Highwaymen, and 1983’s duet “Islands
in the Stream” was certainly a big enough hit to warrant a sequel. Like most sequels, “Real Love” has a hard
time living up to the original; it’s less poetic, less unique, less hooky but
still on balance a pretty sweet tune elevated by the talents and chemistry of
the singers. The younger crew took back
over for a bit with The Judds’ warm, offhandedly sexy “Love is Alive” and the
bittersweet sweep of Rosanne Cash’s “I Don’t Know Why You Don’t Want Me,” with
then-youngster Vince Gill’s sweet backing vocal way up in the mix like a cheery
omen of yet another generation of stars to come. The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, as previously
noted, weren’t exactly new but were smartly repurposed as a country hitmaking
machine for a few years; “Modern Day Romance,” a mournfully clever country-rock
recount of a wild little fling’s lasting impact, was another nod to country
music’s future by dint of being co-written by future Brooks & Dunn
superstar Kix Brooks. The Forester
Sisters’ dreamy, tuneful “I Fell in Love Again Last Night” was co-written by
the prolific Paul Overstreet, who’d be a steady force in the business as both a
songwriter and solo artist for years to come.
Does anybody else miss the days when the past and future of country
music seemed to be in constant conversation with each other, especially to the
extent of chart-topping impact?
Which,
speaking of, Ronnie Milsap was more than happy to cash in on too. “Lost in the Fifties Tonight (In the Still of
the Night)” didn’t mind just beating you over the head with nostalgia, and it
was a savvy move, the only country #1 of 1985 to top the charts for more than
just one week (if you were wondering why this entry is so long). And honestly I don’t wanna gripe about it too
much, it sounds lovely (if not nearly as much so as co-writer Troy Seals’
aforementioned “Seven Spanish Angels”) and the singer and writers were all old
enough to have actual ‘50s nostalgia, not just some cynical boomer
cash-in. “Meet Me in Montana,” by Marie
Osmond and Dan Seals – penned by journeyman singer-songwriter Paul Davis – might’ve
raised some purist hackles as a chart-topping country collaboration from three
folks who’d wandered in from pop music.
But it’s got plenty of heart, nice lyrical detail, no shortage of rustic
country imagery … I like stony authenticity as much as the next guy, but
there’s something to be said for country-pop done right, and a lot of folks
were nailing that balance circa 1985.
Juice Newton, for example, up next with the cheery synth-pop of “You
Make Me Want to Make You Mine.” Not
gonna be mistaken for a Hank Williams cover, but easy to like on its own
terms.
The
Oak Ridge Boys made another trip to the positive quasi-gospel well with “Touch
a Hand, Make a Friend,” which was more nice sentiment than fully-formed song
but never hard to hear. Steve Wariner,
meanwhile, scored an early home run with the rueful “Some Fools Never Learn,”
couching some real heartsick lyrical bite in smooth, state-of-the-art
country-pop production. An uber-gifted
vocalist and guitarist and endlessly nice guy by all accounts, his hits often
veer a little too yacht-rock for my tastes, but this one’s a masterpiece. Alabama were pretty out-on-the-yacht
themselves with “Can’t Keep a Good Man Down,” Exile pretty much lived full-time
on it with more dreck like “Hang On to Your Heart,” and Gary Morris took it for
a spin on the lite-funk pop of “I’ll Never Stop Loving You.” It’s weird that they retroactively call it
yacht rock when most of it stays right in the middle of the road.
I’ve
mentioned the anachronistic-even-back-then Statler Brothers more than a few
times already, and they scored #1 one last time with “Too Much On My
Heart.” It’s got more modern (or at
least then-modern) sheen that the average Stat-Bros tune, but despite a couple
of clunky lyrical rhymes they really tapped into something timeless with this
one. It probably didn’t hurt that tenor
singer Jimmy Fortune wrote it himself; the level of commitment he puts into a
portrait of a unilaterally dying love is so heartfelt its almost terrifying in
its despair, magnified by the soaring sympathy of the group’s harmony. It’s a madly soulful performance that I’d
hate to see get lost to time, begging for affection or at least a little
kindness in the wake of acknowledged failures.
Lee
Greenwood seemed to be going for a similarly operatic sweep with “I Don’t Mind
the Thorns (If You’re the Rose),” but at best just kind of kicks up a little
generic warmth. Earl Thomas Conley’s
more modest, catchier “Nobody Falls Like a Fool” was similarly earnest but
considerably better. Appropriately
enough, the year closed out with a couple of acts who were successfully
bridging to the next generation of stars: George Strait, with the winking charm
and conversational flow of “The Chair,” really leaned into his downhome
for-the-ladies appeal. Check out the
music video sometime, it’s mostly young George staring into the camera dreamily
while various hot ‘80s gals in shoulder pads squirm in their chairs at the very
thought of it all. Any of those women
would’ve fit in nicely at a bachelorette party with the still-cresting The
Judds, who almost literally bridged into the future by having 1985’s last #1
and 1986’s first with the bluesy plea of “Have Mercy.” It’s my understanding that love can also
build a bridge, but we’ll cross it when we come to it.
THE
TREND?
Jeez,
man. 51 songs. I guess the trend is that we’re doing our
damnedest to make sure everyone has a #1, even if we gotta load four old-timers
onto one song, or possibly bring in Ray Charles for reinforcement, and it
doesn’t matter how great it is or how legendary they are because they aren’t
getting any longer of a reign than the latest Exile joint. Quality control seems to be slipping; yeah
that Top 10 down there looks nice, but that bottom 10 leans pretty damn lame
and the stuff in between seems more filler than killer. George Strait was riding high, but largely on
the strength of material that – while not explicitly retro – usually felt like
it could’ve been a hit 20 years prior for one of his heroes. The rest of the really memorable stuff was,
more often than not, courtesy of warhorses like Haggard and Willie. Troy Seals, the songwriter behind “Seven
Spanish Angels,” would soon score a George Jones hit with “Who’s Gonna Fill Their
Shoes.” Maybe he wrote it around 1985 …
if the genre’s other young bucks were the likes of Lee Greenwood and Gary
Morris, its hard not to imagine the concern. If only there were some tradition-minded
youngsters waiting in the wings …
THE RANKING
- Seven Spanish Angels – Ray Charles & Willie Nelson
- Does Fort Worth Ever Cross Your Mind – George Strait
- Natural High – Merle Haggard
- Highwayman – The Highwaymen
- I Need More of You – The Bellamy Brothers
- Forgiving You Was Easy – Willie Nelson
- Modern Day Romance – The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
- I Don’t Know Why You Don’t Want Me – Rosanne Cash
- Make My Life With You – The Oak Ridge Boys
- Some Fools Never Learn – Steve Wariner
- Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On – Mel McDaniel
- A Place to Fall Apart – Merle Haggard
- The Chair – George Strait
- Radio Heart – Charly McClain
- Love Don’t Care (Whose Heart it Breaks) – Earl Thomas Conley
- Somebody Should Leave – Reba McEntire
- Country Boy – Ricky Skaggs
- Step That Step – Sawyer Brown
- Meet Me In Montana – Marie Osmond & Dan Seals
- How Blue – Reba McEntire
- Too Much On My Heart – The Statler Brothers
- I’m For Love – Hank Williams Jr.
- Dixie Road – Lee Greenwood
- 40 Hour Week – Alabama
- I Fell in Love Again Last Night – The Forester Sisters
- You Make Me Want to Make You Mine – Juice Newton
- Lost in the Fifties Tonight (In the Still of the Night) – Ronnie Milsap
- Love is Alive – The Judds
- Nobody Falls Like a Fool – Earl Thomas Conley
- Real Love – Dolly Parton & Kenny Rogers
- Have Mercy – The Judds
- There’s A Fire in the Night – Alabama
- Baby Bye Bye – Gary Morris
- Country Girls – John Schneider
- Honor Bound – Earl Thomas Conley
- She Keeps the Home Fires Burning – Ronnie Milsap
- Can’t Keep a Good Man Down - Alabama
- Touch a Hand, Make a Friend – The Oak Ridge Boys
- There’s No Way – Alabama
- I’ll Never Stop Loving You – Gary Morris
- The Best Year of My Life – Eddie Rabbitt
- My Only Love – The Statler Brothers
- Don’t Call Him a Cowboy – Conway Twitty
- Little Things – The Oak Ridge Boys
- Ain’t She Somethin’ Else – Conway Twitty
- Hang On To Your Heart - Exile
- Girls’ Night Out – The Judds
- I Don’t Mind the Thorns (If You’re the Rose) – Lee Greenwood
- Crazy For Your Love – Exile
- She’s A Miracle - Exile
- Crazy – Kenny Rogers
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