We’ve been over how much the younger generation seemed to take over mainstream country music as the ‘80s wrapped up; the evidence that a younger audience came with it seems well more than anecdotal, and the trend’s going to just get stronger as we move along. But unlike older artists that had to deal with the possibility of being nudged aside to the point of possible full replacement, the incoming young audiences were piling on, not displacing. Unlike then-young listeners who got into early rock & roll with Elvis and his contemporaries but eventually found a pop trend that was a bridge too far – whether it was psychedelic Beatles, hippie culture, disco, whatever – there wasn’t much about the new generation of country stars that would shake off the middle-aged folks who’d been tuning into country radio since the ‘60s or so. If anything, folks like Randy Travis and Keith Whitley might’ve reaffirmed their love for the genre and its roots that had been a bit adrift amongst all the pop-crossover types crowding the field in the ‘70s and ‘80s.
Just
check out what we’re rolling into 1989 with. KT Oslin was new, but she wasn’t
all that young, and “Hold Me” was a striking portrait of middle-aged doubts and
fears. What they can do to strain a marriage, what love can do to bring things
full circle … this isn’t dance floor come-on stuff for young hornballs in
cowboy boots, this is life-affirming stuff for grownups. “Change of Heart” by
the Judds wasn’t as bespoke, but in its moody downbeat pulse it plumbed similar
depths of full-grown love. Rodney Crowell was also prone to going deep, but this
time around he lightened things up with the roadhouse country shuffle of “She’s
Crazy For Leavin’,” a humorous Guy Clark co-write that felt like timeless honky
tonk. Relative youngster Randy Travis sounded warm and wise on “Deeper Than the
Holler,” a young man singing about endless love that probably resonated even
better with listeners twice his age.
The
relatively wizened Earl Thomas Conley notched another signature song for
himself with “What I’d Say,” giving the mournful hypothetical conversations of
a jilted lover the mature hurt they deserved. Alabama ditched the easy
listening balladry for a blast of the arena country that had got them over in
the first place; “Song of the South” had been around for years, recorded by
other luminaries like Bobby Bare and Tom T. Hall to minimal fanfare, and though
the sound was state-of-the-art the lyrics about FDR and southern Democrats
(“you ought to get a rich man to vote like that”) lent it some retro panache. Dan
Seals continued to land on the tasteful side of country-pop with the jangly,
yearning trucker anthem “Big Wheels in the Moonlight.” Fun fact: Seals wrote it with
behind-the-scenes songwriting legend Bob McDill, who also solo-wrote “Song of
the South.”
Dwight
Yoakam was quickly becoming country music’s avatar of youthful,
edgy-by-our-standards cool, and though the hook of “I Sang Dixie” probably
wouldn’t fly today at the time it might’ve endeared him to any old-school
listeners who suspected him of being an artsy outsider. Or hell, who needs the
Confederate reference when you’ve got that huge tenor twang, those sweet fiddle
fills and that knack for a heartsick narrative. The Desert Rose Band never
pretended not to be California interlopers (albeit with a hell of a
pedigree) and “I Still Believe in You” had plenty of pop inspiration in between
those steel guitar licks. Not a complaint; they were great at this sort of
thing. Ronnie Milsap might have been so pop it was hard to even call it
country-pop anymore, but to his credit he did reach back into the archives now
and then for a country chestnut he could recontextualize; folks like me are
always going to love Ray Price’s version of “Don’t You Ever Get Tired of
Hurting Me” better, but Milsap musters up plenty of soul on his version to make
it clear he loves it too. One wonders if the success of the New Traditionalist
types spurred the homage, but it’s not like he hadn’t been covering country
oldies here and there for decades at this point. Ricky Van Shelton nailed a
great one too, giving the clever shuffle of the old Ned Miller hit “From a Jack
to a King” the sturdy baritone treatment.
Things
got moody as hell for a bit, as the country charts will for most of their
history. Reba McEntire gave “New Fool at an Old Game” the tender, vulnerable
complexity it needed, a worthy companion to the mature female hits that kicked off
1989. George Strait didn’t do the pedal-to-the-metal anguish of some of his
hard-country heroes, but he could snag a subtle melancholy edge with the best
of them on the slow-rolling goodness of material like “Baby’s Gotten Good at
Goodbye.” New kid in town Keith Whitley was great at low-key anguish on record,
but I imagine it’s not news to anyone reading this that his real-life hurts were
more drastic and ultimately fatal: “I’m No Stranger to the Rain” was the last
single he released within his lifetime. A darkly compelling ballad of
resilience and pain co-written by onetime Buddy Holly bandmate (speaking of
brilliance cut short …) Sonny Curtis, it was already pretty unforgettable
before Whitley’s passing from alcohol poisoning about a month later cemented it
in as a heartbreaking landmark in country music.
Things
got a little cheerier atop the charts – they had to, right? – with Shenandoah’s
first hit, the chipper hungover-wedding-day narrative “The Church on Cumberland
Road.” A onetime Muscle Shoals house
band, they only had to knock around the charts for a couple of years before
their wholesome take on modern country music caught on. The Judds offered up the dreamy,
also-wholesome “Young Love (Strong Love),” with some of their sweetest
harmonies finding depth in simplicity. Randy Travis notched another #1 with the swinging, humorous “Is It Still
Over?” with timeless lines like “since my phone still ain’t ringin’/I assume it
still ain’t you…” Alabama went back to the soft-rock well, for better or worse,
but “If I Had You” has a smoky sincerity that’s hard to bitch too much
about.
But
in 1989, sad songs and waltzes had a high bar to clear, between the Whitley numbers
and Rodney Crowell’s monumental “After All This Time.” As a longtime wannabe
songwriter myself, I can attest to how hard it is to write a heartfelt ballad
of lament or devotion without ending up with cheese, goop, saccharine, or other
counterproductive substances clogging up the gears. Often that sort of thing
can be elevated by performance; Crowell is a fine singer, clear and rangy with
personality, but what he wrote with “After All This Time” pretty well sells
itself. He’d written denser narratives before, artsier lyrics, and once the
chart pressure was eventually off he’d crank out albums so ambitious they’d
threaten to collapse under their own weight, but I don’t know if he ever wrote
a better song than “After All This Time.” I know I haven’t either. I’d assert
that hardly anyone has.
Steve
Wariner flexed some songwriter muscle of his own on “Where Did I Go Wrong;” not
typically one to pen his own hits, he did hit a smart and vulnerable nerve
here. Despite the breezy sound, there’s regret to spare in the well-paced
lyrics and delivery. It was the sort of
savvy that would serve him well survival-wise with young dudes like Clint Black
riding their debut single all the way to #1. “A Better Man” sounded
unmistakably like the work of a singer and songwriter who’d steeped himself in
the hurt and wisdom of Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson, smart enough to
absorb the influence without straight-up ripping it off. Gifted with a sweet,
twangy vocal that was tenor by default but could drop like a rock when the
material begged for an emotionally resonant low note, handsomely squinty
Houston native Black immediately seemed like a Randy Travis-level freshly-discovered
goldmine. Soon enough he’d be lumped in with something bigger though.
And
I assume no one knew this in the moment, but in retrospect it’s kind of poetic
that two longtime chart presences scored what would be their last #1 hits
directly afterwards. Earl Thomas Conley was up first with the midtempo
confessional of “Love Out Loud,” followed by Rosanne Cash with the
Lennon/McCartney tune “I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party” (the only time, thus
far, that a Beatles cover has topped the country charts). Conley and Cash
aren’t terribly similar artists, but they were both gifted songwriters who brought
a lot of mature, thoughtful original material to the table, who could blend
strains of rock and pop into their art without seeming crass or rootless. The
two contemporaries diverged quickly; Conley slipped down the charts for a
couple of years before more or less eschewing new releases and switching to
touring on the strength of his old hits. Cash was headed for a split with her
then-husband and longtime collaborator Rodney Crowell, and by 1990 would be
shifting gears entirely with an ambitious and deeply personal album Interiors.
Even more so than other distinctive envelope-pushers that mainstream Nashville had bet
on – Lyle Lovett, Steve Earle, kd lang, etc. – she’d had a chance to soak up sufficient
mainstream spotlight that enough fans would follow her out on a limb to make it
more than just artistically rewarding.
Kathy
Mattea was one of the earthy, urbane sort of female artists Cash had paved the
way for; her chart-topping days were numbered too, but “Come From the Heart”
was the sort of easygoing upbeat philosophical number that launched a million
quote-bearing throw pillows and wall hangings. Ricky Skaggs, still as wholesome
and country as all get-out, hadn’t had a big hit in a few years despite being
ahead of the whole New Traditionalist game by at least a half-decade; I don’t
remember “Lovin’ Only Me” at all, but upon rediscovery it’s a hearty piece of
hot-pickin’ romantic positivity. It was short-lived, as comebacks go; again,
here’s a final #1 for somebody who helped define the country mainstream of the
1980s, and kept the bluegrass tradition higher in the mix than any of his
rivals. Once the hits dried up he refocused on gospel and undiluted bluegrass
like that was what he really wanted to do all along anyway.
Eddy
Raven was hanging in just a bit longer; already a music biz vet by the time he
broke through, he worked some of his Cajun roots into the swinging cheerfulness
of “In a Letter to You.” George Strait – perhaps to no one’s surprise,
retroactively or otherwise – wasn’t going anywhere; the sturdy but mournful
“What’s Going On in Your World” was his 17th #1 and he wasn’t half
done. Reba McEntire would prove to have comparable staying power, and her
pensive cover of the Everly Brothers’ “Cathy’s Clown” was not only lovely but
also an early example of her penchant for indulging her acting ambitions in
amusingly elaborate music videos. Dolly Parton had a lot going on in her video
for “Why’d You Come in Here Lookin’ Like That,” which is amusing on purpose,
her on-camera charm akin to a superpower. Landing somewhere between
pure-country charm and something resembling drag-queen campiness, it’s a thing
of folksy upbeat beauty. Parton will hopefully never stop being an icon and a
towering influence in country music but – as the late-‘80s trend goes – this
was a lot closer to her last hit than her first.
There
were worthy singers hanging around ready to pick up the torch, though. Patty
Loveless was a literal coal miner’s daughter from Kentucky who’d worked in demo
studios and cover bands before breaking through big with the twangy drive of
“Timber I’m Falling in Love.” Shenandoah stayed on a hot streak with the warm,
wistful “Sunday in the South” as a brief interlude before another promising
young female breakthrough, San Antonio native Holly Dunn with the Linda
Ronstadt-ish “Are You Ever Gonna Love Me.” Vern Gosdin continued to be a
not-unwelcome anomaly as a sort-of-old traditionalist who’d actually been
picking up momentum as others in the old guard gradually faded; the weary but
resilient stomp of “I’m Still Crazy” would end up being his final #1, but then
again it was only his third. Often nicknamed simply “The Voice” for his indelibly
rangy twang, he'd join the likes of Johnny Paycheck, Roger Miller, Gene Watson,
Gary Stewart et al whose impact on the genre isn’t really reflected by a list
of #1s.
By
now the country music world had had a couple months to absorb and process the
tragic passing of Keith Whitley, the painful reminder that despair and heavy
drinking were more than just jumping-off points for songwriters, the
no-longer-living proof that the whole “real people, real problems” appeal of country
music often took a real toll. “I Wonder Do You Think of Me” was his first
posthumous release; much like George Strait’s “Baby Blue,” it wasn’t a perfect lyrical
match to the real-life tragedy it was associated with in the public eye but the
hook and the heart of it couldn’t help but gut you. Willie Nelson’s smart,
resilient take on Beth Nielsen Champman’s “Nothing I Can Do About it Now” had
the sort of Zen-like wisdom he often captured in his own writing, and might’ve
been a roundabout way of acknowledging his run as one of the genre’s most
commercially relevant voices was drawing to a close. This would be his final #1
as a solo artist – he’ll pop back up with some collaborations, if and when we
get to the 2000s – and even though it is his 14th, even at a dozen-plus
that still kind of under-represents just how important he was to the genre. I
guess part of the whole “Outlaw” mythos is that you’re not bending over
backwards for the conventional brass rings, but if you kick enough ass they’ll
come to you sooner or later anyway.
Rodney
Crowell was about as forward-thinking as a country songwriter gets, but he happily
reached back to the past for “Above and Beyond,” an uber-catchy but
stone-country number essayed in decades past by Wynn Stewart and Buck Owens. It
was his fifth and final #1; I know it seems a little odd for a streak that hot
to end that abruptly, but in context it’s a bit inevitable. New youth-friendly
artists were about to crowd the hell out of the field – Clint Black would top
Crowell’s “five #1s in a row from the same album” record within a year, just
for starters – and Crowell was about to roughly mirror his ex-wife Rosanne
Cash’s turn to more highly-personal, kind-of-esoteric material that wasn’t
going to beg for chart promotion. It was sort of like he proved he could be a
mainstream star, found it a bit unsatisfying and ephemeral, and decided to mine that clout for
a detour down a road less taken. And I’m probably as surprised at you that the
Judds’ hot streak is ending this soon, but their bluesy take on Carl Perkins’
“Let Me Tell You About Love” (the rockabilly legend actually plays lead guitar
on the track!) was their 14th and final #1, which is surprisingly
the same phrase we just used a paragraph or so ago for Willie Nelson. But the
mama half of the duo, Naomi Judd, was dealing with health issues that would soon
necessitate at least a temporary retirement, and her daughter was getting
poised for a solo career that we’ll be talking about soon enough.
Steve
Wariner continued the morbid-at-a-glance trend of scoring a final #1 with the
subtle, catchy bop of “I Got Dreams.” It was hardly a career cut short, though;
Wariner had plenty left in the tank and would regularly land in the top ten
throughout the ‘90s. He’d even have hit duets with Clint Black and that Garth
Brooks guy we haven’t gotten around to discussing yet; he was a respected
high-profile star, but the fact that he didn’t hit #1 again is mostly just
testament to how crowded the field was about to get even in light of all the
folks who made their last trip in 1989. Also notable: I know it’s a subjective
classification, but this was the first #1 in months that wasn’t either by a
“New Traditionalist” or one of the folks who helped forge the tradition
(Willie, Dolly etc.) Sure enough, Clint Black swung right back in with the
baritone-guitar hard-country powerhouse “Killin’ Time.” Anyone bemoaning the
gradual fade of an era’s artists had to take a little comfort in the thought
that if they had to lose ground, at least it was to killer stuff like that.
Ricky Van Shelton’s “Living Proof” wasn’t quite as striking, but it was a
smartly observed, heartily sung tale of rekindled love.
Alabama
remained good at rekindling audience love; “High Cotton,” much like “Song of
the South,” smartly melded touches of arena-rock opulence with downhome storytelling
and earthy harmonies. Eventually arena-sized small-town anthems would become an
obnoxious ongoing subgenre of their own, but I don’t wanna blame Alabama for
that. George Strait came out swinging with "Ace in the Hole,” a showcase
for his hot-pickin’ road band as much as anything, but by now George Strait’s
answering machine messages would’ve at least had a shot at #1. Nobody would’ve
mistaken Kathy Mattea for a honky tonk traditionalist, but “Burnin’ Old
Memories” was a smoky little blues shuffle with no shortage of guitar firepower
itself. 4th and final, if you were wondering. Eddy Raven was in
last-hurrah mode too, 6th and final with the Cajun glory-days
storytelling of “Bayou Boys.” Mattea would still boomerang back to the top ten
or so multiple times over the next few years, while Raven would drop off pretty
precipitously.
Dolly
Parton, God bless her, still had a handful of hits in her even though she was
already a cultural icon that transcended genres and didn't need to scrap for
them. “Yellow Roses” was a simple number of traditional beauty elevated by
wistful, vulnerable performance. Speaking of transcending genres, Randy Travis
was about as country as a haybale but he wasn’t above borrowing the old Brook
Benton R&B chestnut “It’s Just a Matter of Time.” Sonny James and Glen
Campbell had run country versions of it up the chart in decades past, but they
couldn’t nail that low-end rumble like Travis. Oh and hey, we finally get to
talk about Garth Brooks … “If Tomorrow Never Comes” was an earnest, humble bit
of reflection on the ephemeral nature of life from a guy who was gonna be an
earnestly humble gazillionaire megastar for the rest of his. And #1 or not, I
don’t know if any of this was immediately apparent in the moment. Sure, it was
good, but if you were making bets that the unstylish, modest-looking dude with
the pleasant-enough voice was going to be the genre’s defining artist in the
public imagination and flip the whole damn music business over on its ass … it’d
be at least a couple more hit singles before it became obvious just how hot of
a hand you were holding.
Dolly-then-Randy-then-Garth
seemed like a nice snapshot of a moment when country’s past, present, and
future kindly took turns at the top, and the rest of the year feels like a bit
of a post-script. Shenandoah kept the lights on, as they would for a while,
with the ruefully catchy “Two Dozen Roses.” Ronnie Milsap, believe it or not, scored
his 34th and final #1, going out on a strong note with “A Woman in
Love.” It’s the same sort of big-production easy listening crossover that he’d
cranked out for decades to the delight of many and frustration of a purist few,
but it’s got some pulse and drive to it. Milsap had once found himself at the
forefront of a trend towards adult-contemporary pop packaged as country music
for older listeners who’d felt left out of trend-hopping, youth-oriented pop
and rock and were looking for a safer, more-conservative haven. But audiences and
expectations change, and even the most dependable hit machines aren’t immune to
obsolescence; mainstream country music was finally turning into something that
was easy to age out of, and in the moment it could happen even faster if you
weren’t down with the whole New Traditionalist approach. Then again, Highway
101 had helped pioneer that approach, and “Who’s Lonely Now” ended up being not
only 1989’s final #1, but theirs as well. Ironically, as the genre’s sound got
less slick, many of its most dependable acts lost traction.
THE
TREND?
Well,
that last entry probably broke the record for number of uses of the phrase
“final #1.” The comet smacked into the country music planet and you didn’t have
to be a dinosaur for it to hurt. This isn’t a full list, but Willie Nelson,
Rodney Crowell, the Judds, Ronnie Milsap, Steve Wariner, Kathy Mattea, Vern
Gosdin, Eddy Raven, the just-mentioned Highway 101 … all of them got their last solo trip all the way up the mountain, and most of them would be totally out of
contention within another couple of years. Then again, before country music hit
its early-‘90s boom, gigging around the dancehalls and county fairs and
modest-sized venues was standard for most of the stars, and you don’t
necessarily need chart momentum to do that; a lot of these folks probably just
shrugged, toasted a nice run at the top, and got back on the tour bus. They
weren’t expecting it to be pulling up outside a stadium anytime soon. But soon
enough, that’d be more normal than ever. A lot was changing, to the point where
I think it’s time to dedicate a non-standard entry to it. And one last note
before we switch decades: this is one of the few times where even the last five
or so in the Ranking section are still pretty good. Lots of styles, artists,
and eras were in transition, but somehow not a stinker to be found.
THE
RANKING
- After All This Time (Rodney Crowell)
- I’m No Stranger To The Rain (Keith Whitley)
- Killin’ Time – Clint Black
- Song of the South (Alabama)
- A Better Man (Clint Black)
- Hold Me (KT Oslin)
- I Sang Dixie (Dwight Yoakum)
- Above and Beyond – Rodney Crowell
- Is It Still Over? (Randy Travis)
- Baby’s Gotten Good at Goodbye (George Strait)
- Why’d You Come In Here Looking Like That? (Dolly Parton)
- She’s Crazy For Leaving (Rodney Crowell)
- I’m Still Crazy – Vern Gosdin
- Young Love (The Judds)
- Come From the Heart (Kathy Mattea)
- Nothing I Can Do About it Now – Willie Nelson
- I Wonder Do You Think of Me – Keith Whitley
- Timber I’m Fallin’ In Love (Patty Loveless)
- If Tomorrow Never Comes – Garth Brooks
- What’s Going On In Your World (George Strait)
- New Fool At An Old Game (Reba McEntire)
- What I’d Say (Earl Thomas Conley)
- Living Proof – Ricky Van Shelton
- Sunday In the South (Shenandoah)
- I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party (Roseanne Cash)
- Two Dozen Roses - Shenandoah
- Deeper Than The Holler (Randy Travis)
- Cathy’s Clown (Reba McEntire)
- Yellow Roses – Dolly Parton
- Big Wheels In the Moonlight (Dan Seals)
- Ace in the Hole – George Strait
- Who’s Lonely Now – Highway 101
- In A Letter to You (Eddy Raven)
- I Still Believe In You (Desert Rose Band)
- Change of Heart (The Judds)
- Don’t You Ever Get Tired of Hurting Me (Ronnie Milsap)
- From A Jack to a King (Ricky Van Shelton)
- Lovin’ Only Me (Ricky Skaggs)
- Bayou Boys – Eddy Raven
- Let Me Tell You About Love – The Judds
- If I Had You (Alabama)
- It’s Just a Matter of Time – Randy Travis
- The Church on Cumberland Road (Shenandoah)
- Where Did I Go Wrong (Steve Wariner)
- Love Out Loud (Earl Thomas Conley)
- Are You Ever Gonna Love Me – Holly Dunn
- I Got Dreams – Steve Wariner
- Burnin’ Old Memories – Kathy Mattea
- A Woman in Love – Ronnie Milsap
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