Ah,
you guys … a whole new millennium. Yes I know some will quibble that the new
millennium actually starts with 2001, but that’s not how it feels, right? I
guess it would’ve been more emotionally resonant to kick off 2000 with a new
artist or at least a new song but nope, Faith Hill and “Breathe” carried over
from the previous year, Y2K glitches be damned, and hung tough for the first
five weeks of 2000. And why not? It’s a big crowd-pleasing but
not-entirely-indistinct ballad from a glamorous bona fide star. Not much here
for country purists, but Nashville was more or less done with those stiffs for
now anyway. Let ‘em go catch nostalgia acts at the county fair or go watch
BR5-49 in a skeevy bar somewhere if it bothers them that much. We’ve got money
to make.
The
Dixie Chicks and “Cowboy Take Me Away” were about as close as they were going
to get to a sop for traditional fans for awhile. Some twangy harmonies,
acoustic instrumentation, and even some rustic imagery right there in the
title, although the structure’s more akin to a frothy Fleetwood Mac pop-rock
hit than, say, Loretta Lynn. Tim McGraw never stopped being twangy either – I
don’t think you could hide that particular light under a bushel – but the
syrupy likes of “My Best Friend” drew more from Hallmark cards and the most
squeezably soft easy listening than anything from the country pantheon. And
dudes like Lonestar had no doubt about where their bread was buttered at this
point, not even bothering to sound like anything other than a schmaltzy
harmony-rich pop band on “Smile,” which I don’t remember at all and did not
relish revisiting. I’m assuming its lone week at #1 was just reflected glory
from “Amazed.”
The
whole slick mess of it was just dying for a little blue-collar brashness. And
Toby Keith didn’t seem at the time like an obvious choice to provide it – he’d served
up his share of tepid country-pop by 2000 – but when emboldened to show a
little personality he rattled off “How Do You Like Me Know?” The song’s central
message might’ve been less than admirable – too many lines about celebrating an
ex-flame’s misery just because she wasn’t into you in high school certainly
sounds like a dick move – but at this point anything that raised a listener’s
pulse seemed pretty invigorating. Sure, the “nyah nyah nyah” melody hook was
childish, but stories for the masses about snobs getting their comeuppance are
as old as time, and it’d been awhile since there was a Hank Jr. or Charlie
Daniels in the chart mix with some ornery humor. Keith had had other at least
humor-adjacent tunes in the past, but they didn’t hit as big as this one. If it
wasn’t for this success, he either wouldn’t have been empowered to rattle some
cages with his patriotic numbers shortly thereafter, or he would’ve perhaps
tried but garnered little attention.
George
Strait didn’t need to assert himself with image tweaks; at this point having a
#1 hit had to be as routine as turning on a faucet, but he did sort of go out
of his way to revisit one of his biggest recent triumphs: “The Best Day” was a
sweet number about father-son bonding along the lines of “Love Without End,
Amen.” If you don’t mind some wholesomeness with your country music, you could
certainly do worse, and Strait was always better than most at reigning in the
schmaltz. And lest Strait be the lone throwback still hanging in there on the
country charts, ladies and gentlemen put your hands together for … Kenny
Rogers? Rogers had been among the chart dominators in the ‘70s and early ‘80s
but hadn’t been in on a #1 hit since the 1987 Ronnie Milsap duet “Make No
Mistake (She’s Mine).” He’d never gone away; he wasn’t on the same tour circuits as the
likes of Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard but he’d do theater gigs, Branson
residencies etc. for his similarly-aging fans. I’m not sure what combo of
industry nostalgia and promotional savvy got him back in the mix with “Buy Me a
Rose”; the song’s just OK, and having Alison Krauss and Billy Dean listed as
collaborators gave it a youthful nudge but it’s not like they were chart
titans themselves. Still, to the top it went, and it was touted not only as a
remarkable comeback but the first independent (non-major-label) release to hit
#1 in over a decade. This probably would’ve made for a cooler story if it was
some young upstart or iconoclastic left-field success as opposed to a legacy
artist who’d already been to the dance numerous times … it’d be fun if we were
writing about an Alison Krauss solo tune here, or something by Charlie Robison or
Buddy Miller, but I guess we write about the chart we have, not the chart we
want.
Faith
Hill was as sure a bet as anyone now. “The Way You Love Me” was a catchy bit of
country-pop froth, light on the country with some sort of auto-tune or vocoder
or whatever prominent in the mix and a splashy video with Hill cavorting around
in various foxy costumes, perhaps just because dressing up and showing off is
fun sometimes but with the unspoken message that she was up for tweaking her
music and image into whatever it needed to be to score another hit. It was
still way better than “Yes!” by Chad Brock. Brock was a brawny former pro
wrestler who’d turned some heads with the sincere regret of his previous top
ten single “Ordinary Life.” “Yes!” was as shallow as that one was earnest, a
cutesy bit of first-date storytelling with a brisk but weightless backing track;
the wrestling equivalent would be a botched chair shot that showed too much
light and sent the fans home no longer willing to suspend disbelief. He’d get
nowhere near #1 again.
Lee Ann Womack’s “I Hope You Dance” was considerably more impactful, a five-week smash that crossed over to the all-genre Top 20. Texas native Womack had four singles fall just barely short of #1 at this point and, as mainstream country drifted more pop, was generally considered at least a bit of a twangy throwback. That didn’t apply here: “I Hope You Dance” was the sort of grandiose embroidered-throw-pillow philosophizing that folks like Faith Hill and Martina McBride were probably pissed they didn’t wind up with. It’s exactly the kind of wholesome anthem that makes sense for graduations, weddings, etc. but Womack’s vocal gifts keep it at least a little grounded, putting a beating heart in the crowd-pleasing machinery of it all. Surprisingly, this was her only #1 hit; she’d only have a couple more top tens over the years. But sort of like Dwight Yoakam, Patty Loveless, Marty Stuart and others, she’d drift into the Americana/roots music scene to play to her strengths.
Hard
to imagine Lonestar rerouting into Americana, although you get the sense they’d
give it a shot if they thought they could make a buck. “What About Now” sounds
like the sort of watery, genreless upbeat stuff that got rounded up to
mainstream country around the turn of the millenia; not much personality to it,
this could’ve been cut by anybody to similar effect. Well, maybe not Alan
Jackson … he was doubling down on the hard-country stuff, if anything, with an
album called Under the Influence covering mostly decades-old country
songs. I would’ve thought his version of “Pop a Top” was the big hit, seems
that was the one that got the most play, but apparently his take on the Bob
McDill/Don Williams chestnut “It Must Be Love” was the real prize. It’s not a
landmark song or anything, just an affectionate trifle really, but in the
context of the top of the 2000 country charts it was a godsend. There was
always another weightless wonder like Jo Dee Messina’s “That’s the Way it Is”
on the way, vaguely upbeat message songs and generic love songs with less heart
than a motivational hashtag. That one got four weeks at #1 and feels like it was
justifiably forgotten forever a month later.
Even
in country’s darkest days, you can at least give it credit for not prematurely
chucking its elders under the bus. Aaron Tippin had been on the chart for about
a decade now, only occasionally visiting the top spot; his brawny twang and
unvarnished blue-collar image were the sort of things mainstream Nashville
probably liked to keep in the mix but not necessarily emphasize. His best bet
was to go kind of brash and gimmicky like fellow tough guy Toby Keith, so “Kiss
This” became his third and final #1. It ain’t great, but amidst the glossy
crossover stuff it at least had some legit redneck punch to it. John Michael
Montgomery had been around almost as long; he hadn’t tasted #1 for a
half-decade but remained a top ten regular, more or less. And nothing gives you
that extra little push over the top like heavy-handed emotional manipulation:
“The Little Girl,” penned by the erstwhile Harley Allen, was a song adaptation
of a Christian-themed urban legend that even the songwriter concedes he could
never find verification of. It’s the tale of a child from a troubled godless
home who witnessed her parents’ murder-suicide and, upon entering foster care,
recognized a portrait of Jesus Christ as the man that comforted her through the
awful incident. Imagine hearing a song about that in heavy rotation, plot twist
long since spoiled for you … I’m no atheist, but this really seems like one of
those “once is enough” propositions. Travis Tritt had been in the chart mix
longer than either Tippin or Montgomery but he scored a final #1
hit with the sweet, modest, and well-crafted “Best of Intentions.” He’d tumble
entirely out of the top ten soon enough, but unlike a lot of the 2000’s acts
that nudged him out he’d managed to craft a distinct persona for himself,
specifically that of an outlaw Southern-rock kind of dude who’d be in demand at
biker rallies and patriotic events to the present day and, presumably, well
beyond. Say what you will about his renegade posturing or online-politics jackassery,
the man’s a real-deal talent who always gave at least as good as he got.
The
remainder of the year just sort of clunked along with some relative newbies.
Phil Vassar had been named Country Songwriter of the Year by publishing giant
ASCAP the previous year, notching cuts with stars like Tim McGraw and Jo Dee
Messina, and given the chance to run with the ball himself pooped out “Just
Another Day in Paradise,” one of those gratingly wholesome and cutesy numbers
about domestic suburban living that were just gonna get more prevalent as the
decade trudged on. Brad Paisley continued his less-grating but
similarly-wholesome streak with “We Danced,” a nice enough love song
considering the narrative’s set in motion by some nightclub employee refusing
to give a tipsy beauty her purse back unless she dances with him (and now
they’re married, in case you wanna skip ahead). The aforementioned Vassar sort
of closed out the year too, as the pen behind the Tim McGraw hit “My Next
Thirty Years.” An ok-at-best slab of suburban midlife philosophizing, it’s
about as emblematic of the genre moment as one can get, scoffing at one’s own youthful
indiscretions and pledging to settle down into a peaceful, productive and
loving adulthood. More than ever, it felt like mainstream country music was
treating its whole history of songs of struggle, heartbreak, moral anxiety and the
more-than-occasional bout of boozy mayhem as a misspent youth to be
compartmentalized and left behind for slicker yet more wholesome pastures. That’s
a worthwhile thing to do with your life. But to me, that’s a tragic thing to do
to a genre.
THE
TREND?
Unsettling,
really. Trotting out a heavily-facelifted Kenny Rogers (that must’ve been one
helluva beard for a surgeon to have to maneuver around) was emblematic of a
genre that wanted to benefit from its history but pretend a lot of years never
happened. The sticky-sweet air of cloying suburban wholesomeness just hung over
the chart like a fog, little lines of Ned Flanders-ish philosophy best left to
Hallmark cards or embroidered throw pillows coming at you relentlessly every time
you chose a country station as your sonic backdrop for the day. The closest
they could get to anything resembling a spark kind of veered towards clunky
rudeness (“Kiss This,” “How Do You Like Me Now?”) but no sense of danger or
adventure. Aside from the occasional Alan Jackson throwback, the best you could
hope for was that the glossy pop ballads might at least be well-crafted and
delivered with some passion (“Breathe,” “Cowboy Take Me Away,” “I Hope You
Dance” et al). I turned 24 in 2000 and was not digging this stuff anymore. 23
years later, as a more or less wholesome suburbanite myself, I still haven’t
grown into whatever the appeal of this stuff must have been.
THE
RANKING:
- Breathe – Faith Hill
- Best of Intentions – Travis Tritt
- The Best Day – George Strait
- I Hope You Dance – Lee Ann Womack w/Sons of the Desert
- It Must Be Love – Alan Jackson
- Cowboy Take Me Away – The Dixie Chicks
- How Do You Like Me Now? – Toby Keith
- Kiss This – Aaron Tippin
- My Next Thirty Years – Tim McGraw
- The Way You Love Me – Faith Hill
- Buy Me a Rose – Kenny Rogers (w/Alison Krauss & Billy Dean)
- We Danced – Brad Paisley
- What About Now - Lonestar
- My Best Friend – Tim McGraw
- That’s the Way – Jo Dee Messina
- The Little Girl – John Michael Montgomery
- Yes! – Chad Brock
- Smile – Lonestar
- Just Another Day in Paradise – Phil Vassar
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