You need hands, rough not soft, to come and warm you up up in that cold hayloft.
Let me hold you, little darling, in my big strong arms,
Can't get these kind of muscles anywhere but a farm.
Hey, I'm a country man, a city boy can't do the things I can.
I can grow my own groceries and salt cure a ham.
Hey baby, I'm a country man.
-- Country Man, Luke Bryan
Over the last few months, my eldest's musical tastes have been changing to a steady diet of country music. It makes some sense, given that he has been working hard in the fields and driving tractors, and a common theme of country music songs is working hard in the fields and driving tractors. It also doesn't hurt that it is what his friends and girlfriend listen to.
I can only dream that it means he eventually knows how to salt cure a ham.
As he is controller of the car radio (except when his father is driving), it also means that all of us have been subjected to a steady diet of country music. The younger two complained bitterly at first but now they go around humming "Colder Weather" and "Hunt You Down" so it seems the indoctrination is complete.
Here are some notes from my months of listening to country music:
- There is a lot of talk about drinking, so much so that my 12 year old commented on it. Beer, whiskey and tequila seem to be the beverages of choice.
- You need to know who Hank Williams is.
- You need to know where Nashville is.
- You need to know what Nashville is.
- It helps to know the various tractor colors.
- It helps to appreciate rhymes. My personal favorite pair is "millionaire" and "obituary." (Hint: you need to add an extra "ee" to the end of "millionaire" to make it work.)
A week ago, I accompanied Primo and his girlfriend (ack) to a country music concert (double ack). It was her 16th birthday present from him. They were kind enough to invite me along, mostly because they needed me to drive them. They probably thought their chances of a chauffeured ride were better if they didn't ask me to kill time in the most dangerous city in the U.S.
The title is a clue to the artist. Here's another clue: an illuminating cell phone shot. See the trademark white hat?
OK, I'll tell you. It was Brad Paisley (and Blake Shelton and Jarrod Niemann). We weren't that close except during the middle of the concert, when he came on to a special platform in the seats and we were only ten feet away. His concert was quite good, I must admit, and I managed to get the kids home safely at 1 am, which was my biggest concern.
It only served to cement Primo's devotion to the genre. He presented his birthday list yesterday: cowboy boots, cowboy hat, large belt buckle and matching decorated belt, Wrangler's jeans, flannel shirts. He is hoping to get in some line dancing when we go to Ohio in a few months, with any luck in his new duds.
His father has no idea where he went wrong.