Waylon Jennings

Waylon, Live (Buddha Records, 1999)
Greatest Hits (RCA, 1979)

Reviewed by Kloghole

"Jeeeeeus Christ, Cookie. Goddammit, what the hell are you doing? Just throw the goddamn thing out the window. Goddammit, it's gettin' all over the car." My Mom pulls her finger off the crack in the milk jug to show us the stream of root beer gushing from the crack in the plastic. My brother and I howl with laughter in the backseat. We can't help it. It looks like the milk jug is taking a root beer pee all over my Dad's Cutlass 442. Mom offers a solution. "We'll just drink it, and then it'll stop leaking." Dad retorts, "Them boys'll be up all goddamn night." As my Mom pours us the root beer, Waylon reminds us that "this time will be the last time."

Other than my Mother, few people have had such a significant impact on my psyche as Waylon Jennings. I resonate with songs like "Lonesome, On'ry and Mean" and "I've Always Been Crazy." There is an anger and tenderness in his songs that reveal a struggle between compassion and rebellion. Waylon was part of the "outlaw" movement in country music. The reality is less romantic that the myth. The outlaw movement was really a struggle against alienation in the music industry. At the time Waylon was building his career, record companies controlled the intellectual production of the music. Artists were packaged and promoted with little input regarding the backing musicians and musical content of their albums. Waylon and others resisted the stripping of their intellectual contributions - their alienation - from their own musical creations. The label of outlaw took on a life of its own. In his song, "Don't You Think This Outlaw Bit's Done Got Out of Hand," Waylon documented how the exaggeration of the notion of outlaw drew attention from law enforcement agencies. It wouldn't be the first time that police were used against rebels, nor the last. There is an especially poignant version of this song on Waylon Forever.

On our frequent trips from our home in Iowa to our grandparent's house in Wisconsin, we listened to a few 8-tracks. For you youngin's that have no idea what an 8-track is, it is the precursor to cassette tapes, but the tape is a continuous loop contained in a plastic case the size of a paperback book. Waylon's Greatest Hits and Waylon, Live were among the most often played. I can still practically sing all the words to the songs on these collections. Listening to these songs and albums bring back memories, good, bad, and insignificant. I remember laying down to sleep on the floor in the backseat of my Dad's Cutlass 442. While we listened to "I'm a Ramblin' Man," I also remember looking out the back window to see the stars as we traveled the country highways back to our house.

I also remember stopping because our dog, Boots, basically had a heart attack. My Mom gave him chest compressions or something to bring him back around. Anyway, after a bit of nursing, he was back on the road. That dog was a crazy son-of-a-bitch. He was a Boston bulldog, and he fuckin' loved water, but in a suicidal way. He would attack a stream of water from a hose or a sprinkler. Once, we thought he would like a swim on a hot day, so my Mom held him above the water in the pool. His legs started spinning like a man possessed, so she dropped him in. It sounded like a watermelon hit the pool - ker pluunk! He went right to the bottom, legs a flyin', bloodshot eyes, bubbles out of his nose, skating across the bottom of the pool. When we pulled him out, he almost looked disappointed, like he was just getting the hang of it. Crazy fuckin' dog.

Speaking of the dog, at one point, we had all eaten some bologna sandwiches which were not sitting very well on the curvy roads. The first to go was Boots. He yacked in the backseat. As soon as Boots started gagging, my Dad started to pull the car over. He had a fragile constitution for such a tough son-of-a-bitch. After the dog barfed, I was probably the next to go, and then I think my brother, but he probably just sat there nonplussed by the whole circus. By that time, the stench had my Dad retching. I think he jumped out of the car before he had it in park. My Mom just laughed when he started gagging. He was puking by the side of the road while my Mom went to work on the backseat with paper towels. The whole time this fiasco is going on, Waylon is reminding us that "she's a good hearted woman in love with a good timing man."

Some evenings, my Dad would begin to nod off. My Mom's solution was to encourage us to make noise. It was a free ticket to do shit that would usually get us in trouble. In addition to screaming unintelligibly, we would also sing, "Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys." My brother and I would pinch our noses so we could sing the Willie parts. I had a habit of substituting in cowpie for cowboy. "Don't let your babies grow up to be cowpies."

I am not usually one to lionize any artist or band. I hate the idea of Deadheads, Zepheads, etc., but I have to say, Waylon approaches that kind of iconic status with me. Waylon is an unbelievable artist, but like the rest of us, he is not without his flaws. There is a song on Waylon and Company called "Leave Them Boys Alone" by Waylon, Hank Jr., and Ernest Tubb that kinda sums up the whole outlaw country movement. Hank Jr. sings the line that says Waylon has a "string of hits about two miles long." There is no questioning Waylon's talent. If you do, I question your sanity. I don't give a shit if you are punk, metal, grunge, jazz, etc., Waylon is just a solid fucking artist that creates an emotion with his words and picking. But, he had a darker, fractured side to him also. My Mom recounts the story of how she and my Dad went to see a Waylon show. When the show started, he stumbled onto the stage so fuckin' drunk he needed a stool. After about half a set of forgetting the words and fucking up, Jesse Colter came out to finish the set. I remember my Mom telling the story, not with a great deal of anger, but disappointment. I think Waylon understands the complex relationship that artists have with their fans. In the song "Leave Them Boys Alone," Waylon tellingly sings about an occasion when Hank Williams was too drunk to perform, "Now the people got mad and they all went home. The first thing they did was put his records on." As fans, we seem to think that performers are all trained monkeys for our enjoyment, but as Waylon sings, they are real people with their own personal lives and baggage.

I think I have a different appreciation for artists than most folks because of my Mom's experience. When Richard Buckner walked offstage after ten minutes of performing, I think I had a greater respect for him, rather than less. Prior to the show, I noticed that the club sent him back upstairs for a free beer ticket just so he could have a shitty beer before the show. So, after experiencing the rudeness of having to "prove" that you are an artist worthy of a free beer, the fucking feedback that kept fucking up his performance was the last straw. I am not saying that Buckner was right, but as a fan, I should not expect that he will lick my fucking dingle-berries if they get itchy. Artists live their own fucking lives, and they have bad days, bad months, and bad fucking lives. If you enjoy the music, then leave them folks alone. We are so used to the commodification of everything that we think that even their performance is ours to be consumed.

Waylon is one of those artists who has influenced me so much that I created a number of mix tapes to drink myself into a stupor. If you are going to introduce yourself to Waylon, you can certainly start with Waylon, Live or Waylon's Greatest Hits. You do not have to be as preoccupied as SoDak and I to pick up every obscure album you can find. The early stuff is different because it was subject to the record company control, but you can still hear Waylon's distinct style emerge from its shackles. The 70's is really the high point of the gritty outlaw sound, and Live and Greatest Hits give you the core of the Waylon spirit. His later work aged in various ways, just like myself.

I have found myself both rebellious and supportive. I tend to cut my own trail. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I have grown up with strong women who have struggled in life and set their own boundaries. When I would hang out with my Mom, sometimes listening to Waylon's albums, there was a sort of unspoken understanding of the shared struggle and a mutual support that was necessary to survive a working-class existence. Waylon's music was the soundtrack to this struggle. "Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way" is a simple song, but incredibly strong in its delivery. Waylon ponders his approach to success. I certainly have pondered how I have come to stand on the trail I now occupy. I like this song so much that I have tried to learn how to play it. After a late night of trying to get it down, I concluded that the whole effort was akin to banging two cats together. No matter how much I enjoyed the experience, it still just made one hell of a racket.

There are not enough sweet sticky balls on an Indian buffet to really indicate how great these albums or Waylon's music really is, so we'll just leave it there.

This review is dedicated to my Mom.

Sweet Dreams, Motherfuckers