Johnny Cash's Daughter Made Better Music In The '80s Than He Did

Being a Johnny Cash fan, I always heard about how his oldest daughter Rosanne was a successful and respected musician in her own right. "Whatever," I always thought. "She made country music ... in the '80s. Probably not that good." I was probably wrong.



"Seven Year Ache" is like New Wave/Country. There's a synthesizer and a steel guitar. That sounds like it would be terrible, but it is so not terrible. Rosanne also has a more conventionally beautiful singing voice than her father's. Where the hell did it come from?

Sadly, this New Wave/Country hybrid was not expanded upon by Rosanne Cash, or by anyone else. Let's just say that, after the early '80s, country music decided to go in a ... different direction. I mean, when the Chipmunks start doing your genre, you know you've jumped the shark.

Eddie Rabbitt and Juice Newton Sing A Song From A Soap Opera

If you were an avid follower of Days Of Our Lives (I mean who wasn't?), then you would have heard a song performed on the show called "Friends And Lovers." When recorded by two of the show's actors, Gloria Loring and Carl Anderson, the song became a #2 hit in 1986.



Eddie Rabbitt and Juice Newton must have looked at each other and said, "Let's do that!" "You And I" had already been utilized on All My Children as a couple's "love theme." Rabbitt probably figured, "Hey, why wait for my hit duets to become soap opera songs when I could just ... turn soap opera songs ... into hit duets?"



That stroke of genius could have been enough to sustain lesser careers. But sadly, it wasn't quite enough for Rabbitt and Newton, who promptly proceeded to disappear from the cultural consciousness. Soap operas, however, have remained with us.

'80s Country Gets Juicy

OK, first of all, her name's Juice. Imagine listening to the terrific music of Sauce Parton, or Soda Rogers. Newton could also give Joni Mitchell a run for her money in the lanky, gaunt female singer sweepstakes.

Juice Newton had two huge pop crossover hits in 1981. I'm not sure if people realized that they were both fairly straightforward cover versions of other peoples' songs. Listeners in the '80s were probably not that picky.

"Angel Of The Morning," a depiction of a one-night stand cloaked in memorable metaphor, was originally a hit for Merrilee Rush in 1968.



Since then, I'm fairly sure that every single female singer under the sun has attempted a cover of "Angel Of The Morning": Olivia Newton-John, Dusty Springfield, ABBA, The Pretenders, Nina Simone, Bonnie Tyler ... at one point I think they were giving away covers of "Angel Of The Morning" with people's breakfast cereal. But none of those other versions quite have that special Juice Newton "power ballad" magic.



"Queen Of Hearts" was a 1979 hit for rockabilly revivalist (and frequent Nick Lowe buddy) Dave Edmunds in the UK.



Newton might as well have just erased the vocal track from Edmunds' version, because she barely changed a thing.



So, fine, Juice Newton wasn't the most blindingly original singer. But she picked good material and she didn't fuck it up. Easier said than done. Besides, her name was Juice. Apparently it's better for your career than being called "The Juice." I wonder if she named any of her children Isaac, or Fig. Fig would have been good.

Eddie Rabbitt And The World's Longest Hairdo Sing A Duet

If length of hair equaled singing talent, then Crystal Gayle would be the greatest singer of all time. Her hair is longer than her body. Her hair is so long, it should have its own Social Security Number.

Crystal Gayle is actually '60s country legend and self-proclaimed "Coal Miner's Daughter" Loretta Lynn's younger sister. But Gayle is such a distinctive singer in her own right, and her success has been so sustained, most people tend to forget this fact, if they're even aware of it to begin with.

Although she frequently topped the county charts in the '80s, she had her biggest crossover hit, "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue," in 1978. Should have really seen an optometrist for that.



Gayle probably has more street cred than her country peers, particularly due to her collaboration with Tom Waits on the soundtrack to One From The Heart, Francis Ford Coppola's infamous post-Apocalypse Now flop (which takes place in Las Vegas but was constructed entirely on a bizarre studio set - hard to explain). Although the movie still divides critics, the soundtrack generally does not. You're probably thinking, "Tom Waits and Crystal Gayle? There's no way that could work." Oh, there's a way.



But when Gayle paired up with the distinctly less adventurous Eddie Rabbitt for "You and I," she found her way straight into the hearts of Adult Contemporary radio stations everywhere. On my '80s Tape, at the end of the song, a DJ came on and said, "Aww ... gut-wrenching tune, ain't it?" before being cut off by the opening strains of "Yah Mo B There." On one level, I don't relate to the sentiments in "You and I" whatsoever. But the melody is so sweeping, the orchestration is so soaring, and Gayle's voice in particular is so plaintive, I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with that anonymous 1984 DJ on this one.

The Fluffiness Of Eddie Rabbitt

With a name like Eddie Rabbitt, you know you're in for some excitement. If by "excitement," you mean "early '80s MOR country."

Rabbitt first achieved prominence as a songwriter, when two of his tunes were recorded by Elvis Presley during the King's legendary 1969 "comeback" sessions. "Kentucky Rain" was the hit single, but I'm actually more partial to "Inherit The Wind":



Rabbitt's own success was confined to the country charts until he opened for Kenny Rogers, and then opened for ... wait for it ... Dolly Parton. Suddenly Rabbitt was singing hit theme songs for Clint Eastwood/ orangutan movies:



Even all the '90s "hat" acts like Garth Brooks and Clint Black and Alan Jackson, if they didn't sound like genuine classic country music, at least recognizably sounded like '90s imitation country music. Eddie Rabbitt did not sound, in any obvious way, like a country singer. He didn't sound not country, either. I don't know what he sounded like.



Just a week after Dolly topped the pop charts with "9 to 5," Rabbitt did the same with "I Love A Rainy Night." According to Wikipedia, this was "the last time, to date, that the pop chart featured back-to-back country singles in the number one position." When future historians pinpoint the precise moment when American civilization crested, this may be the moment they name.



Also, during the 1996 presidential campaign, Bob Dole harbored hopes of using an Eddie Rabbitt song. Rabbitt, a registered Republican, granted Dole permission "with pleasure." Well Bob Dole, at least you had Eddie Rabbitt's vote!

Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton, and ... The Bee Gees?

By 1979, the Bee Gees had become so overexposed, and had become so synonymous with the rapidly fading and soon-to-be-reviled disco movement, even they knew it. They realized that they couldn't even release songs under their own name. So the Brothers Gibb went into stealth mode.

First, there was Barbra Streisand's "Woman In Love":



Then there was Dionne Warwick's "Heartbreaker":



But their most impressive feat of all may have been Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton's "Islands In The Stream."

The Bee Gees go country? Surely you jest. Ah, but upon closer inspection, this stylistic shift is not so ludicrous. Take a good listen to "How Can You Mend A Broken Heart," or especially "Don't Forget To Remember" (an obscurity in the U.S., but a big hit in England in 1969). Let this be a lesson to you: the Bee Gees can do anything.



I remember listening to this song while it was playing on the '80s Tape in my family's car, and I used to think the lyrics were "Islands In The Street." You know, like those little concrete divides with bushes in them that separate the traffic lanes? Kind of a strange metaphor to symbolize the strength of their love, but who was I to judge?

I can't put my finger on it, but it's funny how all these songs, despite having been sung by others, still sound like "Bee Gees songs." If I were a songwriter, I could tell you why. Maybe the Brothers Gibb just have a fondness for certain kinds of chord changes and harmonic tricks. What's also funny is that, despite the early '80s public derision of the Bee Gees, all these songs were huge hits. Basically, people still wanted to listen to the Bee Gees; they just didn't want to "listen to the Bee Gees." Sometimes, image is everything.

But you see, the Bee Gees were so amazing, they could write hits for artists years into the future. In 1998, "Islands In The Stream" found new life as "Ghetto Superstar (That Is What You Are)," a solo hit by Pras (featuring Mya, Ol' Dirty Bastard, and the production assistance of fellow Fugee Wyclef). By this time, it was OK, or even encouraged, to like disco again. It's safe Bee Gees! You can come out now!

Dolly Parton Sings About This Strange, Mysterious Thing They Used To Call A "Job"

Unlike Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton has pretty much always been Dolly Parton. She's always had that long blond hair. She's always had that freaky-looking make-up. She's always had those big, bouncing boobs. And although her catalog is certainly eclectic, she's always been perceived by the public as a country singer.

As a kid, I just assumed that Dolly Parton was some sort of ample-chested novelty act. Big mistake. Not only can she play the banjo, fiddle, guitar, autoharp, dulcimer, piano, and flute (!), but she's also a gifted songwriter. You know that song called "I Will Always Love You" that was a big gigantic hit for Whitney Houston and they've been playing it every five seconds since she died? Dolly Parton wrote that. Dolly Parton actually had a hit with that. Twice. But nope, all anybody will ever think about when they hear that song is poor, poor Whitney Houston.

Elvis loved "I Will Always Love You," and wanted to sing it. But Colonel Tom Parker would only let Elvis record it if Colonel Tom Parker could buy the rights to the song from Dolly. Dolly refused. Later on, Whitney Houston had the world's largest ever hit with it, and Dolly made lots of money. Sure, it would have been nice if Elvis had sung her song. On the other hand, it was probably nice to have all that money.

Although she's always been a well-known celebrity, Dolly didn't actually have too much official crossover success. In fact, she only had one major solo pop hit in the '80s. But it was a big one.



Thanks to that prominent horn section, "9 to 5" almost sounds more R&B than country - maybe with a touch of Dixieland jazz. But somehow I can't get too worked up over Billboard considering it a "country" song. Is that just because I'm so used to hearing Dolly's voice and knowing that it's the embodiment of pure Southern sass? I'd hate to be on the other end of these pointed, and even mildly feminist, lyrics:

Workin' 9 to 5,
What a way to make a livin'
Barely gettin' by
It's all takin' and no givin'
They just use your mind
And they never give you credit
It's enough to drive you
Crazy if you let it

9 to 5
For service and devotion
You would think that I
Would deserve a fair promotion
Want to move ahead
But the boss won't seem to let me
I swear sometimes that man is out to get me

Yes, Dolly, the boss man is out to get you. Even though, in reality, you oversee a vast media empire that, in addition to the songwriting catalog, includes a film and television production company, a signature line of Revlon wigs, and a Tennessee amusement park named Dollywood.

I wonder if her employees ever mutter this song under their breath. It takes a special kind of talent to sound like you're poor when you're actually rich. See: Springsteen, Bruce.

This Is One Fucked Up Kenny Rogers Song

The majority of Kenny Rogers' early '80s crossover pop hits, such as "I Don't Need You," "Love Will Turn You Around," "Love The World Away" (from the Urban Cowboy soundtrack), the previously discussed Lionel Richie collaboration "Lady," and, dare I forget, the Kim Carnes duet "Don't Fall In Love With a Dreamer," were rather lyrically safe and sedate.



And then, there was "Coward of the County":

Everyone considered him the coward of the county
He'd never stood one single time to prove the county wrong
His mama named him Tommy, the folks just called him yellow,
But something always told me they were reading Tommy wrong

He was only ten years old when his daddy died in prison
I looked after Tommy 'cause he was my brother's son
I still recall the final words my brother said to Tommy:
"Son, my life is over, but yours is just begun

Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done
Walk away from trouble if you can
It won't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek
I hope you're old enough to understand
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man"

OK, so his dad's a felon and all his neighbors are jerks. Unpleasant, but not so bad yet.

There's someone for everyone and Tommy's love was Becky
In her arms he didn't have to prove he was a man
One day while he was workin' the Gatlin boys came callin'
They took turns at Becky, and there was three of them

"Took turns"? You mean "raped"? Damn it, Kenny, I'm sitting here at breakfast trying to enjoy a nice country song and you just made me spit out my corn flakes.

Tommy opened up the door and saw his Becky cryin'
The torn dress, the shattered look was more than he could stand
He reached above the fireplace and took down his daddy's picture
As his tears fell on his daddy's face, he heard these words again:

"Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done
Walk away from trouble if you can
It won't mean you're weak if you turn the other cheek
I hope you're old enough to understand
Son, you don't have to fight to be a man"

So this guy's choices are 1) let the men who brutally raped your girlfriend go unpunished, or 2) retaliate, but betray your father's dying wishes. This is what you might call a "lose-lose situation."

The Gatlin boys just laughed at him when he walked into the barroom
One of them got up and met him halfway 'cross the floor
When Tommy turned around they said, "Hey look! ol' yellow's leavin' "
But you coulda heard a pin drop when Tommy stopped and blocked the door

Twenty years of crawlin' was bottled up inside him
He wasn't holdin' nothin' back; he let 'em have it all
When Tommy left the barroom not a Gatlin boy was standin'
He said, "This one's for Becky," as he watched the last one fall
And I heard him say,

"I promised you, Dad, not to do the things you done
I walk away from trouble when I can
Now please don't think I'm weak, I didn't turn the other cheek,
and Papa, I sure hope you understand
Sometimes you gotta fight when you're a man"

Honestly, in this case, I think your father probably would have understood. But I have to wonder: has anyone in this county ever heard of something called "law enforcement"?

Kenny Rogers: How Hippie Went Country

We all know Kenny Rogers as that big, grey-bearded country superstar. In another life, he could have been our grandpa. In fact, so many old white men tend to look like Kenny Rogers, there's even a famous website about it: menwholooklikekennyrogers.com.

But there are some dark, rebellious skeletons lurking in Kenny Rogers' closet. For you see, our sweet old grandpa used to be ... a hippie.



Kenny Rogers' career path may have been arguably even more bizarre than Belinda Carlisle's. As the lead singer of the First Edition, Rogers hit the pop charts in 1968 with the hilariously titled "Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)," a tune primarily known to our generation as "that song that's playing during the Dude's bowling acid flashbacks in The Big Lebowski."

When he wasn't singing about acid, Rogers was singing about paralyzed Vietnam vets whose wives were cheating on them (and they couldn't stop their wives from leaving the house because, well, they were paralyzed):

It wasn't me that started that old crazy Asian war
But I was proud to go and do my patriotic chore
And yes, it's true that I'm not the man I used to be
Oh, Ruby... I still need some company

It's hard to love a man whose legs are bent and paralyzed
And the wants and the needs of a woman your age, Ruby I realize,
But it won't be long I've heard them say until I'm not around
Oh Ruby, don't take your love to town

She's leaving now 'cause I just heard the slamming of the door
The way I know I've heard it slam some 100 times before
And if I could move I'd get my gun and put her in the ground
Oh Ruby, don't take your love to town

Or, he was singing about friendly old black people who got shat on by their fellow Southern townsfolk:

Reuben James
All the folks around Madison County cussed your name
You're just a no count sharecropping colored man
You'd steal anything you can
And everybody laid the blame on Reuben James

Flora Graves
The gossip of Madison County died with child
And although your skin was black
You were the one that didn't turn your back
On the hungry white child with no name, Reuben James

But eventually, like so many of his generation, Kenny must have grown disillusioned with the squandered promise of the Age of Aquarius. Either that, or the hits dried up. The point is, our former counter-cultural rebel re-emerged in the late '70s as the Kenny Rogers we know and love: older, wiser, and blander.

Country Goes '80s

Millions of mid-western housewives might disagree, but for me, "real" country music ceased to exist right around the time I was born. What's been called "country" ever since is basically, in my opinion, Adult Contemporary rock with a twang and a truck.

What's the official distinction? To me, it's this: before 1980, country music was made, predominantly, by people who had, at some point in their lives, actually lived in the rural American countryside. Country music used to be exactly that: music made by people who lived in the country. Gradually, throughout the '50s, '60s, and '70s, American society became more and more urban, to the point where hardly anybody genuinely lived in the "country" the way they did before.

What I love about pre-'80s country music, or the best of it at least (because there was always a hilariously fake, corny side to the genre that was obnoxious), is that it was music about hard living. And I don't just mean "drinking" and "fighting" and some sort of lame macho stereotype. I mean struggling for survival: being poor, watching your siblings die young, having a flood destroy all your crops, and yes, your dog dying. It was music about suffering. But it was often music about the beauty of suffering.

And sure, by the '60s and '70s the average American was doing a lot better, and hardly anybody actually lived on a farm anymore. But the country stars of the '60s and '70s had at least grown up in that earlier world. These people had lived through the Depression, and World War II, and even though they were now living in mansions in Nashville, they still held a genuine connection to that older era and that older way of life. But country musicians who were reaching their twenties by 1980 had never really known that world, and didn't really have that sort of experience from which they could draw. How can you sing about suffering when you grew up in the suburbs?

There was a fundamental change in that side of American culture. You couldn't just keep making country music because you liked it. In my opinion, "real" country music could only have existed in a certain time and place, and once that time and place disappeared, you couldn't make it anymore. You could make something that might have the surface elements of that older music, but it wouldn't mean the same thing to its creators. It wouldn't serve the same function. I see country as essentially a dead genre. And it died right around the time of my birth.

I killed country music.

The thing is, I think for a little while at the dawn of the '80s, people kind of realized that "true" country music was dead. And they were OK with that. They thought, "You know, we could just have country-tinged rock and country-tinged AM pop and we'll be all right."

Exhibit A: Urban Cowboy. In 1980, the film Urban Cowboy, starring John Travolta and Debra Winger, appeared in theaters. I haven't seen the movie, and I'm probably not about to, but if your idea of a good time is watching John Travolta ride a mechanical bull, then you should probably watch this movie.



But see, what the hell is an "urban cowboy" anyway? By definition, a cowboy should be rural. An urban cowboy is just some guy in a hat. An urban cowboy is nothing.

Nonetheless, Urban Cowboy did for country music what Saturday Night Fever did for disco. But the soundtrack album, featuring artists such as the Eagles, Bob Seger, Jimmy Buffet, Linda Ronstadt, and Boz Scaggs, was basically a rock album. Even some of the more country-leaning artists, such as Mickey Gilley, Anne Murray, and the Charlie Daniels Band, all had crossover appeal.

If someone could tell me the concrete difference between the country music and pop music of this era, please do so. It seems to me that a song was mostly "country" because some record label exec said it was, not because of any particular stylistic touch or instrumental choice. When you listen to the songs I highlight in Country Goes '80s, you will see what I mean. You wouldn't know these were "country" songs unless somebody told you. For about two or three years, country music was just soft rock without any R&B - and sometimes it even had R&B!

Then some enterprising souls found a bunch of artists whom no "pop" fan would want to listen to, and "country" music as a separate entity somehow made a strange, but somewhat inauthentic, return. There wasn't much crossover appeal to Alabama, George Strait, Reba McEntire, Randy Travis, and The Judds. No siree.

This series will not venture into that side of country music. No, this series is about that odd, brief moment where country music was huge, but huge precisely because it was hardly country at all.