By Nick Massie
Coming from the North, I was never really confronted with the overwhelming twang of the South.
Driving down the interstate while changing my radio from station to station, it became more and more difficult to find some decent music. The more I changed the dial, the more I heard songs about pickup trucks and barbecue sauce.
It’s one thing to sing songs about hardships with your boy or girl, but to hear songs about your favorite race car or piece of lawn equipment kind of makes me feel sick to my stomach. Now don’t get me wrong, I love lawn mowers too, but only when I see someone that I’m paying to do my yard work using them.
It gets increasingly harder and harder to live in the South. I’m really not a fan of walking down the street and hearing the sounds of a banjo or fiddle blasting out the back of a Chevrolet lifted on monster truck tires covered in mud from off-wheeling the night prior.
Now take Tim McGraw and Alan Jackson, two of the top country singers out there. While McGraw is singing about barbecue stains on his white tee and Cherokee Indians, Jackson is singing about settling for a cheeseburger and a grape sno-cone instead of getting some.
My favorite though is when country tries to go hip-hop. Take Trace Adkins’ “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” for example. The girl he is singing about sure shakes her money-maker so hard that you would have to slap yo’ grandma to stand it. I know that certainly makes me want to jump in on that line dance that everyone gets so down and dirty in.
I appreciate that everyone has different tastes in music, but the fact that Bobby Sue and Betty Jo are featured in pretty much every country song kind of makes me giggle. But who am I to judge?