Willie Nelson Cover on the Floor Again
My parents came to the Us in the belatedly eighties from their native Colombia, and every bit my family moved from New York to Maryland and and so down to McAllen, Corpus Christi, and Houston, we tried to make sense of the gnarled interplay between absorption and staying true to our culture. We spoke Spanish at domicile and ate arepas, but we also embraced Memorial Park and homecoming mums. Notwithstanding, despite our best attempts to learn nigh Texas, Willie Nelson'south music barely popped up on our radar.
And then, when I was thirteen, a friend asked if I wanted to go with her and her mother to come across Willie perform at the Houston rodeo. Though I had only a vague idea of who Willie was, I agreed, mostly because I wanted to eat fried Oreos. I don't remember much about the music I heard that night, merely I clearly think the feeling of reverence for Willie that coursed through Reliant Stadium, palpable even from our seats near the back of the arena.
In my early on twenties, equally I became a serious music fan, I realized that Willie was an important figure whose piece of work I should familiarize myself with. Just where to start? There were so many Willie albums—dozens, mayhap hundreds, depending on how you counted them. It was as well overwhelming, and so I didn't even endeavor.
But then 1 night five years ago, I watched my blood brother, Luis, have the stage in a New York City karaoke bar and bust out a formidable version of "Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys." Somewhere along the mode, without my noticing, my baby brother had become a country music fan with a serious jones for the favorite son of Abbott, Texas.
My interest was piqued, just information technology wasn't until terminal year, when I moved back to Texas after a decade on the Due east Coast, that I finally decided to dive into Willie'southward massive discography. To help me with that project, Texas Monthly'southward resident Willie good, John Spong, created a chronologically ordered playlist of ten Willie cuts that he thought would make a Willie convert of me. Spoiler alert: It worked.
"Funny How Time Slips Away"
Country Willie: His Ain Songs
RCA Victor, 1965
This song—one of Willie'due south well-nigh famous, I've learned—is so nifty that even the outdated Nashville arrangement can't sink it. A tune almost reencountering an quondam flame can hands skid into either a played-out revenge narrative or a saccharine rekindling story, but on this plaintive track, Willie gives a old lover a matter-of-fact update on how he'south doing and ends with a bite of saltiness.
"Me and Paul"
Yesterday'southward Wine
RCA Victor, 1971
A tribute to Willie's nifty friend, his longtime drummer Paul English, this song nigh life on the road reminds me of the steps a horse takes as information technology'southward picking upwards speed. "Me and Paul" starts off with an unassuming acoustic guitar, not unlike a steed'southward slow walk forth a dirt route. Then a touch of percussion takes listeners into a trot, and the guitar licks get more circuitous, steadily building into a canter. By the fourth dimension a dobro joins the mix and a nimble piano solo enters, the song has evolved into a full gallop, and we're off to the races.
"Shotgun Willie"
Shotgun Willie
Atlantic, 1973
I didn't know Willie had a vocal this unconventional in him; the blustery horns, tinny piano, and goofball lyrics about sitting around in your underwear make it a particular oddity—and an intriguing heed, at least at outset. Even so, Willie's coincidental reference to his buddy who sells sheets to the Ku Klux Klan is disconcerting, to put information technology mildly. Mayhap that'due south why "Whiskey River" gets more jukebox honey.
"I'd Accept to Exist Crazy"
The Sound in Your Mind
Columbia, 1976
This sweet song, in which Willie sings of his devotion to his beloved, knocked me back with its implausible combination of sincerity and eccentricity. Written by Steven Fromholz, a futurity Texas poet laureate, it sounds like the best kind of love letter reads, self-aware and full of emotionally naked admissions: "I know I've done weird things / I told people I heard things / When silence was all that abounds," Willie confesses, as a lonesome harmonica warbles backside him. And and so in that location'south the poetry about getting downwardly on your knees and watching ants equally they crawl on the ground. I've listened to this rail more times than any other on this list.
"Stardust"
Stardust
Columbia, 1978
Years agone, my father read somewhere that lava lamps had restorative qualities, so he bought several of them and doled them out to family members. I rolled my eyes at the fourth dimension, but during a recent bout of insomnia, I soaked in the bubbles neon glow of my lamp and put on Willie's cover of this archetype Hoagy Carmichael vocal, which is just as shimmering as its title might imply. Even when reminiscing nigh past pains, Willie is genuinely reassuring; his version of "Stardust" is a balm, a hot cup of green tea, lemon, and ginger swirled around in sonic form. The not-and so-secret ingredient: Stax Records legend Booker T. Jones'due south ghostly organ, hovering in the background of this lullaby. I roughshod asleep non long after the song ended.
"Exactly Similar You lot"
(With Freddy Powers)
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Columbia, 1981
No disrespect to Willie or to Freddy Powers, a Texan who wrote some of Merle Haggard's biggest hits, but this one brutal flat for me. The two are accomplished vocalists, but the free energy level on the runway lags. Listening to it reminded me of being dragged to a political party when I'd rather have spent the evening on my couch.
"Little Old Fashioned Karma"
Tougher Than Leather
Columbia, 1983
I'm not much of a two-stepper—near of my dance partners politely dump me on the other side of the dance floor after one song—only listening to this delicious melody almost karmic justice while COVID kept me housebound made me miss putting on a pearl-snap shirt for a Friday night at the honky-tonk.
"Yesterday's Vino"
Who'll Buy My Memories?: The IRS Tapes
Sony, 1991
Given how ageless Willie has long appeared—wait at photos of him from the sixties and seventies; he actually seemed to grow younger during the latter decade—it's hit to hear him, at a relatively youthful 58, sing apparently near coming to terms with getting older. (And odder still to think that he first recorded it in 1971, when he was 38.) Admittedly, the song's lyrical gambit—comparison the process of aging with the merits of fermenting grapes—is little more than than a variation on a cliché. But this no-frills performance, with just Willie and Trigger, is so earnest you barely notice how many times you lot've heard the sentiment before.
"Getting Over Y'all"
(With Bonnie Raitt)
Across the Borderline
Columbia, 1993
A breakdown duet featuring two heavyweights offers twice the heartache, with Willie and Bonnie Raitt each recounting how painful it is to get through the days when you've just fallen out of love. Though Raitt's vocalization takes center stage here—every bit it should—I dear the way the two sing together, their collective heartbreaks detailing the wrenching steps it takes to finally move on.
"Rainbow Connection"
Rainbow Connection
Island, 2001
One recent Sunday evening, I was out walking in my South Austin neighborhood when the heavens opened upwards. I scurried over to the nearest firm, shivering nether its eaves as walnut-size hail pelted the streets. As I waited out the storm, I decided to listen to Willie'southward cover of Paul Williams'south The Muppet Movie classic, "Rainbow Connection," through my earbuds. I wasn't surprised that Willie elevated a song that many had regarded as a novelty, but what really struck me was Trigger'southward performance. Though I'd heard for years well-nigh the fable of Trigger, it wasn't until that moment that I understood why Willie's guitar is spoken of less equally an instrument and more than as an entity. Possibly a piece of hail had hit me on the head, only I swear that just earlier the second chorus, Trigger exhaled at the verbal same moment that Willie drew in a jiff of his own. Halfway through the song the tempest eased up, so I ran out to the street once again. At that place was, alas, no rainbow in sight, merely as a small stream formed in the gutters beside me, Willie and Trigger guided me habitation.
This commodity originally appeared in the Willie Nelson special issue with the headline "Me & Willie." Subscribe today .
Source: https://www.texasmonthly.com/arts-entertainment/i-wasnt-a-big-willie-nelson-fan-these-ten-songs-turned-me-into-one/
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