Daddy Was a Pistol, I'm a Son of a Gun

Father and Son week here at the Mountain, startin' today, and right quick before Blogger goes down for "maintenance." Again.

I usually leave the more modern altcountry/Americana stuff to those who do it a hell of a lot better than I can, particularly the god-like Songs Illinois. But I can't get a particular tune by Bobby Bare Jr. outta my head. It may well be one of my fave rave new songs I've heard in years.

But first, a little sumthin' bout and by his pappy, the singular Mr. Bobby Bare (Sr.).
Bare's certainly a candidate for the next round of fringe polling, as he's never really gotten the kind of recognition many of his peers have received. Mixing folk, pop, and traditional country with an often humorous wink that was never novelty, Bare set the type of outsider standard that would be visited by Jennings, Nelson, Kristofferson, et. al, all the way through to about half of Bloodshot's roster (you might note that apples really don't fall far from the proverbial tree). No stranger to one of the Mountain's top musical loves, Bare recorded numerous trucking songs. Following then, is Bare's answer to the classic Six Days On the Road. What happens when you're off the road for too long?

Bobby Bare: Six Days Back at Home (mp3)

I've lost count of how many children of musicians have become musicians themselves. Some start off promising, only to become ridiculous (hello, Mr. Williams Jr.). Some are barely worth the procreation it took to make them(Wilson Phillips anyone?). And others take their parents legacy, pay it proper tribute, and make something wholly their own. That'd be my reaction to Bobby Bare, Jr. Certainly more modern than his Dad, with an obvious love of late-period Replacements.

We all know the sheer amount of shit that comes out of Nashville on a daily basis. But sometimes it's easy to forget how much greatness has emerged from said city, also. And Bobby Bare Jr. has a song that so perfectly captures the glorious, fucked up, and downright weird aspect of the beast we call "Music City." Easily my favorite song of last year, and this year too. Catchy, sad, and funny, the perfect epitaph and tour guide to the land of dreams.

Bobby Bare Jr.: Visit Me in Music City (mp3)

By now yr well aware of The Mountain's stance on corporate media entities. So why are you still buying from conglomerates owned by fat old white men who don't really like music, and think Michael Bolton is great to listen to in their BMW's?