Willard and I went on an expedition this AM. We braved the wilds of our local Wal-Mart. As far as our famous retail establishment is concerned, Christmas begins at Halloween and there is no Thanksgiving. This could be because we're down in the boonies and don't know how people behave at other Wal-Marts. Ours is roughly four to five years behind all other retail establishments in updating merchandise, they move the merchandise around to make it look new and only succeed in confusing shoppers who think things should be in the same place they were last week (you should have seen the treasure hunt we had trying to locate the tartar sauce), and the only place we felt sure we knew the territory was on the Christmas candy aisle. Even there we found frightening, sinister and downright disturbing items: an Elvis three-pack Pez dispenser (frightening), Lifesavers in a Lifesaver shaped tin (sinister), and the Penguin Pooper (do not ask us to describe this: it is too disturbing, and Willard has speculated aloud as to the mental state of its creator; quite possibly a descendant of Dr. Frankenstein who couldn't find enough body parts to emulate his forefather).

Still, it all sort of began to put us into the holiday spirit--although we both suspect low blood sugar was what gave us the giggles and had us crooning "Blue Christmas" when we saw the guitar-playing blue peanut M&M on a tee shirt. Another tee shirt that solemnly proclaimed "What happens under the mistletoe stays under the mistletoe" brought on visions of Josh Bernstein (or maybe Mike Rowe--or both) on waterbeds.



When we started home though, we got the full meaning of Christmas in a lady's yard. Due to road construction, her lawn has been decimated, to roughly a tenth of its original size. This lady has always been an enthusiastic decorator,and this year she does not disappoint, with lighted trees, herds of reindeer, Santas dancing with angels, and under a large bush a Holy Family attempting to restore some decorum to the scene (or perhaps, Willard suggests, they're seeking shelter from road equipment and reindeer poop). This riot, surrounded by a fence of candy canes, sits within two feet of the road, and it's only a matter of time until the bright lights cause an accident or the reindeer are stolen by the construction workers.

Still under the influence of low blood sugar and sentimentality, we simultaneously broke into a chorus of the Bill Monroe classic, "Christmas Time's A-Comin."

Can't you hear them bells ringin' bringin'
Joy to all, hear them singin'
When it's snowin' I'll be goin'
Back to my country home.

Never mind that in lower East Tennesse we have had Christmases with tee shirt, shorts and sandals weather, or rain on Christmas Eve. I can remember one white Christmas in my thirty-nine years on earth (Willard and Sylvia, not a word out of either one of you). Not that it mattered; we were in the spirit and we were on the way home.

Christmas time'a-comin'
And I know I'm goin' home.

BAD Fairweather! And until next time, fair thee well.

Next up, in reverse order as always:

"Talk About Sufferin'" recorded by Doc Watson. A track from his 1964 LP, DOC WATSON, this is an oldtime singalong that probably goes back to the days of the so-called "camp meetings," where worshippers would camp out and hold revival meetings that lasted two weeks or more. A mile as the crow flies from my home is such a campground, used as early as 1810-19. Sung a cappella and in a minor key, it sounds like a lament but is actually a reminder to "keep a-followin' Jesus."

"It Is No Secret," recorded by Jimmy Dean. Written by singer/songwriter/actor Stuart Hamblen in 1950, Dean's recording dates to 1968. Hamblen, who also wrote "This Old House" and "Remember Me (I'm the One Who Loves You)", was converted from a drunk--of whom Gene Autry reportedly said he "couldn't decide if he wanted the Bible or the bottle"--to a teetotaler after encountering Rev. Billy Graham, and wrote the song at the suggestion of John Wayne (!). In Dean's delivery there are traces of the sonorous western singers like Bob Nolan and Roy Rogers; it's my favorite recording of this number, which was covered by Ernest Tubb and Hank Snow among others.

"Give Me the Roses Now" recorded by the Wilburn Brothers. This song possibly dates to pre-1900, and was a staple in old paperback shape note hymnals. Teddy and Doyle recorded it on their 1964 LP TAKE UP THY CROSS, and tells us not to wait until death to express love for family and friends, for "useless the flowers that you give/After the soul is gone."

"Get Up John" recorded by Emmylou Harris and the Nash Ramblers. "Get Up John" began life as an instrumental, recorded in 1953 (and again in 1970) by Bill Monroe and His Bluegrass Boys, at a clip that left seasoned musicians gasping on the floor. In the 1980s, gospel artist Jerry Sullivan and country singer Marty Stuart slowed it down and wrote a set of lyrics for it about John the Baptist (or, as some in the Methodist church call him, John the Baptizer). It's the showpiece of Miss Emmylou's l992 AT THE RYMAN CD. Great rhythm and a great bass vocal by the late lamented upright bass player Roy Huskey Jr.

And next time, numbers four all the way to one. Fair thee well.

I am not conventionally religious. Theology does not interest me at all, and I find the only things that honestly attract me to church are the ritual (I'm a non-practicing Methodist by affiliation) and music.

Country and bluegrass singers at one time routinely recorded gospel songs on albums and released them as singles. Following are some of my favorites. I apologize in advance for not having complete information on some of them.

As always, in reverse order:

"Peace in the Valley," recorded by Red Foley. Red Foley (1910-1968) originally recorded this Thomas A. Dorsey number in 195l, and it became the first recording to sell a million on gospel charts. Foley would go on to re-record it several times, with each one becoming progressively wearier as he aged, his drinking problems worsened, and his health deteriorated. The last recording he did of it moves me to tears, as he sings that opening: "Oh well I'm tired and so weary/But I must go along. . ."

"Amazing Grace," recorded by the Statler Brothers. While I am fairly sure the Statlers recorded this beautiful old hymn during Lew DeWitt's years with the group, this particular version is on, I think, their ATLANTA BLUE album from the 1980s, with tenor vocals by Jimmy Fortune. It's one of my favorite hymns anyway, and the Statlers sing it with grace and power. (Update: did a little more research and find that this track is from the 1985 LP PARDNERS IN RHYME. Sorry; silly me.)

"Don't You Hear Jerusalem Moan," recorded by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band on their CIRCLE II project, the followup to the legendary WILL THE CIRCLE BE UNBROKEN. Bluegrass at warp speed, no other term for it.

"Seven Hillsides" recorded by Ricky Skaggs and Kentucky Thunder. From the 1999 gospel CD SOLDIER OF THE CROSS, this is actually more in the ballad tradition. It tells the story of a mountain minister who is called upon to bury seven soldiers in a single day, on seven hillsides "in family plots that bear their names." The soldiers apparently all were killed on D-Day, and I have often wondered if this is based on a true story. Historical fact: Bedford Co., VA lost nineteen young men on D-Day. The vocals and instrumentation are stunning.

More next time. Until then, fair thee well.

If not, he should. For the uninitiated, Dana Milbank is a Washington Post columnist--"Washington Sketch"--who also appears frequently on Keith Olbermann's COUNTDOWN as a commentator. Milbank is snarky and funny and his column today (go to washingtonpost.com) is priceless. He was covering Lyle Lovett et. al. who were testifying before the Senate Judiciary Committee about radio royalties for singers. It's roll in the floor funny and sackcloth and ashes tragic both to realize that Texas senator John Cornyn cannot correctly identify the late legendary Bob Wills, that Utah senator Orrin Hatch, the proud author of patriotic Christian groaners (I'm serious; they are BAD) proudly equates himself with the Lyle Lovetts of the world, that New Jersey senator Bob Menendez presumes to be able to talk music on an equal footing with Steven Van Zandt (our beloved Little Steven from the Boss's E Street Band). Reassuring to know that our congressional representatives are indeed as out of touch with the real world as they appear to be.

If my recommendation is not enough, then let me add that Madame Sadie thinks that Milbank is not only a genius, but HOT too. And on that note, fair thee well.

Last Friday marked the fifteenth year since my father's death. This coming Saturday would have been his seventy-second birthday. I have said before that my relationship with my father was never good, and for many years after his death I refused to let myself entertain so much as the notion that not all my memories of him were bad ones. But time changes everything, even one's heart and mind, and not only do I no longer have hard feelings toward Dad, but I have begun to take pleasure in some of those memories.

Some such good memories were triggered the other night when I was watching PBS's SONGS OF THE MOUNTAINS and heard a male-female duet of an old Louvin Brothers tune. It was not a song I ever sang with Dad, but in our repertoire there was a Louvin Brothers song, a sweetly sentimental piece called "I Love You the Best of All." An odd duet pair we made; Dad sang flat in what my brother calls "a goodnatured hillbilly bellow," and was terribly disappointed when it transpired that I sing less like Kitty Wells than--well, I sound more like Trisha Yearwood or Kathy Mattea. I inherited my mom's wall-rattling alto, although I always sang tenor to Dad's lead. Dad couldn't sing harmony to save his life.

Another of our favorites was a duet from the early days of Jim Ed and Maxine Brown's careers, before sister Bonnie joined them and they officially became the great trio The Browns: "I Heard the Bluebirds Sing." It's a sweet story of how a couple went from young lovers to a contented old married couple: "And though we're older (older love is sweeter)/We grow fonder (fonder of each other)/We'll be sweethearts (sweethearts both together)/Until the end of time."

And the one I probably remember most fondly: a Wilburn Bros. song called "I'm Breaking In a Brand New Broken Heart." I have been watching The Wilburn Bros. Show on RFD TV after not having seen them in well over thirty years, and although I sang the song with Dad I had never heard Teddy and Doyle sing it until this past spring and summer. Judging by the number of times they sang it on their show, it must have been a favorite of theirs too. Its bridge says "Leave me alone and let me cry, cry, cry/There are tears that must be cried/till there's no more tears inside. . ."

My tears for Dad and for the relationship we couldn't have because of his long mental and physical decline are long since cried and, to quote an old Hank Snow song, I don't hurt anymore. I am, though, supremely grateful for the times we had making music together.

Thanks for letting me get mushy, and until next time, fair thee well.