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.

Willard and I are very unhappy about the collapse of the Colbert campaign. We fear the well-meaning but self-important Dims of South Carolina have forgotten the great lesson of the Ross Perot campaigns: that comic relief in the political process is essential to our national sanity.

Not to mention that we and fellow Orneries SD and Bella were looking forward to that trip to Charleston. We aimed to do all the local ghost tours and wallow in low country cooking when we weren't answering phones, stuffing envelopes and fielding impertinent questions from the media.

Still, even at our lowest we were in good shape compared to poor Madame Sadie. After not hearing a peep out of her for several days, Willard got worried and stopped by to check on her. A few minutes later I got a frantic phone call.

"Hello?"

"She's gone into a decline," Willard declared tersely.

I confess I was taken aback. Madame Sadie is above all a survivor; she survived the hard life of a Hollywood reject, the overflowing port-a-potties of the great music festivals of the sixties, and seven hundred fifty eight and a half consecutive nights of doing the Hustle in the seventies. (We assume she was dancing. . .)

"Must be brooding over the loss of anticipated--uh--income. What's she doing?"

"Hunkered down in a corner, surrounded by Bud Light cans, listening to one Merle Haggard song over and over."

This was serious. Undoubtedly the one song was "Think I'll Just Stay Here and Drink." Time was of the essence, so I hotfooted it down the creek and up the holler, arriving just in time to hear Madame say petulantly, "I don't WANT coffee. That stuff's poison."

She looked bad. Red eyes, red nose, smeared makeup, and a general resemblance to a ragdoll that was only heightened by her favorite red wig. "Drink it anyway, you old bat," I snapped. Madame let out a surprised belch: Willard had just dumped a vindictive pint of ice water down her back.

Willard hissed, "Intervention."

"Yep. But we haven't time or money to go to Red Lobster before the Endless Shrimp promotion ends."

"You got a better idea?"

In the end, Willard went off to our local fish joint while I kicked Bud Light cans out onto the porch, got Madame up from the corner and replaced Merle Haggard with an oldies station. By the time Willard got back, Madame was kickboxing to "Kung Fu Fighting" and I was hunkered down in the corner covering as best as I could.

Eventually, after we all danced to "Thriller" at Madame's insistence (Willard and I were the zombies), we settled down to enjoy fish sandwiches. Beer battered or not, the food perked Madame up. When we were done she announced she was ready for a nap. She settled in front of the TV to watch a REPORT repeat and was soon snoring. Willard and I cleaned up the kitchen, bagged up the Bud Light cans, and locked up after ourselves.

I checked on Madame the next day. She seemed none the worse for wear, but was not especially glad to see me; Miss A and some friends were coming for an appointment. I shudder to think how it turned out, but I guess I'll have to wait for Miss A's blog--hopefully in the next day or two. When she does, her link is http://missatheornery.blogstream.com.

Till next time, fair thee well.