![]() “Lovesick Blues” was originally written for the 1922 musical Oh, Ernest and was first recorded by Emmett Miller in 1928 before Williams’ version was released in early 1949. To foolishness, in a way.Yodeling Boy at Walmart Takes Internet by Storm: Watch My return to my Grandpa, to the Southern way of being, and to my childhood. Hank was, in so many pivotal ways, my point of return. It isn’t a traditional tear-jerker, but it was as if I was embracing myself with every word. It was one of his most famous, and I often hear my Grandpa sing “Hey good lookin’-whatcha got cookin’?” But my moment of realization was when he sang “ I got a hot rod Ford, and a two dollar bill / And I know a spot right over the hill.” Then I heard it: “Hey Good Lookin’.” I didn’t notice at first that this was the song my Grandpa sang the most, which is strange. His doleful twang met my mind like a desert wind. That’s when I heard Hank for the first time. I also looked to country music, starting with a playlist from the ’40s and ’50s. It lands strangely on the ear, but it’s true. I began to comprehend who I was, and I wanted to be that. Transitioning into college, through lessons learned in determining experiences, my heart turned to petition life for more: home, family, beauty, tranquility, simplicity. Indeed, the tradition of country music condemned them-mocked them, even.īut, by the grace of God, my heart did not stop begging. It lacked everything I wanted at the time. ![]() I kind of enjoyed the music, but more: I wanted people to think I enjoyed it. I started to believe my heart was begging for sophistication, wealth, and prestige. Moving into high school, I started to listen to worldly music of my own: classical music with hints of Nat King Cole and Dean Martin sprinkled in. But the hole looked an awful lot like my Grandpa. I think that’s when my mind started running, pursuing something my heart began to beg for. The part of him that wrote lyrics like:įast forward seven more years of me growing up and him singing, and I’m watching him have a stroke in the basement that he was turning into a mancave for us then a few more days and I’m staring at his casket. I would soon find myself acquainted with another part of Hank Williams. He was the first person I consciously loved. I believed everything that came from him. Why not believe that? Why not believe that the man who told me the reason his stomach was so hard when I punched his gut was because he, a brick mason, ate a brick at work, would also make up lyrics like “Today I tried to eat a steak with a big old tablespoon/You got me chasing rabbits, walkin' on my hands, and howlin' at the Moon?” I sincerely believed everything else he told me when I was six years old, anyway. I suppose I sincerely believed he made them all up. I suppose that was because the lyrics were always so silly, so foolish, and Grandpa acted like a silly fool himself. Not once did I ever think to ask Grandpa what he was singing, either. But lyrics to “Jambalaya,” “Cool Water,” and “Lovesick Blues” serenaded my Grandpa’s modest, Mamou outdoor kitchen like the Gumbo he was cooking saturated the air, or permeated the thin forest of the bayou where we were fishing like the Kingfisher’s song rattled off the cypress trees in winter. So I never listened to Hank while growing up. He then raised my father in the Pentecostal faith, who, in turn, raised my three brothers and me in it as well. He just played the harmonica, yodeled (quite badly, but with good humor), and sang while cooking, fishing, or working. ![]() I don’t think he could even play the guitar. He was far too proud for those sorts of things-his brother had also drowned himself in liquor. Not at local taverns or honky-tonks, mind you. He never escaped the world, though, and I reckon that’s why he kept singing. So, Grandpa eventually came around to giving up all worldly music. In any event, the Pentecostal Church has quite the Puritan streak. ![]()
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