Happy 90th Birthday, Willie.
The book-I-still-can't-talk-about has kept me from posting at this space this week. But I'll pause to honor Texas' greatest musical treasure.
No, the camera wasn’t outta focus — Willie was! Taken backstage at the ACL Moody Theater 10 years ago, two weeks before he turned 80. (Photographer unknown)
Hello, friends. I do consider you all my friends. This is a community, one that allows me to do what I do. Despite our friendship, I still can’t confide in you any details about this book I’ve been working on, except I am about 80 pages from finishing the main writing, which is due next Friday. Which is why I’ve been unable to work at all on The ‘Stack, other than post this note. Which is also notice that I likely will not be able to post much next week either, until I am done.
However, Willie Hugh Nelson of Abbott, TX, was born 90 years ago tomorrow. And I simply cannot let that milestone go unmarked.
I have had the honor of interviewing him twice, both occasions resulting in Austin Chronicle cover stories. The first, in 1996, legitimized me and my profession to my family, as I explained in this brief monograph I composed for the Chronicle'‘s 30th anniversary issue:
"Do you ever write a bad song?" I asked the country music legend seated across from me on the plush tour bus.
He smirked. "No!" We both laughed hard into my tape recorder.
He sipped more coffee, fixing me with a wry grin. "Well, at least none you'll ever hear."
His name: Willie Nelson.
That little exchange didn't make it into the resultant article, "Twisted Williemania: On the Bus Again With Willie Nelson" (Feb. 9, 1996). Maybe it should have. Also left out: How this first of two interviews I did with Austin's greatest musical ambassador made me respectable to my editor and family.
Mom didn't understand my day job. "Rock critic?! What th' Hell is that?!" She'd never heard of rock journalism, didn't comprehend how I got paid (not well, but...) to write about records I was sent in the mail for free. Who takes this noisy bullshit I listened to seriously, anyhow? She didn't. Why would anyone else?!
Raoul Hernandez was certainly puzzled when I plopped down on his couch two weeks earlier. "Willie Nelson's coming to town. He's been dropped by Columbia Records, which makes no goddamned sense. They just issued a Willie box set!"
"Tim," he grimaced at me, "why would you want to talk to Willie?! You're our token punk rocker!"
"Because he's great," I shot back. "If you want the Tim angle, this tribute album is out, filled with people like L7, X, and Soundgarden covering his songs – Twisted Willie. Willie CDs are now on the Emo's jukebox."
A week later, I watched Beatles-scale pandemonium from the driver's seat of his tour bus, the Honeysuckle Rose, as he met visitors. Moments later, I shook hands with Bruce Springsteen, playing in town and paying his respects.
Mama Stegall never told me I'd meet the world's biggest rock star on duty. Then again, she never understood my job. Until I sent her an autographed Willie Nelson photo. It hung in her living room until she died, as she proudly told anyone that her son was a magazine journalist who wrote about music. She'd never tell them I was also a punk rock musician, though.
The second occasion was abbreviated, preceding his 80th birthday by two weeks, as he played a fundraiser for Alzheimer’s disease research honoring legendary UT coach Darryl Royal. No Bruce Springsteen this time, but I finally met his long-standing drummer Paul English and “Sister Bobbie,” as he introduced the warm, wonderful Nelson manning the piano onstage. I was hoping for a repeat this particular year, but it’s not to be. I was looking forward to him joking, “What? You only come see me every 10 years?”
It’s unfortunate. I would love to thank him for six-plus decades writing some of the greatest songs ever written, country or otherwise. For being an example of a life well-lived, also thoughtfully and ethically lived. For standing for artistry above everything else, and still managing to translate that momentum into good commerce — something that’s rare. He’s a role model, something to aspire to. It makes a whole lot of us happy that he’s still here, still being Willie Nelson. And will continue to do so for a long time.
So, no. Didn’t get to hear his latest round of jokes and share in his good, strong coffee this year. But the Chronicle asked me and seven other of my fine colleagues to evaluate nine of Willie’s best albums for this issue. I was fortunate enough to be assigned two -- his first, ...And Then I Wrote, featuring his interpretations of the cream of his songwriter-to-the-country-stars crop, such as "Crazy" and "Hello Walls"; and his most important one, Red Headed Stranger. You can read the resultant feature, Nine Essential Albums From Willie Nelson’s 90 Years, by clicking that link over there.
Meanwhile, I need to get back to this book. Please wish me luck! Let me leave you with eight-plus minutes of a clean-cut Willie in the early ‘60s on The Porter Wagoner Show, performing “She’s Not For You,” “Darkness On The Face Of The Earth,” and a brief “Hello Walls.” I love hearing these honky tonk-style renditions of these songs, minus the strings and Anita Kerr Singers that Nashville loved to dump all over otherwise great records. Enjoy!
P.S. — Anyone wanna argue that Willie Nelson isn’t punk and therefore does not belong here? He’s got rebel music credentials for days. Plus he spoke knowledgeably about the Ramones with me when we met! Yeah, Willie is punk.
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