![]()
|
|||||||
|
©
2002 |
Commentary
Hal Ketchum is an endangered
species in country music today: an artist who writes songs with integrity
and still manages to get them on the charts.
He credits "dumb luck," acknowledging that there are plenty of great
songwriters who labor in relative obscurity, below the industry radar.
It's true that Ketchum came around at the right time, in the middle of
what maverick songwriter Steve Earle called "the Great Nashville Credibility
Scare" of the mid-to-late 1980s. For a brief period, troubadours were
in vogue and "edgy" artists such as Earle, Dwight Yoakam, Lyle Lovett
and Nanci Griffith were mainstream stars.
Nashville got over it and got back to business as usual. But some of
those troubadours stuck around. Steve Earle became the godfather of "alternative
country," Nanci Griffith is an icon of contemporary folk music, Dwight
Yoakam makes the radio come to him in California and Lyle Lovett remains
an uncategorizable, eccentric presence in American music.
And Hal Ketchum continues to cut great records, producing "hit" songs
that people actually remember all the words to years down the road. Songs
that people fall in love to or listen to to help them through hard times.
The best country songs are populist art -- both commercial and with lasting
artistic merit. Merle Haggard charted dozens of songs like that. Try thinking
of a few today.
"I think the key to it is to choose material that touches people in the
heart," Ketchum said. "Longevity comes in the form of sincerity."
Of course Ketchum has the advantage of a golden voice -- rich and easy
to listen to and distinctly his own. But it really does come down to the
songs. Listening to Ketchum's songs at the Sisters Starry Nights concert
on Saturday, February 2, the truth of that belief was evident.
You believe Hal Ketchum when he sings a song, whether it's a pop love
ballad or a story song about a roughneck "lover of a drink, lover of a
fight" who sends his pay to an ex-wife he misses every night, though he
"might hold back a dollar to wash the pain out of his back."
Sure, songwriters make up songs. If they actually lived everything they
wrote about, they'd be dead (ask Steve Earle -- he tried). Some songs
are made up on the spot, like one song Ketchum introduced Saturday, after
writing it in the studio.
But the great songwriters don't make up a song because it's what the
suits think is selling today. For whatever its worth, they mean it. And
audiences can tell. Given a chance to be heard, songs like that connect
with their audience and become a part of their lives.
It's worked for Ketchum. He's been at it for 15 years or more now. People
have fallen in love to the tune of his songs, nursed a broken heart, whiled
away the hours of a "Small Town Saturday Night."
And they know the words.
|
|
|||||