Country with staying power

It's hard to imagine, but there was year when only five songs occupied the No. 1 spot on the Billboard country charts. That year was 1960, and it seems like ... well, I hope you don't expect ME to remember.

Marty Robbins actually got the ball rolling before Christmas of '59 when "El Paso'' took over the top spot and stayed there seven weeks.

Then, amazingly, two back-to-back songs reached No. 1 for 14 consecutive weeks. Jim Reeves was first with "He'll Have to Go'' and Hank Locklin followed with "Please Help Me I'm Falling.''

The other No. 1s included "Alabam'' by Cowboy Copas (12 weeks) and "Wings of a Dove'' by Ferlin Husky (10 weeks).

Were the songs that good to dominate for so long, or was country going through some lean times? I can't even seem to recall "Alabam'' but I consider the other four classics. Two of them made CMT's 100 Greatest Songs of Country Music: "El Paso" (No. 42) and "He'll Have to Go'' (No. 90).

By comparison, the song designated as the greatest ever by CMT, Tammy Wynette's "Stand By Your Man'' was No. 1 for only three weeks in 1968 (before being bumped by Sonny James' "Born To Be With You").

This information and $3 will get you a beer at Robert's Western World, where nobody covers "El Paso'' as well as Brazil Billy.

They took my hour, I want it back

Good morning, it's an hour later than you think...

Lucinda Williams is really not happy at all when she growls about the loss of something dear on "Joy'' from her superb "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road'' album.

I don't want you anymore 'cause you took my joy

I don't want you anymore, you took my joy

You took my joy, I want it back

You took my joy, I want it back

And I feel that way each year when they steal an hour from us for Daylight Savings Time.  Do you really think the farmers back home are going to need that hour today, on March 8, to get their crops in the ground?  I know a few farmers who I bet are more hung over than me today.

(I had my first gulp of peppermint schnapps in the dairy barn of my schoolboy friend, Wally. We were celebrating his 12th birthday, and he knew where his old man stashed the hard stuff.)

Anyway, Lucinda goes to West Memphis and Slidell looking to reclaim her lost joy. And judging from the anger in her voice I think it's safe to say she doesn't find it in those places. Which is why my friend Robert and I are going to try a different approach today.

We'll be sitting in the left field bleacher seats at McKechnie Field, soaking up some Florida sun and waiting for that elusive foul ball.  And maybe we won't even notice that stolen hour.

Road trip!!!

I used to spend a lot of energy and brain power assembling appropriate music for a road trip. This consisted of carefully selecting the songs and jotting down their elapsed times, organizing them in logical sequence and painstakingly recording them on a cassette tape.  If I miscalculated the times and a song cut off at the end, I'd go back and re-record it with an artful "fade.''

These were excellent tapes. Friends were always borrowing them and never returning them. I would keep "masters'' so I always had at least one copy. There was no creativity given to naming the tapes, like "Beach Mix'' or "Vacation '79.''  No, it was simply  "Road Tape #1'' and on...

I mention this because today I embark on a day trip and I have neither "Road Tape #6'' -- quite possibly the best 90 minutes of music ever put together --  nor a cassette deck on which to play it.  

So I'll put Pieta Brown's sultry "Remember the Sun'' in the disc player and hope there's no trooper in sight when it gets to "Sonic Boom.''   It really is possible to survive without the Foo Fighters.

Along came a mole

My artist friend Rick just finished a new batch of Holy Mole comic strips for publication next week, so I thought I'd give you a sneak preview.  If you've been reading SSS you know I'm an unabashed fan of Rick and his thought-provoking panels. 

We're working to expand Holy Mole's reach so its daily message is available to everyone. If you dig the panel, give us feedback -- and share it with your friends. If a gecko can make it big, there's no reason Rick's lovable mole shouldn't be in the lights.

Take this, you punks!

Today we reveal our top five Barry Manilow songs. (Just kidding, just kidding!!!)

Seriously, I can only remember two of the crooner's syrupy hits ("Mandy'' and "Copocabana'') and now the day is ruined for me.

Why do we pick on Barry the way we do? We don't talk this way about Clay Aiken (well, probably because we refuse to discuss Clay Aiken.)

Well, enough is enough. Today I have new-found respect for Manilow's music after reading an Associated Press story online (did you know you can get all kinds of cool news on the Internet?) Apparently a mall in the New Zealand town of Christchurch has been having problems with hooligans who congregate there and raise all kinds of hell.

Solution: Pipe in the music of Barry Manilow, and drive them from the premises!!!!! Sort of a reverse Pied Piper strategy.

This really ought to work anywhere.

The temple at 17th Avenue and 9th Street

I needed sanctuary today and there wasn't a church service in sight, so I headed over to McKechnie Field to watch the boys of spring.

As Annie Savoy remarked in "Bull Durham": "I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball.''

Having a spring training stadium in your hometown is a pretty special deal. And McKechnie, home of the Pittsburgh Pirates, is a real jewel. They finally added lights last year but there are only two night games on the Buccos' home schedule this spring. Like the Cubs at Wrigley, it's just supposed be afternoons at the ballyard, ya know? In fact, the first game they tried to play at night here was rained out -- just like Wrigley in 1988. We should listen to the baseball gods.

It was cold, windy and ... spectacular. It's not often you can spend an afternoon at a park in Florida and not worry about your beer getting warm. While the Dow was sinking to its lowest close since 1997 I was gobbling a balldog, chatting with some old friends and watching the Pirates plate a run in the eighth to beat the pesky Reds 2-1.

Glorious, so glorious. My spirit is renewed.

Pssst! I'd walk 5 miles for Pat McLaughlin

Got a text message Friday from my niece in Nashville. It read simply:

too bad you weren't in town tonight...

Attached was an email slugged "Pat McLaughlin Show -- TONIGHT!'' You little shit.

He isn't well-known outside Music City, but Pat McLaughlin is one of the favorites in a town bursting with musical talent. I saw him for the first time way back in 1986 and became an immediate fan. If you have the itch to visit Nashville you need to build in enough flexibility to include a show by one of the most enjoyable and energetic performers you'll see.

I once watched an exhausting, sweat-drenched show during which the funkified, gyrating McLaughlin went through three T-shirt changes.

Problem is, McLaughlin only plays about once a month, on a Friday night at Douglas Corner Cafe. And his website at http://www.patmclaughlin.com/ is often hopelessly out of date. If you hit it right, get to the club early or you'll be standing against the entrance wall for the entire show.

Among Nashville songwriters McLaughlin's peers would include John Prine and David Olney, another under-the-radar treasure. As a performer it's difficult to put anybody in his class. He's that good, especially when he's grinding away on his old red Fender Telecaster. And if his band happens to include guitarist Kenny Greenberg and bass player Michael Rhodes, well, the place will be smoking hot.

One of my favorite Pat albums is Next 5 Miles, a delightful 2003 romp that showcases the Iowa native's musical diversity and song-writing chops. On it is the bluesie "Mornin' Train'' (co-written by Prine, and included two years later on Prine's Fair and Square album) that includes this shout-out to Ray Charles:

Hey, Hey, Brother Ray
What'd you mean by "what'd I say"
You put me on a morning train
You put me on a morning train
There ain't no need to explain
You put me on a morning train...

And I've never counted the letters, but it must be correct when he sings:

Constantinople is a big long word
Got three more letters than mockingbird
You put me on a morning train...

Good enough for a PSSST (Personal Six String Sanctuary Tout)? Hell, yeah. Ain't no need to explain...