Last week I was cooking dinner at my friend Hunter's new condo and we decided the most tedious thing about moving is unpacking CDs. Especially in this digital age, there's just no point in keeping a disc for one or two songs. You probably won't regret selling it, or giving it away. Speaking of that, Hunter said he'd just put a playlist together of his favorite "songs of regret." By then we were feeling warm after a few glasses of wine from Kix Brooks' winery, so I thought maybe something a little more upbeat would have been better, but my unspoken rule is -- his house, his music. (If you come to my house for dinner, be prepared to listen to a lot of 80s country, and you better like it.)
First was Alabama's "Lady Down on Love," about a woman who's unfortunately back in the single life. In today's country music, she would grab her girlfriends and they'd burn up his trailer or go to Tunica or something, but back in the day, heartbroken people drowned their sorrows (and regrets) in the bars. From there, we said "Awwww" over the first few notes of "I Told You So" by Randy Travis, "Always on My Mind" by Willie Nelson (which is not romantic, people!) and a few chestnuts by Mark Chesnutt. I've always been a fan of Mark Chesnutt's early stuff, and when you listen closely, you'll see that "I Just Wanted You to Know" and "I'll Think of Something" fit perfectly in this list.
The only new song was Sugarland's "Stay," and I think the reason it's resonating with country fans is because almost no current country songs offer any sort of conflict, and conflict is the key to any interesting story, whether it's a novel or a song. I particularly hate songs about how someone is from the country, and that they also like the country. Give me something devastating, like George Jones' "Choices" or Patty Loveless' "Here I Am." Some of these regretful songs I haven't heard in ages, like Vern Gosdin's "Do You Believe Me Now" or Sawyer Brown's "All These Years." But I still knew the words.
Being a traditional country fan, I feel lost in my generation sometimes because I don't know the difference between Radiohead and Oasis, and never bought Nevermind. That's OK. I don't have regrets. Well, actually, thanks to my friend's playlist, I do.