I’d
like to share a refreshingly red-necked group of performers known as the Antsy
McClain and the Trailer Park Troubadours.
I recently saw these folks perform on a recent trip home to Kentucky to visit my family. One if the highlights of the trip was attending a street festival that celebrated old-school Country, Bluegrass and Brazilian samba.
Don't look so surprised, contrary to popular belief, Southerners can appreciate some south of the border ass-shaking. We just do it in line-dance formation. In starched Wranglers. With a General Lee replica in the parking lot. It's the South,y'all...we've never been quite right.
Anyway, this rag-tag team of professional musicians have been making the rounds, sharing a delightful repertoire of songs that celebrate the experiences of the working poor and marginally middle-classed.
I know that sounds...well...boring, but I didn't quite have the heart to say, "They is white trash who done good."
While rockabilly isn’t everyone’s cup of Lipton instant tea, I do hope a few of you might enjoy some of the following:
Antsy McClain and the
Trailer Park Troubadours website
The Podcasts
The
NPR Interview(no shit!)
Below is a short little ditty that's very close to my heart. It's a song about bookmobiles and white trash tragedy - a song that reminds me very much of my childhood growing up in the rural south.
I suppose I'm being a bit nostalgic -- but looking backwards provides this trifling prognosticator a clearer view of what lies ahead.
-- Postscript --
I’ve spent the past two weeks in a work release program
enjoying a lovely two week reprieve from writing about the inane minutiae of
popular culture. My rehab vaca necessitated a certain detachment from
all things electronic, with the exception of a certain device strapped around
my ankle.
It took a great deal of intestinal fortitude to power-off, ditch the Bluetooth and detach the fangs. Still, it was delightful rediscovering reality and the pleasures that some call “living.” Nevertheless, too many days spent away from this little box of flashing lights left me a tad…twitchy and nervous.
And so, I’ve spent many sleepless nights trying to desperately catch up on all the shenanigans of our most revered and reviled celebrities. I was certain that if Beyoncé blinked during my departure, the extraordinary circumstances of that incident had been noted (reference above and/or below for such an illuminating glimpse into stardom ).
It occurred to me that the aspirational nature of celebrity, cue the “I’m gonna be a big star” montage, is far from the idyllic, self-delusional sweet-kid stories of yesteryear.
I’m reminded of a certain man concealed behind a curtain – you know the one. He once promised to fulfill our dreams, but failed to deliver the goods.
Well, it may be a tad self-delusional to believe there's still magic and wonder to be found in the increasingly cynical and hateful world of pop culture commentary -- but I've never claimed to be well.
Until next week.
newfgirl says:
I knew I liked you for a reason! (aside from your witty repartee...) Love, love, love the rockabilly and want to hear more!!!
Signed,
A Canadian Living In Norway
(and if that's not an oxymoron on many different levels, well... I give up.)