Alternative Country and Bayous

Crate Diving in Modern America

Sometimes when I hit my local record store here in Greenville, I know what I want and don’t plan on getting anything other than that one album. I also believe I won’t order the tater tots each time I get a patty melt at U-Joint, just down the street from that record store.

But mind games are amore appropriate for Beatle-gazers, and while I do really like that latest Beatles’ song, “Now and Then,” we’re privileged to have, I did not go seeking vintage copies of Beatles records last week. There were plenty there, like the American release, The Early Beatles. Ugh, now I have regrets.

What I intended to buy, and did buy, was Wilco’s Cruel Country, an album I already am obsessed with. I have no idea why I didn’t buy it last year when it was released. Please forgive me, Jeff. I meant well, I think.

I’ll put it on the turntable again in a bit, but before I do, I want to write here about the vinyl I did not even know I was looking for, which, of course, is when I manage to find the best things. Sometimes, I let just my imagination and instinct run away with me (“each day through my window…”). So here goes and if you feel envious of, ashamed for, or thrilled by what I found, please go ahead and give it to me in the comments section.

First item:

Ray Charles: Country and Western Meets Rhythm and Blues (ABC 520 Monaural) for $10. It’s one of those “Promo, Not For Sale, DJ copies, and it’s in killer condition, or at least now that I cleaned it. Released in 1965, the record includes the standard, “Together Again,” written by Buck Owens, as well as Bill Monroe’s “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” and other Buck Owens collaborations like:”I’ve Got a Tiger by The Tail (featuring the Raelets)” and “Don’t Let Her Know.”

Apparently this record was the first that Ray recorded in his new California studio. I wish I could say I had been searching high and low for it, but I can’t since I wasn’t.

Second:

Three LPs by my favorite Bayou band that never lived in Louisiana, Creedence Clearwater Revival. In chronological order: Bayou Country (Fantasy 8387 1968) for $15. Featuring “Proud Mary” and “Born on the Bayou,” what else do you need (though you get “Graveyard Train” anyway)?

For $12 I also got Green River (Fantasy 8393 1969) which features the title cut (my FAVE) as well as “Commotion,” “Lodi,” and “Bad Moon Rising.” And…

The last of the three, for another $15, is Cosmo’s Factory (Fantasy 8402 1970), containing the 11-minute version of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” (a song believe it or not I first heard when Gladys Knight did it—oh Marvin, I was so young then) and my other CCR fave “Who’ll Stop the Rain.”

I didn’t remember how badly I wanted these until something whispered in my ear as I passed the C-section in those stacks. Stupidly, I picked just Cosmo’s at first and then thought, this was a band I loved. Why would I NOT get the other two? I slept better that night.

Third (or fifth for those who demand accountability):

I drifted into the Country section, checking as I always do the Tammy Wynette bin. Nothing I didn’t already have, but then that weird voice that I hope is coming from inside me said,

“Try the George Jones bin,”

and so like the fine student I’ve always been, I did, and lo and behold, I snatched up the Possum’s collaboration with Tammy: George & Tammy We’re Gonna Hold On (Epic KE 32757 1973). Listen now, I paid $5 for this one, and the record itself is in NM condition, according to my ears and eyes. Tammy was at her height back in ‘73, and the duo sounds so together on the title cut, plus Delaney and Bonnie’s “Never Ending Song of Love.” And then there’s “(We’re Not) the Jet Set,” a tune to reassure the country world that place matters.

Last (because I don’t wanna count no more):

In the recently acquired used section, as I thumbed past those Beatles’ albums, I discovered a record I had just been reading about in the liner notes of Cruel Country: Uncle Tupelo’s Still Feel Gone & March 16-20, 1992 (Rockville 6110-1 1992). It’s a double-record set that cost $30 but if, like me, you’re obsessed with all things Jeff Tweedy, then it’s a must, even though most of the songs are sung by Jay Farrar who, as I’m sure you know, went on to form Son Volt. In my heart, I was definitely looking for Uncle Tupelo, but I never dreamed this one would be waiting for me in its heart.

So that was a haul, for sure, and I wish I could quit thinking about what’s to come, since knowing what isn’t seems a better strategy for more crate diving in this increasingly dark world of ours.