An Open Letter to Country Music

Dear Country Music,

I'll admit, you had me. Back in 2000, when I went off to college, I was deeply engrossed in the pop-punk scene. I had every Green Day, Blink 182, and Good Charlotte song memorized, and could play virtually any "powerchord punk" song by ear on my electric guitar. I even went to see Good Charlotte and Simple Plan live, I was so pop-punk. I saw Blink 182 at Sandstone Amphitheater, saw Green Day in St. Louis, and was so all over the first Fall Out Boy album, back when they were just poppy filth.
But by 2002, my summers had become beer-soaked country. You had reinvented yourself; my dad's genre of Oak Ridge Boys, Dolly, Reba, and George had become a fresh, vibrant genre of Kenny, Martina, Rascal Flatts, and other young talent. I drank in your lyrics about summer, about women and work and life, and really enjoyed it. Nothing, it seemed, sounded better at the end of a long, hot day than some good country music.
Meanwhile, pop music was suffering. Artists and recording companies were facing a serious problem of appeal, they sounded whiny beyond belief as they complained about Napster and illegal file sharing, and there was a vacuum of good talent.

But I have to tell you, Country Music, that today you may have lost me again. Normally I try to not listen to country from September through March, so that your sounds are fresh when I begin to tune in every Spring, and so that the short playlists of local country radio don't get tired and grate on me too much.
The last couple years, though, a strange trend has appeared. Country music has become a place where artists that have exhausted their original markets can retreat and sell a few more records. Last summer, out of nowhere, I had to listen to Jewel singing cliche tripe endlessly. Then, to make matters worse, some droll, repetitive Kid Rock song about smoking pot ruthlessly mined "Sweet Home Alabama" for a melody. It was as if the absurdly awful music of "Big and Rich" had opened a gateway to mid-90's pop trash, and they'd all been let through with a free pass and a guarantee of Top 40 airtime.
And then you let Hootie in on the party. Now, this has nothing to do with Hootie being a black man in a typically white genre; I hated his song long before I made the connection. But when I mentioned to my friend how much I hated that song, and he said "Darius Rucker is Hootie, you know?" it all made so much sad, tragic sense. But I tolerated their presence, like the ugly cousins at a reunion that drink too much and embarass themselves, because brilliance like Little Big Town and Miranda Lambert and Eric Church still dominated the scene.

And then this morning, on CMT, I saw Nickelback.

Yes, this is the same Nickelback that is less popular than a pickle. The same Nickelback who is so awful, so incredibly, logic-defyingly horrible that they are the example people use when they rail about modern rock and its appeal to stupid white-trash. And there, at number 18 on the CMT Top 20 Countdown, was Nickelback. Please.
I didn't even listen to the song, I had Anna Nalick and Panic at the Disco playing on Pandora and thank God the tv was muted. But as I watched, I couldn't help but feel like the last nail was on the coffin, and perhaps my September country music sabbatical must start early. As in immediately.

The problem, country music, is that if you continue to let pop artists treat country music like a place where they can exploit idiots who aren't tired of hearing their music elsewhere, then you will continue to be the disliked cousin at the music family reunion! Do you really feel like it's smart marketing to let Toby Keith sing another song about kicking the illegal immigrants out? Do you really think we want to hear Hootie sing another song that sounds just like his short and unexceptional career in pop music? Do you think we don't know who Jewel is? Are we expected to welcome her, when the rest of the genres clearly don't?

Meanwhile, pop music via Lady GaGa is experiencing a renaissance.

Nickelback? Seriously? You had me, Country Music. And by turning into "the music genre where we count on our audience to be total idiots," you've lost me.


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