Country Music Saved My Soul: A Man Must Carry On

"'n that's important for a man
to look forward to tomorrow
and want to carry on.
so keep carryin' on."

It's easy and almost inviting to forget that life is an active undertaking, one that requires a bit of our attention to be properly, well, undertaken. Of course, life can be taken passively, one has every right to sit around and wait to die. But passivity is a choice, and a choice that is a fundamental contradiction of life itself. Living is forward motion, just ask anyone who has done it. We are born, and a wall starts pushing us towards another until we're smashed to bits and flung like trash back into the cosmos. So what to do if we only live to die? You go out there and you celebrate in the face of certain death, man!

That message is the heart of Jerry Jeff Walker's music, and can be found on any number of his records. Today, though, I want to focus on an album of his called "A Man Must Carry On." It's my personal favorite JJW record because of the time in my life I first discovered it, not to mention it was the first JJW record I ever owned. But I'll shut the fuck up about me and get on to the record.

Like many Jerry Jeff records, AMMCO (I'm going to be that guy) was recorded live in Luchenbach, TX. That's why his records sound so loose and free: the recording sessions were all parties. Or so I assume. Don't ruin it for me. It was recorded in the wake of the death of a dear friend of Jerry's, Hondo Crouch, and what a eulogy they gave him! 

The album opens with a song called "Stereo Chickens." Recorded outside (I like to imagine on a porch), the first sounds heard are chickens clucking and humans conversing about guinea pigs. After a while a guitar starts playing and the chickens become back up vocalists as the humans preform a round. It's riveting! It's so fucking alive, this record, and "Stereo Chickens" serves as a declaration (I AM ALIVE!) and an invitation (join me, sing along!) and encompasses the soul of this album and brightens the soul of the listener. 

Afterwards the band busts into a euphoric rendition of Rusty Weir's "Don't It Make You Want To Dance?" and the answer is a resounding "Yes!" I could break down every song on the record for you, but that is tedious and you probably won't read it anyhow. Suffice it to say that the celebration is infectious. 

The third side of the record, though, veers in a different direction; more personal. Side 3 is totally dedicated to the memory of Hondo Crouch. Songs dripping with sentiment are sprinkled into a collection of poems, 3 from Charles John Quatro, and one by Hondo himself, to create a unique tribute. And in the middle of this record made to remember a man, we hear that man's voice, gentle and sweet, always on the cusp of a chuckle, as he reads a poem about the moon. And, as you might expect, not just the moon, but the significance of a moment. It's rare that someone has a chance to speak at his own eulogy, and it's comforting to believe that a guy like Hondo might choose to read a poem like "Luckenbach Moon" at his funeral if he had the chance. That's the crux of the record: learn from this dead man how to live, always singing, always dancing, and never missing a chance for a good story. Perhaps it's best encompassed in Quatro's line in "Like Some Song You Can't Unlearn":

"he didn't die--
he lived."

Maybe this isn't the most convincing review of a record ever, I don't know, I'm high! But it's hard to describe the way this record reaches into my soul and beckons me to live like an exploding ball of joy. I guess you'll just have to listen. 

Frank Maloney is the founder and Editor-in-Chief of Food & Pussy. He boasts 0 college degrees and 0 credentials of any sort. He spends most of his time making cheeseburgers and country music. Reach Frank via Twitter at @frankxmaloney or by e-mail at frankxmaloney@foodandpussy.com