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What is said of "genuine country music" can likewise be said of rap, hip hop, death metal, and the like. They likewise are developed out of, and reflect their American cultures.

Further, concerning the high versus the low: to argue complexity or arrangement, skill level and the like in music is to mistake the artisan for his art. Picasso may have had great talent, and his art may have been difficult to produce, but that does not change the fact that his art is a corruption even while reflecting his culture and even more so the culture which followed.

It is one thing for art to recognize fallen nature as Waterhouse's Hylas and the Nymphs does, it is quite another to mistake fallen nature for virtue as authentic ameircan society often does.

Does the country music raise man up as Waterhouse does while while recognizing fallen nature for what it is? Or does it degrade man by pulling him down as Picasso does? That is the mark of high versus low.

'yo, i hear that dog' (i.e. dog means one is in appropriate touch with one's creature - rather than having it mindlessly sublimated), 'wizard,' (i.e. wizard means it's almost hopless or it is but i'll call on the wizard within - or above -), and so now let's go on from there.

since d.c. as we all KNOW is another country... who hit the twin towers... even if 3 or 4 mindless camel herders?(really?) ... who helped? like with the recent public television report on 'who hit jfk' ... some nere'do well - all by his sthilly lonesome?'

the advantage is to the observer. so ALL govts. are INEVITABLY conspiracies - it always only a question as to how bad.

"Bon Jovi has recorded a country song, and the barbarians who now control the music industry in Nashville are promoting “country hip-hop.” It is the end of civilisation as we have known it."

My attraction to country music is absolutely focused on a set of events in my life, a set of events which revolve around my father; thus, I am not entering this discourse to judge between country music and classical music, the latter being my favorite and whereupon I feed my soul within the domain of music.

Until we got a cabinet stereo with a an AM?FM radio in it, we had only one radio in our home: a plastic job which ran on batteries and which was used for only two purposes - to listen to LSU football ten Saturdays a year and to listen to the local talk news show, the Bill and Jay Show, as we got ready to go to school. There was no television in our home until the mid-sixties and it received only one channel, NBC, and was black and white. On it, my father watched the Friday Night Fights and my mother watched, although not regularly, Lawrence Welk. From time to time, I was allowed to watch Have Gun, Will Travel and Gunsmoke. They came on another channel which we could only receive by turning the antenna with a wrench and if the moon and the sunspots were right.

Occasionally, I heard some country music if the car radio was on while someone was trying to find a news station.

My encounter with country music, happened twice a year, on a Monday and a Friday, usually the week before Christmas, over a period of about ten years. My father was a member of a deer camp, not a hunting club, over in the Big Swamp in a place called Bougé just out of Ferriday, Louisiana, Ferriday being the home of the cousins Jerry Lee Lewis, Mickey Gilly and Jimmy Swaggart. The camp was located right in the middle of nowhere somewhere between the Mississippi River and Bayou Concodrie. There were always at or about forty men at the camp, including a black cook named Black, who later worked for my father elsewhere; about twenty Blue Tick, Walker, Black and Tan and Catahoula hounds, and one horse. The building was a two story, two-by-four and tin structure heated by a stove made of oil field piping - one big piece for the oven and a smaller piece that vented through the roof.

These are my some few of my memories of being at Bougé for five days and four nights once a year for ten years, about:

1. seeing a 500 pound man bathing in a bayou covered with ice and laughing at something which I had said, his laughter making his body and the bayou undulate;

2. seeing, a year of so later, the same 500 pound man mount a horse, break its back, with the dead horse falling on him and breaking his leg, with our having to extricate the man from under the horse and put him, in a freezing rain, in the back end of a pickup so he could be taken to the hospital in Natchez;

3. seeing an Ivory Billed Woodpecker in a stand of bald cypress and reporting the sighting through my agriculture teacher to LSU, whose scientists dismissed my claim as a teenager's story or a false sighting;

4. hearing my father as he and I waded waist deep in freezing rain Cooper's Slough say, "Son, we wouldn't rake leaves in this weather, would we?";

5. killing my first deer, an eight-point, with a 410 bore using a number six shell from which my father had taken the shot and replaced with 00 buck;

6. watching in awe as the men of the camp left in an armed convoy to get a deer which some locals had shot ahead of our dogs, with my remaining behind with the cook;

7. listening to the stories of these men, men who had served in WWI, WWII and Korea; men who were doctors, lawyers, cement masons, rough necks, loggers and outlaws;

8. leaning from my father at the end of that unanticipated last year, that someone had blown the building up with dynamite; we never went back.

What does that have to do with country music? Well, on the way to Bougé, about 4 a.m. each Monday morning, we went though Jonesville on the Black River and stopped at a café to get a big breakfast. There, blasting from the jukebox, was country music of the type common to the late fifties and early sixties. The place was fully of rough necks, river men, hunters, loggers, town's folk and cops of all varieties - state police, sheriff deputies and game wardens, all telling stories, eating breakfast and listening to country music. On the way back home, on those Fridays, we would again find ourselves at the same café in Jonesville eating a big T-bone steak. Some of the same folk were of course there; but their would also be families in the evening, mom, dad and the kid's night out, listening to country music.

So, when I hear country music, particularly that "good" kind from the late fifties and early sixties, my mind goes back to all of this, this that more than anything else which has made me what I am. As much as I appreciate classical music, it did not play this role in my life.

As to "hip hop and country," can any of you really imagine "hip hop" in a café on the Black River, a café filled with rough necks, loggers, river men, hunters and cops. I don't think so. I cannot imagine it either!

I think you owe an apology to orcs.

Your servant,

Lord Karth

Mr. Newland's point at #20 is well-taken, although to my mind it's worth noting that "the high doesn't stand without the low" or something like that. That is, the high aristocratic culture of Europe was a natural outgrowth from lower culture, following centuries of development. I'm know Shakespeare expert, but I bet a lot of his art owes a debt to the more simple folk-culture of England. Presumably Yeats owes a bit to more primitive Celtic art, right?

Or to use a clearer example, am I correct in thinking that Wagner's epic Niebelung started out originally as a sort of simple folk-myth of the Germanic peoples? (Perhaps not a great example given that I don't particularly like Wagner, but hopefully the point is made.)

So perhaps even if the music of the rural South/Appalachia is not in and of itself high art, possibly there is fertile ground there for high art to spring from it, after generations?

Assuming the Bon Jovi effect doesn't stifle it in the bud, that is.

IMO there is some serious high-power poetry going on in Merle Travis' "Dark as a Dungeon", at least at the end where the miner is contemplating from Heaven his own remains being mined, as coal, by some other poor man.

I mean, it's like in The Odyssey where Odysseus hears the Phaekian bard sing of Troy, and we get a weird surreal image of Odysseus actually being both the victor AND the vanquished in the Trojan War, actually jabbing himself with his own spear.

On another note -- I don't know how it contributes to the discussion, but it's interesting to note that bluegrass is a distinctly modern musical form. Not only in terms of chronology but also modern in the sense that it is a product of modern processes.

I really don't think bluegrass could have come into existence ~ 1930's, sans the commercial forces & technologies -- radio & phonographs -- that were to later prove so corrupting & detrimental to the American musical scene.