Gone Country: Walk With Me

Walk With Me

Photo via luciennocelli.com

There comes a time in everyone’s life when he or she stops to reflect on their roots. Leaving home for the first time, several states away, clearly nervous, I started reaching out for things that reminded me of home, of the place where I was raised and rooted in most things country.

Spreckels Sugar Factory, CA Credit: Mitro Images

I grew up listening to country music in Spreckels, Calif.: all over Monterey County, really. Surrounded by agriculture fields, Spreckels taught me what it meant to be a part of “Small Town USA.” Want a taste of that? Go visit on a fourth of July. You won’t regret it. Six streets by about three blocks…everyone knows everyone, kids are safe to play in the streets, and everyone looks out for each other no matter what. For years I’ve been trying to get back to that community and those feelings. I know I will eventually, but I pine for my country roots on the daily.

Now, some may argue that I’m not really country. I don’t exactly look or currently live the part. I’ve lived on the edge of downtown Seattle for six years, I don’t rock plaid with a ball-cap on the regular, and although I wish I owned horses and lived on a ranch, I don’t. I’m not a traditional honky in any sense of the word (history lesson coming soon!). I’ve never lived in the backwoods, driven a John Deer, or witnessed a branding. I love my stilettos and this city life I’m living, but through and through, I’ll tell you one thing: my heart is country. My down-home roots will attest to that, always.

I prefer to drink whiskey. I rock boots with dresses. I dream of moving to Nashville, opening a B&B and living the simple life. I find few things sexier than a man in a black cowboy hat (Oops! How’d that get in here?!), and the thought of riding horses gets me really excited, but I will raise hell to the next person that calls me a buckle bunny. I’m sorry my ultimate goal in life is NOT to marry a rodeo cowboy nor do I claim to know how to two step. But, if you still think I’m not country, you can go on and “kiss… kiss this! And I don’t mean on my rosy red lips!”

A little lyrical taste of what is to come… they’re already coming out of my not rosy red lips. I will be dropping plenty of lyrics references throughout my columns. I’ll do my best to link them up, in case you want to better understand the crazy inner workings of my mind.

My intention with Gone Country (though subject to evolve) is to dive into what makes people cringe about dying dogs and “Achy Breaky Heart(s),” to rediscover the evolution of country music (from Loretta to Johnny to George and Miranda), to explore alternative country, and to expose some of the things that I love about small town USA through music and lyrics.

I prefer hours of country radio to uncovering the next independent artist to come out of the woodwork. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not your standard SSG Music reporter. But hey! I have a little something to offer when it comes to mainstream music, especially COUNTRY! At least Nikki B thought so.

So, my sweet friends, love me, or hate me, I’m a country girl. And as the recurring theme in my life goes, I’ve Gone Country once more.

For the record: I do NOT condone shirtless men in overalls, but I am going to see Alan Jackson play at the California Rodeo in Salinas in July… little (giddy) girl dream!