I guess it began with Ken Burns’ Country Music. Seeing that in autumn of 2019, visiting Asheville almost immediately after, and then being limited to home for a year gave me plenty of time to resonate with the old-timey music. Which in turn reminded me of cold nights driving around Nashville listening to WSM, the thing that led to me riding around the DMV listening to Eddie Stubbs on WAMU. And then I started listening to Bluegrass Country again, and watching Country Music again in the autumn in times of stress.
Well, here we are. I haven’t pulled on the show itself yet, but what started off as a subset of the soundtrack to help me doze off to sleep has become a three hour playlist. Because that static scratch like a 78 RPM record rebroadcast over AM hundreds of miles away sounds like a black and white prairie night that could be almost any night of the last century.
It’s another species of escape. It’s a ticket out of the world, out of time, permission to forget about a world falling apart and a job I’m trapped in and wondering if there’s any way to get out of half my remaining life expectancy being stuck in a bad situation. It’s a species of meditation, like the series that inspired it or the drives I took twenty and twenty-five and thirty years ago or the pub nights I play it on now – the mantra, the vision, the focal point that lets me shut out everything else.