Category: country

Just like waiting until the kids are grown and moved out, some couples keep it together until the holidays are over. Otherwise you have to explain it to the parents, and you lose out on couples’ presents, and you miss out on one last drunk hookup….

Authentic country twang (BEFORE 1970, y’all) from Terry Fell becries “Let’s Stay Together ’til After Christmas.” Heartbreaking, nerve-wracking, ear-hurting.

Raising the roof, Sweet Spirit wants to know about the continued offerings once “Christmastime is Over.” Will it be tokens of love? Girl retro rock.

Hooting and crooning, Datsen offers that “After Christmas” you can get your divorce papers. Just wait a bit, wouldja? Sad folk.

Joseph Bradshaw and Nikki Lane go full George Jones/Tammy Wynette with “Wait ’til After Christmas.” This melodic sparring match juices up the holidays with side eye and subvocal venom. Gave me shivers.

The term ‘cowboy’ has been extended and over-used to the point where every self-styled cool guy from a specific geography gets to call himself whatever. Twentieth and twenty-first centurions hardly qualify. But they still sing about the life, even straight-faced to God on his birthday.

A friend of Muddy Jack’s, Juddy Mac, has penned and strummed a number about an hombre that helped him when he had car trouble around the holidays. Wishing the good samaritan a “Cowboy Christmas,” he yippie-ki-yai-ays his troubles as if he were deserving of the assignation. Close, but no cimarron. Appreciate the talent, though.

Clay Walker’s “Cowboy Christmas” has screechy pop fiddlin’, but it’s about a day-late, dollar-short loser off the rodeo circuit who can’t face the family. Dude, i says.

Moe Brandy remembers what must be “A Cowboy Christmas” while slogging through Christmas tree farms. Good memory. Country pop sing song.

Let’s polish off the saddle horn with a last near-miss sentiment from Don Edwards. “Every Day is Christmas in the West” is thoughtful set of similes making the cowboys’ travails like your decorated front room. Pretty.

Iffen we don’t compare cowboys to Santa, p’raps we could compare them to three men who rode far to deliver unto the Lord some stuff.

Most strange, a one-act play ‘A Cowboy’s Christmas‘ hit Philadelphia in 1944. The operatic finale “A Cowboy Carol” featured three rangers figuring out how the world was about to become a better place right at a manger around Christmas time. Nate Tripp leads us to the new world beginning tonight. This musical is a worldwide sensation. Not so much here.

“Riding the Range for Jesus” is a vocal exercise of some dubiousness. Of the many gospel place-fillers to choose from i’ll click on father son duet Byron and Slim Whitman. ‘Cuz of the yodeling.

The best metaphor for the wise men a la cowboys is “Corn, Water, and Wood,” a magic realism mirage on the December badlands. This is best done by Michael Martin Murphy. Riders in the Sky do a pretty, subdued version with haunting harmonies. Bryndle adds a percussive ethereal quality. But i want to feature Barry Ward and his rough hewn throatiness. Sounds like prayer.

So, the long riders are settled in and Christmas is come. What’s that like?

Working through the day, a cowboy can still celebrate. Follow the extended analogy of “Cowboy Christmas” with Erin Enderlin. I think you’ll find all our traditions reflected in his world.

Red Steagall & The Boy’s in the Bunkhouse begin in melancholy but take the journey to joy in “A Cowboy’s Special Christmas.” Happy endings for everyone (except Jesus)!

“When the Cowboys Sing Again” reveal a bit of festive bravado from the stoic men’s men. Flying W Wranglers make them seem, well not joyous with their hard driving bluegrass, but glee(club)ful.

Michael Martin Murphey feels the excitement in the old time square with “Christmas Cowboy Style.” Popcorn, singing, riding. Caution: may contain yodeling. Still, fun. (Nelson Graham does this as a distant observer.)

Get up into the hills, Christmas buckaroos.

Michael Martin Murphey’s ridin’ up “The Christmas Trail” to get home to you. It’s fast, upbeat western with a hopeful edge to the harmony. Like Christmas.

“When It’s Christmas on the Range” from Bob Wills romanticizes the wild into an Albert Bierstadt landscape.

The horizon never ends, wide open sky, infinity–and it’s Christmas.

Poetry results: “Christmas on the Line” follows the streaming consciousness of the herder as ordained by Michael Martin Murphey. Spiritual.

“Christmas on the Plains” is a standard from The Sons of the Pioneers. Here’s a honorarium of that oldie. (Roy Rogers and Dale Evans do it too, with real 1949 acoustics.)

Wranglers gotta work on Xmas–cows need lookin’ after… but the stars in the night sky might give ’em pause.

Gene Davenport gets drawly old school with the buckaroo chorus in “Night Herd Duty on Christmas Eve.” I are not kidding.

The warble becomes a yodel for Mark Baker with the yarn “Christmas Eve on Wolf Creek Pass.” Not sure these frontiersmen have doggies with them, but it’s the brutal, unforgiving West, donchaknow.

Michael Martin Murphey is one the greatest cowboy songsters of these days. His six (shootin’) gold albums outdo Gene and Tex and Marty. I intend to dial up plenty o’ Murphey this month. Try “Ridin’ Home on Christmas Eve” for some of that modern cowpoke harmony.

When asking nicely doesn’t cut it any longer, it’s time to get litigious. Civil cases may not be criminal, but they’re still illegal and stuff. I guess.

Dr. Elmo claims “Grandpa’s Gonna Sue the Pants off Santa” for that whole reindeer/grandma kerfuffle. I thought it was granslaughter, but then TV shyster’s got their mitts on the elderly. Cornball country.

The ultimate lawsuit, according to Bill Engvall, uses truck-driving country rock to explicate how “I’m Getting Sued by Santa” for a dog mauling. You’d think ol’ Nick’d have better things to do.