We’ve reached an exciting point for this feature. Our previous discussion focused on the rise of several new singer-songwriters who sought to bring their own unique vision and flavor to the country format. We took a look at Steve Earle and his debut album, Guitar Town, and noted that he was part of a larger movement of Texas singer-songwriter who aimed to make inroads within Nashville. Yet he was also part of another “class of ‘86,” if you will, that featured three very different debuts from newcomers that would define the era … and the history books in general. Let’s see if we’re ready for the wild ride and discuss a talent like no other.
Country music was disruptive in the late ‘80s, and for the better. After spending so many years within the decade trying to find the next new sound, country music couldn’t really find a definitive answer, and that actually proved to be a good thing. So many new artists emerged who satisfied a different craving for every type of country music fan, be it through more traditional material, more experimental material, or a melting pot of it all; the variety was the best part of it all, and is what sowed the seeds for its eventual boom period.
The thing is, even when you dig into every individual artist who was a part of that change and dive further into their backstories, the striking uniqueness of their sound becomes even more noticeable, and harder to box into just one category. Even still, there are three artists who probably best showcased the era’s reach from a more general point of view, and who all released debut albums in 1986 that would prove that. We discussed one of them last week, through Steve Earle’s Guitar Town, which straddled the line between the rough-edged country music of the ‘70s with a blue-collar attitude and rock influence along the lines of Bruce Springsteen. And had I not already reviewed it once before, we would have discussed Randy Travis’ Storms of Life for this feature, too, which carried on the neotraditional revival that artists like George Strait and Reba McEntire spearheaded earlier on in the decade.
But remember, I also said there were artists who took inspiration from a melting pot of different eras and influences, which is always what makes categorizing Dwight Yoakam’s music so fun … and challenging. His 1986 debut album, Guitars, Cadillacs, Etc. Etc., is not our focus for today, but if you listened to it without further context, you’d hear a mostly traditional honky tonk album with a strong Bakersfield influence and swaggering rockabilly attitude. You wouldn’t necessarily gather that Yoakam grew up appreciating pop, soul, and swing as well, or that his professional musical journey essentially started in Los Angeles, where he frequently played with punk acts.
Basically, he debuted at the perfect time, when country music was ready for a change and to embrace fresh talent, even if said talent was more comfortable operating out of Los Angeles for his career than Nashville. Whatever style Yoakam performed, though, he did damn well, with an iconoclastic spirit that remains among country music’s most confident and coolest ones of all time – possibly one that will never be topped, either.
Indeed, it’s why I’ve chosen his third major label album to discuss for this feature, because after garnering consistent success through multiple top tens off of his first two albums – including four alone off of 1987’s Hillbilly Deluxe – he and longtime producer/guitarist Pete Anderson didn’t rest on their laurels. They tweaked and experimented to arrive at what is … well, not quite Yoakam’s most adventurous album to date (you can pick basically any of his ’90s albums for that distinction), but arguably his darkest.
As a disclaimer, however, even speaking as a huge fan, I’d struggle to call Yoakam much of an albums artist, so much as a fantastic singles artist who usually still managed to record some deep-cut gems, too. It’s more a matter of consistency and how his albums don’t usually tend to hold much of a connective tissue, which is also somewhat part of the point with him.
Buenas Noches From a Lonely Room is a bit of a different story, however. While the same general core in sound is present in a lot of sharp Telecaster leads and jumpy rockabilly-inspired grooves augmented by that welcome fiddle play, it leans even heavier on the Bakersfield influence and incorporates a strong Spanish influence overall in the copious amounts of accordion and horns as well as certain guitar flourishes. And because of that, I think it’s probably the album that stands best as a love letter to Yoakam’s overall influences.
And there’s no greater proof of that than through lead single “Streets of Bakersfield,” an old Homer Joy song that Buck Owens recorded back in the ‘70s, who Yoakam also coaxed out of retirement to sing alongside him for Yoakam’s first (and Owens’ last) No. 1 single. And so, this Tejano-tinged song written as a stand against those who looked down on southerners who lived in Bakersfield in the ‘60s turns into a galloping buddy anthem between teacher and student, where the same subtext still rings somewhat in a general sense given Yoakam’s own outsider status and Nashville’s attitude at the time toward older veterans like Owens. I mean, it’s intentionally a downbeat song with a lot of bite behind its words, but performed here with a definite upbeat rollick and shit-eating grin … well, it’s ballsy and fun.
But I also think that odd tonal mismatch is a good way to describe the album in general, where despite the generally bouncy rollick that the horns inevitably provide at points, this is a decidedly bleak listen where the songs take on new meaning in context. I’ve never been that wild about “I Got You” as a standalone song, an intentionally downbeat, awkward love song (that’s nonetheless sharp in its overall groove) filled with humorous self-deprecation as our hapless narrator loses everything but his significant other. At least he’s still got her, right? But when you follow it up here with “One More Name,” a sadder, slower, fiddle-dominated song where Yoakam’s character finds possible proof that his significant other is cheating on him, and “What I Don’t Know,” where said cheating is confirmed and he gets revenge even admist his more straightlaced, swaggering delivery and the jumpy rhythm, things certainly get interesting.
And after a jumpy, decent, but also forgettable Johnny Cash cover in “Home of the Blues,” the title track is essentially the conclusion and anchoring point of this mini-arc, a Marty Robbins-esque epic where the accordion acts as a lamentation for a tortured man driven to insanity as he searches for the woman who had his child and left, and eventually murders her. It’s a grim country music tradition, for sure, and often worth its own twisted study of what it all entails, but performance and tone can be everything. And at least here, Yoakam’s somber, regretful tone with nary a hint of actual rage does make this a potent but chilling slow-burn.
But I think the greater overall focus of this album is one of loneliness and forgotten characters, where outside of the homicidal first half, you get songs that still maintain that sad, downbeat focus, just without much in the way of actual action; more just depictions of real people left to suffer, if anything. Again, I think the bulk of the credit in that regard goes to Yoakam himself, who can certainly use his expressive howl and growl to rock out with the best of them. But this is the one album of his that tests his emotive capabilities to their fullest extent, proving he’s just as adept at tackling slower, more somber numbers, too.
And that brings us to “I Sang Dixie,” the other big No. 1 from this album that stands in sharp contrast to “Streets of Bakersfield.” It’s not a buddy anthem of two outsiders tearing down doors; it’s a final lament for a southern man dying on the streets of Los Angeles from complications with alcoholism, with only one other person there to comfort him while everyone else walks on by. And no, it’s not a city-versus-country sort of tale; it’s a simple plea for compassion and humanity and an examination of two different worlds, if anything. Another nod to the general divide Yoakam straddled, and a poignant one, at that.
And, as to be expected with Yoakam, the album is also supported with covers, though I’ll be honest and say that none of the choices here do much for me or add much to the album’s core. “Home of the Blues” and “I Hear You Knockin’” both fit the sad, lonely desperation of this album’s mood on paper, and his swagger is certainly enough to make the kissoff spirit of the latter work fairly well, but they’re also more conventional, straightforward songs that don’t fit this album’s more expansive scope. And then there’s “Send Me the Pillow,” which does feature some lovely harmonies to complement the heartache-filled sentiment, but also feels a bit out of place. Of course, even an original song like “Floyd County” does as well, a dobro-fueled sendoff to a family-oriented, soft-spoken mountain man that I otherwise really like. I can’t say the same for “Hold On to God,” a pretty straightforward religious song that just feels weird to include on an album with two murder ballads alone.
But taken as a whole package, I do think this album marked a turning point for Yoakam’s more adventurous tendencies and has held up well as its own collection today. It might not be the easiest of his albums to run through, but I’m always up for walking back through these streets of Bakersfield.
Join me next time, where we’ll turn from one trio via the class of ‘86 to discuss another trio, with Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, Linda Ronstadt, and, well, Trio.
The Musical Divide 