Country Music Broke My Brain (28 page)

Country stars usually don't think about the “other” Broadway. It's hard to maintain your redneck cred if you're on the Great White Way singing show tunes. However, every now and then one of the hillbillies busts through the gate and takes a shot at Broadway.

Gary Morris is one who did it. Gary has one of the finest, most powerful tenors in all of music. He's a powerhouse. I wrote one song with Gary that he recorded. Even I don't remember it. Gary had a series of hits including a fabulous version of “Wind Beneath My Wings,” written by Larry Henley and Jeff Silbar.

I know both Larry and Jeff, and I wrote with Jeff in Los Angeles. Larry is hilarious, and of all the people in the world to write such a classic, moving song as “Wind Beneath My Wings,” you would never think of old Larry. His earlier claim to fame was singing falsetto for the Newbeats on the '64 novelty pop hit, “Bread and Butter.” Jeff moved to L.A. and wrote more pop stuff.

I have no idea if it's the whole story, but Larry told me he had most of “Wings” written when Jeff sorta popped into the room to see what was going on. Larry seemed to say that, one chord addition later, Jeff was a cowriter. That's always a tough one for songwriters.

Rodney Crowell, one of America's greatest composers, said to me, “Hey, if someone just adds
one
note and it's the right note you didn't have before, they are cowriters.” I agree. There are dozens of Lennon-McCartney songs that were mostly written by one or the other. But that
one
idea always makes a song special. “Wings” has been recorded countless times and is the kind of classic every guitar slinger in Nashville aims for. It's the golden ticket to financial freedom.

Gary Morris is also one of the most confident men in the world. I don't mean that in a bad way. I almost said, “Bless his heart,” which is the Southern equivalent of, “I'm saying something awful about somebody, but I don't want you to tell them.” But he is. To me, he's not the most strikingly classically handsome man to ever stride onstage, but women just get weak-kneed when they are around him.

I especially remember the achingly young secretary at his office. She was barely qualified to answer the phone, but nobody cared because she was a total babe. Everybody I knew dropped in to “see Gary” and wound up talking to his receptionist for half an hour and forgetting about Gary. Her name was Faith Hill.

Gary decided one day to take his tenor to New York City. People talked about it like he'd decided to join a cult or something. Early on, people just didn't do that. His career was sort of in a glide path in country, and he's confident, as I said. I admired him for it. He did a little thing called
Les Miserables.
I think he actually played the part of
Les.
Or maybe it was Jean Valjean. I never did get to see him warble this pop opera.

Gary sort of drifted away from country and on to other things. He moved to Colorado. He started looking more like a mountain man. His great beard got whiter, and he did TV shows about shooting things. Inside him, however, there was always that voice. It must be like having a secret weapon. It makes you a confident guy. Gary Morris has every reason to be that. He conquered Lower Broadway
and
Broadway. I think that's as cool as it gets.

I've already mentioned a bit about Larry Gatlin, the Texas singer/songwriter. He's also a serious part-time philosopher on anything people will listen to him talk about: politics, religion, and golf. Larry once hounded me to come see him in his play on Broadway. The irony of all ironies is that Larry Gatlin played the lead in
The Will Rogers Follies
on Broadway in New York City in that big theater next to the Sbarro and the SONY sign where the headlines go around a building in lights.
That
Broadway. Mickey Rooney, for God's sake, was in the play—Mickey “Andy Hardy” Rooney!

I always think anything with the word “Follies” in it is gonna be kind of lightweight. I was right.
The Will Rogers Follies
was written by theater heavyweights, but it was really an excuse to retell some of Will's great lines, with some songs in between. “I never met a man I didn't like.” “A fool and his money are soon elected.” “Be thankful we're not getting all the government we're paying for.” Brilliant stuff.

The funny part to me was watching Larry Gatlin onstage, dressed as a dandy cowboy, spouting all these lines. I
never
saw Will Rogers; I only saw Larry Gatlin. To make sure
you
saw Larry Gatlin, Larry paused in the middle of the play to sing one or two of
his
songs. I can't imagine how the tourists put all that together. He's Will Rogers, he's funny, he's political, he sings these old-timey Broadway tunes, and BOING! He's singing “All the Gold in California.” After the play, Larry kept me and Al waiting for an hour in the stairwell while Patrick Swayze and his wife, Lisa, chatted with Larry and Mickey. I just wanted to see Mickey.

For a brief moment, Tom Wopat had a country career. Yes, the Duke of Hazzard. Funny how that goofy show was connected to Nashville and me. Tom was Luke Duke and John Schneider (another country singer) was Bo Duke. Waylon Jennings was the narrator.

In college, I had played in Hazzard, Kentucky, as a rock ‘n' roller. One night, I happened to be walking by a television set tuned to the
Dukes of Hazzard.
And, oh, my Lord! The Oak Ridge Boys were on the show, singing a song I had written—“Old Time Lovin'”—the first song I had ever recorded. I had written it by myself, and there were the “Oaks” belting it out to Bo and Luke and the Hazzard crew.

I never mentioned my “history” with the Dukes to Tom Wopat. He had moved to Nashville and was making country records. He visited my radio show, but mostly we played golf together. His country career didn't do much, but he was such a great singer and actor that he reinvented himself on Broadway. Broadway in New
York City!

We flew in a big silver bird to the Big Apple on the invitation of my friend Tom Wopat. He was starring opposite Bernadette Peters in
Annie Get Your Gun.
So, picture this: we have Tom's seats for the show. They are the best—fourth row in the middle, just in front of the orchestra. You can actually see the facial expressions on the actors. Minutes before showtime, six or seven people were hurried into their seats. Right in front of us were Joe Namath and his wife and kids. I remember the noses. When they turned sideways it looked like a flock of macaws had landed in the audience.

Now, we're cookin': Broadway Joe on Broadway, my pal Tom onstage, and Bernadette almost close enough to touch. I got kind of bored with
Annie Get Your Gun
about halftime. We couldn't leave, of course. So, I did what everybody does when they are bored. You start looking at the program to see what's left for these people to sing. What I didn't realize is that the actors onstage could also see us. After the show, as we were gushing about how great everything was, Tom said, “I pointed you guys out to Bernadette during the show.” I guess the actors talk a little if they ain't actin' all the time. He went on, “I had told her about you, your songwriting, and your love of Broadway. Bernadette hissed back to me onstage, ‘HE'S COUNTING SONGS!'”

I was in the audience, minding my own bored business figuring out how much longer I had to sit there, while Bernadette Peters is onstage watching me calculate the misery. I vowed to never sit through
Annie Get Your Gun
again.

My apologies to Irving Berlin. There are fabulous songs and great parts in that musical, but for some reason, it didn't “speak” to me. I was done with
Annie Get Your Gun.

Wrong. About a year and a half later, I'm on a private jet to Cancun, Mexico. Reba and Narvel Blackstock have a small, plain hacienda down south of the border. It's this little place with fabulous stonework, bedrooms that surround a massive courtyard, and a pool that fades into the ocean to infinity. If you get the chance, go with Reba and Narvel to their place.

On the flight down, Red casually mentioned she had some interest in appearing on Broadway. Allyson and I immediately knew she should do it, whatever it was. She'd knock them out, and we started the argument in favor of it.

She wanted no part of it. “I don't wanna live in New York City for six months.”

“Are you crazy?”

“No way.”

What play is it? Yep, you guessed it. Irving's masterpiece about Annie and a gun. By now, you probably know she decided she could live in “that crazy city.” She actually loved it.

We went to see her and it was amazing. (I didn't count songs, either.) Reba turned into a whole new person on that stage. I think it was the best thing she could do. She became bigger in everyone's eyes. She conquered the Great White Way just like she'd conquered Lower Broadway years before. I was so proud of her. I don't think our jet conversation convinced her totally to do it, but it sure didn't hurt.

And now, my final Broadway memory: the thrill and the letdown. Al and I still laugh about it. After
Annie Get Your Gun
we went backstage with Narvel to see Red and the cast. We laughed and hugged and made plans to go to dinner at Josephine's in a few minutes. She said, “Y'all go on out the stage door, and we'll hook up at the car.”

The stage doors opened directly onto the street. It's a little runway up toward the white lights. There was an enormous crowd waiting for the stars. We were the first people out. The crowd reaction was electric. It was like being shot full of adrenaline when that crowd roared for us—screams and clapping and smiles.

Then suddenly, en masse and also all at once, they realized it was nobody they knew. It was us. The collective joy went from jubilation and celebration to a death march in half a second. OOOooooooh. It's who? Who are
those
people? It wasn't hateful, it was just reality. We weren't worth screaming over. Did I mention Al and I still laugh about it? I've done a lot of cool things in my life, but in that brief period between joy and reality, I felt what Reba must feel a thousand times a day.

Which glamorous event did Kathy Mattea join me in attending?

A)
  
Celebrity Leapfrog

B)
  
Cow Chip Toss

C)
  
Mooning for Mutts

Honey Pie

KATHY
MATTEA IS SO ELEGANT and so poised, I am always amazed when she does something that seems out of character. She is one of those people you meet and think,
I better behave because she's classy.
Or at least that's always how I felt around her. She's not a stuffed shirt, by any means, as you'll find out, but there's always been an air of intelligence and no-nonsense about her that's slightly intimidating. That's why I was thrilled to see Kathy Mattea show up at the cow chip tossing contest.

Ms. Mattea has made some wonderful records. “Where've You Been,” cowritten by her husband, is a piece of poetry and music about the tragedy of people getting old. She had a lot of hits and continues to record at her own pace on her own terms. I just love her.

For some reason unknown probably to everyone involved, there was a cow chip toss held on a farm in Mt. Juliet, Tennessee. It was really an excuse to get some friends together and drink beer and eat barbeque at Bob Beckham's place. Beckham has been a friend of mine for thirty years and is the chief excuse maker for anything involving hooch and people.

Two things happened that day that I will never forget. The first was watching the very refined Kathy Mattea “test” a cow chip for its tossability. Just in case you were born in a condo in downtown Chicago, a cow chip is the sunbaked version of a cow pie. Cows are not all that particular where they decide to “fertilize.” It's usually a lift of the tail and “Look out, boys, she's gonna blow.”

I have attended several wonderful Cow Bingo contests with this in mind. You put numbered pieces of plastic in a field and wait 'til a cow “marks” the number on your card. I once won a year's supply of dental floss playing Cow Bingo.