Many years ago, I wrote a book about Willie Nelson. At the end, I wrote it in a farewell tone, like a dirge. 2006, Outlaw Nelson was already 73 years old when this book was published, and it seemed safe to say that the life of one of our great Americans was nearing its end. I pictured Nelson stepping off the road and heading into the sunset, his work on Earth nearly complete.
Nelson represents both sides of an increasingly divided country. Hippies and rednecks, patriots and agitators
Well, scratch that ending. Despite only recently turning 91, Nelson is still going strong. Though he’s slowed down a bit on tour, and hasn’t been seen in the UK for years – partly because the long distances are taking their toll on his ageing body, and partly because feeding his prodigious cannabis intake abroad is a more difficult proposition – the album is still coming.
The latest one is Border, the 10th time in the past seven years. “I’m a songwriter, and always will be,” he sings on “How Much Does it Cost.” But he is more than that. Nelson is a living link to a vanished America. He comes from tough rural Texas and was born during the Great Depression. He is about the same age as Hank Williams and the same age as the FBI. He began writing songs when Truman was president. His timeless standard “Crazy” became a hit for Patsy Cline in 1961, and Elvis Presley covered “Funny How Time Slips Away” in 1970. He runs through American music like a river.
He also embodies both sides of an increasingly divided country. Nelson is a hippie and a redneck, a patriot and an agitator. After struggling with the establishment in Nashville, he switched from hard liquor to marijuana and relocated to Austin, Texas, at which point he became a poster boy for the outlaw country movement.
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Behind the cartoonish exterior — bandanas, pigtails, marijuana, marijuana, marijuana — lies a much darker and more complex reality. Up close, Nelson seemed strange and hypnotic. His eyes were black and his epithets were proverbial. “We’re all basically thinking the same things. We’re all basically the same people. A lot of things are happening at quantum speeds.” A slightly maddening silence hung around him. was. One time we spent time together in a London hotel room, one of his friends fell into a deep stupor after literally bouncing off the walls, falling into a coma at our feet as we spoke. . Nelson seemed completely unfazed. “We lost him. He walked out the door.” He incorporates all this into his music. Whether he wrote it or not, the material included in Nelson’s songs is border The album weaves neatly into the Nelson mythos. “Many a Long & Lonesome Highway,” one of two tracks written by Texas native Rodney Crowell, paints him in romanticized colors as a windswept troubadour. “Hank’s Guitar” sings about the lasting power of Hank Williams’ music, but it’s hard not to evoke Nelson’s legacy through Nelson’s own go-to, totemic, and truly battered instrument, the Trigger. His guitar playing still shines, his lines flowing with suppleness.
A few songs.
In his prime, Nelson was as affable and conversationalist as Sinatra; he’s a master of convincing listeners to believe they’re sitting on a bar stool alongside him as he alternates between tales of heartbreak and woe. Some weathering, naturally; his pearls have grittier these days, but Nelson retains his Zen-like ability to convey the essence of a song. Truth. Of the four songs he co-wrote with producer Buddy Cannon, “Once Upon a Yesterday” was the choice, a soft, sentimental ballad that bears the full weight of his nine decades.
At this stage, perhaps all we can reasonably expect is border The appeal of this song is that it reminds us of the connection to Nelson’s songs from his heyday. Crowell also composed the Tex-Mex title track, which evokes the austere, dusty grandeur of the 1998 album. TeatroI co-wrote it with Daniel Lanois. “I Wrote This Song For You” is reminiscent of “Sad Songs & Waltzes,” deconstructing the lyricist’s craft, but also showing the way a wayward musician always does when he’s stuck with his spouse. He tactfully admits that it’s about singing a heartwarming love song.
Most of all, the record’s somber, solemn atmosphere recalls his mid-1990s classics. spirit Nelson can swing it when the mood strikes, too: the honky-tonk “Made in Texas” condenses a lifetime of listening to Bob Wills and Ernest Tubbs into three spirited minutes and a succinct summary of hometown pride.
As for parting words, “Nobody Knows Me Like You,” full of “memories you can’t escape,” signals a clear sense of closure, but closer “How Much Does it Cost” makes it clear that Nelson will keep singing until he’s exhausted. “Maybe I’ll write another hit,” he whispers. “Let’s all sing it together.” Why stop now? Why stop here? After all, he’s old enough to run for president.