San Antonio Rose (1980)

Willie produced this duet album with his mentor Ray Price. Now I finally hear how Price influenced Willie. On each duet the two seem to be competing to see who can sing further behind the beat. Willie clearly learned how to dance around the beat and “break meter” from Price. Willie has one of the more solid supporting casts on this album: Leon Russell on piano; Grady Martin on guitar; Mickey Raphael on harmonica; Paul English on drums; Jody Payne on guitar; and Bee Spears on bass. Buddy Emmons’ steel guitar also stands out to me. I need to start listening more carefully to which steel player I like best. These versions of “Night Life” and “Funny How Time Slips Away” aren’t my favorites, but I find them both quite interesting. The fiddle, steel, and harmonica wind in and out of the dual vocals in a pleasingly polyphonic way. Again, one of the marvels of Willie’s work is how he allows each instrument to maintain its distinct identity. You can hear each instrument’s contribution. Nothing blends or dissolves into the background. The songs are always quiet and slow enough to allow everyone to be heard, to have their say, to speak their mind, to say their piece. It is as if Willie is saying, take your time, slow down, listen to what everyone is saying. “Listen to the words they’re saying.” Willie so often talks to himself and listens to himself in a feedback loop that spins off a web of introspection and vocal improvisation, wild and just right at the same time. You might call it empathic music, music that listens to its listeners. Music so slow and quiet that it seems to be waiting for the listener to say something, to confess something. We’re never sure if we’re listening to Willie or if he’s listening to us.

This morning while cleaning the kitchen it struck me that Willie is a double outlaw, a double outsider. Like a black woman who is excluded on account of both her gender and her race, Willie is both a redneck and a hippie. And not only is he doubly alienated from some people because of these two affiliations, he also sits in the middle of a civil war of alienation because even the hippies in his own camp may dismiss him because of his redneck status, and vice versa. So he is alienated from without and from within simultaneously. Maybe this is part of his appeal. Christ-like, he takes upon himself a great deal of alienation. As a result, he is able to convey a great deal of empathy and compassion in his music.

Willie opens and closes this album with a Bob Wills tune. Wills is another of Willie’s heroes and mentors, but I’m not as familiar with his work as I need to be. I’ll be looking to find out more about his influence on Willie. “I remember our faded love.” I won’t comment much on the lyrics on this album because many of these songs have appeared on other albums. The harmonica, steel, fiddle, and vocals are what stand out to me on this album, especially the harmonica. The vibraphone doesn’t do much for me, never has. The drums and bass are steady and unobtrusive. I haven’t noticed Leon Russell’s piano as much as I thought I would. According to the liner notes, Price invented this concept of the lonesome solo fiddle behind the vocals. Price and Willie did an album together in 1961 and then another in 2003. I’ll need to check both of these out, but this one’s a keeper. One I will revisit with pleasure again and again, both for it’s historical importance and for its solid execution.