Wanted: The Outlaws (1976)

“That was perfect…Let’s do another take.” Waylon claims Chet Atkins used to say this.

“My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys” gets at that nostalgic longing for the past. “Old worn out memories with no one and no place to stay.” Personifying those local memories, whether they be of love or cowboy ways. The chorus is a bit hokey. I’m still not clear whether this is an album of a piece, or if it is previously recorded material compiled as an Outlaws greatest hits. Different songs have different producers. This 1996 reissue has nine songs that didn’t make it on the original and one previously unreleased new song produced and recorded by Steve Earle.

“Honky Tonk Heroes (Like Me)” features a killer fiddle and then this song shifts completely into some sort of rock song with one of the more memorable harmonica solos.

“I’m Looking for Blue Eyes” could certainly be about Willie. So many of Willie’s wives were looking for him with a bottle ready to crack over his head.

No clue who this Tompall Glaser is. Whatever happened to him? After listening to his two songs on this album, I think I know.

No information about the musicians on each track. Need better liner notes. No dates for when they were recorded or album titles. Frustrating.

“Suspicious Minds” is a radio classic, but this version doesn’t seem like the one I know.

This version of “A Good Hearted Woman” is the classic live version. I love how you hear the crowd cheer as Willie walks on stage, Waylon says, “Willie,” and then you hear Willie’s voice kick in for the second verse. The harmonica, the fans cheering, and the driving guitar, drums, and bass make this a perfect live duet.

I’m not sure what kind of horn is playing on “Heaven and Hell.” Is it a harmonica, a kazoo, a sax? It’s a Willie song, but Waylon sings most of it and Willie just kicks in for the very last line.

I can’t tell about this version of “Me and Paul.” It sounds different than others I’ve heard, but I’d have to do a side-by-side comparison to know for sure. I don’t like this one as much. It could be the remastering. The live versions are definitely better on Storytellers and the 1974 Texas Opry House.

Same goes for “Yesterday’s Wine.” I just did a quick side-by-side with the versions on the album Yesterday’s Wine. Something is different. They are different lengths, but it is subtle. I think I prefer the original Yesterday’s Wine versions, but I’ll need to study it more carefully.

Here’s a different version of “Slow Movin’ Outlaw.” I prefer the Lacy J. Dalton duet on Half Nelson. The harmonica is the best part of this track.

Willie wrote and sings “You Left a Long, Long Time Ago.” I don’t think I’ve heard this one before, but it might be on Crazy: the Demo Sessions. “Healing Hands of Time” is a great vocal performance, though it’s hard to know what was rebellious about this track.

Not sure why they added a track in 1996. After listening to “Nowhere Road,” a Steve Earle tune, I know; it may be my favorite track on this album.

In general, this is an historically important album, but there aren’t many tracks I’ll return to often.

Half Nelson (1985)

So I’ve listened to 401 songs and 22 hours of Willie Nelson music this January. In 31 days I have listened to almost an entire day of Willie’s music. At that pace, I’ll spend one full day per month listening to Willie Nelson (actually, it will be more because I often listen to each album three or more times).

I’ve already reviewed the first duet on this album, “Pancho and Lefty,” in a previous blog. At first, I was pretty skeptical of a collection of previously released duets, but hearing all of these together helped me appreciate the breadth of Willie’s recording.

“Slow Movin’ Outlaw” is the perfectly paradoxical song for a slow singin’, fast livin’ man like Willie. “Where has a slow movin’, once quick-draw outlaw got to go?”

“Are There Any More Real Cowboys” with Neil Young surprised me. I’m so used to Mickey Raphael on harp with Willie; hearing Neil Young’s harmonica on this track provided a pleasant change.

I’m not usually a fan of dubbing old recordings of dead singers into duets with living singers, but in this case I was curious to hear how Willie’s voice would sound next to Hank Williams’. It’s like hearing the source next to the stream. “I Told a Lie to My Heart.” That could be the title of every Willie Nelson song. The lies we tell our hearts, the tricks we try to play on memories. The tricks we try to play on time.

A live duet with Mel Tellis shows a very different side of Willie. Upbeat Western swing.

My wife even likes “Seven Spanish Angels.” More because of Ray Charles than Willie. Again, the sheer range of partners on this album boggles the mind. What possibly connects any of these partners? Who else could record with such a diverse group of people? Willie is so chameleon-like. I have to admit, though, that Ray steals the show on this song. The harmonica and the steel and the chorus tear me up on this one, too. And then that flamenco thing kicks in.

And who sings with Julio Iglesias? Who can pull that off? “To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before” fits that Proustian, Gatsbyian, courtly love theme. Sir Gawain could be singing this song, or Petrarch, or Don Quixote.

“They All Went to Mexico” has Willie singing in Spanish with Carlos Santana riffing in the background. A fun tune which reminds me that Willie’s not just a redneck hippie, he’s a Mexican redneck hippie.

I prefer the Rolling Stones’ version of “Honky Tonk Women,” but I respect Willie and Leon Russell for giving it a whirl. I think this could be really good live. The fiddle and the horns give this a unique blend. I’m curious to hear more country and bluegrass with horns. Big Band meets bluegrass. Benny Goodman bluegrass.

“Half a Man” has to be one of my top ten favorite Willie songs. George Jones actually sings it better, but the two of them together are pure honky tonk perfection. I think this may be better than the version with Hag and Willie on Pancho and Lefty, but I’d have to do a side-by-side taste test to be certain. When I run out of albums, I’ll start doing comparisons like that. I think I need a full album of Willie and George Jones duets. I can’t tell what’s sadder on this album: the Possum’s voice or Mickey Raphael’s harmonica and that solo fiddle and steel guitar weaving in and out of Willie’s voice. The lyrics for this song are among the cleverest and most profound in Willie’s repertoire. He seems to desire less body and less memory so he can feel less loss, less pain. I am tempted to start quoting, but you really just need to listen to the whole song and read along. Every line is a keeper. The song snaps shut perfectly like a sonnet. Most country songs have a good line or two and then some throw away filler, but this song is lean. No fat. Precise pain and heartache packed into three minutes and six seconds.

Highwayman 2 (1990)

The highwaymen open this Chips Moman produced sequel singing “We’re gonna ride.” Constant motion on a “Silver Stallion.” Outrunning the wind, trouble, and time itself.

“Born and Raised in Black and White” gets at the paradoxical mix of gospel and outlaw in Willie’s and Johnny’s music. Again, Mickey Raphael on harp is the only road band member to join Willie on this album of quartets.

“Two Stories Wide” is one of two Willie-penned tunes on this album. This may be the best song on the album. “Life’s too long to worry, and it’s too short to cry, and it’s too deep to measure, and it’s two stories wide. There’s your side and my side…Both sides make you lonely.” Of course Willie can’t mean this at all. He has made his career by worrying and crying. And he has taken his time doing. And for someone who thinks too much--like Hamlet, like Proust, like Willie—for someone who sees that life is two stories wide, your side and my side, phases and stages, it can be very lonely indeed. But the artist, it seems, light a nightingale, can redeem the dark night of the soul with a song.

Johnny Cash’s tribute to the sixties, to Woodstock, or to songwriting in general, “Songs That Make a Difference,” is an interesting meditation on songwriting.

In “Living Legend,” the highwaymen are singing about their own history. “Was it better then with our backs against the wall?” They seem to be asking, were we better back then? Was the past really as good as we think it was? “Was he bitter then, with our backs against the wall…2,000 years ago.” They’re singing about Jesus. How do we know what to make of the past? How should we take? How should we feel about it? Should we live in it? Look what it did to Gatsby? Miss Havisham.

I wasn’t crazy about Willie’s “Texas” on “It Always Will Be,” and I like it less on this album, except for Mickey Raphael’s harp. I do appreciate the trippy, creepy, macabre, jazzy, jaunty, flamenco concoction that Willie has brewed. I don’t even know how to categorize it. So I respect it, but I don’t really enjoy it.

Highwayman (1985)

I guess I’m on a Chips Moman binge. This one has to be the greatest all-star quartet ever assembled. Cash, Nelson, Jennings, Kristofferson. To hear all four major league voices take a turn on each song accompanied by Mickey Raphael on harp seems like almost too much of a good thing.

“The Last Cowboy Song” has that nostalgic, Proustian feel. The four old cowboys seem to be singing at their own funeral.

Cindy Walker’s “Jim, I Wore a Tie Today” tells a story about a cowboy’s funeral.

The Highwaymen take the opportunity to cry on Johnny Cash’s “Big River.” “I taught the weeping willow how to cry, cry, cry.” One cowboy crying isn’t bad enough, we have four, that’s eight eyes. It reminds me of the courtly love tradition and Petrarch where the men wear themselves out crying over unattainable women. The theme of the river, like the road, like time, always moving. This one’s made of tears, though, and it takes their memories down to the Gulf of Mexico.

Willie and Johnny are wry as ever when they sing “They’re taking good care of me committed to Parkview.”

The chorus on “Desperados Waiting for a Train” is a bit much. But the irony of desperados waiting, standing still, reminds me of “Still is Still Moving to Me.”

Woody Guthrie’s “Deportee (Plane Wreck At Los Gatos)” is an interesting choice with a little flamenco touch.

If you have to be on the “Welfare Line,” you want these guys and Mickey Raphael to keep your spirits up. Who else can make the welfare line sound like an exciting, cool place to be? This tune bounces with the drums, bass, and harp.

Not sure Bob Seger’s “Against the Wind” needed re-making, but the song fits thematically, nostalgically. “She swore that it would never end.” And yet time just slipped away. That elusive promise of eternity. “I wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.” I wish I didn’t know about time. I wish I still believed it didn’t apply to me. But “the years rolled slowly past.” I’d actually like to hear Willie sing this one solo. He interprets it in an interesting way.

Listening to “The Twentieth Century is Almost Over” in 2010 I can’t shake the funny feeling that time slips away. “Where in the world did the twentieth century go? I swear it was there just a minute ago.” Willie has upped the ante here. An entire century, 100 years, have slipped away, been misplaced, lost. “Father time is a rumbling and a rapping…everyone is waiting for something to happen.” Time itself, personified, makes an appearance in this John Prine song. History itself cannot stand up to time. It, too, is defenseless.

City of New Orleans (1984)

Another Chips Moman produced collection of pop standards from the 1980s. Willie doesn’t have any of his road band with him on this one except for Mickey Raphael on harp. The title track is obviously the big single. I think this is only the second album I’ve listened to thus far to have horns (sax and trumpet). This is the first album where I feel that the strings are appropriate. Instead of adding cheesy strings to try to soup up a song that doesn’t need souping up, this album feels like songs that naturally require strings and that Willie is simply blending his voice into the pop genre.

“Just out of reach of my two empty arms” makes my hall-of-fame for country music turns of phrase.

“Good Time Charlie’s Got the Blues” gets at the time theme I keep hearing in Willie’s music. “They said this town will waste your time. I guess they’re right, it’s wasting mine.” Wasted time, lost time, killing time. There’s always something wrong with time. Whether Willie’s breaking meter or fighting with his memory, he’s obsessed with manipulating time.

“Why Are You Picking On Me” is the only Willie Nelson tune on this album. I have to say I actually admire Willie for his chutzpa in covering Michael Jackson’s “She’s Out of My Life.” He simply has no fear when it comes to covers or duets. So many of them fall flat, but he is always open to the one that just might be a homerun, like “Always on My Mind.” What other country artist could have pulled that off? I can’t believe Willie never finagled a duet with Michael Jackson in his prime. It would have been better than “Ebony and Ivory” or “The Girl is Mine.”

Without a doubt, “Cry” is the best song on this album. “If your heartaches seem to hang around too long, and your blues keep gettin’ bluer with each song.” Mickey Raphael’s harmonica kills me on this song. “So let your hair down and go on and cry.” Here we have the theme of crying over lost time. Willie is still taking every possible “Opportunity to Cry.” Here again we have heartaches and memories hanging around, loitering, lingering like locals at the cracker barrel. Memories are tangible, animate, personified. In fact, they are realer than real people, more poignant. Like Gastby’s perfect image of Daisy which she can never live up to. Why does absence make the heart grow fonder? “In a way I’ll be better off when you’re gone. In another way it turns me inside out.” Maybe we like the control we have over memories. As if our life were imported into IDVD and our mind is the film editing software that we can splice and rearrange any way we see fit. In “Until It’s Time For You to Go,” Willie sings, “Don’t ask forever of me.” And yet he’s always asking for forever and laughing when it slips away.

Just One Love (1995)

Willie has many (but not all) of his road band members with him on this album. Bobbie, Jody, Grady. Noticeably absent is Mickey Raphael. I’m growing fond of Buddy Emmons on steel. Grady Martin produces this duet album with Kimmie Rhodes. The recording was done at Pedernales.

“Each Night at Nine,” an old Floyd Tillman song, fits into Willie’s repertoire perfectly. Setting a very specific time to remember an earlier time is a very Willie thing to do. Having a date with time. Making love with time.

Why does Willie, like Proust, always remember things “Better Left Forgotten”? “Why, oh, why won’t [his] mind let go of a love that used to be? Though [he tries]… Your memory will never set [him] free.” “Sometimes, right out of the blue, [he hears] a voice and [he turns] and [looks] for you.” Why is he so sensitive to the past, to memories, and, in so many ways, insensitive to the present? It reminds me of Gatsby.

“Smoke, Smoke, Smoke that Cigarette” is a different kind of song for Willie. It’s more of a Charlie Daniels kind of humorous story song. Willie’s vocals are strong and full and front and center on this album.

“I Just Drove By” to see if things had changed. That’s Willie. Get in the moving car and drive by to check on the passage of time. It’s a physics problem. If you are moving yourself, how can you possibly measure the passage of time, which is itself always moving? Something has to stand still in order for you to measure it. Something must be fixed. Maybe Willie’s music is a search for something fixed. An Augustinian “our hearts are restless till they find rest in thee.” Or a lament that nothing is or can be fixed. “Love is just a fragile thing.” “to see if love is still the way it was back then.” “Standing still is not time’s way.” And yet we want it to stand still. Or we want to outrun it.

It’s nice to hear Willie do country standards after hearing him do so many pop standard albums. Despite his success with Stardust, these seem a better fit. And the backing is solid and serviceable if not remarkable. It doesn’t get in the way. It does no harm.

Willie sings with Opry star “Grandpa” Jones on the last track. Not really my kind of song, but it is nice to hear Willie’s voice juxtaposed with Grandpa Jones’s, if for no other reason than it gives me a nice gauge of where Willie fits historically and stylistically in relation to the Opry stars of the past.

What a Wonderful World (1988)

Another Chips Moman produced album of pop standards from the late eighties. I’m afraid this may be my 26th favorite album of the 26 I have reviewed thus far. Willie’s voice is strong and clear, and Mickey Raphael does his best on harmonica to make something of these tunes, but none of these really worked for me. “Some Enchanted Evening” intrigued me with its ruminations about the magic of time and memory and love. Willie’s “What a Wonderful World” just can’t stand up to Satchmo’s, but whose can? The back-up vocals on some of these tracks harken back to the Nashville Sound days of Chet Atkins. “Twilight Time” touches on the enchanting, seductive quality of time and memory. “Deepening shadows gather splendor.” Paradoxically, things get brighter as they get darker. “I fall in love again as I did then.” He looks forward to twilight, when it gets dark, so he can fall in love again in (or is it with?) his memories. Making love to his memories. How many outlaws could get away with mooning around like this and then singing “You got to ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive and e-lim-inate the negative”? Only Willie could howl at the moon one night, like Hank Williams, and than make moon eyes at the “Ole Buttermilk Sky” the next.