re: How does the OT think about new "country" music?

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You Make Me Wanna Roll My Windows Down

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The only artists right now whom I occasionally like are Zach Brown Band and Brad Paisley.

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The mixtape's got a little Hank, little Drake A little something bumping, thump, thumping on the wheel ride The mix in our drink's a little stronger than you think So get a grip, take a sip of that feel right The truck's jacked up, flatbed's flipped back Yeah, you can find us where the party's at This is how we roll We hanging round singing out everything on the radio We light it up with our hands up This is how we roll This is how we do We're burning down the night shooting bullets at the moon, baby This is how we roll Yeah, baby, this is how we roll We rollin' into town With nothing else to do we take another lap around Yeah, holler at your boy if you need a ride If you roll with me, yeah, you know we rollin' high Up on them 37 Nittos, windows tinted hard to see though How fresh my baby is in the shotgun seat, oh Them kisses are for me though, automatic like a free throw

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nashville pop is dumbed down meat head laundry list music marketed to teenage girls and low hanging fruit rednecks. it's basically the same 30 writers that write all of the songs you hear on mainstream radio.

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My heart's in the ice house come hill or come valley
Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley
On a cold winter's morning to a church house
Just to shovel some snow.

I heard sirens on the train track howl naked gettin' nuder,
An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter
Just from walking with his back turned
To the train that was coming so slow.

You can gaze out the window get mad and get madder,
Throw your hands in the air, say "What does it matter?"
But it don't do no good to get angry,
So help me I know

For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter.
You become your own prisoner as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own
Chain of sorrow.


I been brought down to zero, pulled out and put back there.
I sat on a park bench, kissed the girl with the black hair
And my head shouted down to my heart
"You better look out below!"

Hey, it ain't such a long drop don't stammer don't stutter
From the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutter
And you carry those bruises
To remind you wherever you go.

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I used to have a high opinion of you, bob.

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What happened to the story telling that used to drive country music?

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