"We can't make it here anymore"

As we continue in our lives seeking truth and meaning, an occasional bump along the way rips the veil a bit and we see things, briefly, as they truly are. That's how I feel when I listen to James McMurtry. His father, Larry, prefers his own work to center in the past, as in such great books as Lonesome Dove and The Last Picture Show. James shares his father's gift for observation, but distills his epiphanies into penetrating song lyrics that highlight the here and now.

Much has been said about how Trump voters, particularly the non-urban, working class and "poorly educated", are misunderstood and neglected by "elites" of both political parties. Repubs have used them for their 'family values' votes. Dems used them for what remains of Union-related votes. Neither seem to really care to get into the heads and hearts of this socio-economic strata. It's one of the reasons Trump swept them up.

Although McMurtry wrote this song in 2005, it plays like a soundtrack to November, 2016. His characters have been on the losing end of the national stick for a few decades. Through no fault of their own, manufacturing jobs went away and communities cratered.  Static or declining incomes over 30 years animate the long-brewing resentment of these affected people. They're pissed off.

Listen to James McMurtry as he stares into the cold, hard, black sun of the American soul:

"We Can't Make It Here"

That's a whole bunch of Truth. But wait, there's more!

"Choctaw Bingo" is a relentless, revealing, stream of consciousness roller-coaster ramble through the Great Midwest Plains fueled by moonshine, meth and Chuck Berry. It's a wild road trip that goes deep into the heart of red meat Trump country. Quite an American song (and funny, in a horrifying way).

So here we are, waiting for the rough beast, its hour come round at last, as it slouches towards Washington, DC to be born. The Greeks had a word for it, and we'll get to that in a future post!