George Jones: An Appreciation By Brad Paisley
"The Possum" took every setback life threw at him and turned it into music
I
grew up a huge fan of George Jones. I was familiar with the legends,
the hard-luck stories, the accounts of missed gigs and drunken
riding-mower notoriety. I was mesmerized by his voice, like almost
anyone with the ability to hear. So I was ecstatic when I got to open
shows for him a few times in West Virginia, as a young performer. I
remember one gig in particular: Aug. 22, 1993, in Parkersburg, W.Va. It
stands out because it was my last show as a resident of that state. Sure
enough, the very next day, with ringing in my ears from the night
before and a tear in my eye as I loaded the trunk, I packed my car and
drove to Nashville.
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I had no idea how well I would get to know George and Nancy Jones in
the next 20 years. We had a mutual friend in my soon-to-be road manager,
Brent Long, and he told them all about me. They took a real interest in
my life, and all but adopted this young, lonely stray puppy. I would go
fish at their farm ponds on my days off. When I got my first horse, I
was still living in a small condo in town (yeah, I know, I'm not good at
math) and George said, "Son, keep him out here on the farm." So I did.
For free. I would be out there riding and look up, and here would come
that golden voice in a golf cart. Often I would stay for dinner. He and
Nancy were beyond generous to young crooners like me.
He was full of insight and perspective. Many of our talks were about
country music, about its importance to its fans, keeping it alive.
"Treat those people right, son, and they'll always be there for you." I
got the sense in his later years his eye was on the future of this art
form-an art form he perfected-even as his time on the charts had come to
a close.
"Man, did he live hard. I swear I can hear the divorces, the wrecks, the arrests and the lawn-mower vodka runs in every sweeping note he sang - @BradPaisley"
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The strangest thing was, you would start to feel almost normal around
him, watching football, eating dinner, telling jokes-just another
legend in a La-Z-Boy recliner. And then I would go see him at the Grand
Ole Opry or on the road and fans would start crying at the sight of him.
He would bust into "White Lightning" and raise the roof. And then out
of nowhere would come the words, "He said I'll love you till I..." and
suddenly, I'm 12. And I'm back in West Virginia, and I'm studying those
records, wondering what he's like. Or I'm 20 again, watching backstage
the night before I leave home to chase my own dream. Wondering how he
bends that word, how he milks every vowel. Watching how he works the
mic, thinking, "Just how can one man sing that low and that high?"
Well, here's the thing. Country music is life. And his life was a song that went that low and that high.
Much will be written about the alcohol, the craziness or the wild
side of the man. That's a "War and Peace"-sized book itself. But
thankfully, the guy I knew and loved was who he became when he beat
that.
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He was a case study in extremes, and God-given ability-and choices.
Good or bad, A or B, forks in the road-life is a series of those. Just
as Robert Johnson is fabled to have gone down to the crossroads to make a
deal with the devil, George Jones did that every time he walked in a
bar. And similarly, without such deals, would his music have been as
rich?
"Man, did he live hard. I swear I can hear the divorces, the wrecks,
the arrests and the lawn-mower vodka runs in every sweeping note he
sang," he said. "And later you saw the twinkle in his eye from beating
those demons and running off with the musical spoils from such a life.
Such bitter tragedy is only survivable with an equally formidable sense
of humor. He sang and teased about his missed shows. Heck, his license
plates read no show. He appeared in videos riding John Deere mowers. I
got to record the goofiest things with him on a few of my albums, like
"The Kung Pao Buckaroos" with pals Jimmy Dickens and Bill Anderson, and
the outtakes were priceless, self-effacing gold-him teasing Jimmy about
his height, Bill about his whispering.
Often he and Nancy were the first to phone whenever I fell on tough
times-and good times. My greatest regret is that as my career got more
and more successful, I got to see him less and less. I can't tell you
how many voice-mail messages ended with "George misses you. And we love
you." I know of a dozen other artists with similar stories. He may not
have been on the country charts in the end, but a lot of us who are
these days have him to thank. He wondered about his legacy a lot, but
it's clear to me that it is immeasurably important. Our most inspiring
singer of all time has an equally inspiring story.
He got knocked down, but he got back up every time. He took every
setback life threw at him and turned it into music. He was loyal to
country music, and its fans rewarded him with unwavering loyalty as
well. He sang about himself, made fun of himself and gave us all a
glimpse of what is possible. He found God. He found Nancy. Or they found
him. And he was proof that a great woman's love can get a man through
just about anything. He overcame physical injuries, mental anguish and
bitter setbacks all to rise again and again from the ashes of his
disasters like the sweetest-singing phoenix to ever live.
I will never forget him. And George, wherever you are, trust me when I
say this: Country music will never forget you either. We miss you. And
we love you.
Brad Paisley recently released his ninth studio album,
"Wheelhouse," which debuted at No. 2 on the Billboard 200 and No. 1 on
the Top Country Albums chart. He is on Twitter @BradPaisley.
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