Out of the depths of Deep South Alabama rolls a tide of clear Honky Tonk music befitting greatness. Whoa… did I just say that; me, a self-avowed Classic Country Music snob? Singer-songwriters are my favorite artists; they personify the words they sing. The Jamey Johnson show at Van Meter Auditorium Sunday was a joyous eye opener. Packing songs that moved even the most-cynical of honky tonk purists, Jamey spun poetically graphic musical yarns of the Southern White Man’s Blues. Hmm…It seems as there was another singer/songwriter from Deep South Alabam… the whole world called him Hank.

It took an email from my sixty-three year old kindergarten paisano to wake me to the fact that Jamey Johnson not only existed but was getting ready to perform in my town. I researched Jamey and his music, and to my pleasant surprise, found substance, I really liked it. I really thought that I’d discovered something! That was three weeks ago. (I really do need to get out more.) I went to the concert on Sunday without even seeing one ad in the Daily News; thinking that I’ll just mosey on in and put my money down and grab a seat. The line outside the auditorium wrapped around it, past Cherry Hall, down the hill and back up the sidewalk. I waited in line for an hour and a half; obviously the word had gotten out. (Maybe I should start listening to the radio more?)

Ex frat boy, ex Marine Corp corporal, thirty five year old Jamey and his music don’t fit into the calculated formula coming out of Music Row. Both his hair and beard are long and unstyled, no prerequisite boots or long-suffering hat, no Copenhagen ring on his right hip pocket.  Jamey could more easily fit into the Allman Brothers Band or Lynyrd Skynrd than a Nashville Sixteenth Avenue pseudo-cowboy band. Many of his original songs could just as easily be performed by George Jones or the Allman Brothers, now that’s songwriting.

The Country Outlaw movement in music started in 1975 with Willie Nelson’s Red Headed Stranger (“You can’t hang a man for killing a woman, who’s trying to steal his horse”). That tweaked the Eagles to do a cowboy album (Desperado).  Texas Honky Tonk blended with the sweet sound of West Coast rock (Poco, Pure Prairie League, etc. etc.) and now, around the world, arenas are filled with younger country music fans tailgating and clamoring for more of this easily approachable music.

Merle Haggard sounds like Lefty Frizzell. David Allen Coe sounds like Merle Haggard, Jamey Johnson “sounds a lot like David Allen Coe”.  Jamey did several covers of Hank Jr. and Merle Haggard songs mixed in with his own songs; this showed his level of songwriting skill blended splendidly with those of the tried and true heavyweights. His influence over the audience changed with each song on Sunday Night. A lot of his songs are darker, slower bluesier songs and had some in the crowd looking down and typing on their phones. Any song mentioning Hank Jr., Merle, Willie & Waylon, Jack Daniels or Jim Beam brought the rowdy house to its feet with a host of hoots, hollers and fist bumps.

When Jamey played his home town of Montgomery Alabama, he invited the Blind Boys of Alabama on stage to sing. They are one of the premier Black Gospel groups and Jamey is producing their next album. (Are we seeing people from the Deep South finally starting to forget The War?) He’s won four Grammy awards, five CMA awards, two CMT awards and four from the Academy of Country Music; and I found out about him three weeks ago??!! (Please God; don’t make me go back to watching award shows….)

My attendance at the concert was suspect until my trip to Nashville on Friday. Waiting for my wife, I picked up their Scene Magazine and read the year’s Best In Nashville, looking for a new restaurant for our lunch. There was Jamey…everywhere. Reader’s Choice for Country Album of the Year for his recently released (last month) The Guitar Song. On Saturday my Rolling Stone magazine came in the mail and the same album was the number four from the top of their combined charts. Whoa!…enough…I’m there.

Two Thousand and Ten… clowns are now scary, vampires are now sexy and hip hop entrepreneurs are now called moguls. Country Music is now bigger and wallets are fatter than ever. All these people spending big money to hear Working-class (my words), poor white trash (Jamie’s words) drankin’ and cheatin’ songs. George Jones had a huge hit with his mournful lament to the quality of Country Music: “Who’s Going to Fill Their Shoes?” With my ongoing three-week old musical obsession; and especially after Sunday night, Old Possum, I think I have a candidate.

About the author: John Redick was and is a boomer audio-phile of extreme proportions. He is a hairdresser who works at the Cache’ Salon in B.G. His one fantasy in life has always been to be a black disc jockey. Lagniappe is Cajun for “a little something extra”