You may get into trouble with such problem. “What kinds of bar stools style do I need most?” It’s like he knew that the only honest way to end a ballad is by not ending it, but by letting it go on forever.Ĭountry Time is an occasional column about country music.Buying Guides On Choosing Country Bar Stools
I think it might have something to do with the way Smith’s voice just quiets into nothing. It could be it reminded me of my own parents, although while they’re both country bumpkins, neither spent much time on a bar stool and as much as they wanted a son, they had only daughters. I couldn’t tell you why this song affected me so much as a child. Smith sings the last verse twice, the woman’s hello turned into a sad farewell, “I’ve seen some sights and life’s been somethin’,” but he stops short of repeating “see you later, country bumpkin.” Smith’s voice fades into an abrupt silence, “the heavy hand of time” not only changing the characters of the song but the voice of the singer himself. Strangely, though, the song doesn’t end it just stops. There’s the work of the world, of course, whatever you have to do with your days to pay the mortgage and buy the groceries, but there’s also the hard work of building a life with someone else.
“Country Bumpkin” also manages one of the world’s most honest descriptions of a marriage in only six words: “forty years of hard work later,” Smith sings in the flash forward that moves these two lovers along. In between are the pleasures of love, the pain of childbirth, and the joys of marriage.
#COUNTRY SONG BAR STOOL FULL#
Her family’s sad eyes meet her sweet smile, the woman “knowing fully well her race was nearly run.” Life is full of seasons, and Smith mentions them all with the awkward, unexpected rhyme of “pumpkin.” In the bar, the woman asks, “How’s the frost out on the pumpkin,” and then, only two minutes later, on her deathbed she says, “the frost is gone now from the pumpkin.” Someone always dies first, and in this song it’s the wife, leaving her country bumpkins behind. One day, it’s “hello, country bumpkin” and then suddenly, too quickly if you’ve done it right, “so long, country bumpkin.” When Smith sings of “this wondrous world of many wonders,” it’s like Homer sorrowing sorrow, the language itself conveying the completeness of what’s being gathered in the lyrics. It’s not just that life’s highs and lows are recorded there, it’s that so many of them get gathered into a single song. There’s a fullness of life in country songs that’s unrivaled by most other genres. Within a verse, the woman confesses, “I’ve seen some sights, but babe, you’re something.” And then Smith tells us “just a short year later” they’ve married and are welcoming a son into the world, the “cuddly boy child” laying on the woman’s chest while she looks down with “a raptured look of love and tenderness.” It’s an American love story: A man walked into a bar and “parked his lanky frame upon a tall bar stool” while “a bar room girl with hard and knowing eyes slowly looked him up and down.” Eyes and voices are all it takes to fall in love, and the man’s “long, slow southern drawl” does all the talking. The quiet ballad of a bumpkin and a barmaid was also my favorite version of love for the first ten years or so of my life - two people who meet and make a family without much fuss. “Country Bumpkin” spent a few weeks on the country charts, and the song won Smith both an Academy of Country Music award and Country Music Association award. Smith was already a superstar, and this single went into the world between “An Hour and a Six Pack” and “Between Lust and Watching TV.” The song was called “ Country Bumpkin” and the album was audaciously titled It’s Not the Miles You’ve Traveled. It’s a gift Cal Smith gave to the world in 1974.
That’s my favorite drink order, and also my favorite pick-up line. I don’t drink, but if I did, then here’s what I’d say to every bartender in the county: “I’ll just have a glass of anything that’s cool.”
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