Simon Lamont’s contribution to our americana stories is called Americana. And it covers one of our core topics, what is americana, and why isn’t it country? Simon Lamont is an Irish writer and designer (graphic/web/garden) who has lived in England for the past 40 years. He occasionally drums and sings high harmony backing vocals, and only ever wears pearl snap shirts (Levi’s Barstow on the daily, Rockmount Ranch Wear for best).
Quiz question. Who is the singer who called his music a “circus of misery and heartbreak.”
Americana
by Simon Lamont
“What’s in the box?” asked Lauren, pointing at the large cardboard box trimmed with red
and white FRAGILE tape that was taking up one end of the kitchen island.
“It’s a hat,” replied Alice. “Do you want a top-up? Shall I open more crisps?”
“A hat? Oh, yes, please. I’m all right for crisps, thanks. So who’s getting married?”
“No one. It’s not mine, it’s Alex’s. He’s bought a cowboy hat. It’s just arrived from
the States. It’s taken weeks to get here. It was stuck in customs for nearly a fortnight.”
“I’m not sure I heard you right. A cowboy hat? Seriously?”
“Uh-huh. A powder blue felt Stetson, apparently, to match his favourite western shirt
– the one with the white piping and embroidered birds on the chest and yoke,” replied Alice
with a completely straight face, as if importing a cowboy hat from the United States was
the most normal thing in the world.
“The what now?” asked Lauren, passing her glass to Alice.
“The yoke – it’s the bit across the shoulder blades.”
Emptying the last of the bottle of Prosecco into Lauren’s glass, Alice continued,
“he’s been waiting for it to arrive like a kid waiting for Christmas, checking its progress on
the tracking app on his phone nearly every single day since he ordered it. He’s so nervous
it might not fit.”
Lauren let slip a laugh, “But he’s a solicitor. In England.”
“Yeah, that’s his job, but it’s not what makes him happy. This is part of what makes
him happy.”
“What, dressing up in a cowboy costume?”
“It’s not a costume. It’s what he likes to wear when he goes to the shows.”
“What shows?”
“The gigs at the social club.”
“Country and western gigs? Line dancing? You aren’t line dancing with him, are
you? Oh, Alice, tell me you’re not! Or worse still, he’s line dancing without you!”
“Of course not. It’s not line dancing. And it’s not country and western either. They’re
Americana gigs. It’s a completely separate type of music. A different genre altogether.”
“Babe, did you know he was into dressing up and listening to ‘America-doo-dah’music when you married him? Or was it a secret that only slipped out when he had already
got a ring on your finger? When it was too late for you to run?”
“Why would I want to run? He’s not dressing up; he’s wearing clothes that help him
feel more connected to the music. Clothes that suit the vibe. He loves that music. Like I
told you, it makes him happy, and I like it when he’s happy.”
“Harry Styles makes us happy – you were grinning ear to ear at Wembley – but you
don’t see us in dungarees and feather boas. Well, maybe sometimes you do, but that’s
when we are dressing up, not just going out.”
“It’s different. But he doesn’t actually need the hat or the shirt or the boots to
appreciate…”
Lauren cut her off, “The boots?! You never mentioned boots. Cowboy boots?”
“Yeah, but it’s not about them and, anyway, they’re fine. He doesn’t tuck his jeans
into them or anything; you can barely see them. And I think they look good on him, if I’m
honest. You’re missing the point, Lauren. It’s about the music and how it makes him feel.”
“The country music, sorry A-mer-i-ca-na?” Lauren said the word slowly and
carefully, syllable by syllable.
“That’s it.”
“What even is it?”
“Well, there are elements of country music in there, sure, but it’s so much more – it’s
part folk, a bit of blues, some soul, a pinch of bluegrass, a slice of rock’n’roll, and even
some punk.”
“Sounds like a list of recipe ingredients – and you just mix them all together in a big
happy bowl, do you?”
“Oh no, it’s not always happy – a lot of the songs are very sad, actually. In fact, one of
Alex’s favourite singers calls his act a ‘circus of misery and heartbreak’.”
“Delightful, I’m sure. I still don’t think I’m getting it. This sadness is what makes Alex
happy?”
“Not happy exactly, it’s more that it helps him to connect better with his feelings. It’s
hard to explain. You know he can be a bit of an introvert?”
“Alice, you know I think he’s lovely, and he clearly worships you, but, yes, if being
quiet and intense was an Olympic sport, he’d totally win-trovert.”
“Very funny. Yes, he’s usually very quiet and thoughtful, and his work can get to him.
It’s super stressful at times. Well, when he’s in the social club listening to an americana act,
there’s a lightness about him. It’s not just happiness. It’s deeper than that. It’s joy, it’s
connectedness, he’s connected to whoever he’s with, me or the guys he goes to the
shows with – to the acts even, but most importantly to himself and his feelings. It’s like it
completes him. I know how cheesy that sounds, but it’s the best way to explain it.”
“OK…and when you go with him, do you feel it too, this connectedness?”
“No, not really. Well, maybe a bit. I didn’t at first, but now I think I might. Before, I’d
go to the gigs with him, and I’d enjoy them; they’re very talented artists and a lot of the
music is lovely, but I never thought it was my thing. Then one night, a few weeks back,
there was a double bill; a young Texan woman up first, playing guitar and fiddle (not at the
same time, obviously) and singing with the most exquisite voice, which almost had a
tremble in it. After her came a slightly older guy, playing guitar and singing about loss and
heartache.
Near the end of the night, the young woman came back on stage, and they played a
couple of duets together, and that’s when it got me. It hit me right in the feels. Their
harmonies not only joined them, they joined us – me and Alex – together, joined us to them
and, well, to everything. They might have been achingly sad songs, but they released joy
inside of me. It felt like that joy was recharging the love I felt for Alex, for my friends, for
you, even.”
“Wow! Me even!” Lauren laughed.
“Ever since that night, I’ve been wondering what it was exactly that caused these
feelings; was it the tunes, or the lyrics, or maybe it was the keys that they were in or the
instruments they were played on? Or possibly it was the intimacy, being so close to the
acts in a small venue. I reckon it’s probably a combination of all of those things, but I think,
above all, it’s the honesty.”
“The honesty?”
“Yeah, the honesty of the songs, of the artists, of their playing. Alex told me once
that someone described this kind of music as ‘three chords and the truth’ and I thought
that that was a bit, you know, twee. But I think I’m beginning to get it.”
“OK, Dolly, go you! I’m still struggling with the sadness, though – exactly how sad are
the songs?”
“Yeah, they can be sad, but at the same time, they’re completely captivating. There’s
a song by a singer Alex really loves, so it gets played here a lot. I can’t remember the
exact lyrics, but the singer is so in love with his girlfriend that he wishes that they were
both vampires. That way, they’d be immortal and could be together forever and not have to
worry about mundane, mortal things like the rest of us have to. Then he realises that that’s
never going to happen and the best they can hope for is forty years together, if they’re
lucky. But he also knows that one day, one of them will most likely die before the other,
who’ll then end up alone. The sentiment is SO sad, but it’s heartbreakingly beautiful too.”
“Dark flex, but OK…”
“It’s so sweet though, isn’t it? He just can’t bear to be parted from her, even in
death.”
“I mean, Luke loves his steak rare, so I bet he’d jump at the chance of being a
vampire. Me, not so much.”
“Way to kill the vibe, Lauren! Anyway, it’s an incredible song. The music is gorgeous
as well; delicate finger-picked guitar over bass chords that sound like they’re played on a
cello, and there’s another heavenly male-female harmony in the chorus. It’s simply
beautiful.”
“I’ve not seen you like this for ages, lovely. It’s not just Alex that lights up; you’re
positively illuminated when you talk about this. I have just two questions.”
“What?”
Lauren waved her empty glass in front of Alice and asked, “One: are you going to
open another bottle? And, two: when are you taking me to one of these shows?”
“Really?” asked Alice, removing the foil from the top of the Prosecco and twisting
the cork’s wire cage, “You’d come to an americana show with us?”
“Of course, babe. Do you think Alex will let me wear his hat?“
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