On the Road Again

By Prasanth @Adobe Stock

The Singing Cowboy

Need a break as the old year is ending? Politics in general, Joe Biden vs Donald Trump, Hamas/Gaza, the embroilment at Harvard, our out-of-control national debt, and perhaps even Santa Claus as the 25^th approaches? Well, there might be if not an antidote, at least a temporary bromide. This elixir is in the form of “Willie Nelson & Family,” a four-part documentary on a singing cowboy:

And he ain’t just any Singing Cowboy. No, sir. No Willie Nelson fan is going to be surprised by the “glittering roster of celebrity witnesses to testify in no uncertain terms about the musical virtues of Willie Nelson,” writes John Anderson in the WSJ.

But the directors also catalog the many instances when Mr. Nelson might have exercised better judgment: selling his first hit for $50; running back into a burning house to retrieve his guitar and two pounds of pot; letting his then-wife get a hospital bill in the mail for the birth of a child to another “Mrs. Nelson.”

A Unifier of Hippies and Rednecks

In the story of the singing cowboy which is the branding that helped Mr. Nelson break into the pop mainstream in the mid-’70s with other simpatico country artists. Fellow inmates include Waylon Jennings, Jessi Colter, and the likes of Kris Kristofferson.

Their movement, as it were, relocated the center of musical gravity from Nashville to Austin, however temporarily, and helped facilitate the synthesis of country and rock, making them both what they are and aren’t today. What’s smart about the intro to each of the four episodes in this documentary series is the live concert footage—unspecified, but probably from Mr. Nelson’s prime in the ’80s or ’90s. In these scenes, he rocks as well as the Rolling Stones but sings songs worthy of Merle Haggard. “Whiskey River take my mind,” he sings, and one is inclined to dance. He unified “the hippies and rednecks,” as someone says, at least for a time.

No less than Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, Don Was, Sheryl Crow, Wynton Marsalis, Norah Jones pay tribute. There are more, and the 90-year-old Willie also has no shortage of recollections:

Amid all the lavish praise he is the one character who doesn’t take himself seriously. He is resigned to the mistakes he made, the marriages he ruined by neglect, the drinking he gave up in favor of pot, of which he has been a champion for years and which may well have been the impetus for the infamous IRS case brought against him in 1990. Although people in the film repeatedly say the amount owed was $32 million, the newspaper clippings that appear on screen cite far lower numbers, and other sources say $16 million. Regardless, it was more than the singer-songwriter could pay, and the man who helped found Farm Aid—the campaign-concert to rescue small farmers, still going on today—had to rely on the kindness of strangers, who bought up his protest album “The IRS Tapes” in sufficient quantities to settle his bill.

Not All Stories Are Happy

He and his sister, Bobbie—his longtime pianist, who died last year—were abandoned by their parents and raised by their grandparents. His career as a songwriter, even when he was writing classics like “Crazy” for Patsy Cline, or “Hello Walls” for Faron Young, was a struggle; his career as a performer faced obvious obstacles: His early publicity stills made him look like Bob from Accounting and his idiosyncratic voice, though now as recognizable as Bob Dylan’s or Billie Holiday’s, was eccentric, froggy and not what Nashville was inclined to embrace. Hence the birth of New County as well as the late-blooming career of Mr. Nelson. Nothing was more hidebound than ’60s-era country music, but every musical evolution involves a mutation irritating the organism.

Oren Moverman and Thom Zimny allow a glittering roster of celebrity witnesses to testify in no uncertain terms about the musical virtues of Willie Nelson, reports Mr. Anderson. The two directors know their way around music films.

Mr. Zimny directed “The Gift: The Journey of Johnny Cash” (who appears in the series as part of Mr. Nelson’s ’90s “supergroup” The Highwaymen) and Mr. Moverman, who besides directing his own films (“The Messenger,” “Time out of Mind”), co-wrote the Todd Haynes-directed Dylan epic “I’m Not There.” They are caught between presenting Mr. Nelson as a known quantity—which he largely will be, especially for those most inclined to watch—and making a definitive Willie Nelson series.

This means covering the less musically intriguing aspects of a career that has lasted longer than several country revivals (which used to materialize every few decades, until country got absorbed into mainstream pop). I always assumed it was Linda Ronstadt who began the trend of pop singers interpreting the American songbook, but Mr. Nelson anticipated her album “What’s New” (1983) by five years with “Stardust,” which is still his biggest seller. There’s something melancholy about that, just as there is in the sight of him singing with Julio Iglesias or being a part of any of the other odd couples thrown together once the “duets” craze got started.

Willie Nelson denies he ever needed an assist, but he does admit to loving the help. What Nelson loves is playing in a band, traveling the country (“On the Road Again”), and getting together with seemingly unlikely partners with whom he nevertheless had long musical collaborations.

One of the more moving scenes takes place at Mr. Nelson’s 70th birthday celebration, where he’s joined by Leon Russell and Ray Charles on Russell’s “A Song for You.” The ailing Charles—perhaps the original crossover country artist (“Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music,” 1962)—sings most of the song; Mr. Nelson stands there with tears in his eyes. It seems unlikely that the viewer won’t be joining in.

Willie’s sons, Luckas and Micah, are outstanding musicians themselves.

Whether or not you have the time to watch this documentary, enjoy the holiday season. Wishing you a Merry Christmas.

May 2024 be filled with hope and Glad Tidings.