Goodbye, George Jones.

The man Gram Parsons named as his favorite poet has died at the age of 81. I suspect that he was probably surprised to have lasted that long himself. But he leaves quite a legacy.

I’ll always associate “the Possum” with this huge crossover hit. When I was an undergrad, the members of a particularly rednecked fraternity played it far too often. On the one hand, I thought it was the most maudlin, sentimental thing I had ever heard, and that sentiment was even further underscored by Jones’s trademark drawl, in which lines became, “They laid a wreath uh-pawn  his DOE-whirr.” On the other hand, when I was at a Waffle House in New Albany, IN (across the river from Louisville), there was only one song on the juke that I knew was absolutely perfect. So find some peace, Mr. Jones, and thanks for the music.

About profmondo

Dad, husband, mostly free individual, medievalist, writer, and drummer. "Gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche."
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