Vol. 7: Firefall from Grace: Country, Gentle, Men

Holiday and Adolf here continue to illumate the works of artists, like Lightfoot, with roots, folk, and country lineages who openly embraced their softer sides.

Country, Gentle, Men

From: Kevin Holiday
At: 10/18 13:25

You know, D, there was a time not so long ago when noble men in rhinestones and spurs (some metaphorical,of course) ruled the pop charts.  Sure, there are plenty of women in today's charts who have country roots, but they don't truly embrace country.  Instead,they're made to look hip and sexy in slinky gowns and belly shirts.  I needn't list these artists, or the smattering of male counterparts, here for you.  Like the lion's share of music today, it just doesn't matter.   What does matter are names like Glen Campbell, John Denver, Poco and, of course, Firefall.


Country, Gentle, Men... They were all of these things and so much more. At times, Country only in spirit, for many were pop stars simply enamored of the potential grace in country music, a grace they often realized in fine lyrics and finer melodies.  Always Gentle they were, but no less strong. And Men, yes, but only in the flesh, perhaps, for their sentiments were decidedly female, the softer and, in my opinion, better sex.

It should surprise you, friend, unless you know the history of these dusty poets, that a band with such a respected lineage should be so under-appreciated. The Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers are the epitome of influential and critically acclaimed in the ever-popular genre of roots or country rock.  There would be no Mumford &Sons, no Wilco, no Uncle Tupelo, no Sun Volt, no John Mellencamp, no Tom Petty, no Lambchop, no Edith Frost, no Cowboy Junkies, no Mazzy Star (Oh, were I to wrap frail Hope Sandoval, my dark muse, in my own dusty parka! But I digress...) without the aforementioned pioneers.  As you well know, I could care less if this genre lived or died.  When the boys of Wilco hang up their collective hats, I will not shed a tear (like I did when the Smiths dissolved like so much warm semen). This is not about roots rockers; they are but a vehicle for my purpose, a stout wagon drawn but stouter steeds. It's about Firefall, of course, a band reanimated from the clipped wings of the dying Byrds, re-inspired in the warm and richly scented breezes stirred by the Flying Burrito.  My point is this: How can a band with a respected history in a respected genre (perhaps even groundbreaking at the time), especially one that took these roots (and roots rock, mind you) and softened them with love and celestial falsetto--how can this band be forgotten, relegated to the withered hands of a late night oldies disc jockey, the disrespectful words of an irony-addled college radio program, the SUVs of middle aged men building homes in the Jersey suburbs, the offices and cubicles of closeted soft rocker?  And don't get me started on the worse fate of sister Poco.  I must confront this crime at a later date.  Poco, conceived by one Richie Furay of the band that serves as the other influential axis of roots rock, no less than Buffalo Springfield.  If I did not believe in soft rock and its healing powers, I might just lash out in anger at the hypocrisy that surrounds our beloved rock genre. Tell me how this can go on, for I do not, cannot understand, will not. I seethe, awaiting for your reply.

Adolf shares his tempering thoughts:

Kevin - Please excuse the brevity of my reply, for my heart hangs heavy with the current events of the day.  Not only has the tragedy of the WTC struck close to home (For as you know, I worked in the financial center for two years!) but, now Anthrax has materialized but miles from my home!  The hallowed grounds of greater Trenton scarred by the insolence of others looking to do evil (or evil doers as GW says).   These are heavy times my friend... 

Alas, I have had joys in the past weeks to rectify these maladies.  Firefall was to play no small part in this joy.  A friend of mine who is small in stature, yet big in heart had compiled for me a CDR of various soft rock favorites.  This gentle, gnome-like fellow is surely a friend of soft rock and all of the accompanying pleasures.  As I drove home the other day with heavy thoughts swirling in my mind (for my present job with a news/media company inundates me with tragedy and fear being preached by hair-helmeted dolts) I inserted said soft rock compilation into the CD player of my SUV.  My ride through the NJ suburbs couldn't have been more enjoyable, for what was jolting my malice into uncontrollable joy was the graceful flute intro of Firefall's "You Are the Woman".   As the song progressed I found the shroud of my ill humor quickly lifting and my voice singing out in accompaniment.  I rolled down my windows and giddily gorged fresh air and music, sweet music.  The gentle, easy country rock sounds of Firefall delivered me from my bad place and allowed me to transcend the crumbling world around me.  Just for a moment, all was okay and I sang another chorus, another verse...

Holiday replies:

Thank you, Dolf, thank you!

You are often too clever for your own good, friend.  I have learned a great deal from your tale, and you should feel pleased in knowing that my spirits have improved, my anger subsided.  Just the images you conjured sent me rummaging through stacks of vinyl to locate the antidote to my misanthropy. So often, like the enemies of soft rock themselves, I cannot see the forest for the trees.  The lyrics of another Firefall classic, "Just Remember I Love You," leads me home:

When it all goes crazy and the thrill is gone

Your days get rainy and your nights get long

And you get that feeling you were born to lose

Starin' at your ceiling dreamin' of your blues

When there's so much trouble that you wanna' cry

Your world has crumbled and you don't know why

And your hopes are fading and they can't be found

Dreams have kept you waiting friends have let you down

Just remember I love you and it'll be alright

Just remember I love you, more than I can say...

I'm sure my indignation and ill humors will surface again but, for the present time, your words and the words of Firefall are an antidote, a little purple pill to combat what burns in my belly.  Again, thank you, D.  And just remember...