Country Music Broke My Brain (15 page)

I don't break the news that Graceland is in Memphis because I figure once they make Nashville, they'll figure that out. From what I hear, Graceland ain't “all that” anyway.

Back to the Kenmeister: Mr. Rogers and I go way back because I had gone to college. I'd never even been in a radio station 'til I went to Eastern Kentucky University. Allyson and I laugh about it now, but Eastern and Western and, perhaps, Morehead or UK were the choices we used for higher education. We were such hicks it never even occurred to either of us that we could actually leave Kentucky. I went to Eastern, and Al followed a year later.

College was the best thing that ever happened to us. I drank beer, and she got several degrees with honors. The lucky part was that during the radical years of '66–'69, I was a flaming liberal antiwar activist. I also was mostly an idiot. I went to sit-ins and candlelight vigils and heard the speeches. But basically, I was in a rock band and drank beer. It was sheer heaven.

That is, until friends of mine started coming home from Vietnam in body bags. Reality is harsh. Through one of my classes, I was chosen to go to the campus radio station and give a firebrand speech about the war and the world. After what was perhaps (in my mind) something to put Winston Churchill to shame, I walked out of the studio shaken but proud. I asked the guy listening to me, “What did you think of my editorial?” I had totally dismantled the military industrial complex and calmed the seas of war.

He looked me straight in the eye and said, “I think it was immature and idiotic, but I like the way you read.”

I thought,
You
do
? You like something
I
did?
I totally forgot the very accurate immature and/or idiotic parts and went right for the amazing judgment of this learned professor. He said, “Why don't you come over, and we'll talk about radio.”

Now, I'd listened to the radio for years and was a total goob for anything to do with it. I thought,
How tough can it be? I listen to it. I can do it.

That day changed my life forever. I entered the radio world.

But you ask, “Whatever happened to Kenny Rogers, O Storyteller of yore?”

While I was a student there, Kenny Rogers and the First Edition came to EKU to do a concert. I think it was part of one of those
Dick Clark's Caravan of Stars
shows. (Full circle: in 2012, I wrote part of a speech for Reba to give at Dick Clark's memorial service.)

I was sent with my little tape recorder to go interview Kenny, who was, of course, the lead singer. I went backstage to do the Grand Inquisition. I was gonna ask the tough questions and break the entertainment world wide open. I was gonna get some scoop and be scooped up by NBC or somethin'.

“Hi, Mr. Rogers. Everybody, I'm here with Mr. Rogers, Kenny and his band, The Edition. How did you get started singing, Mr. Kenny Rogers?”

KR realized he wasn't dealing with just anybody here and proceeded to patiently explain for the 10,000th time his career and the New Christy Minstrels and on and on. He was funny, warm, and kind. I thanked him and walked away with showbiz GOLD. I still have that tape somewhere, but I'm too scared to listen to it.

When you interview somebody, especially your first, you feel a connection. I am certain Kenny doesn't remember the moment, but it's seared into my memory bank.

I also remember my second college interview, with the Imperials
—
an R&B vocal group led by “Little Anthony” Gourdine that had huge pop hits such as “Tears On My Pillow,” “I'm On The Outside (Looking In),” “Goin' Out of My Head,” “Hurt So Bad,” and many others. I distinctly remember going into a locker room to see them after their concert. All of the Imperials were standing there in shiny red satin men's briefs. Anthony also had matching shorts and satin red socks. As I sat on a bench, they stood around me answering questions.

I was tough. The satin shorts didn't scare me. I looked right at “Little Anthony”(although, at this point, I'm not certain why he was called “Little”) and asked the question everyone wanted to ask, “Do you ever get tired of singing ‘Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko Bop'?” A ridiculous single they had early in their career in 1959.

Anthony's eyes rolled around and he said, “What the hell do you think?” He then walked to his locker and started putting on leather pants and black patent leather shoes. Another entertainment blockbuster was going into the books.

Over the years, I've seen Kenny Rogers many times. We once did a live, hour-long show from New York for national broadcast. He was funny and very kind. We went to Tavern on the Green in Central Park afterward for dinner. I think he even paid. Rare, but I think I'm right. I say this because if I had paid, I would still be paying off the bill.

Kenny is a great judge of songs. He has picked hit after hit during his decades-long career. He does duets. He does pop. He does country, romance, and rock. He didn't care what people thought because he knew he was right.

Fast-forward thirty years to one of the last live interviews I ever did. It was for some Country Radio Seminar confab, and the room was packed to see Kenny. The hour-and-a-half flew by. He once told me in private he probably made more money in his other businesses than he did singing. I also remember asking him about his opinion of the president. Probably Clinton, Carter, or Obama—can't remember—but he said, “Hey, if a guy is smart enough and tough enough to get to that Oval Office, he doesn't need my opinion on how to do things. I just wish him the best.” Greatest answer ever for a sure-fire political landmine.

However, I have talked to Kenny for hours and never asked him the stuff I wondered about. I never asked about how it became Kenny Rogers
and
the First Edition. I never asked him about the rumors of being caught with a certain blonde singer on his bus. I never asked him about his “work” and why there's nothing left in his shoes. I called him once at home to ask about his back surgery, but I never asked if his problems were from lifting his money. I never asked about the Roasters restaurant chain. What happened to all those chickens? I never asked if he ever got tired of singing “Coward of the County.” And what about all the look-alikes?

I never asked if he wanted to be in the Country Music Hall of Fame. All right, I
did
ask him that, and he gave his usual KR PR answer. “If those people want me in, then I'll gladly show up.” The perfect answer, as usual.

What about his years with so many duet partners, his tours, his family life, or the way he had reinvented himself over and over? I never asked because of paranoia. If you really like somebody and respect them, you worry you'll tip over into that place you shouldn't be asking about.

So, I just think I'll leave it alone and am happy that Kenny has finally been inducted. He once sent me a nice note thanking me for raising hell over the fact that he hadn't yet been inducted. He was in my Hall of Fame thirty years ago, and I'm glad the Country Music Hall of Fame caught up with me and the millions all over the world who love him.

And what
about
all those chickens?

Why did Tanya Tucker say, “Pretend you're skiing”?

A)
  
She was telling a dirty joke about three rabbis in Vail.

B)
  
She was giving instructions for a correct golf stance.

C)
  
She was describing to another girl the best way to pee in the woods.

Norwegian Wood

TANYA
TUCKER HAS NO EDITING BUTTON. If it occurs in her head, it's gonna come spilling out her piehole. I think she's hilarious because of that one fact. She's also hell on wheels. I see these little girly girls strutting around onstage pretending to be High-Heel Harlots. They couldn't carry Tanya's mascara case. In fact, Tanya can barely carry her mascara case, but that's another topic.

She was a star when she was thirteen. “Delta Dawn.” Think about that! When I was thirteen, I was sitting in mud. I wasn't touring and missing school and recording and doing interviews and all the jobs that go with stardom.

Tanya did all that stuff at thirteen. It's a tough life; it kills ya or makes you stronger. It damn near killed Tanya. And from what I remember, she nearly took Glen Campbell with her. They were not exactly the couple made in heaven. There were recreational additives and they P.O.'d a lot of people along the way. They were fascinating just to watch because you knew the train was on one rail at all times. It's like they put the Mercedes on cruise control and then got in the backseat. Nobody was watching the wheel at any time. It's kinda funny now, but it was scary then.

Tanya had the one thing that's necessary for a star—she sounded like Tanya Tucker and no one else. My producer friend Norro Wilson calls it “The Throat.” When you can hear a record start and know who's singing, that's how you get a star. Or someone who will never, ever be a star because people know who it is and hate the way they sing.

Tanya Tucker and I spent a Halloween together. I happened to be standing in a bar with my friend Jerry Crutchfield around 6
P.M
. having a glass of wine. We did that a lot. I was leaning back against the bar, when, suddenly, the front door flew open and in came Hurricane Tanya. She screamed my name and rushed forward and threw both legs up around my waist. Then, like a crazed monkey, she scrambled on up over my head and stood on the bar. “Hello, boys! Where the #@$% is the party?”

This was the normal entrance for Tanya Tucker. She arrived like she wanted and when she wanted. It's known as “T” Time. She had a limo, so off Crutch, I, and several innocent bystanders went. We wound up out in the country at some Halloween party we weren't invited to, nor did we know anybody there. Not a problem for Tanya. It was here I heard her explain to some girl who'd had a
lot
of beer that if she had to take a whiz, “Just whip down your pants and pretend you're skiing.” Then she threw in a little women's lib: “Men shouldn't be the only ones who get to take a leak wherever they want.” Happy Halloween!

Tanya also said something to me so chilling and so honest I've never forgotten it. Being onstage is like a drug. I've experienced it in a minor way a few times. It's a feeling you want. It's
very
addictive. Tanya Tucker said, “People have
no
idea what it's like. One minute, you're onstage in front of 5,000 screaming fans. The love is overwhelming. The feeling of power is amazing. The next minute, you're in the back of a bus alone. You are off to some new town, and you gotta stay on a schedule. You're pumped full of adrenaline and excitement, and there's nobody there to share it with.” She looked at me with those eyes and continued, “That's how I got into trouble. Something—anything—to either keep that feeling going or to make it go away. There you are in a bedroom on a bus, bouncing down the road, and you turn to something else.”

Tanya wasn't making an excuse or justifying anything. She was just explaining, from one friend to another, what it's like. She wasn't a star whining about the rigors of the glamorous life. She was just honestly telling me that some nights it's tough to do it alone. I gave her a hug and drove home to my darling as grateful for my life as I could ever be.

I just saw T. Tucker at a Hall of Fame event, and she was doing just fine. She's got it all back on both rails now. She also screamed my name and grabbed a glass of Champagne from a passing tray and said, “Have one on me, Hoss.”