Natalie Maines Is My Idol, Or How I Learned to Love Country Music

Natalie Maines Is My Idol,
Or How I Learned to Love Country Music

By Jackie Klein

Once upon a time I, like so many Long Islanders, assumed I hated country music. I remember making fun of Billy Ray Cyrus's achy, breaky heart in middle school (adamantly, because someone had caught me subconsciously singing along). I pop-ed out, grunge-ed, Lilith-ed out, even occasionally goth-ed out for all of my teenage years. My mom had a Winona tape, but that was cheesy grown-up music. And then G happened.

G is one of my best friends. We met in a required Canadian Literature class in college. She is from Colorado. She owns cowboy hats, numerous pairs of boots, belts with names like Winston and Cornelius burned into them, and enough giant rodeo belt-buckles to start her own store. Our friend M and I made fun of her every chance we got. What was this crap she listened to, so foreign to a New Jersey-ite and a Long Islander?

But after a while I found myself not changing the country music station channel on my TV (this had nothing to do with the station switch over to porn in the middle of the night, I swear). Then G came to New York for a few weeks one summer and, using the jurisdiction of the shot-gun-controls-the-radio rule, programmed 92.5 into my radio. That is, of course, the only country station that comes in here. It comes from Connecticut, where apparently they are less afraid to be redneck. Needless to say, I never erased the setting and would hit it a few times a car ride in an attempt to find something on the radio.

Well, first I just listened to a few songs. Jose Cuervo was popular at the time, so was She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy. Both funny little ditties, harmless enough to stop and listen. Then maybe Alan Jackson wasn't so bad, neither was George Strait. I was not a country fan. Just having a little fun listening to the radio is all. Yeah, okay, maybe I was doomed.

And then came the Dixie Chicks. This was pre-"comment," but I still knew a bit about them. I knew they had played Lilith Fair and so couldn't be all bad. My friend Greg was sick of my country infatuation, but he could tolerate the Chicks. I watched the two of us pummel towards like, then adoration, and, in my case, full out love.

I owed G for a few things, so as a graduation gift I got Top of the World tour tickets for the three of us. This was not long after "the comment," and coincided with the release of a Harry Potter book, making it the best day in my recent memory. After the concert I could not get enough. They were amazing. I bought the live CD a few months later and even now, years later, it rarely leaves my car stereo.

The Chicks hate Bush; the entire Republican Party seems to hate them; they have amazing voices; they can fiddle. What's not to love? This year brought a new album - a little less country, a little more breathtaking vocals and kick ass rock. And with a new album comes, of course, the Accidents and Accusations tour!

I am not ashamed to admit that I bought my Madison Square Garden tickets presale (one for me, one for G; Greg was out of town) and then proceeded to buy Jones Beach tickets as soon as they went on sale. I am still a little worried about the rescheduling of the Jones Beach show (it was postponed due to extreme heat and I fear it will end up cancelled), but in the interim am trying to figure out if I can find someone to go with me to see them in Vegas over Thanksgiving weekend. Obsess much?

Following their Aug. 1 Madison Square Garden entrance to Hail to the Chief country-style, and the amazing Lubock or Leave It, Natalie Maines proclaimed, "And I love gay people!" She looked around confused, realizing that something had just randomly and unscripted jumped out of her mouth and no one really understood where it came from.

In explanation, she pointed out that there was a guy with a sign stating "I'm gay, but I still dig Chicks!" Note to Natalie: You win. Being a band that straight chicks emulate and lesbians and straight men gawk at, winning over the gay-male demographic, particularly in Manhattan, was probably no easy task. Oh, wait, they make amazing music and they pissed off a narrow-minded, homophobic president. Score.

This was, though, still no walk in the park as evidenced by the anger of the new album. The anger was all there, contained by the walls of Madison Square Garden, reminding us that they really are not ready to back down, not ready to make nice. They are, however, willing to let go for brief interludes, gracing the audience with such gems as the calm Lullaby, the raucous Sin Wagon, and of course, their amazing cover of Bob Dylan's Mississippi.

Despite playing to a full house in Manhattan, it has recently been reported that the Chicks have cancelled a few shows in places like Fargo, North Dakota and parts of Florida (Jeb-land, let's not forget!) due to low ticket sales, choosing to replace them with venues in Canada. So now in addition to driving around in my car blasting Long Time Gone and pretending that I am a long lost Dixie Chick, I will also pretend I am Canadian where people are obviously cooler. Oh wait, I already do that.

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