Grammy nominee’s album good for the soul

As I browsed through the 2014 Grammy Awards nominees, layers of life settled on me. Once I navigated through copious pop, rap, and rock categories, I saw names of songwriters whose music has comforted me like a stowed blanket after traveling down a heartworn highway.

I didn’t write much in 2013. It was a hard year. But somewhere in the middle of it, my husband and I took a break.

We had a beer at the Porthole and listened to two aging hippies clad in Jimmy Buffett shirts cover John Prine and Little Feat. They sang in between spinning yarns and tossing verbal ironies at an unsuspecting bevy of barely-21s. They warned the crowd that if they wanted any requests, “Good luck.”

I don’t know who they were, but I’d like to thank them for taking my request, which was anything from Jerry Jeff Walker, and providing a moment of respite. Once upon a time, before kids and between careers, my husband and I spent hours playing pool, drinking longnecks, and listening to Jerry Jeff songs in the middle of a Southwestern desert.

The song they played, though, wasn’t actually Jerry Jeff’s. But close enough. “Desperadoes Waiting for a Train,” was written by Guy Clark, who also wrote “L.A. Freeway” that gave him his gonzo compadre fame.

And just a few weeks after that beer, Clark’s first album in years came out — “My Favorite Picture of You.” I listened to it over and over. Clark’s voice has softened and frayed over more hard years than one. But somehow he managed to discard self-pity and self-indulgence as he gently recalls in song his life with wife Susanna, who died just a year before the album’s release.

Clark, his wife, Susanna, and a stable of names that include Highwaymen Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings created the Outlaw Country sound from a mixture of Texas cowboy dust, Mississippi mud, and rock’s substance-infused rebellion. At the top of that list was Clark’s legendary friend Townes Van Zandt, who died on a New Year’s Day nearly two decades ago.

Van Zandt drew his inspiration from Hank Williams, who also died on a New Year’s Day, and Elvis Presley, whose birthday is coming up. His songs sounded more lonesome than a Western highway to nowhere. His ballad “Pancho and Lefty,” recorded by Nelson and Merle Haggard, combines acceptance and resistance into a hardscrabble paradox. His poetic perspective survives in apt material for groups like The Cowboy Junkies and Emmylou Harris.

Clark’s nostalgic album of new material is nominated this year for “Best Folk Album.” I’m not sure what folk music is anymore, but Clark’s songs are down-home, down-and-out, down-to-earth music. The album probably belongs in the American roots genre, but a couple of other familiar names long associated with Clark and the beginnings of Outlaw Country show up in that category.

Harris and Rodney Crowell are nominated this year for their collaboration on “Old Yellow Moon,” an album also worthy of praise and prize. Crowell, along with Clark and Van Zandt, was featured in the pivotal 1976 documentary “Heartworn Highways” and was once married to Cash’s daughter Rosanne.

Fellow Texas troubadour Kristofferson will finally receive a Lifetime Achievement Award this year on Grammy night. Songs like “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down,” “Me and Bobby McGee,” and “Help Me Make It Through the Night” have been woven into the fabric of American music and experience. These are the songs that somehow make us feel good about feeling bad.

One final name that briefly appeared in “Heartworn Highways,” also found its way on this year’s Grammy nominees list. Steve Earle rejoined the Dukes last year to release the Low Highway. The album’s track “Invisible” is up for “Best American Roots Song.” As fans of his early music, my husband and I saw Earle perform at the State Street Church in Portland. But I soured on Earle when he became a crusader of fringe politics and started writing bumper-sticker lyrics. Ironically the documentary that launched him to the world outside of Texas ends with an impromptu harmonizing of “Silent Night” by guys just barely able to deal with their own problems.

Sometimes it helps to take a break from life’s travels, to wrap up in some compassion and the poetry of minstrels and vagabonds. Then we can straighten up, and fly right again. Then somehow we can manage to wend our way toward cherished photographs, unexpected forgiveness and replenished strength.

The music that started around littered kitchen tables in Texas, ostracized from the rhinestoned Nashville studios, has traveled down a road that also carried Hank Williams, Bob Wills, Willie Dixon, and Blind Willie McTell. That road of hard living, regrets and stray paths can get cold and weary. It’s the cowboy story.

I probably won’t watch the Grammys. I haven’t in years. After all, it’s an industry event that rewards commercial success and Miley Cyrus moments. But I think I’ll listen to some more Guy Clark and Jerry Jeff Walker this year and be reminded that redemption can be found along the road, and rewards are around the next bend.