Johnny Cash, that's top of the line." In 1982 Mr. "After Johnny Cash I said, what am I going to do now, play with Elvis? He's gone. Stuart stayed with Flatt until he died in 1979, then spent time as a session musician in Nashville before joining Mr.
I loved it: living free, meeting girls, playing mandolin, hanging out with some great pickers." I lived at Lester's house until my parents relocated up to Tennessee. These were my buddies, my poker-playing buddies. "And my peers, because they were Lester's, became Ernest Tubb and Roy Acuff and Bill Monroe. "I got to town, and two days later I was working with Lester Flatt," he says. The following year he climbed on a bus bound for Nashville. She slapped it out of my hand and said, 'If you get your mind off that trash and get it onto history, you might make something of yourself.' To which the genius here replied, 'I'm more interested in making history than I am learning about it.' " The thing that broke it all down was that I was reading a country music magazine inside my history book. "Nobody in my school knew who Bill Monroe was, or Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, and barely Johnny Cash," he says. It takes more than that to really sustain in country music." I hear some authentic country music on the radio today, but most of it is glossed-over pop. "It's the reason Long John Silver sells more fish than the catfish house on the edge of town: they've succeeded in making fish not taste so much like fish. "Why is country music so big these days?" he continues. Every time I hear a Garth Brooks record I tend to want to hear James Taylor. Because I'm not so sure Garth is that country.
As far as me telling you that Garth means as much to me as Johnny Cash, no way.
I truly respect the numbers he's generated and the interest he's generated. Cash the souped-up bluegrass of "High on a Mountain Top," an old-timey tune dating back to the 30's. Stuart's style reflects his influences: the loping boom-chicka-boom rhythm of "Doin' My Time," a duet with Mr. I'm country to the bone but I don't wear no hat." Mr. "But I feel different, I said, 'cause I'm a natural-born cat. "Right now, country music's got more singers than I believe I've ever seen," he tells Williams in "Me and Hank and Jumpin' Jack Flash" against a twangy blues soundtrack. Opening with a surreal spoken narrative in which the singer dreams he visits "hillbilly heaven" and meets Hank Williams, through songs like "Down Home," "Honky Tonk Crowd" and "Now That's Country," the album aspires to nothing less than a definition of the nature of country music, and Mr. Stuart's sixth and latest album, could be his ultimate statement on country music. Could be a rational explanation, but we prefer to think Ernest is among us." "One of the guys in my band got up to check it out, and the cord was unplugged. "One time we were driving and the lights started blinking," says Mr. He dresses country: his closets are stocked with rhinestone-encrusted and rose-embroidered jackets designed by the western-wear guru Manuel, a protege of Nudie Cohen, the clothier who tailored outlandish suits for Gene Autry, Porter Wagoner and Roy Rogers. He was raised country, playing mandolin on the stage of the Grand Ole Opry by the time he was 13 and on tour with Lester Flatt for the rest of his teens. He was born country, in rural Mississippi, where at an early age he ditched his copy of "Meet the Beatles" because it didn't move him as much as his Johnny Cash and Flatt and Scruggs records. "Do you ever get the feeling," he says, "that we're at a freshly painted Holiday Inn?" Sitting poolside for an interview, the 33-year-old singer Marty Stuart glances around with the mild confusion of one slightly out of his element. It's neat and clean, but it sure isn't country. Shoulder to shoulder with fur outlets, tile manufacturers, fast-food joints and muffler shops, the Island Inn leans more toward the motel part of its name: it has a lobby with a fake fireplace and English reproduction furniture, endless corridors lined with nondescript numbered doors, a pool out back with pink and green tables, umbrellas and lawn chairs. The Island Inn Motel is situated on a strip of highway here that bears the misnomer Old Country Road.
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