Porter Wagoner shakes me up. He sings of the cold hard facts (of life), the promise of murder, lock-downs in rubber rooms, and the power of the lord. When he was alongside the beatific, brilliant Dolly Parton and her sweet face, her glittering peroxide hair and her plentiful bosom there was just something... profound. There always was with the blonde, Nudie-suit-wearing, murder-balladeering Wagoner.
American, but far beyond that. Subterranean. Fathomless. Dance of the Spirits. Or, to quote Neil Young, "Aurora borealis, the icy sky at night."
Cries and whispers. Could have been a Wagoner tune. If only Porter had worked with Ingmar Bergman. He's the Antonius Block of country music.