Tell me why…
I passed through the Hilton last night and as I am sitting on the balcony of a room near the poolside, I realize I am hearing the music being provided for the dining guests. Unbelievably (to me), the music for the night is country music and I don’t mean the cutesy pop crossover stylings of a Shania Twain, but real country music.
It strikes us suddenly that it is in fact a live performance and not (as we had previously assumed) pre-recorded. At this point, we start leaning to see if we can spot this crooning balladeer among the tables (kind of like Where’s Waldo?).
When we find him through the trees, he is indeed singing his heart out, strumming his guitar, wearing his ten-gallon hat. My disbelief was sealed when I realized that this music, which was being sung in a most authentic fashion, southern country accent and all, is coming from the mouth of a very ordinary looking black man.
I was dying to hear him speak to see if he would maintain the twang, let me say drawl, in conversation. Through all of this, I was very disappointed. Where is our cultural confidence? If he had to for whatever reason sing country music, could he not sing it like a Jamaican singing country music? It was a sad sight and sound.
