It's time to rank the best of what went around and came around again.
BILLY JOEL
The Stranger
(Columbia/Legacy)
As punk and disco exploded, the Piano Man's deeply unhip 1978 breakthrough proved that top-shelf Broadway/Brill Building songwriting could still sell - and, occasionally, rock. "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant" and "Anthony's Song (Movin' Out)" remain priceless snapshots of Annie Hall-era NYC, the title track bares real teeth, and the Kenny Chesney fave "Only the Good Die Young" -
PHOTOS AND REVIEW BY NICK SPACEK
The last "young country" show I saw was about 10 years ago, and when Tracy Lawrence suggested that the crowd turn Sandstone into a roadhouse, five fistfights broke out pretty much immediately. Kenny Chesney's Sun City Carnival tour rolled through the Sprint Center Saturday night, and the venue went from arena to roadhouse. It was a rowdy crowd, but a respectful one. Country music fans know how to drink, though, and by the end of the show, I was standing in a pud
Just when the battle of Roquefort tariffs appeared to be at its ultimate low -- when connoisseurs of the French cheese were about to be charged more per ounce than if they'd been buying gold topped with cocaine served with Kenny Chesney tickets -- the United States and Europe have reached an agreement sparing Roquefort.The more than 300 percent tariff was one of the last acts George W. Bush signed while in office. But it's not because of animosity towards his predecessor that Obama's administrat
When it came to me that I should write about the country top 10, I figured two things, both of them wrong. First, I assumed I'd be writing a lot, but come to find out change comes slowly to country radio, which means even after a week off there's only two hits I haven't gotten to, yet. They're below.
Second, I thought that contemplating all this gung-ho, uplifting, too-slick, cheese-stuffed, real 'Merican Nashpop might lead me to some insight about this country's cultural divide - like, maybe
This week's three (plus one) top 10 country hits demonstrate the full range of approaches available to Nashville's hit-making men. There's Toby Keith's beefy traditionalism, Billy Currington's barroom morality tale, Darius Rucker's poppy reassurances, and Rascal Flatt's party-time crossover abomination. They also demonstrate the limitations of those artists' producers, as every song here resorts to the cheap trick of dropping out most of the instruments for a dramatic hush just before the final
