Today, as I put the house back in order from the holidays, I turn up the radio and belt out the song with my horribly out-of-tune voice.
It’s a country song. It’s Carrie Underwood. My husband comes into the kitchen, and I confess, “Honey, I’m sorry, I’m back to country music. I just love it, and I can’t help it.”
I do love country music. I love the sentimental, predictable, sappy, small-town, bad-rhymes, and twanging guitars of it. I love it all. I know I’m supposed to be refined, academic, discerning, and above this kind of music. I’m supposed to have good taste.
I know it’s not intellectual. I know that the formula is standard in most country songs: Someone’s going to have a broken heart. God usually appears by the last line. And finally, it’s going to be patriotic of all things.
I love it. I love it all.
I had to admit this to you. I hope you’ll still like me.
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Do you have a favorite country song? Anything else you’d like to admit?
