Dwight Yoakam's voice is
breaking. He's on the phone from his home in Los Angeles,
talking about his friend and musical mentor, the late Buck Owens,
whose best works he has just covered on his new album, Dwight Sings
Buck. It's been just over a year and a half since Owens died, at
age 76, and Yoakam still gets choked up - moved to tears, even -
when he discusses the man most of us knew as one of the pickin' and
grinnin' hosts of the comedy show Hee Haw.
The Owens Yoakam knew was more complicated than
his cornpone TV persona. "I was very lucky that I got to know Buck
personally and express the enormous debt of gratitude I owed him,"
Yoakam says.
What Yoakam is indebted to Owens for is his sound, the one
Yoakam's best known for, a twangy, rootsy style of country that,
during the 1980s, when Yoakam first gained notice, was a rebellion
against the more polished music coming out of Nashville. That style
of country was a return to the sound Owens had popularized in the
1950s and '60s, the so-called Bakersfield sound. Indeed, one of
Yoakam's early hits, "Little Ways," paid homage to the Bakersfield
sound and to Owens.
That song sparked a friendship and a professional
collaboration between the two men that would yield a No. 1 duet,
"Streets of Bakersfield," and numerous tours. Though Yoakam
downplays his role, his encouragement was pivotal in rousing Owens
from the self-imposed recording retirement he'd been in since the
death of his best friend and musical foil, guitarist Don Rich, in
1974. Before that, especially before Hee Haw, Owens had been at the
vanguard of American music. In the '60s, Owens's stinging
telecaster sound, distinctive vocals, and hot-wired LPs made him
not only a country-chart topper but also an inspiration to young
rockers everywhere. Owens was covered by the Beatles and was
referenced in a Creedence Clearwater Revival song. In 1968, he
played for both Lyndon Johnson in the White House and for a packed
house of hippies at the Fillmore Auditorium in San Francisco. His
work would ultimately have a profound impact on several generations
of musicians - and on Yoakam. Maybe that's why it seemed natural to
Yoakam to keep Owens's music alive with Dwight Sings Buck - even
though the memories still sometimes make him sad.
You had never covered Buck Owens's
music before. Why now? After Buck passed away, we were doing
a lot of his songs as a tribute in our live shows, and we just
couldn't stop doing that material. I felt like I owed it to Buck to
take him out with me one more time - or rather that he was
graciously coming out with me one more time. The record label saw
us and expressed an interest in having me do a tribute record.
While Buck was alive, I'd consciously avoided recording his songs.
I never ever considered usurping his right to own his music and
those songs. But after his passing, I thought, Okay, maybe now is
the time to do it.
Owens's songs are iconic to many country fans. Was
it difficult to put your own spin on the tunes? We always
started first with Buck's original arrangement as the template;
then we listened to see how we could add or change things.
Ultimately, I wanted an album that would have some continuity from
song to song, and that would give an overview of what I remembered
about Buck, my musical memory of him.
What do you think the impact of Hee Haw was on
Owens's reputation? Maybe this is too strong, but it sort of
distorted his legacy in a way. Once a hit television program occurs
- especially in the '60s, when there were only three networks - its
effect is indelible. At the very least, it clouded the clear sight
of how important he was as a massively crucial artist in country
music.
How important do you think Owens was? In
maintaining a bridge between country and rock, he played a pivotal
role in causing the genre of country-rock to occur. Without Buck
Owens, the Byrds wouldn't have done a Sweetheart of the Rodeo,
people like Gram Parsons and Clarence White wouldn't have been
introduced to the public, and I don't know if there would've been
an Eagles or a Linda Ronstadt either.
You spoke at Owens's funeral, and to anyone who
saw that, it was clear that you'd grown close to him. He was
like a surrogate parent to me - much to my chagrin sometimes and
much to my mother's delight. The first time he met my mom was in
Atlanta in 1988. We were all at dinner, and Buck was admonishing me
about something in my career; my mom looked over at me and said,
"Now, Dwight, you need to listen to Buck." Well, I never heard the
end of that. Until the last week of his life, he [often] reminded
me, "Dwight, now, you know what your mother told you - you're to
listen to me!"
The two of you are linked in country-music history
and also in the minds of many fans. People actually thought you
were always together. It's funny. For the first couple of
years I knew him, he would call up and say, "Dwight, it's Buck
Owens." I'd tell him, "You know, Buck, you don't have to tell me
your last name. I know which Buck it is by the sound of your
voice." Later, he'd do that just to tease me.
The week that Buck passed, he and I had a four-hour phone
conversation. Before he hung up, he mentioned that someone had
asked him if I would autograph something and where he should send
it. He said, "They act like I have dinner with you every night." I
said, "I know. They think we live across the street from each
other." He laughed and said, "Well, Dwight, we'll just always be
linked." I knew what he meant at the time. But I couldn't have
fathomed that just four days later it would come into play in
another way. [He chokes up.]
You'll have to excuse me. I haven't done many interviews about Buck
and this album. Recording his songs for the first time since his
passing, I really couldn't have anticipated the journey it was
going to become for me emotionally. I just hope that people know
that I did it with tremendous love and respect.