"They're gonna put me in the movies...."

Buck Owens died this weekend. While not everyone is a fan of Hee-Haw or even his style of sequined, MexiCal, country music, Buck Owens represents something that every artist should try to remember.

I was raised in Appalachia during a time when trips to the Bluegrass festival with the Hells' Angels were not uncommon. Our family treasured for the longest time a picture of my mother and aunt with Hee-Haw staple Grandpa Jones. Through all of that, I could hear a sound. It was a sound of western music. A little more rhythm and a lot more hope. While Country music began as the white man's blues, western music incorporated a fever from south of the border.

I was raised on Waylon Jennings. It's true, Bob Wills is still the king. And Marty Robbins won our hearts. But the heart of Western music is in Bakersfield.

Buck Owens' hard-driving, twang-filled, cry of hope and pain lived in Bakersfield, CA. It reached the rest of the world every Saturday night on Hee-Haw. It just never tried to be something that it wasn't. Listen to Merle Haggard and you'll find that sound. But if you look to Nashville, you'd have a hard time finding Buck.

When you know who you are and are ok with it, the Streets of Bakersfield is an okay place to be.

j.brown