San Francisco is a Lonely Town— Linda Martell

#365Songs: February 18th

Like the land we live on, White Americans stole country music, claimed it as our own, and then built barriers to keep out our forbearers. I won’t even attempt to retread the stories of how Black music laid the foundation for everything we’ve come to love, as that would be a very White Man thing to do, but please do yourself a favor and listen to the absolutely masterful Episode 3 of the New York Times’s 1619 podcast: The Birth of American Music.

Though I’ve certainly never been her biggest fan, or a fan at all, I’m feeling a lot of admiration for Beyoncé as she begins to release songs off her forthcoming country album. While attempts to reclaim stolen sounds is not a new initiative, I can’t imagine a more fitting person to spark the conversation around the roots of what country music artists and fans mistake as their roots.

So let’s have a look at a few of the more predictable reactions.

In response to a request, an Oklahoma station tweeted: “Hi — we do not play Beyoncé on KYKC as we are a country music station.”

John Schneider, best known for being an asshole for far longer than he played Bo Duke — a white trash racist asshole — on Dukes of Hazard, compared her foray into country music as being like a “dog peeing on their tree.”

Fragile little men marking territory that’s not theirs to begin with is just about the most tired American thing to do. When they’re not trying to steal elections they’re plucking old tunes out from under where they’ve always belonged.

But as much as this post is meant to poke at that slate of white men who can’t seem to get out of their own way — and everyone else’s — it’s also about celebrating a Black female artist who shouldn’t get lost — again — in the conversation.

Linda Martell’s Color Me Country came out in 1970, an era like so many others that was dominated by men — Merle Haggard, Hank Williams Jr., Conway Twitty, Johnny Cash — and a few women, all white — Loretta Lynn, Tammy Wynette, and of course Dolly Parton. The genre was a turn from her R&B roots, but after Charley Pride’s surprising breakthrough success, a Nashville-based furniture salesman offered to represent her because he “figured that if” HE “could find a colored girl that could sing country and western,” HE WOULD “really have something.” And SHE DID have something, which led her to become the first Black female artist to play the Grand Ole Opry. Naturally, she was taunted by the predominately white audiences. “You’re gonna run into hecklers, and I did…You felt pretty awful,” she told Rolling Stone. It’s remarkable that absolutely nothing has changed in that regard for the past 54 years.

There are countless Black artists who have influenced what we love today, across all genres, and entirely too many whose legacies have been lost, their sounds hijacked or erased entirely from history. And while I could, and should, write a thousand posts celebrating all of them, I do think we owe a lot of gratitude to the pop stars who use their platforms to repave roads for those who belong on them. Linda Martell was one of those artists a few generations ago, and Beyonce is stepping up to take that on now.

Two happy people on a Greyhound bus
We came here looking for a life for us
But the nightlife is her new life and the only thing I’ve found is
San Francisco is a lonely town

Oh, there were good times for a little while
But now her new friends say I cramp her style
I guess I’m only in the way now and she don’t need me hanging round
San Francisco is a lonely town

Now she’s out there somewhere across the Bay
And she’ll be wondering where I am when she gets in today
She’ll find I’ve left her a oneway ticket home
And while she stands there crying all alone
And while the Greyhound keeps on rolling I’ll pray the Lord she’s found
San Francisco is a lonely town

San Francisco is a lonely town…