There Was A Country

Some Kent releases come together in a relatively short period of time, while others require a longer gestation period. This month, we're proud to bring you one that falls firmly into the latter category. It's been a fortnight short of two years since we first began work on a project that would attempt to tell a story-in-song of Black American participation in the Vietnam war, a project that has been in the works for the whole of that time. The original annotation plans fell through not once, but twice, both times at the last minute. Just as we thought everything was running smoothly, we had to revise our originally perceived track listing. (One of the tracks we'd licensed had suddenly become worth three times as much in its licensor's eyes as had already been agreed, due to the fact that "war sells records" - a new one on us, we must admit.) It often felt like this project was the place where catastrophe and calamity meet - but, finally, 100 weeks after it was first discussed, A SOLDIER'S SAD STORY is ready. As compiler and part-annotator, I could hardly be more pleased with the end result.

Johnny Cash was one of the most imposing and influential figures in post-World War II country music. With his deep, resonant baritone and spare percussive guitar, he had a basic, distinctive sound. Cash didn't sound like Nashville, nor did he sound like honky tonk or rock & roll. He created his own subgenre, falling halfway between the blunt emotional honesty of folk, the rebelliousness of rock & roll, and the world-weariness of country. Cash's career coincided with the birth of rock & roll, and his rebellious attitude and simple, direct musical attack shared a lot of similarities with rock. However, there was a deep sense of history as he would later illustrate with his series of historical albums that kept him forever tied with country. And he was one of country music's biggest stars of the '50s and '60s, scoring well over 100 hit singles.

Christine Rosander has the kind of voice that makes you want to laugh, cry and even shout a “Hallelujah!” or two. Her sultry mix of gospel — honed by a childhood of singing in church — country and folk, warms the spirit with a captivating, earthy power.

A surreal, absurd mix of politics, sex, fantasty, black comedy and brutality that has been widely hailed as one of the decade's most exhilerating cinematic efforts. During World War II, a pair of friends in the Serb resistance hide in an intricate cellar. Years later, the war is over but the lies and deceptions continue. Winner of the award for Best Film at the 1995 Cannes Film Festival.

Veteran folksinger Bob Gibson had been a friend of Shel Silverstein's long before he devoted an album to singing compositions by the country and novelty songwriter. Silverstein, the author of "The Cover of Rolling Stone" and "A Boy Named Sue," supplied Gibson with a characteristic collection of mostly comic story songs for this release. "The Man Who Turns the Damn Thing Off and On" poked fun at automation, for example, while "Golden Kiss" was the tale of a country songwriter who encounters the ultimate country music muse so she says, anyway and "Makin' a Mess of Commercial Success" was a first-person account of a beer drinker's recruitment to make a beer commercial.

Although she became famous for "Queen of the House," her response to Roger Miller's "King of the Road," Jody Miller pioneered a fusion of folk, country, and pop that set the stage for the folky country-pop of the '70s. Raised in Oklahoma, she was born Myrna Joy Miller and, inspired by the music of Joan Baez, learned to play guitar at the age of 14. Soon after, Miller joined a folk trio and began performing at a local coffeehouse. Lou Gottlieb, a member of folk group the Limelighters, heard her sing and was impressed enough to offer to help her get a recording contract, provided she move to Los Angeles. Miller initially declined, as she had recently married, but eventually she and her husband went to California to test the waters. A friend of the family arranged an audition with Capitol Records, which signed Miller while suggesting that she change her name from Myrna to the folkier "Jody."