Loretta Lynn_ Coal Miner's Daughter - Loretta Lynn [68]
Most of my songs were from the woman’s point of view. In the old days, country music was directed at the men—truck-driving songs, easy women, cheating songs. I remember how excited I got back in 1952, the first time I heard Kitty Wells sing “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky-Tonk Angels.” That was the women’s answer to that Hank Thompson record called “The Wild Side of Life.” See, Kitty was presenting the woman’s point of view, which is different from the man’s. And I always remembered that when I started writing songs.
It certainly helped to have Kitty Wells and Patsy Cline come before me. The way I see it, the time was right for country music to get bigger. You think of some of the great artists in the Country Music Hall of Fame—Jimmy Rodgers, people like that. How many people really got to hear ’em in those days? They got on the Opry, and they had their fans, and they sold records, too. But it was like country music was a little club or something, a specialty.
But it seemed like the whole country was really ripe for country music in the 1960s, and I’m gonna tell you why: in my opinion, Ray Charles helped make country music more popular with more fans. Now I know what you’re saying: Ray Charles is black, and he’s a soul singer. That’s right. And country music used to mean all white. But you think about it. How much difference is there between soul music and blues and some of our old-fashioned country songs? All of it is people letting their feelings out. Then Ray Charles took “our” songs and he gave a soul feeling to ’em. He made that song, “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” and new people got the taste for country.
Ray Charles was a big man in show business. After hearing him, people were more prepared for Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard—and Loretta Lynn. When Charley Pride came along, sure, he had some problems being the first black country star. But he sang just like white men do—you listen to his records and he’s not a soul singer. Well, Ray Charles made it easier for all of us to reach a bigger audience, and I don’t feel he’s ever gotten the credit he deserves from Nashville.
Personally, I like to listen to soul music. I love Ray Charles. I listen to Aretha Franklin once in a while. In fact, I try to do a little soul on each of my albums. You listen to “Blueberry Hill” on my “One’s on the Way” album—I try to really let go. I’ll bet you I’ve got as many black fans as Charley Pride. Of course, I’m Charley’s biggest fan, so it balances out.
Still, I don’t listen much to the radio or other people’s records, because I don’t want to be influenced by ’em. That’s one thing I regret. People tell me about Joni Mitchell or Bob Dylan or the Beatles, and I’ve got to admit I don’t know their work. I admire the good songwriters in country music—Kris Kristofferson and Tom T. Hall can tell a story better in one line than most of us can in five. And I think I’ve told a few stories in my songs, too. That song “Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’ ” got to be Number One in the nation, and it was also the first album ever made by a woman singer that sold a million dollars.
I got lots of help in my recording sessions from Owen Bradley. If he would make a suggestion, he usually had a good reason. In the past five years, I’ve gotten more experienced about what’s going to sell. So I don’t clear my songs with Owen anymore. I just show up and record ’em.
The last time he didn’t like a song was when I was singing “Wings upon Your Horns.” He turned off all the recording knobs and hollered, “Hey, this can’t go on the air like this. What’s the matter with you?” See, he thought there was something dirty with the lyrics. I was singing “You’re the only one to make me …” and then I’d take a long pause and sing, “fall