“I don’t remember how old I was when I watched the needle drop on my first vinyl record, but I do remember the song. It was ‘Blowing Bubble Gum,’ by Spike Jones and His City Slickers. It’s not a traditionally ‘cool’ song, but nobody’s ever accused me of being traditionally cool anyway. My family had a collection of worn out gospel records, and I remember laughing with my cousins about the awkward vintage photos on some of the covers. (For reference, google: ‘Captain Hook and His Pirate Crew, gospel album.’)”
“I signed with my first Nashville producer when I was just a little kid. My Mom and I would load up her bright pink Geo Tracker, and we’d take off down the highway from Michigan to Tennessee, blaring my LeAnn Rimes cassette tape with the windows rolled down. In my early teens, I played the honky tonks on Lower Broadway and ran my fingertips over the album covers lining the walls in Legends Corner. I combed through the display racks at The Ernest Tubb Record Shop, dreaming of recording my own project someday.
By the time I was 16, I was touring with country music legends and memorizing their songs. Jack Greene took me on the road as his duet partner, and I had the opportunity to learn from Loretta Lynn, Porter Wagoner, Bill Anderson, Little Jimmy Dickens, and so many of my classic country heroes. Several years ago, I started collecting their records. Phonoluxe, McKay’s, Grimey’s, and The Great Escape are some of my favorite places to go treasure hunting in Nashville. It’s a weird feeling to walk into a vintage record store and see the names and the faces of the people I grew up around.
I love to listen to these artists on vinyl, the way their music was intended to be heard when it was recorded. The sound of the static takes me home. I remember Jack Greene pointing out a mistake that his producer Owen Bradley left in his original 1969 recording of the #1 hit ‘Statue of a Fool.’ If you listen closely, at 1:14 you can hear a faint whistle where pedal steel guitar legend Pete Drake’s slide slipped out of his hand. That’s what I miss most about music in 2018; the imperfections.
Last year, I found one of the cover CDs that I used to sell on the road with Jack for sale in The Ernest Tubb Record shop on Broadway. It’s a permanent effigy to my awkward teenage years, filling me with equal parts embarrassment and pride. Time has passed and many of the artists I knew in my youth have as well, but their music will never die.
Vinyl records live on like beautiful ghost stories, guardian angels that help me stay the course. As excited as I am about the songs that I’m currently recording, it’s important to remember that without the hard work and influence of the artists who paved the way, I would not be who I am. Someday, I hope that the album I’m recording now will inspire someone else, and live on long after I’m gone.”
—Candi Carpenter
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PHOTO: SAID DIAZ
