Today's one-hit wonders, Jones says, aren't worthy of much respect. "Nowadays," he says, "you see these kids up in the air, puttin' on all this crap, smoking everybody they can and kissin' ass. Trying to get something that they don't even deserve yet.
"Back in my day," he adds, "we found our own damn songs. We hunted for 'em. We were hungry. And we went in the studio, and if they thought we could sing, they signed us up and took it for granted that we knew what was gonna sell." Decisions on songs, he notes, weren't made by "some little ol' long-britches out of New York that never even liked country music to start with."
A serious Jones: Many people know George Jones as the greatest country singer of all time.
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8 p.m. Saturday, May 19
$39-$69, 303-534-8336
Paramount Theatre, 1631 Glenarm Place
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Jones is equally miffed at one of his friends and allies, George Strait. After receiving the CMA award last year for his cover of Larry Cordle's anti-Nashville tune, "Murder on Music Row," Strait carried out country's equivalent of a Judas kiss. Trophy in hand, as country traditionalists celebrated, Strait claimed he had recorded the tune as a joke.
"No offense to my good friend George Strait," Jones says, "but what he said on that awards show, I had to respond to it. I got on the radio here and I told 'em, 'I've got news for George Strait. Country music to me is no joke.' It burnt me up," Jones adds, before interrupting his screed. "Am I talking too much?" he asks. "I get revved up when I talk about country music."
On the heels of Truth's success, Jones is revving up for another round in his fight against pseudo-country. He's just finished recording a new disc, tentatively titled Stone Cold Country, that will appear on a new label, Bandit/BNA. The label is run by Evelyn Shriver and Susan Nadler, former Asylum heads and the brains behind Cold Hard Truth. Jones is a partner in the label. The new platter was produced by Emory Gordy Jr.; its first single is scheduled for a July release, and the full-length disc will appear in stores in September.
With his career enjoying some newfound momentum, Jones is thrilled. He's especially happy about his current run of sobriety, credit for which he gives to Nancy, his wife of eighteen years. Not that he's completely distancing himself from his past: For a photo accompanying a recent interview with Playboy, Jones appeared in the seat of his riding lawnmower, making light of his most famous drunk-driving episode.
"To live it down, you've got to try to laugh a little bit," Jones says. "It bothers me a lot when I think of things I've done. But there's nothing you can do about it anymore. I've got license tags on all my vehicles that say 'No Show.' Everywhere I go, there's still somebody that says, 'Hey, No Show.' It don't make me mad. I say, 'Yeah, but I'm showing today, ain't I?' I think everybody is getting to know the real George lately."
Better still, more fans are getting to know his music, including a younger breed of hardcores. "I've even had rock-and-roll-lookin' kids come to my shows, with these pierced ears and noses, they got these Mohawk hairdos," Jones says. "They love traditional country music."
That same affection, Jones says, is what's made him country's most revered singer.
"First of all," he says, "I've got the song there that I'm really sold on. And when I start singing, I'm like I'm in another world. I'm actually living every moment of that song. I feel like I am that person that the story is about. And I think that's the only way that you can really put your heart and soul into it fully. You've got to live it while you're singing it. And the only way that I think you can really do that is to love -- love -- what you're doing. Not for the almighty dollar alone. You've got to love country music."
