No Fences

When I was a kid, like, preschool/kindergarten age, I remember my father playing “The Thunder Rolls” through the speakers of whatever van he was told he had to have in order to be a father. The distorted thunder sound effects, the minor key acoustic picking, the distorted whine of an electric guitar. It was my first taste of “adult” music. Listening to it now at 4am, feeling the now experienced feelings of both parties involved in the heartbreaking narrative, I can’t believe I was allowed to hear music like this. But everyone listened to Garth Brooks, a neotraditionalist country musician who, on No Fences, cribs from whatever sounded good to him. Nothing was off limits; the flirtations with power balladry in “The Thunder Rolls,” the Cat Stevens-esque piano tinkling in “New Wave To Fly,” and still absolute motherfucker of a party song “Friends In Low Places.” Stitched together by that voice, smooth and winking throughout, communicating a wry ache that felt honest in a way that almost makes you forget you’re listening to a juggernaut. Find a CD or cassette at your local record store, which at the time of this writing is still the only legal way to listen to Brooks’ discography, which kind of makes it that more special.