My Honky Tonk Roman Doppelganger, Kyle Jennings

Here is a truism: No matter how proudly you feel about your uniquely clever idea, somebody somewhere else has also thought of it. In my case, I have Doppelganger I did not see coming. His name is Kyle Jennings. And he is in Honky Tonk Rome, doing as the Honky Tonk Romans do.

Back in 2008, I recorded and released a charming Country song called “Honky Tonk Romans,” (lyrics below); the tale of a hapless Portlandy Indie-Folkster who finds himself on a stage in a rural roadhouse singing in front of a crowd who doesn’t care much for what he has to say. It begins, “I’m never gonna play this town again / The local population doesn’t understand…” Long story short, “they descend on (him) like an army of Honky Tonk Romans.”

It’s a popular song in my live set — for rural, urban, and suburban audiences alike. (Everybody has some sense of humor, and everyone likes a good story with a catchy melody and a happy ending.) But for the studio recording I didn’t feel I had enough twang in my giddyup, so I hired my Alt-Americana friend Steve Taddei (from Salt Lick) to give it some needed vocal grit. The result was solidly entertaining, old-school Classic Country in the Krisofferson vein.

A dozen years later, I was doing a quick search for my song on CDBaby YouTube, and I came across this authentic aweomeness:

So, I reached out to Kyle Jennings. Because, of course I did. Honestly, it’s too perfect to ignore. As my Sweetheart Katie put it: “His song is from the point of view of the audience characters in your song.”

Yeah, in my song, a young troubadouring Hipster shows up in Honky Tonk Rome and disrespects their scene. Antagonism ensues, but they all work it out through some good ole fashioned Honk Tonk violence. (He finally gets it; they pay him and send him on his way.)

But Kyle did not respond (and hasn’t yet at the time of this posting). I like to think the reasons are incidental: He’s too busy. He gets too much feedback in his inbox to notice mine. I look in on him every once in a while, and yeah, he’s pretty successful in his tier. He’s good. He’s prolific. Michigan-raised, migrant to Nashville — songstering and showcasing with a lot more fans & followers than I got. He’s gotta keep his nose to the grindstone, furthering his career. I know how it is; sincerely, there’s not a lot of time to take a pause for a random songcraft connection across the digisphere to indulge a pretender like myself.

Now, hold on a minute:  Did I just call myself a “pretender.” Okay, to be clear, by “pretender,” I do not mean “poser.” This isn’t self-deprecation here; just acknowledgement that I am not in the Music Industry . I just work very hard to make it look like I’m in the Music Industry. The difference isn’t in the quality of the Art, just in where I’m doing it — outside the Industry . I’m still an “artist of consequence,” worthy of airplay, interviews, reviews, listings, collaboration and rubbing shoulders with colleagues. Only, as an outsider. Whereas, the pavement-pounded by Kyle Jennings is in geographical heart of Country Music.  

Anwyay, it is what it is. But… there’s something else I couldn’t help noticing… and wondering about: Politics. Kyle Jennings is fairly open about his rightward leaning, with smatterings of agenda:

“Buy ammo, vote red,” he reminds his fans. (Yeah, that’s quite a bit different from my thinking, in that we get to vote so that we don’t have to buy ammo, maybe?)

Now, when I first saw it, I chuckled. ‘Cause, that’s just common harmless rhetoric amongst rural conservatives, right? It’s like young college lefties who wear Che Guevera T-shirts who got no plans for going out to do authentic Che-Guevera-like mischief. Nothing to see there, really. I strongly doubt that Kyle Jennings has plans of doing anything untoward with his ammo — like storm the capitol building. And I’m sure that if I showed up on his local rural Michigan Honky Tonk stage singing my liberal claptrap (A Song About This), he and his fellow Honky Tonk Romans would not be descending on me in a “blur of violence.” They’d laugh. We’d be friends.

But now, considering the times, I’m not so sure. At first, it was natural for me to think: “He’s a true songster, an artist. Probably, he’d be into the whole Gestalt of it.” (Though he’d unlikely use an egg-headedly woo-woo term like “Gestalt.”) There’s a lot we could shoot-the-songritery-shit about: character-development, lines between fiction & autobiography, the use of humor without swerving into Novelty-song genre. Surely, he’d have fun with it. Maybe he’d enjoy the opportunity to reach across the Music Biz aisle (if there is one.) And speaking of the humor… Humor is our promising lens through which we can see ourselves as less-divided. In our sense of humor, and through music, we might actually come together (if it’s not too late.)

And furthermore, as an artist, he would surely understand that the smart-ass hipster character in my song is not me. It’s some other smug, self-satisfied prick getting carried away with his mavericky pose. (I outgrew those sort of “edgy” posturings way back when Seattle’s The Rocket rag went out of business.)

But I just know anymore. It’s quite possible that after I approached him, Kyle Jennings poked around my internet footprint, read the blogs herein, and said to himself, “I don’t want nothing to do with that West Coast liberal lefty.”

Sigh… he’s probably just too busy. But I sure would like to laugh with him — Songster-to-Songster — about the clever Honky Tonk Rome idea we both dreamed up, independently, miles and worlds apart.

Anyway, here’s the back-story of “Honky Tonk Romans.” And the lyrics are below.

I’m never gonna play this town again / The local population doesn’t understand / It’s like going to a different land / They got hearts made of leather and their minds made up / They take their words like their drinks, straight up / One slip of the tongue, now I’m all laid up

John Barrett told me to keep things light. Yes he did / In retrospect he was right / But I don’t ever change my act for no one

In a sea of patriotic homicidal tatoos; those were my first clues / It was that, and too much booze / They descended on my like an army of Honky Tonk Romans / I came here by invite / To offer some insight / And all they wanted to do was dance

Cowboy boots, Cowboy hats / American roots, yeah I expected that / But nobody was looking up at where I sat, and played my guitar. / Oh I was singing just like a bird / But nobody heard my beautiful words / I never looked and sounded so absurd

And then somebody chalking his cue at the end of the bar; he looked alarmed / I guess I must have taken things too far / ‘Cause everything after that is just a blur of violence / They said, “We don’t like the way you talk / We’re gonna toss your ass through the juke box / All we wanna do on a Friday night is blow off steam / Please don’t you make fun of our American dream.”

Now, I’ve entertained kids of every age / Ain’t never been throwed off of any stage / I always leave ‘em screaming and clapping for more / But these folks can be forgiven / ‘Cause they work hard for a livin’ / And they paid me the guarantee, plus half of the door