Riffs, Rants, Raves, Reflections
Crazy . . . for Patsy Cline, Always
KENT ZELAS
* 04/08/99
Los Angeles Times
Copyright 1999 / The Times Mirror Company
Patsy Cline's journey into American mythology began, like many, with a
death by misadventure: a plane crash that killed her at 30, after an
* up-and-down country music career, and brought a swooning crush of fans to
her funeral.
In some ways the swooning has never stopped. By way of memorials, 36
years later she has:
* A 55-foot bell tower at the cemetery in Winchester, Va., where she's
buried.
* Monuments, official and home-made, at the site of her death near
Camden, Tenn.
* A highway, Route 522 in Virginia, named in her honor.
* A U.S. postage stamp.
* An annual festival in her hometown of Winchester, Va.
* A Tabernacle Choir of impressionists, imitators and Las Vegas
impersonators.
* A soon-to-come (but seemingly long-in-coming) star on the Walk of
Fame.
* A three-hankie, star-vehicle, Hollywood biopic, "Sweet Dreams"
(1985) and a memorable portrayal of her in another, "Coal Miner's
Daughter" (1980).
* A small library of books.
* And, most recently, a touring stage production, "Always . . . Patsy
Cline," that's stopping for a two-week run in La Mirada this weekend.
The books, most of which followed the renewed interest in Cline
inspired by the movies, are mostly a reaction to them. They purport to
tell "the true story," or "the full story" or "the stories never heard
before."
As if we didn't already know her.
As if we didn't know that she is sassy, brassy, lusty. Unlucky in
romance. Long-suffering. Despairing, vulnerable but enduring. Earthy and
honky-tonk angelic.
That she goes walking after midnight. Is crazy for loving. And,
occasionally, falls to pieces.
That she sometimes wails but never sobs.
And that, in a lot of important ways, she is a lot like us.
We know it because we can hear it in the records, especially those
that she recorded with Owen Bradley from '61 on, in which her voice is
framed (but never overwhelmed) by Floyd Cramer's tinkling piano, a
swelling and sighing string sectionand the genteel mourning of the
Jordanaires.
It's in the voice that reaches back to both Hank Williams and Bessie
Smith and, like Elvis', burst the confines of "hillbilly music" and
echoes across pop culture.
It's a large voice from an era of large voices: Mario Lanza, Dinah
Washington, Edith Piaf, Mahalia Jackson and Roy Orbison--instruments that
cut through the AM static and could make your new stereo console throb
across its entire dynamic range.
Onstage, Cline looked like Annie Oakley, but when she opened her mouth
she became Lucia di Lammermoor--a rhinestone Callas--and the model for
singers from Linda Ronstadt to LeAnn Rimes.
Despite all this, it would be easy to dismiss the continued interest
in Cline as the hysteria of grief-stricken fans or the obsession of pop
cultists.
Except that she keeps making fans among people who haven't seen the
movies or the musical, who know nothing of her life and death and who may
* say that that they don't even like country music.
Cline, a country cross-over artist, who never had a million-seller in
her life, now easily sells more than that in a year and remains not only
* an influence but also a rival to today's country-music performers.
Don't believe it?
Try to find a jukebox that doesn't have "Crazy" on it.
