Jimmy Martin died today, Saturday, May 14, 2005. If you don’t know much about him here is a link.

I first heard him when I was wee (well, sort of wee) and went to every local horseshow in south Mississippi. There, through the loudspeakers on a turntable, his music would boom, mostly the more honky tonk stuff, along with Marty Robbins, Roger Miller, and Bobby Bare. It sort of permeated my cowboy hat and into my hair and ears – osmosis - come to think of it, that’s a good country singer’s name (Hoss Moses) - from an area of high concentration to low concentration. The music flowed and filled up the river.

Flash forward. My husband was out of the army and we were living like young, good Mississippi rednecks in a trailer with a view of a pasture and pond while we contemplated (and only contemplated) masters' degrees (it took forever to train the horses to graze in front of the large window), and somehow The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” made it onto our turntable. The first voice on it is Jimmy Martin’s and then there is his “Now dooooooooooon’t forget me little darlin’ while I’m growing old and gray.” This became the theme song for our redneck hippy days ridin’ dirt bike motorcycles in cutoffs and drinking Boone’s Farm wine. I remember watching my hound dog and horse play tag and the hound dog got kicked up into the air, hit the ground, and got up runnin’ after the horse again, all to a Jimmy Martin song. Wonderful chaos seemed to always ensue with his music. It was his energy that seeped into the grass and trees and dirt as it glided out of the trailer window.

Flash forward. We’re living in Austin and I’m trying to play music as a professional (trying) and my wonderful friend, the mysterious Dr. Phareaux Sistrunk, brings me a tape and says “You need to listen to this.” It was Jimmy Martin, and it had among others “Chattanooga Dog” and “Future on Ice” on it. I listened to it continually. I vowed to name my next dog Chat (which I did), and made everyone who came into my house listen. At first some of them would wonder why I was playing this music over and over, but by the time they left they were tappin’ their foot and knew who JM was. I played it loud too. I lost that tape to Nick Lowe, but that’s another story.

Flash forward a few more years and I stopped at a gypsy music vendor’s sidewalk display and noticed he had Jimmy Martin so I bought “50 Golden Years” for $7.00. I’ve listened to it every night since. I’ve worn it out. I put it on my computer, turn it up as loud as it can go, and lean my head forward into the speakers, and drink some beer. Damn! That’s some good stuff! Music doesn’t get any better. Then one night while visiting his website I decided to email him (Jimmy NEEDS to know how much I love his music, I thought, lost under his spell), and he answered back thanking me for writing like I’m sure he thanked all his fans and signed it, “Your friend, Jimmy Martin.” It was like receiving a message from a distant star for me (in every sense of the meaning). I was thrilled.

I’ve read the Tom Piazza book, bought the video, read as many interviews as I could get my hands on, and bought more of his cds. I love Jimmy Martin. He is from another time – both past and present. I love his fearlessness and his authentic sentimentality. I think he truly loved his fans. I love that he never slicked up or sold out. I love that he had a goat and hound dogs. I emailed him about my hound dogs more than once and then worried about being a pest. He wrote back, “You ain’t bothering me at all with your Mississippi dogs.” I’m going to name my next one Jimmy Martin and call him or her by both names.

Now, about his music. It’s all there on the albums for you to discover. I love his music. I can listen to it endlessly. I’m mostly a rock n roll and blues person, but I love really good country music, and Jimmy Martin is “Mr. Good 'N Country.” He doesn’t have to affect his accent. His timing is perfect. His singing soars and always sounds in control. The recordings are better than most of anything today, and when you consider that they most certainly were done live in a studio with no auto-tuning or piecing together, then you just have to wonder what happened to modern country music. What happened? Was Jimmy Martin from outer space? Maybe.

My friend, Webb Wilder, in Nashville found a photo of him in a store near the Row and sent it to me. Jimmy is decked out in a big hat, feathers, sequins, bolo tie and sideburns. He has a look on his face like he has just told a joke or bawled someone out. It’s great! Not only does he look like the King of Bluegrass but like he just won the local horseshow.

God bless him and may he rest in peace with great rhythm and tone. He was and is, to me, the best of Nashville.