
Weâve spent some time here discussing altered and erroneous song titles and lyrics, mostly blaming the mistakes on good old human error.
Human error, though, can at times be matched by the computer, the âsmartâ phone, and yes, the satellite radio display. In a previous column, I pointed out my phoneâs predictive text feature being unwilling to acknowledge âbluegrassâ as a word, suggesting âbludgeonâ instead. Computerized word-generators and spell-checkers arenât always equipped to deal with the arts in any form, so we in the bluegrass music community shouldnât feel unfairly singled out in this matter.
My satellite radio makes alterations in names of songs, bands, and artists that are a little more subtle than my know-it-all cell phone does.
The radio on which I receive my Sirius XM service is at this point an antique, but itâs an antique with great sound, and controls that I can operate without consulting a user guide, so Iâll be sad on the day I have to replace it. Thereâs a problem with the way it displays the names of songs and artists, though, and itâs one that isnât unique to its brand and model, or in fact even to satellite radios.
The problem is one of the limitation of allowable characters, i.e. how many letters itâs willing to display of an artistâs name or a songâs title, before it says âIâm sorry, but I draw the line at âJim Bob Cornelius III and His Rambling Constituents, Featuring Fiddlinâ Geronimo Wallenburgerheim and Glenda Jeanâ.â
Anyone with a long name already knows about this problem of the computer age from bulk mailings which omit one or more letters of their name, which is why I say that this is not limited to satellite radios. My full first name is Christopher, which is apparently one letter too long for many penny-pinching companies and cash-strapped state and local governments, so I get a lot of mail addressed to âChristopheâ (I think it has a nice European flair or something to it, so I donât complain much). I donât know if there was a study done somewhere that discovered that keeping the characters in a name limited to ten, saves enough on printing costs to be able to finance one more bulk mailing each year, or what, but ten characters seems to be the limit.
Iâm not sure why a radioâs display has to have character limits, but most do. Someone Iâm sure could explain this to me, and Iâd try very hard not to glaze over during the explanation.
In any case, the result of lopping off even one character can be striking. Itâs not so much a problem with artistsâ names. When I read âAlison Krausâ or âRussell Moor.â Iâm pretty sure I know whoâs name it is, but the problem becomes a lot more serious with band names.
The first time I noticed it was with âLarry Cordle and Lonesome Standard Time.â Minus one character, this band suddenly became a duo: âLarry Cordle and Lonesome Standard Timâ (Iâm told that Larry and Tim have since parted company, and Larryâs back with the full band).
Likewise, J.D. Croweâs early band was also transformed into a duo: âJ.D. Crowe and the Kentucky Mountain Boyâ.
As you can see, when it comes to band names, that last letter can carry a lot of weight. Without it, you get âMountain Hear,â âBalsam Rang,â âThe Steep Canyon Ranger,â or the cryptic âDavid Peterson and 194.â
Some of these changes can be downright disturbing: Hereâs one that suggests the outlawing of bluegrass music in Nashville: âThe Nashville Bluegrass Banâ (by the way, some music row heavyweights actually tried to institute such a ban in the 1960s).
The meaning of song titles can also be severely altered by the mere omission of a letter on the display. I first discovered this on a Gospel song that my radio tried to tell me was called, âIâll Trade the Old Cross For a Crowâ (Iâm pretty sure that isnât biblical, or even a good idea).
Some friends and I started thinking of some other gospel songs whose message or theology would be badly transformed just by skipping the last character. Some examples were: âJesus is Whispering Noâ (from the Louvin Brothers song âJesus is Whispering Nowâ), the wildly inappropriate âEverybody Wants to Go to Heaveâ; and, similar to the ban on bluegrass music imagined above, the forbidding of all celestial beings, in the tragic âAngel Ban.â
Secular songs are by no means immune, and the omission of a letter can be just as damaging, if not quite as disturbing.
I imagine a mother asking her children whose dad has recently remarried: âWill You Be Lovinâ another Ma.â Then thereâs Bill Monroe singing about a guy named âKentucky Walt.â or bidding farewell to his aging father in âGoodbye Old Pa.âÂ
Jim and Jesse once again prove that they were always ahead of their time with the hip hop-esque lyrics in âIâll Love Nobody But Yoâ
Iâll be looking for this song in a future James Bond movie, possibly a duet, sung by Bond and Moneypenny: âThe Bluebirds are Singing For M.â
Things start to get even more surreal when A.P. Carter starts writing songs about trendy hot beverages, as in âGold Watch and Chaiâ (I suppose if he were alive today, heâd be frequenting the Bristol Starbucks the same as everybody else).
This is only the result of omitting the last letter in these songs, so you can imagine the possibilities if you lose two or more letters from the end. Iâd love to delve into classic pieces like âSummer Wag,â âWheel Ho,â and even âNine Pound Ham,â but I think weâve destroyed enough song titles for a while, and, honestly, I just donât have the tim.