A little bit of chicken fried

I have a thing for country music, especially country songs that have a bit of a patriotic zing to them. I’m not a patriotic person really at all. I know that if I were born in China, Cuba, or Poland it would be all about Chinese pride, Cuban pride, or Polish pride. I don’t believe capitalism is the best way to organize financially and that a rule of the masses protects anything more than simply the masses and not the minority. But for whatever reason hearing country music and their cry for the stars and stripes sends nice chills. This is becoming a bit of a theme and I apologize, but I really like hearing people speak, sing, and write with passion.

Acts of passion even when they’re racist, sexist, heterosexist, and classist really remind me of the hope of being ignited by something. To have such a firm belief in something that it needs to be expressed and not silenced. To image yourself in a minority position, even if you are so part of the majority, gives me some sort of fucked up sense of hope for everyone, I guess because it would mean that somewhere down deep in all there is a spot that can be sparked. A space that speaks in rage, passion, anger, and love and I know that is kind of sick. Most of the people I enjoy listening to do not share my political views, but I guess who wants to be constantly congratulated for believing the same way.

My favorite song right now is “Chicken Fried” by Zac Brown Band. I love this song because it reminds me of a space that I grew up in, but never truly experienced. All the simple pleasures for Yamhill County, which I am very happy to be from. Everything was a bit simpler then, I like to revision. We did can, out of necessity. I love the idea of the Zac Brown Band’s 1920’s populist sentiments, which really question what happiness comes from. Populism during this time wasn’t so much about the political machine, but instead wondered what happiness might mean and if farmers, rural folk, and simpler pleasures were a viable offering. I know that the Zac Brown Band isn’t in it for populism, but it gives me a bit of space to image the possibilities.

The fried chicken at pot lucks growing up were usually brought by families that didn’t know how to cook like the Pringles, who were also probably too busy to make it themselves. They would buy it from Kentucky Fried Chicken and it would always go faster than any of the homemade offering at any potluck. (If the Pringles ever read this . . . Thank you for having bookstudy in your house, especially because both of you worked. You were really nice parents and I think your kids turned out well.) I make fried chicken sometimes and remember the potlucks differently, a bit of revisionism even if its imaginary. I think of how we would play baseball and work up an appetite and go back to the potluck line to see what was left. I imagine that a latecomer brought a batch of buttermilk soaked fried chicken and how all the ball players would devour it with the remaining macaroni and potato salads. It’s not a verifiable history but I do wish it were mine.

Definitely fastforward to about a minute and a half of the video because it has a super long intro.