Encore: The King of Tears

Summary

Revisionist History: Encore – The King of Tears

Episode Release Date: July 10, 2025
Host: Malcolm Gladwell
Produced by Pushkin Industries

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Introduction: A Young Malcolm and Country Music

Malcolm Gladwell opens the episode by reminiscing about his early fascination with country music. Growing up as a British Jamaican in rural Ontario during the 1970s, Malcolm found solace in the melancholic tunes of Nashville legends like Johnny Cash, George Jones, and Tammy Wynette. He recounts how songs like George Jones’s "The Grand Tour" captivated him with their emotional depth:

“[00:50] ... 'Some things I know will chill you to the bone.' To my maudlin 13-year-old heart, that line was so fantastic, so over the top, so bonkers.”

This early connection set the stage for his exploration into why country music, particularly its sad songs, holds such emotional power.

The Heart of Sad Songwriting: Meeting Bobby Braddock

Gladwell delves into his encounter with Bobby Braddock, a revered Nashville songwriter known as the "King of Tears." Braddock, described as a wiry man with intense blue eyes, embodies the soul of country music:

“[02:00] I met him on Music Row in Nashville. We had lunch and then we sat in one of the writers' rooms in the Sony building...”

Braddock’s reputation for crafting deeply emotional songs is highlighted through his breakthrough hit "D I V O R C E," performed by Tammy Wynette. Initially dismissed for its gimmicky spelling out of the word "divorce," the song found success after collaboration with Curly Putman, who helped infuse genuine sadness into the melody:

“[04:55] 'D I V O R C E' went to number one. It was Bobby Braddock's first great exercise in how to make people cry.”

The Science of Sadness: Specificity and Emotion in Lyrics

Gladwell explores the mechanics behind why certain songs make listeners cry, emphasizing the role of specificity. He contrasts country music with rock and other genres, arguing that country’s detailed storytelling allows listeners to form a deeper emotional connection:

“[26:30] ... 'Anne Frank in the bathtub to the tune of a Sousa march with the horrors of the Holocaust outside her door.'”

This combination of vivid imagery and authentic emotion creates a powerful impact, making listeners empathize and feel the intended sadness.

Iconic Moments: "He Stopped Loving Her Today" and George Jones

A pivotal moment in the episode centers on the song "He Stopped Loving Her Today," written by Bobby Braddock and performed by George Jones. Malcolm describes the profound effect the song had on him and its place in country music history:

“[12:18] Bobby Braddock: 'Smoky Mountain Greyhound. She bows her head down, humming lullabies...'”

The song’s narrative about enduring love and ultimate loss resonates deeply, especially when performed at George Jones's memorial service. The emotional finale, featuring Alan Jackson singing the song with heartfelt sincerity, underscores its timeless impact:

“[46:41] Bobby Braddock: 'He stopped loving her today.'
[47:20] Malcolm Gladwell: 'And if you aren't crying, I can't help you.'”

Cultural Reflections: Country vs. Rock and Hip-Hop

Gladwell contrasts the emotional expressions in country music with those in rock and hip-hop. He notes that while rock often relies on repetitive clichés due to its diverse origins, country music thrives on rich, specific storytelling:

“[37:06] Country music makes people cry because it's not afraid to be specific.”

This specificity allows country songs to tackle complex emotions and real-life dramas, fostering a deeper connection with the audience.

Bobby Braddock’s Turbulent Journey and Songwriting

The episode delves into Braddock's personal life, illustrating how his tumultuous experiences—from the tragic loss of his son to his tumultuous relationships—influence his songwriting. His memoir, "A Life on Nashville's Music Row," is described as an exhaustive yet compelling account of his emotionally charged life:

“[28:20] ... 'We've lived this incredibly tumultuous, emotionally tumultuous life.'”

Braddock’s ability to channel his pain and experiences into his music is portrayed as both his greatest strength and a source of personal struggle.

Conclusion: The Enduring Legacy of Sad Songs

Malcolm wraps up the episode by reflecting on the profound legacy of songs like "He Stopped Loving Her Today." He emphasizes that the emotional depth and specificity of country music’s sad songs not only define the genre but also bridge cultural and emotional divides:

“[42:42] Bobby Braddock: 'He stopped loving her today.'
[43:06] Advertiser: [Skipped]
[47:09] Bobby Braddock: 'He stopped loving her today.'
[47:20] Malcolm Gladwell: 'And if you aren't crying, I can't help you.'”

This powerful conclusion underscores the unique ability of country music to evoke deep emotions through authentic storytelling and specific lyrical content.

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Notable Quotes with Timestamps:

• Malcolm Gladwell [00:50]: “Some things I know will chill you to the bone.”
• Bobby Braddock [03:15]: “I think I always had the reputation as being kind of a quirky writer, maybe a little left field.”
• Malcolm Gladwell [04:55]: “‘D I V O R C E’ went to number one. It was Bobby Braddock's first great exercise in how to make people cry.”
• Bobby Braddock [08:12]: “She came to see him one last time.”
• Malcolm Gladwell [37:06]: “Country music makes people cry because it's not afraid to be specific.”
• Malcolm Gladwell [42:42]: “He stopped loving her today.”
• Malcolm Gladwell [47:20]: “And if you aren't crying, I can't help you.”

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Final Thoughts:

In "Encore: The King of Tears," Malcolm Gladwell masterfully dissects the emotional potency of country music's sadder tunes, spotlighting Bobby Braddock’s remarkable talent for storytelling through heartbreak. By juxtaposing country music's specificity with the broader, often less emotionally rich rock genre, Gladwell provides a compelling narrative on why certain songs resonate profoundly, leaving listeners moved and reflective.

Transcript

[Malcolm Gladwell]

This is an I Heart podcast.

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[Malcolm Gladwell]

Pushkin I started listening to country music when I was about 12 or 13. This was rural Ontario in the 1970s. Everyone else my age was listening to the Eagles or Fleetwood Mac or some properly Canadian rock band like Rush. But for some inexplicable reason, I, a British Jamaican kid marooned in the Canadian heartland, found solace in the music coming out of Nashville. Lots of Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings. I can still sing almost all of Good Hearted Woman from memory. And of course, George Jones. I still remember the first time I heard the grand tour step right up. Come on in if you'd like to take the grand tour of a lonely house that once was home sweet home. And then the amazing lines. I have nothing here to sell you Just some things that I will tell you Some things I know will will chill you to the bone. To my maudlin 13 year old heart, the line some things I know will chill you to the bone was so fantastic, so over the top, so bonkers. And just thinking about that lonely house that was once home sweet home brought tears to my eyes. Pop music, particularly the pop music of that era, just couldn't compete with that. I carried George Jones in my heart for a very long time. Until the point that I decided it was time to revisit the question. What exactly is country music doing when it makes you cry? In Nashville, Tennessee, there's a songwriter named Bobby Braddock. He's in his 70s, maybe 5 foot 7, bald head, scruffy beard, wiry. Like if you messed with him in a bar, you'd probably lose. The most striking thing about him is his eyes, which are the palest and most intense shade of blue. He wears sunglasses a lot, and it's almost as if he needs to protect the world from that look. I met him on Music Row in Nashville. We had lunch and then we sat in One of the writers rooms in the Sony building. Piano in the corner, couches to one side. And he talked about his education in the music business.

I think I always had the reputation as being kind of a quirky writer, maybe a little left field.

The turning point in Braddock's career was a song you've probably heard of. It was performed by Tammy Wynette back when she was the reigning queen of country music. 1968, about a mom who had to spell out the word D I v o r C E so her kids wouldn't know their parents were splitting up.

So D W R C E. Yeah, wrote this, did a demo on it, and no taggers. Nobody did it. Nobody would record it.

D I V O R C E was a song with a gimmick. Braddock did a lot of gimmicky songs back then. No one wanted this one. So Braddock went to a friend and longtime collaborator, Curly Putman.

So I said, well, why is nobody recording? He said, I think around the important part of your song, such a sad song, and your melodies on that part is too happy. What I was doing was, oh, I wish that we could stop this D I V o r C A little bit like a soap commercial. I said, well, what would you do? And he got his guitar and he had this really mournful singing style. Tammy Wynette was a big fan of Curly singing. She loved his singing because he had. I mean, it just. His singing was just so sad. He got his guitar and he said, oh, I wish that we could stop this D I v o r C so I said, get your guitar. Let's put it on. Take like that, you know.

D I vorce went to number one. It was Bobby Braddock's first great exercise in how to make people cry. And from then on, things just got sadder. My name is Malcolm Gladwell. You're listening to Revisionist History, my podcast about things overlooked and misunderstood. This episode is about something that has never made sense to me. Maybe it's because I'm a Canadian, or maybe Americans puzzle about this, too. I'm talking about the bright line that divides American society, not the color line or the ideological line. I'm talking about the sad song line. I don't know why people don't talk about this more. Because it's weird. For the sake of argument, let's use the Rock Magazine Rolling Stones list of the best songs of all time. The top 50. These are the critics choices. Hotel California by the Eagles comes in at 49, which, as far as I can Tell is a song about drugs. Tutti Frutti by Little Richard at 43. Tutti Frutti, which I remind you, has as its signature lyric, Tutti Frutti o Rudy. Tutti Frutti o Rudy Tutti Frutti o Rudy Tutti Frutti o Rudy Wap bop a loo bop a lop bam boom. There's dancing in the street at 40 light my fire, Be My Baby, Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit, Derek and the Dominoes, Layla. There are songs about wanting to have sex, songs about having sex, songs about getting high, presumably after having sex. Number one song on the list. Like a Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan. Ah, you've gone to the finest schools, all right, Miss Lonely, but you know you only used to get juiced in it. Nobody's ever taught you how to live out on the street, and now you're gonna have to get used to it. I think that's a song about someone who dropped out of Harvard. The number one rock song of all time is about dropping out of Harvard. In all of those 50 songs, nobody dies after a long illness. No marriage disintegrates. Nobody's killed on a battlefield. No mother grieves for a son. The closest that any song in Rolling Stone's list comes to being truly sad is Smokey Robinson's Tracks Of My Tears, which is, first of all, number 50. So they put the sad song at the bottom of the list. And secondly, it's about a guy at a party. In their moments of greatest travail, the protagonists of rock and roll's sad songs still get to go to parties. Now just turn on a country music station, especially a traditional country music station, and listen. It's like a different universe. Marriages going to hell, people staring into their shot glass in a honky tonk, people dying young. Have you ever heard John Prine's Unwed Fathers? It's a devastating bit of songwriting about a teenage mom fleeing town. He sings it with his wife, Rachel.

[Bobby Braddock]

Smoky Mountain Greyhound. She bows her head down, humming lullabies. Your daddy never meant to hurt you, ever. You just don't live here. But you got his eyes.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Those last two lines. Your daddy never meant to hurt you, ever. He just don't live here. But you've got his eyes. That's brutal, like some bad dream. Allin with Father. One half of the country, the rock music part, wants their music to be hymns to extraversion. The other half wants to talk about real life dramas and have a good cry. I don't Get it by the Way. You know who wrote that Unwed Father's song with John Prine? Bobby Braddock. Or maybe you've heard this. Another classic recorded by Tammy Wynette.

[Bobby Braddock]

Golden Wing. With one time in little stone, we cast a song like the Love I stand on Myself.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Golden Ring. It follows a couple from first love to the breakup of their marriage by tracing the journey of their wedding ring from pawn shop to pawn shop. It's a weeper. Who wrote it? Bobby Braddock. And today, 40 years after he wrote it, Braddock is still mad about a one word change made by the song's producer, Billy Sherrill. And because that made his song one crucial degree less sad.

What we had was. He says, you won't admit it, but I know you're running around. And Billy changed it to, he says, you won't admit it, but I know you're leaving town. That's not as powerful as you're right now around.

[Bobby Braddock]

He says, you won't admit it, but I know you leaving town. She says, one thing's for certain, I don't love you anymore. And throws me down the ring as she walks out the door.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

I think country music is supposed to be about real life, you know, And I try to reflect that in what I write.

[Bobby Braddock]

Golden Rings.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Which brings us to maybe the greatest country song of all time, certainly the saddest country song of all time. The song that made me get on a plane and go to Nashville. It was recorded by the great George Jones, one of the half dozen or so most iconic figures in the history of country music. You just heard him singing in Golden Ring. Jones was famously the husband of Tammy Wynette, for a time a hard living, dissolute megastar. Once, in the midst of an epic bender, Jones family took his keys away. So he got on his riding mower and drove eight miles to the liquor store to get some whiskey. This was a man who could pour his fractured heart into his music like no one else. A half dozen times in his career, Jones found a song truly worthy of his talents. But it never got better than he stopped loving her today. I still remember when I first heard that song. And from the day I started thinking about this episode, I haven't been able to get it out of my head.

[Bobby Braddock]

He said, I'll love you till I die. She told him, you forgetting time. As the years went slowly by she still preyed upon his mind. He kept her picture on his wall.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Do I need to tell you who wrote that song? Bobby Braddock. Bobby Braddock is the king of tears.

[Bobby Braddock]

But he still loved her through it all, hoping she'd come back again.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Oh man.

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[Malcolm Gladwell]

One of the things that got me interested in sad songs was a story my sister in law, Bev, told me. She and my brother live in the same area. I grew up in Waterloo county in southern Ontario, and a while ago she went to a performance by a local chamber choir, 30 singers. They sang a cantata called Anneliese by the British composer James Whitbourne, a choral composition which puts the words of Anne Frank's Diary to music. I know this seems like a little bit of a digression from country music, but it's a really useful case study in understanding why some songs make us cry. The performance Bev told me about was on a Sunday afternoon, a free performance at the public library, which is a very utilitarian, very 1960s building on Queen street in downtown Kitchener. I've been there many times, wall to wall carpet, that old books library smell, which I have to admit, I love. How many people are there?

[Bev]

It's in their main reading room. They've moved around all the tables and 100, 120. It's full, pretty much standing room only. As they're singing, I think why is that alto not singing? And then I look over and I think somebody else, a soprano not singing. That's odd because everybody else in their.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Parts.

[Bev]

And I realized they were crying and they couldn't sing.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Bev says she cried pretty much through the entire performance. She was looking straight ahead because she didn't want people to see she was crying but it didn't matter because everyone was crying. When the performance was over, Bev approached the stage to talk to the soloist. The woman singing Anne Frank's words.

[Bev]

I just went up to her afterwards and congratulated her on the beauty of the piece and her singing. And I said, and how did you manage to sing without crying? And she said, well, I couldn't look at Mark, the conductor, because he was wiping tears from his eyes. And I had my back to the choir, so that was good. And I didn't look at anybody in the audience because they were crying. So I just looked up in the middle distance and I sang. It was a good thing. I had it memorized.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

I was at home in Canada when Bev told me that story. So I called up Mark, the conductor, and the soloist, whose name is Natasha. They're actually husband and wife. They only live a few minutes away from my brother. So they came over. Mark sat at the piano in the living room. And Natasha stood behind him. And they performed one of the pieces from Anneliese that they did that day in the library.

[Mark Voronen]

This is the last movement. It's called Anne's Meditation. I see the world. I see the world being slowly turned. Turned into a wilderness.

[Bobby Braddock]

And yet when I look at the sky, I feel everything will change.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Now, I realize this is a crazy question. Because we're hearing a piece based on the Diary of Anne Frank. Which is one of the most heartbreaking stories from one of the most horrific moments in recent history. But why was everyone crying that day at the Kitchener library? The obvious reason is that the music is beautiful. So is Natasha's singing. The performance is also authentic. There's nothing contrived about it. It wasn't at Carnegie Hall. People weren't wearing suits and evening gowns. They were at the Kitchener library. And there's families getting books and kids running around. And everyone's on stacking chairs with the tables pushed off to the side. But here's the most important thing. Anneliese is specific. It's a cantata about the actual experiences of a real person. In her own words. Bev says that when she cried, she started thinking about her own family. Mennonites who escaped terrible persecution in Russia. Natasha says that as she sang about 12 year old Anne Frank. She was thinking about her own daughter, who was 10 and who was sitting right next to Bev in the audience. Beauty and authenticity can create a mood. They set the stage. But I think the thing that pushes us over the top into tears is details. We cry when melancholy collides with Specificity. And specificity is not something every genre does well. Wild Horses by the Rolling Stones. Written by Keith Richards and Mick Jagger, it's a song about a conversation a man is having with a silent, suffering loved one. The story goes that Mick Jagger dreamt up the verses while sitting at the bedside of his then girlfriend, Marianne Faithfull, as she recovered from an overdose. I watched you suffer a dull, aching pain now you've decided to show me the same no sweeping exit or offstage lines could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind Wild horses couldn't drag me away Wild, wild horses Couldn't drag me away Wild Horses was recorded first by the legendary Graham Parsons. Not long afterwards, Parsons died of an overdose, and his friend and protege, the country music singer Emmylou Harris, made a song in his memory. She wrote it with Bill Danoff. It's called From Boulder to Birmingham.

[Bobby Braddock]

I don't want to hear Love Song. I got on the sailplane just to fly and I know there's life below me but all the what you can show me is a prairie in the sky and I don't want to hear a sad story.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Someone who has suffered a terrible loss has gotten on a plane and she's so numbed by grief that she can no longer see those around her.

[Bobby Braddock]

I was in the wilderness and the canyon was on fire.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

From Boulder to Birmingham and Wild Horses are both beautiful, melancholy. They're about the same thing. The ties the living and the healthy have to those in pain. But which is the sadder song? I don't think there's any question. Wild Horses is generic. Listen to how it starts. Childhood living is easy to do the things you wanted I bought them for you. Graceless lady. You know who I am. You know I can't let you slide through my hands. What's going on? Any idea? What is Mick yammering on about now? Compare that to the specificity of looking down from the airplane and seeing nothing but prairie. Then standing on a mountain and watching a canyon burn.

[Bobby Braddock]

I watched it burn. I would ride my soul in the bosom of Abraham. I would hold my life in his saving grace. I would walk all the way from Baller to bury. If I thought I could see, I could see things.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

First she references the great black spiritual rock, My soul in the bosom of Abraham. The bosom of Abraham is where the righteous dead go while awaiting judgment. Then she sings, and I would also walk all the way from Boulder to Birmingham. Now she's locating her grief. I would make a pilgrimage from progressive hippie liberal. Remember this is 1973, dope smoking Colorado. Back to the repressive heart of the old south. Just to see your face. Two completely different specific images, each with its own set of emotional triggers. And she's piled one on top of another. Mark Voronen, the music director of the choir in my hometown, says that there's a part in Anneliese that. That does the same thing.

[Mark Voronen]

Anne is. They're in hiding already. And she starts singing. And the composer has set these words in kind of a style of an American Sousa march. And so she's talking about being in the bathtub and being scrubbed in the bathtub.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

And it's this.

[Mark Voronen]

Souza, we'll scrub, scrub, scrub ourselves in the tin tub. Ti ta dum da right? Very happy and optimistic music.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Anne Frank in the bathtub to the tune of a Sousa march with the horrors of the Holocaust outside her door. Three absolutely concrete images in merciless combination.

[Mark Voronen]

It just floored me every. Every time I heard it because it was so close to, you know, our own daughter, you know, to think that. That she would have to create this kind of fiction in order to just get through the day.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

That's how you get tears. You make the story so real and the details so sharp. And you add in so many emotional triggers that the listener cannot escape. But it's a risky thing to do, right? If you aren't a talented composer and you don't do a sensitive rendition of those lyrics, they could fall flat, could seem forced, even offensive. Far easier just to fall back on the bland cliche and that wild horses couldn't drag you away. Country music makes people cry because it's not afraid to be specific.

[Bobby Braddock]

You know, she came to see him one last time. Oh. And we all wondered if she would. And it kept running through my mind. This time, he's over her for good.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Bobby Braddock was born in Auburndale, Florida, a little town between Tampa and Orlando. His father grew citrus. They were Church of Christ, just about the most fundamentalist of fundamentalist Christians. Braddock moved to Nashville in 1964, just after getting married, to seek his fortune in the music business. He wrote his memoirs a few years ago. It's called A Life on Nashville's Music Row. I read it before I went to see him. And the best way to describe the book is that it's exhausting. I don't mean that in a bad way, because I couldn't put it down. But so much happens. You've lived this incredibly tumultuous, emotionally tumultuous life.

I have, yeah.

And in the book, it sounds like the first precipitating event is the death of your son. Braddock was touring with the country music legend Marty Robbins at the time. He and his wife sue had a baby. The child was just a few months old when he died.

Whenever I was in town, not on the road with Marty Robbins, every single day, we'd buy fresh flowers, go put it on his grave. We were just pathetic.

He and sue fight, she cheats on him, he cheats on her. They break up, they get back together, they have a daughter, they divorce. His ex wife mysteriously vanishes. He drinks a lot, gets into fights, owes enormous sums to the irs, has a major bout with depression, smokes a lot of pot, lurches from one volcanic event to the next. And through it all, Braddock writes songs. Hundreds of them. Your kind of tolerance for emotional volatility seems extraordinary.

I guess tolerance is probably a pretty good word for it.

Braddock walks over to the keyboard on the other side of the room. He begins to talk about an old girlfriend named Angela who committed suicide by driving her car into the river.

When Angela died, her mother took her baby to raise it, and she sent me a picture of the little girl. Angela's child, when she was about 4 or 5 years old, looked just like her mom. Picture of her standing out in the yard. And, boy, it did a number on me. Despite all the distance and time.

He wrote a song about that in 20 minutes. He played it for me. Then he played his favorite bit of a sad Randy Newman song. He played me a heartbreaking song he wrote once after getting up in the middle of the night and passing his lover in the hallway. And as he played one weeper after another, a, I realized that that thing I'd said about Braddock's tolerance for emotional volatility. Tolerance was the wrong word. That was just me projecting my uptight Canadian self onto Braddock. But Braddock is from the musical side of the United States, where emotion is not something to be endured, it's something to be embraced. At one point, when cell phones were still analog, you could buy a scanner and listen in to other people's conversations. And that's what Braddock does. He can't help himself. A woman complains to her husband for an hour about his lack of affection from the parking lot of the grocery store, then asks him what he wants. And he says, maybe Apple Newton's. And then, this is my favorite part. I'm quoting now from Braddock's memoir. The conversation that truly touched me was between a man, perhaps 40 and his mother, maybe late 60s, in which the son opened up about sexual problems he was having with his wife. And I envied the sprinkling of profanities and the mother's invitation to come over to the house, son, and let's open a bottle of whiskey and talk about it. Wishing I had that kind of easy and open communication with my mom, then learning that the guy's mother was terminally ill with cancer. If you're keeping track, that's marital difficulty, sex, profanity, whiskey, mom, and terminal cancer in one conversation in. And it truly touched him. Do you know what Braddock's favorite song is? Vince Gill's Go Rest High on that Mountain, which Gill wrote in memory both of his brother, who died young of a heart attack, and fellow country star Keith Whitley, who drank himself to death.

[Bobby Braddock]

Go rest high on that mountain.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Son.

[Bobby Braddock]

You work on Earth is done.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Oh, my God. When Vince Gill and Ricky Skaggs and Patti Lovelace are singing harmony on that thing, I go nuts. It still tears me up knowing that it's about death. And Vince wrote it about Keith Whitland, then about his own brother. And just the emotion that's in that song, it's just. It's just powerful.

[Bobby Braddock]

Gathered round your grave to grieve.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Wish.

[Bobby Braddock]

I could see angels facing.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

It's heartbreaking. Listening to that song makes me wonder if some portion of what we call ideological division in America actually isn't ideological at all. How big are the political differences between red and blue states anyway? In the grand scheme of things? Not that big. Maybe what we're seeing instead is a difference of emotional opinion. Because if your principal form of cultural expression has drinking, sex, suicide, heart attacks, mom and terminal cancer all on the table for public discussion, then the other half of the country is going to seem really chilly and uncaring. And if you're from the rock and roll half clinging semi ironically to Tutti Frutti O Rudy, when you listen to a song written about a guy's brother who died young of a heart attack and another guy who drank himself to death, you're gonna think, who are these people? Here's another way to think about the sad song line. Let me read you the list of the birthplaces of the performers of the top 20 country songs of all time. Again, I'm going to use the Rolling Stone magazine list. Ready? Arkansas, Virginia, Alabama, Texas, Mississippi, Mississippi, Georgia, California, Central Valley, by the way, not Los Angeles. Tennessee, Texas, Virginia, Texas, Kentucky, Alabama, Tennessee, Arkansas, Texas, Texas, Kentucky, Texas. I could do the top 50 or the top one. Hundred or the top 200, and you get the same pattern. Basically, you cannot be a successful country singer or songwriter if you're not from the South. It's impossible. There's one exception, which is the great songwriter Harlan Howard, who was born in Detroit, but almost immediately thereafter his family moves to a farm in rural Kentucky. It's like the five second rule when you drop a piece of food on the floor. If it's not on the ground long enough, it doesn't count. As far as I can tell, there are no Jews on the country list. Almost no Catholics, only two black people. It's white, Southern Protestants, all the way down. Now compare that to the rock and roll list. You've got Jews from Minnesota, black people from Detroit, Catholics from New Jersey, middle class, British art school dropouts, Canadians, Jamaicans. Rock and roll is the rainbow coalition. That diversity is a good thing. It's why there's so much innovation in rock and roll. But you pay a price for that. There was a very clever bit of research published recently by Colin Morris in the magazine the p. He analyzed 15,000 popular songs using an algorithm that compresses digital files. So if you take out the repetitive bits in a song, how much of it is left? Morris big finding is that rock and roll as a genre is really, really repetitive. Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, the Beatles. If you take out the duplicative parts, their music shrinks by 60%. That's what happens when everyone is from somewhere different. Nobody speaks the same language. So you have to use cliche, the same phrases over and over again. Because if you go deeper or try to get more specific, you start to lose people. Country music, on the other hand, is not nearly as repetitive. When Morris ran the lyrics of popular country singers through his algorithm, they only shrank by about 40%, a third less than the rock and rollers. Nor is hip hop repetitive, which makes sense. The birthplaces of everyone on Rolling Stone's list of greatest rap songs reads like an urban version of the country list. Queens, South Central la, Brooklyn, Long Island, South Central Long Beach, Houston, Queens, the Bronx. Englewood, New Jersey. The Bronx. Hip hop and country are both tightly knit musical communities. And when you're speaking to people who understand your world and your culture and your language, you can tell much more complicated stories. You can use much more precise imagery. You can lay yourself bare because you're among your own. In the book, it sounds like your relationship with Sparky was the one that seemed the most creatively fruitful.

It was. It was.

Sparky was a beautiful blonde from Northern Alabama, the great love of Bobby Braddock's life. Why was that?

I think because my feelings about her are so strong. I mean, it was sort of a visceral thing.

I think that's why I found Bobby Braddock's book so exhausting. It's because everything is felt. Everything is a mountain peak. And Sparky. Sparky was Everest. High altitude infatuation.

That's the sort of thing that make people go absolutely crazy, you know. And that was the case with her. You know, that's what gets the animal instinct of people maybe who haven't evolved as much as they should and cause them to go out and get a gun, blow somebody's brains out over some guy not being able. Can't stand the thought of someone, you know, having sex with the person that he loves.

Braddock and Sparky were on and off lovers for years. It was intense, painful, euphoric. When it ended, Braddock was in pieces.

[Bobby Braddock]

He kept her picture on the wall.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Went half crazy now and then.

That's Braddock in the original demo he made of. He stopped loving her today.

[Bobby Braddock]

He still loved her through it all, hoping she'd come back again.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

I said, I'm not sure where it came from. It may have come from Sparky, you know, Honestly don't know. It'd be interesting.

How could it not?

Yeah, well, it. I think it probably did, but I just can't say that for certainty.

[Bobby Braddock]

Tomorrow they'll carry him away.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

I felt like Braddock shrink at that moment, listening to his tangled dreams and then wanting to shake him at the end of the session. It's Sparky. Sparky.

[Bobby Braddock]

They found some letters by his bed.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

I mean, you wrote a song in the middle of the great defining love affair of your life. The relationship ends and you write a song about the heartbreak of that a man carries to his grave. I mean, it's.

Yeah, that's true.

Could it be. Could it be more clear?

[Bobby Braddock]

I went to see him one last time.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Bobby Braddock wrote he stopped loving her today with his friend Curly in 1977, they took it to the singer, George Jones. Jones was then at his lowest ebb, a wreck, strung out on cocaine and whiskey. He'd just checked out of a psychiatric hospital. The great love of his life, Tammy Wynette, had embodied her hit song D I V O R C E and left him. Jones had just nearly shot and killed one of his best friends. The heartbroken Bobby Braddock has written a song about a man who cannot stop loving a woman. And it's sung by the heartbroken George Jones, who cannot stop loving a woman.

[Bobby Braddock]

Kept some letters by his bed dated 1962. He had underlined in red.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Underlined in red. Every single I love you Every single I love you.

[Bobby Braddock]

I went to see him just today oh but I didn't see no tears all dressed up to go away. First time I'd seen him smiling.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

You why did he finally turn his back on his great love? Why is this the first time he's smiled in years? Because he's dead. Only death could end his love.

[Bobby Braddock]

A place to reap upon his toe and soon they'll carry him away. He stopped loving her today.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

It's totally over the top. Maudlin, sentimental, kitschy. Call it whatever you want, just don't fight it. One thing that Bobby Braddock told me in passing that I think about a lot is that he thought of the character in his song as a bad role model. The man was obsessed. He couldn't let go. But that's the point, right? That's why we cry. Because the song manages to find beauty and even a little bit of grandeur in someone's frailty.

[Bobby Braddock]

And soon they'll carry him away. He stopped loving her today.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Wild horses please.

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[Malcolm Gladwell]

Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the Grand Ole Opry House. To the celebration of life of George Glenn Jones. One of the most important people ever of all time and of any time in the history of country music. George Jones died in 2013. Everyone who was anyone in country music came to his memorial service. You should watch it if you get the chance. It's on YouTube all 2 hours and 41 minutes of it, because it's everything I've been talking about. Vince Gill stands up with Patty Loveless and sings Go rest high on that mountain and breaks down halfway through. Travis Tritt remembers a conversation he once had with Kris Kristofferson about how they expected George Jones to have died years before. And I looked at Chris and I made the comment, you know, with all the years of hard living that George had, who would have ever thought that he would outlive Tammy? And Chris looked at me and said, had it not been for Nancy, he would not have. Nancy Jones. George Jones, fourth and final wife, the real love of his life, his soulmate and companion, Travis Tritt, holds out his hand towards Nancy, who's sitting right in the front row. George said it many times, she's my angel and she saved my life. And so we owe you a debt of gratitude for that. Then comes the crowning moment of the day, the final performance. Alan Jackson strides out onto the stage. A big, rangy guy, craggy features, cowboy boots, jeans, long coat, white Stetson. He looks squarely at Nancy Jones and without introduction, launches into. He stopped loving her today.

[Bobby Braddock]

He said, I'll love you till I die. She told him, you'll fall and get.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

Tired.

[Bobby Braddock]

As the years went slow by.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

And you realize as he sings that Braddock's song has gotten even more specific. Traffic. It's no longer about a long ago love affair. It's about right now. This is the day George Jones stopped loving Nancy Jones. Alan Jackson takes off his hat and places it over his heart.

[Bobby Braddock]

He stopped loving her today.

[Malcolm Gladwell]

And if you aren't crying, I can't help you. We love you, George. One of the true greats of our time. Ladies and gentlemen, at all times, that's Alan Jackson.

Thank you so much.

Revisionist History is produced by Mia Labelle and Jacob Smith with Camille Baptista, Stephanie Daniel and Xiomara Martinez White. Our editor is Julia Barton. Flan Williams is our engineer. Original music by Luis Guerra. Special thanks to Andy Bowers and Jacob Weisberg at Panoply. I'm Malcolm Gladwell.

This is an iHeart podcast.