I was always sort of "meh," when it came to Garth Brooks musically, with some songs being ones I really dug, but most being ones, again, to which I responded with a general "meh." Still, this album title, and the cover with all its invocation of the innocent, well-minded cowboy whose freedom must be preserved, oozes sociopolitical context, and therefore deserves to be taken seriously.
On the level of music? Well, I never much took Brooks seriously as a "Cowboy." I liked the class warfare implications of "Friends in Low Places" very much, however.
But you know what? I LOVE. I mean LOVE his epic song, "Two Piña Coladas," to the point that I elevate it into the top 50 stratosphere of pop song Utopia in my admittedly addled brain. But I mean really, check these shenanigans out:
Garth Brooks - Two piña coladas by taduckly_
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"Two Pina Coladas" lyrics:
"I was feelin’ the blues
I was watching the news
When this fella came on the TV
He said I’m tellin’ you
That science has proven
That heartaches are healed by the sea
That got me goin’
Without even knowin’
I packed right up and drove down
Now I’m on a roll
And I swear to my soul
Tonight I’m gonna paint this town
So bring me two pina coladas
One for each hand
Let’s set sail with Captin Morgan
And never leave dry land
Troubles I forgot ‘em
I buried ‘em in the sand
So bring me two pina coladas
She said good-bye to her good timin’ man
Oh now I’ve gotta say
That the wind and the waves
And the moon winkin’ down at me
Eases my mind
By leavin’ behind
The heartaches that love often brings
Now I’ve got a smile
That goes on for miles
With no inclination to roam
I’ve gotta say
That I think I’ve gotta stay
‘Cause this is feelin’ more and more like home
So bring me two pina coladas
One for each hand
Let’s set sail with Captin Morgan
And never leave dry land
Troubles I forgot ‘em
I buried ‘em in the sand
So bring me two pina coladas
She said good-bye to her good timin’ man."
Lyrics that merit rhetorical analysis in their own right. I invite that here.
That watermark under Garth's left arm almost gives the impression that he is carrying a bedroll. Perhaps he is that lone cowboy who once wandered the frontier but whose freedom is now restricted by miles of barbed wire. "No fences," he cries. "Please, no fences."
Great catch, oxy. The album cover in so many ways communicates what exactly we rhetorical experts mean when we hold forth on principles of visual rhetoric.
And, isn't it interesting that states such as Texas, Arizona and California are being invoked, with such poetic fervor, towards establishing the tightest possible blockades against fluid movement from place to place?
I know it is more complicated than that and do not mean to demean the salient worries about how a nation can handle its borders, but there is something perversely ironic, nonetheless, in these iconically western states operating at the vanguard of a plea for the Fence.
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