Knocking on Vatican door, ‘Heaven in Baltimore’ and honky-tonk heroes

What in the world is Dale Watson doing on CatholicReview.org?

That was my reaction Oct. 15, when George Matysek sent me a draft of that day’s e-newsletter promoting our web offerings. It included a link to the Catholic News Service movie review of “Yellow Rose,” which features the aforementioned Watson, and perhaps, a glimpse of my wife, Mary, and me.

In a world of cookie-cutter country music that has been homogenized to the point of blandness – as the Geezinslaws put it, “You Call It Country (I Call it Bad Rock and Roll)” – Watson is a traditionalist who pays homage to Johnny Cash, Lefty Frizzell and Merle Haggard, among others. Like them, he has endured despair and heartache, but that’s not why I relate to him. For starters, we both fell in love with local girls, the genesis of his 1999 song, “Heaven in Baltimore.” 

Watson relocated here for a stretch a few years later, to be closer to his two daughters and get away from the profound grief he was experiencing in Austin, Texas. Traditional country music has been described as “lying, dying, crying and sighing,” and Watson experienced all four 20 years ago. He fought with his girlfriend, she drove off in a huff and died in a car wreck. Touring Europe two years later, Watson heard voices, swore it was Jesus, left his band on the road, went to Rome and knocked on a door at the Vatican. He came to realize it was Satan speaking to him, and was institutionalized after the intervention of friends, all of which is recounted in the documentary, “Crazy Again.” 

Mary and I were already fans when we got around to watching the documentary a few years ago. We had discovered Watson in 2012, when his YouTube of “Quick Quick Slow Slow”  served as our tutorial for the Texas Two-Step, something we were determined to learn before the Austin wedding that September of our daughter, Kate, and Micah. (When it comes to my dancing ability, think of Gerry Fleck, the Eugene Levy character in “Best in Show” with, literally, two left feet. I like to move, I’m just not that good at it.)

We saw Dale and his Lone Stars in Baltimore and Austin that year, and were hooked. He came to figure in our Mount Rushmore of natural beauty, as in 2014  we used his tour as a 30th anniversary getaway to North Carolina, and as a bonus got several nights of the phenomena of synchronous fireflies outside the front door of our cabin on the French Broad River. Last February, in Washington, Watson was the last musical act we saw in this time zone before COVID-19 hit.

Austin is our favorite place to hear live music, and that’s where we celebrated Mary’s birthday five years ago. We arrived on a Friday, just in time to see Dale and his Lone Stars at the Continental Club, where he was a staple. Watson invited everyone in attendance to come out that Sunday afternoon to the Broken Spoke, where extras were needed for a scene in a Hollywood project.

What Yankees Stadium is to baseball, The Broken Spoke is to Texas dance halls. I put on my George Strait shirt, bolo tie and Tony Lama boots, and spun Mary in and around dozens of other dancers and a film crew, albeit for intervals of 90 seconds before an assistant director would yell “Cut” and stop the band. I know it was Nov. 1, 2015, because my journal entry for that day reads “We danced at the Broken Spoke during the filming of a Hollywood film starring Dale.” During a break, I snapped the accompanying photo of Mary and Watson, who has since made Memphis his base and gotten married.

“Yellow Rose,” which recounts the experience of a talented young immigrant from the Philippines, has gotten strong reviews. Rumors of its release piqued our interest over the years, but we’re not quite ready to sit in a movie theater, let alone a restaurant. All we’ve seen thus far is the trailer, which includes clips from the Broken Spoke. If we didn’t make the final cut, I’ll claim that’s my elbow on the edge of the frame.

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