Revised Ethnography

The Country Music Fan

It is seven o’clock on a Thursday and I drive home from work, as is my usual routine. The radio is set to a random preset that came with the car (which I bought three years ago), and a Taylor Swift song is playing. I could not be sure of which song it was because I have never been a fan of country music. I am full of liberation due to my upcoming day off. While running through a list of things I could do with my day off, my phone begins to ring out that high pitched sound I had forgotten to change. I turned the radio down and answered my phone with a lively hello.
“Do you want to go to a concert tomorrow,” replied the voice. It was my cousin Chris, and I knew it because he was never one for simple courtesies. The phrases “Hello” and “What’s up” were not normally a part of his vocabulary.
“Sure why not I have the day off anyways,” I answered.
“Nice,” he responded in an approving tone. “Meet us at the Comcast Center at noon and you might want to bring a cowboy hat.” The call was promptly ended after that statement because like I said, not one for courtesies. My mind wandered for a minute or two about why in the hell I might need a cowboy hat, but I figured it was a thought best left alone.
As I was getting ready for bed that night I wondered what kind of concert I would be attending in the morning, when it suddenly hit me. It is going to be a country concert. When my cousin went away to the military he served with people from all over, and some of their interests rubbed off on him. One interest in particular was a new found love of country music, which he was determined to disseminate to everyone.
The next day quickly came and I found myself en route to the Comcast Center in Mansfield, Massachusetts. I was about three car lengths away from entering the parking lot when I noticed something a bit out of the ordinary. There were trucks in every direction I looked. While that may not sound odd to most, most may not understand what is meant when I say truck. These were not your everyday pickup trucks. They were enormous, super lifted, huge tire bearing trucks. With me in my tiny Geo Prism they may as well have been monster trucks, and believe me when I tell you the two are quite comparable in size. Although the vehicles proved to be formidable in nature, the people provided a stark contrast.
While waiting in traffic, slightly annoyed due to my impatient nature, I could not help but to people watch. It was not long before I realized why my cousin had advised me (in his own way) to bring a cowboy hat. Most of the men were bare backed with cutoff jean shorts, while the woman wore white shirts and some type of denim bottom. Both the men and the women were, of course, wearing cowboy hats. One thing that I did not see in the entire crowd was a name brand label. They seemed to have a general disregard for fashion and placed more of an emphasis on comfort. This rejection of the middle class status symbol of clothing is a telling detail of a country fan.
Every truck had the tailgate down and the grill cooking. I could almost hear the meat sizzling over the fire. Large blue coolers were scattered around the trucks with their tops continually opening and closing. While driving through the parking lot, the sound of country music filled the air. Listening to the music allowed me to pick up on a few phrases that are particular only to country music fans. For example a bar is not a bar. A bar is a Honky Tonk. Also, when someone tells you to, “Shut your mouth and slap your grandma,” it merely means they are surprised. As it turns out, country fans have a language all their own.
As I pulled into the back parking lot I noticed my cousin’s truck parked in the back aisle, so I pulled into a space near his. I got out of my car, but before I had a chance to gather all of my things the sound of a distinctive song began. It seemed quite out of place at a concert, but it was the Star Spangled Banner. The crowd in an almost immediate response grew noticeably quieter, and the large truck that the music was bellowing from provided at roof top for a man to wave an American flag from. While this event may have appeared to be out of place to me, it was not what truly stunned me.
When the country’s national anthem began playing from those speakers, people almost instinctively removed the hats from their head and stopped whatever they were doing. Each member of the crowd gazed at the large flag as if they were captivated by everything that it stood for. The song came to an end, and the cheering and shouting evoked from the spectators made their feelings about it apparent. It is rare to be in the presence of such a great sense of patriotism.
I finally got my things together and made it to where my cousin, accompanied by his friends, was just finishing setting up the tents. I put my cooler and ticket under a table and was greeted with a cheeseburger and a shot of Jack Daniels.
“What’s up,” exclaimed my cousin as he handed me a beer to wash down my whiskey and burger. You see, when he has a drink or two, the conversational courtesies seem to present themselves more often.
“I have been here close to one hundred times and I have never witnessed a crowd quite like this one,” I replied with a slight chuckle. He let out a hearty laugh and took a swig of his beer.
“Yeah,” he responded. “It takes a certain kind to be a country fan.”
The concert had not even started yet, and I already had an eye opening experience in regards to what country fans are truly about. They're hardworking people who have a deep rooted sense of patriotism. They sometimes partake in excessive behaviors, but reject the norms of the middle class of that they are also a part of. Even in Massachusetts, the last place one would expect the country lifestyle to be embraced, there are countless members. Being a country fan is more than merely listening to the music, but having a certain state of mind.
The day after the concert, I found myself driving home from work again at seven o’clock. My cell phone started to ring, but this time there was no high pitched sound to be heard. The phone sang a country song with the simple lyrics, “No shirt, no shoes, no problem.”