#also also woody guthrie was a folk singer stop bringing him up he had nothing to do w the country music industry

[anintelligentoctopus]

I mean, I (a white middle-class Brit) do not have a good answer for what you do with the knowledge of, for example, the number of classic country stars who stumped for segregationists like George Wallace. Except that acting like country music was all pro-working class and anti-capitalist before 9/11 isn't helpful.

Yes, there have always been songs sympathising with the working man and about hard times. Many country artists came from working class backgrounds.

But then again you can also count the black Opry members past and present on one hand. There were blackface performers on the Opry in the 40s. The black artists who contributed to the development of country music have often been overlooked for a long time (e.g. Lesley Riddle, who went song-collecting with A. P. Carter). Many many classic country artists had conservative politics. You can't overlook all that. It doesn't help anybody and it's important to examine these things. Country has a very long and complicated history and I don't think you can look at in isolation from the history and politics of the south as a whole

[hotsforthewilburys]

Night Sky - Bob x George

Requested by @toll-screaming-shoelace

Summary: Bob has been very down lately, the problem that come with being a world renowned singer-songwriter weighting on him. Thankfully, he has a friend that won’t let him down.

Words: 1383

Warning: None

Bob Dylan x George Harrison

A/N: I haven’t written anything for 37 years so I’m sorry UwU

A/N 2: For those who might not know, when Bob and his first wife Sara lived in Woodstock, many times fans would find their address and come to the house at any time of the day. The “fans” would go through their trash, break into the house, and sometimes try to talk to Bob himself. Bob, Sara and the children had to move multiple times out of fear for their safety. The police wasn’t helpful, and as mentioned in the fanfic, they even threatened Bob, saying that if anything happened with the trespassers, he would be liable. 

It was eight at night. The sun has long past set, giving way to the moon and stars. The night was quiet, only a faint sound of wind howling and a few birds chirping. Bob was sitting at the table in his dining room, only a small candle in the center providing the source of light. He had his glasses on, reading over the documents to the new property. There was a faint sound of a record player playing Woody Guthrie’s record in the other room. Even though it’s been a rough couple of months, Bob was able to relax tonight, no doubt thanks to the glass of whiskey next to him.

That was the third move Bob and Sara had to make in the last six months. At their last place, the fans were able to find their house within a month, and were coming in the middle of the night to talk to the folk legend. Even sleeping with a shotgun next to his bed wasn’t helpful; the town sheriff said that if someone died or got hurt on his property, it’s Bob who would be in trouble and not the trespassers. He was lost; not being in the control of the situation was a foreign feeling, and he didn’t know how to cope with it. Most importantly, he didn’t know how to protect his family, and for that, he was ashamed. He decided that it was best to sent Sara and the kids away for a few months while he tried to figure out how to make sure this time no one would bother them.

He brought the glass to his lips, ready to take another sip when he heard a knock on the door. Within seconds, all the tension that he was able to push away for the past few days came back rushing as he got up from the table and headed to the door in long, heavy strides. He picked up the shotgun that was next to the entrance, and quickly opened the door.

“Well, that is one way to greet your guests.”

Bob let out a relieved sigh as soon as he saw who was on his front porch. His face relaxed, giving in to a small smile, glad to see George in front of him and not another fanatic. The two men quickly exchanged pleasantries before walking back in to the house.

“How did you find where I am?” Bob said as he put the kettle on the stove and reached for the pantry to get the tea.

“Sara wrote to me,” George said as he situated himself on the couch near the dining room. “She said you two had it rough for the past few months with loonies trespassing.”

“They think I’m some type of God,” Bob said, disgust evident in his voice. “They come to me, looking for answers.” Bob fell silent for a moment; the situation has been putting a lot of pressure on him and his mental state. Before either men could say anything, the sound of the kettle whistling broke the silence. Bob poured the water into the cup as he dropped the tea bag and made his way to George. He handed him the cup and sat next to him, bringing the glass of whiskey he previously left behind with him.

He took a sip of whiskey before speaking. “How can I know anything,” he said, “if I don’t even know how to protect my family.”

George could hear the despair in his voice. Bob wasn’t the one to usually share his feelings, but when it was only the two of them, he felt he could let his guard down, be vulnerable, let George in.

“Don’t say that Bob,” George said, his voice louder than usual. He placed the cup of tea on the table next to him before turning to Bob. “You’ve been sacrificing everything to protect your family.”

“George I-” Bob tried to say.

“You’re the best husband and father anyone could as for,” George said, placing hand on Bob’s shoulder and squeezing it. “Don’t be so hard on yourself just because of some idiots. You’ll get through this.” George looked into his eyes, making sure Bob saw that George meant what he said.

George’s words made Bob’s mouth fall open with surprise. He wasn’t expecting him to say that. What he said might’ve been simple, but it meant a lot to Bob at the moment. He needed to know that everything will change, that he will get through this. He was thankful to have George next to him to reassure him of that.

Bob wasn’t sure what to reply, but he also knew that he didn’t have to. After years of friendship, the two didn’t have to keep the conversation going. They could comfortably be in silence, each other's presence filling the space better than any words.

George was still looking into Bob’s eyes. They were hooded, partly from the whiskey that he’s been drinking the entire day, parly from the nights of sleep he’s missed. The bags under them only assured his belief.

George got up from the couch, extending his hand to him. Bob tilted his head to the side, furrowing his brows and looking up at George, silently asking him a question.

“Come on,” George said, raising his eyebrows and looking at his hand, “get up.”

After spending months moving, unpacking, and then moving again, Bob wanted nothing more than to plant himself on the couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He shook his head, trying to think what his friend might have in mind before taking his hand and getting up from the couch. Before he had a chance to ask the question, George was already dragging him through the house, out through the backdoor and into the backyard. Based on the size, you wouldn’t call it a backyard, more like a field. It was big enough to have cattle roam around; that’s what Bob was hoping to do with the space eventually, if the current situation settled down.

When they were far enough from the house, almost in the middle of the field, George stopped and sat on the ground, dragging his friend down with him. Even through the clothes, Bob could feel the wet grass under him, but before he had a chance to complain, George pointed up at the night sky, saying “Look”. Bob followed his gaze, and was almost shocked as he saw the night sky. He had been so busy with all the problems filling his head that he didn’t even have a chance to enjoy the world around him. The sky was filled with stars, shining so bright they felt like they were close enough to reach. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw so many of them. Maybe back in Minnesota when he was a child, back when he had nothing to worry about and could spend days on end laying in the backyard, playing on the beat up guitar he found in his parent’s garage. The summer nights were warm back then, and he could spend all night under the stars, learning chords, getting excited at any and all sounds he was able to pluck from the strings. That felt like such a long time ago. He wasn’t old now, not even thirty yet, but it felt like forever since he had a chance to be as carefree as then.

It’s been months since he felt so at easy, and he could feel himself drifting off to sleep. He laid flat on the ground, feeling it harder to keep his body up for any longer.

“George,” Bob said, turning his head to look up at him, “thank you.”

George didn’t say anything, just smiled at him, happy to be of any help to his friend. Bob looked back up at the sky, taking a big breath. The weather was warm, but fresh and crisp, enough to clear head head and lull him to sleep.

George took off his glasses, placing them in the pocket of his jacket. He would give them back when Bob wakes up. He laid on his back next to Bob, placing his hands under his head as he looked back up at the sky.

“Goodnight Bob.”