I might give a few of you a severe shock here, but get used to it: I will sometimes write posts that have nothing to do with politics, religion, science-under-attack, science-fighting-back, and the nonsense people get up to when they aren’t thinking.

I might give a few of you an even more severe shock if you knew me previously, and now click this link to see what’s on my Project Playlist, um, playlists.

Go ahead. You know you wanna.

That’s right, bitches. The woman who listens to Dimmu Borgir, Emperor, Cradle of Filth and Velvet Acid Christ on one side of the spectrum also listens to Marty Robbins, (old) George Strait, and David Allen Coe on the other end.

Why don’t I have any of the first spectrum on one of my playlists, you ask?

So glad you did. That’s because I own the CDs. Project Playlist is for the stuff I’m currently too poor to purchase. Working on it, my darlings, working on it – artists I love get my funds, when I have them.

But I digress. I started this post to say this: I fucking love Marty Robbins. I love his gunfighter ballads. This probably has something to do with the fact that he has a voice like Patron Silver, and a lot to do with the fact I grew up addicted to Louis L’Amour. I wish I’d met the man – actually, both men. They’re amazing artists both.

So is David Allen Coe. If you’ve never listened to him because you shun country, you should hold your nose long enough to listen to “You Never Even Called Me By My Name.” David Allen Coe is funny.

(Trivia: that was the first song I ever sang at karaoke. The bad thing was, they didn’t have the version with the bridging speech that made it so damned funny. Tragic.)

It’s people like this who gave me my adoration for words, an adept turn of phrase, and a ripping good story.

So no, I don’t think it destroys my metal credentials to admit I love some Western music. And Duran Duran. And Tom Leher. And Beethoven. And Simon and Garfunkel. And – well, I could go on, or you could go traipsing through my playlists, if it’s important to you.

Update: There goes another childhood hero down in flames. David Allen Coe wrote some damned funny shit, but I didn’t know before tonight he was a racist fuckwit. You live and you learn. Ah, well, at least Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Kris Kristofferson haven’t proved to be total assholes just yet.