I hear folks badmouthing country music all the time. The typical complaints? “It’s redneck music.” “It’s twangy.” “It’s cheesy.” “It’s patriotic.” “It’s sappy.” Before I differentiate between crapola Nashville Pop Lite and Country, I’d just like to say phooey on you haters.

Country music is honest. It’s pure in its intentions and message and makes no bones about the fact that being lighthearted and goofy is just as relevant and rich as more serious life topics. In fact, you probably spend a lot more time joking than falling in or out of love. At least I’d hope so — if not, seek help. Country can be flat out silly as in Brad Paisley’s “I’m Still a Guy” or tender and sentimental like Dierks Bentley’s “My Last Name.” It can be hilariously vindictive like “Goodbye Earl” or stirringly apocalyptic like “When The Man Comes Around” by Johnny Cash.

Rap can’t do that. Rock can’t do that. For the most part, Pop can’t do it either. Other genres are plagued with the heavy burdern of Cool. They’ve limited themselves by becoming obsessed with fleeting moments of sex, money, and status instead of the more satisfying richness of everyday life. One of the sweetest mental pictures I’ve ever gotten from a song came from “From My Front Porch” by Lonestar:

There’s a carrot top who can barely walk
With a sippy cup of milk
A little blue eyed blonde with her shoes on wrong
‘Cause she likes to dress herself
And the most beautiful girl holding both of them
The view I love the most is my front porch looking in

The honesty comes from Country music being simply an extension of Folk music, comes from the real lives of the singers who share them. For example: Tim McGraw is a real cowboy. Behold.

That’s right. Ol’ Tim grew up in rural Louisiana, has an awesome hat, his own football team, a smokin’ hot wife, is the proud and devoted father of three daughters, and will lay down the law on a deserving drunk jerk who tries to spoil the party. Not only did he grab the obnoxious fan by the shirt, shove a finger in his face, and then haul him up on stage like he was a handbag, he exercised judicious restraint by warning the guy that he could and would deck him. But only if he really deserved it. That’s a cowboy.

I will contrast this with gansta rappers, who encourage violence, obsession with wealth and status, sexism and violence toward women, and the unattainable ideal of being a baller, a thug, or a rapper for young urban men. Narcissism, not a desire for everyone to get along, is the motive. That’s pathetic.

So before writing off Country, please take into consideration that a lot of the stuff shoved at you by mass marketing isn’t really country. A good rule: If it got its start on American Idol, it ain’t Country. If it’s real, if it tells a story worth hearing, and leaves you feeling good afterward . . . that’s Country.