R.I.P. Don Schlitz, Master Of American Song
At the far-too-young age of 73, we've lost one of the people whose work defined the very best of what it meant to be a Nashville songwriter. "The Gambler" will be in all the headlines — understandably, given its place in the American pop canon and countless dive bar sing-a-longs — but Don Schlitz's impact stretches beyond that monolithic piece of American existentialism (as none other than fabulous contemporary composer Darcy James Argue has noted). His songs represent the very best of what Music Row has produced over the decades: plainspoken but poetic, nostalgic but timeless, folksy but never patronizing.
I got to see Don Schlitz do an event at NYU of all places years ago, and he struck me as a remarkably humble, thoughtful guy. I'll never forget what he said about songwriting (and writing in general), that if you're looking at a wall, you don't write the song about the window and the pretty view — you look for the smallest crack on the wall and start slowly spiraling out from there. The remembrances following his passing confirm that hunch, painting a picture of a man who has dedicated to his Nashville community — from the Opry, where he was the first "non-artist" invited to join (though of course he was an artist), to the city's unhoused, for whom he played weekly for years — and making it bigger and brighter and more inclusive.
Janis Ian posted a moving tribute to him as a person and an LGBTQ ally. "I can’t begin to go into the times Don stood up for me when people made assumptions because I was from the North, a woman, a liberal," she wrote on Facebook. "He and Chet Atkins were my two staunchest defenders, and my life was easier because of it," she added, explaining that (for example) he offered to open for her at one of Nashville's first AIDS benefits. Brandy Clark also insisted on his generosity: "He made people feel good….whether they knew him well enough to call him a friend and co-writer or if they only knew him through the music he made."
It fits, as there's an throughline of deep tenderness to his songs. "When You Say Nothing At All," "Deeper Than The Holler," "Forever and Ever, Amen" — these are some of the most romantic entries in country's canon, all so warm and rich and grounded in their succinct clarity. "The touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall" is tearjerking because it's quotidian, saying something we've all felt but just didn't know how to express (I know it's a Whitley song, but Alison introduced me to it...). Schlitz knew, and that's why "Forever and Ever" will be played at weddings as long as old men sit and talk about the weather, and as long as old women sit and talk about old men.
Yesterday the New York Times released its list of the greatest living American songwriters. I was invited to nominate artists (now I know Joni Mitchell is Canadian, LOL), and I will say I didn't invite Schlitz — but up until his untimely passing, you certainly could have made a solid argument for his inclusion. If his volume of canonical pop hits isn't enormous, they still form a high water mark for all country songs both before and after for their unpretentious artistry and deceptive simplicity. His songs made country music better and expanded its possibilities. In his honor, may we all think a little more judiciously about what to throw away and what to keep.
