Tammy Wynette – Stand By Your Man

Claire O. fancies like a bow-tie on a doily her oh-boy post-boy, but he tweaked my pique and canoed me up a creek this week when he derailed my musical mail, sending these twice-baked Tammy tunes to a town tons of tracks away from here, leaving me less than 24 hectic metric hours to weave like Shriners on parade a re-review of this re-release. And sew like a needle and thread, if I floor wax frenetic or wane splenetic, please two-times-two equals forgive me a break job; Claire is under more pressure than a pin-up with hiccups stuffing D-cups in B-cups. None the Loch Ness, I shall press like pants on — like the pucker in a purse string, gather ’round, and I’ll purl a passel of ponderances purloined from the pulsatory purlieus of my pericranium:

Libbers lobbing their brassieres in the brazier unleashed a caterwaul of appall when Stand By Your Man was released the first time, and Claire O. wishes like fishes for splashes and splishes to make one thing like pink without paisley plain: When she has to be, Claire is her own man, Lordy-lleuia, but she’d be like a politician talking in his sleep lying and lying if she didn’t de-claire how deeply she like a low-end larynx resonates to the lonesome lead-off line: “Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman…” Amen, man.

It’s like fudge pancakes a good thing Stand By Your Man furored the feminists from the first track; their apoplexy woulda seemed narcolepsy if they’d foraged further, to “My Arms Stay Open Late”, a wrenching tribute to a woman’s passivity and tolerance — written by two men.

Oh, the hippety-skips Tammy flips in “It Keeps Slipping My Mind”. Claire followed the dancing dot and defrocked the shocks in her voice box.

Claire’s no analog dog, but the uneven vintage mix clicks. The steel on “My Arms Stay Open Late” is twinkly like a little star, Tammy’s vocals are AM radio-delovely at the high end, and the kick drum on “Don’t Make Me Go To School” popped out so far, Claire guessed herself goosed by a gander.

Snippety-clippety, Claire loves hair, and is in-and-out-trigued by the cover shot of a doilied Betty Crocker Wynette coiffed with a spaniel in a state of faint.

But Claire, you declare, thumbs uppity or nope-itty? Claire is not in the business of giving fingers, but Will like Shakespeare Hamlet you know she enjoyed to the world the unfashionable like my father’s caps themes parked on these tracks, and chill-thrilled to the untweaked power of sister Wynette, circa Summer of Love. Whoopsie, here comes my late-but-great mail is-he-ever man.

I shall stamp my feet.