There was plenty I liked about living in Alabama. The intoxicating scent of magnolias, the slow rivers winding their way through land so green your eyes hurt, the meat-and-three diners where sweet tea was the only drink on the menu, and folks happy to strike up a conversation with a stranger, just because.
But there was one aspect of Southern living I avoided during my 35-year ‘Bama tenure: country music. The tunes just never spoke to me. I didn’t own a truck, didn’t drink much beer and I was never dumped by a pretty girl in cowboy boots. Am I stereotyping? Probably, but these seemed to be the recurring themes on every radio station in Birmingham.
