In country music, nobody's cooler than Dwight Yoakam. Hey, don't even think about it. This 46–year–old Kentucky native exploded out of Southern California in 1984 with an independent EP that mixed up country, rock 'n' roll and good old Bakerfield honky tonk like eggs in a beating bowl. Warner Brothers signed him to its Reprise label in '86, and it was Dwight Yoakam who put big beats and twangy guitars back on country radio—and America said hello to alt/country.
This month, Yoakam gets the 4–disc career retrospective from Rhino with Reprise Please Baby, a stunning collection of music, and in the spring the label will release his Complete Works—200 tracks over 10 CDs.
And the boy can act! He came to attention in 1995's Sling Blade, as the absusive redneck who gets his from Billy Bob Thornton. And last year's Panic Room, which featured Yoakam as the leader of a trio of sadistic thieves who terrorize Jodie Foster, grossed $200 million worldwide
It's an action comedy. I play an ex–cop who knew Harrison Ford's character from the force; he and Josh Hartnett are chasing my character. He's an ex–cop who's involved with the security for a rap record label, and he's more involved with string–pulling than it would seem at first glance.
In the 14 films I've done, I've played other guys who were not the antagonist. And they weren't as successful as the films I've been in where I was playing the antagonist.
I was in theater when I was in junior high. When I first came out here, I was trying to put a band together but I couldn't find the players. I saw the marquee on the Long Beach Playhouse, auditions for Here Comes Mr. Jordan. I did the lead in that in 1978. Then I thought I should focus on my music, because I could control my own destiny to a greater extent. And if the opportunity presents itself, maybe I'll be able to act again later, in film.
No, there was not a game plan. There was a plan to go to the West Coast, after going to Nashville for a time and feeling like I couldn't evolve fully. I was drawn here principally because Emmylou Harris & the Hot Band were based here, and they were still a vital link between country music and rock/pop musicians.
I had started putting a band together, and got to know a network of like–minded people, to use a new age term. I was introduced to Pete one night and sat in with him, and it just very natural to play together.
We instantly knew onstage performing that one complimented the other. His playing style, and what I was doing as a writer and singer. We realized we were going to fired from gigs more than not, because we weren't playing the cover material of the day from Top 40 country radio, and we just stopped. And put a completely originals–based band together.
And by that time, the whole kind of golden moment had started to happen in the L.A. club scene where the cowpunk scene was taking hold. And we were able to have access to an audience that would listen to original material, and respond to it.
There was an A&R person called Paige Levy who'd come to Texas to watch us perform, opening for the Blasters. She believed in the act. She felt that we would capture the imagination of the public. It wasn't about what was going on in the business in Nashville—it was about what this person thought would appeal to the public as a recording act.
That moment when rockabilly and Buddy Holly came back into vogue for a moment in the early '70s helped saved me, because I wasn't as ostracized. There was some sort of access point musically for me, listening to Stonewall Jackson records. Creedence was a bridge. And I was a big Stones fan.
In pop music, single to single, I would be a fan, but it was a little tough for a 13–year–old listening to Stonewall Jackson singing 'Life to Go' in his room to have a friend that comes by and understands that, or gets that. And I don't think I even knew why I had an affinity to it, because it was so linked inexorably to my past. To the things I heard as a child.
It came in various stages. I've had that same hat that I wear since 1979. I started wearing Levi's 517 Saddle & Boot jeans in like 1978. Before that I'd worn bells. In the box set, you'll see photos of me coming to California in my David Essex look—those big demin baggies and a denim vest. But I never wore platform shoes. I hated platforms.
Toni Riviera made the first couple of jackets, and we were emulating that stuff. And then when I could afford to actually go to Manuel and ask about the bolero—the heavily constructed stuff—I did that, on the first video, for 'Honky Tonk Man.'
I think it was an outgrowth of being influenced by all the rock musicians and all the hillbilly cats that I saw playing music on TV from the time I was a kid in the late '50s until I was grown up.
Yeah, I think everybody does. Everybody goes and combs their hair before they go onstage, trying to affect some variation on a presentation of themselves that will be aesthetically effective when they deliver this music.
The interesting thing about grunge was, after a point it kind of became its own contrivance. They were attempting to look somehow unaware of how they looked.