About the same time, Nelson was teaming up in the studio and on the road with another Texas maverick, Waylon Jennings, to create the "outlaw" sound. Jennings leaned closer to rock than Nelson did, but both celebrated individual freedom, and crowds packed arenas and stadiums to see them.
Soon, Nelson seemed to be everywhere -- on movie screens in "The Electric Horseman" with Robert Redford and in "Honeysuckle Rose" with Amy Irving (with whom he had an affair), as well as starring in made-for-TV films, releasing a flurry of new albums and playing at least 150 concerts a year.
Eventually, overexposure set in and record sales slowed. Things were changing again in Nashville. Record companies and DJs wanted fresh blood and lost interest in Nelson and other veteran figures such as Cash, Jennings and Kris Kristofferson. In 1985, the four teamed up as the Highwaymen, touring and recording together, making fabulous music, though Nelson also was soon on the road again on his own. He's still rolling across the country on that tour bus today.
Patoski describes just about everything that ever happened to Nelson, his four marriages, his addiction to the road, but he often leaves us feeling distant from the subject. Even more troubling is the lack of meaningful discussion of Nelson the artist.
The songs -- even such classics as "Crazy" and "Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground" -- come and go without Patoski's examining them or asking Nelson about them. That leaves us with little sense of his place in country music, much less the entire pop spectrum. How does his singing and writing compare to those of Hank Williams, Merle Haggard or Cash? What is it about his music that connects so strongly with millions of fans?
Patoski does venture briefly into criticism but errs badly when he claims that Nelson's music is somehow deeper and more significant than Haggard's. In truth, Haggard's tales of blue-collar lives -- "Mama Tried," "If We Make It Through December" -- are every bit as affecting as Nelson's best works.
The absence of this critical insight is all the more disappointing because Nelson's songs are so beautifully crafted, complete with wordplay that is at once playful and poignant. In "Sad Songs and Waltzes," Nelson warns an ex-lover that he's writing about how she cheated and lied, and then delivers a wry punch line:
I'm writing a song all about you
A true song as real as my tears
But you've no need to fear it
Cause no one will hear it
Cause sad songs and waltzes
Aren't selling this year.
Nelson's life has been an epic one, but he wouldn't be worth reading about if he weren't also an extraordinary musician who can touch us again and again with his engaging depictions of the human condition.
Early in his career, Nelson wrote a song, "Half a Man," about the feeling of emptiness after a breakup. By failing to examine the foundation of Nelson's artistry and creative process, Patoski has given us "Half a Book."
