Today's Edition of “Short Answers to Stupid Questions”

Uh, no.

You're welcome.

I should add that just about everything about this recent (July 23) op-ed on Nashville's newest superstar Jelly Roll gets up my nose, beginning with the Times' credit...

...which omits the more apt descriptive "putz."

Seriously, in the immortal words of Oscar Wilde, one would need a heart of stone not to laugh at shit like this.

At 38 years old, very heavy and sporting a constellation of facial tattoos, Jelly Roll is no Taylor Swift. He is a recovering addict whose life has been riddled by drug-related loss — a theme that dominates his music and defines his stage persona. He openly swears, drinks, smokes weed and has a history of criminal convictions and substance-abuse problems. Yet Jelly Roll hasn’t become a star in spite of those things, but because of them. And that popularity is as revealing about the condition of the American soul as it is about the artist himself...

On this level, Jelly Rollmania makes perfect sense. In a country riddled with crises — the opioid epidemic, mass incarceration, the mental health crisis and gun violence among them — Jelly Roll’s music is an expression not just of musical tastes, but also of a desperate national hunger for healing and recovery.

Disclosure: Jelly Roll’s music makes me cry, too. I am a long-term recovering addict who will never quite heal. I got sober in an Alcoholics Anonymous clubhouse in Nashville circa 1990, where people traded aphorisms and wisdom that sound a lot like the lyrics on [Jelly Roll's album] “Whitsitt Chapel.” Neither my alcoholic father nor my alcoholic grandfather made it to 50. I lost a brother and two stepbrothers to addiction and mental illness: Bob was killed in a drug-motivated shooting in 1984. Adam died by suicide, overdosing on heroin, in 1991. Jim, a teenage addict, was sentenced at 18 to five years for armed robbery (aggravated robbery is also one of Jelly Roll’s convictions), got some prison tattoos himself and started smoking crack when he got out. He died in his 50s, his body compromised by hepatitis, diabetes and heart disease.

After each death, I got a tattoo, to try to permanently mark myself as them...

Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. Cue the violins.

Oh wait -- there aren't any country fiddles on the Jelly Roll song below.

Now, I can already hear you saying -- don't be so mean, Steve. Sure, Sartwell and Jelly Roll have had rough lives, but what about the music itself?

Well, what about it?

Well, forgetting the fact that when you look up the the word "dreck" in the dictionary this video comes up...

...but sorry -- an embarassing melodramatic poor-poor pitiful-me lyric delivered with a creepily auto-tuned, awkwardly mashed-up hip-hop-with-a-twang vocal? Try THAT on a Jason Aldean record.

Let alone pitching it to the Lord.

I mean, holy manipulative commercial crap, Batman!

And then of course there's this little confessional at the end.

...Jelly Roll says, “I’ve been a drug addict, I’ve been a loser, I’ve been a stealer” and “My friends in recovery, the first thing they learn is that you gotta find something that matters more to you than you … There’s something out there that can help us.”

I like a good [!-Ed.] Taylor Swift tune as much as anyone, but it’s Jelly Roll I turn to for my musical salvation [emphasis mine] these days. Even as I struggle from day to day, it’s good to know I’m not the only one still desperate for reconciliation and connection.

Right. Got it. Absolutely. Jelly Roll has suffered for his art, and now it's your turn.

Okay, I've said my piece, and obviously I'm exagerrating to make a point. And sure, there's no accounting for taste, even if you do claim to be a philosopher.

But here's the thing.

In the immortal words of (actually I forgot who said it, but it is nonetheless true): It is almost always a bad idea to try and figure out your deep personal hurt and other issues in your life based on the lyrics to popular songs.

And that includes when and if the New York fucking Times is paying you handsomely to do it.

Check, please!