Three Dolly Parton Deep Cuts to Celebrate Her Legacy

My friend Usamah is probably the most aloof person I consider a close friend. Many times, in order to figure out what’s going on in his life, I ask what songs feel particularly moving to him and triangulate from there. When we were texting about Dolly’s passing, he sent over “Early Morning Breeze,” (opens in new window) from 1971’s Coat of Many Colors—a gentle, lilting folk song about reveling in natural beauty as a way of getting through the slog of your daily life. I thought it was a nice insight into the perspective of a friend who, for all his reservedness, has been known to be deeply moved by a striking sunset—and, I suppose, by the asters and the dahlias. That’s the gift of much of Dolly’s music, which is plainly stated yet deeply observed and felt—it’s the kind of thing you can text to your friend without thinking too much about it, while also showing them who you are.—Vrinda Jagota

The mid ’80s are not generally regarded as a high point of Dolly Parton’s musical career. Though her songwriting instincts remained as country as could be, her records came adorned with the slick synthesizers and bouncy rhythms of the era’s pop music. Radio listeners might not even know that she was still writing with her same old humor and pathos, because RCA Victor, her label since the late ’60s, was now picking songs by slick Nashville pros as singles and relegating her own material to album-track status. Which is why the best song on 1985’s glossy Real Love, her final album for RCA, is tucked in at the end.

“I Hope You’re Never Happy” (opens in new window) is a little softer than its fantastically bitter title would have you believe, but not much. In the first verse, Parton plays the role of the dignified ex, sending her lover off with a smile and good tidings. “I wish you all that you wish for,” she begins quietly, then turns up the brass for the twist: “But only if you’re with me.” The arrangement is almost sinister in its chipperness. Keyboards chime malevolently; in the chorus, an honest-to-god reggae upstroke arrives to goad any man who would dare cross Dolly. (The ’80s were crazy.) As “I Hope You’re Never Happy” goes on, a subtler second twist reveals itself. This isn’t a breakup song at all; it’s a song about the singer’s own jealousy and possessiveness, as well as a plea, and a warning, to a guy she genuinely hopes will stick around despite it all. If he doesn’t? May the Lord have mercy on him.—Andy Cush