Daffodil Banjoplucker could well have been the world’s greatest female country music star, if only she hadn’t been born – instead of to a life of poverty and desperation in a rural American State – an upper-class English woman, destined to ride ponies and the occasional bit of rough she picked up in the yard of one of her daddy’s farms.
In certain forms of popular music such as rock, folk and country, however, authenticity is everything, so if you can fake that you stand a good chance of having it made. Unfortunately, however, Banjoplucker - one of the Hereford Banjopluckers that can trace their descent right back to the Domesday Book – did not have the massive breasts, overly-permed hairstyle or the taste for dubiously-authentic ‘country- style’ clothing that would have marked her out as a country singer. There was also - the admittedly minor – problem of her having no musical talent whatsoever, which in many sub-genres of popular music is of little or no real consequence, but in such fields as country and folk, some musical talent is often regarded as being worthwhile.
All of this is why – in the end – Daffodil Banjoplucker never became a country music star, never recorded a multi-platinum album, never played at the Grand Old Opry or any of those other things that the true country stars – and Garth Brooks – achieved. Instead, she settled for a life of marriage to a dull city stockbroker from her daddy’s firm, enlivened by several torrid and deeply physical affairs with a long string of heavily-muscled manual labourers. Then, once she got old and too worn out for all that, took up breeding Labradors and becoming the sternest critic of her local MP at the local constituency Conservative club when he refused to introduce a private member bill to allow the death penalty for those that criticised Willie Nelson in a public place.
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