There's more than one song in the world that can make me tear up like my favorite dog done died. It's in my bones. I was brought up on country music, and as a descendent of Welsh-Irish-German-English-French farmers-miners-clergy-unlettered rabble, I am very much genetically disposed to break into maudlin song at the drop of a hat given the opportunity and a surprisingly small quantity of strong drink.

Nobody in the world does a good weeper better than the estimable George Jones, possessor of the greatest voice in the history of country music, and arguably deserving of a mention as one of the best interpreters of song — period — in the entire twentieth century. You take Edith Piaf, Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong, Aretha Franklin, all your operatic divas, and even Ol' Blue Eyes, too. Me, I'll take the mysterious man with the close-set eyes from the hardscrabble pine barrens of East Texas.

There's a good reason why. Some of my earliest childhood memories are of George Jones crooning his towering hits "A Good Year For The Roses" and "He Stopped Loving Her Today" over the staticky radio my father kept on the workbench in the garage right above the ratchet set. The first of these two was probably one of the first songs I ever heard in my life, and the second was, when I was six, one my very first favorite songs not produced by Disney. Just to prove that I had unimpeachably excellent taste in music even at that tender age (oh, yeah), two other favorite songs from my kindergarten years were "Cloudy and Cool" by Chet Atkins and "There Ain't No Good Chain Gang" by Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard. The keening string sections and Jones' over-the-top vocals made a big impression on my young mind and had two long-term effects. Aside from leaving me with an unfortunate and abiding affection for the schlockier output of 70s-era Nashville, those garage days also made me a George Jones fan for life.

Since that time, I have gone through phase after phase, getting way into Pink Floyd, hair metal, Wax Trax industrial, punk, 'grunge', Neil Young, Zappa, Elvis, Tom Waits, Charles Mingus, and so on and so on world without end amen. And yet, time after time I return to the music of my early childhood: I always return to rockabilly, honky-tonk, and especially the music of Johnny Cash and George Jones.

What is it about George Jones that's so alluring? Honestly, seen from a distance he's almost comical. If any fan of his ever wants an unpleasant shock, I recommend playing one of Jones' more purple performances (say, "The Grand Tour" or "He Stopped Loving Her Today") back to back with one of Jim Nabors' bigger slices of schmaltz, such as "The Impossible Dream" or "You'll Never Walk Alone." Although the two men approach a song differently, there are similarities: each is gifted with an absurdly resonant voice that they use to maximum effect, and they share a knack for working the hell out of a song. But most importantly, the two have done their very best work when trying their damndest to get into self-parody's pants.