Dale Watson explains his "Ameripolitan" genre

For those seeking entry to maverick artist Dale Watson's "Ameripolitan" genre, be prepared -- there are some pretty stiff entry requirements.

Just because you're embraced by the mainstream doesn't qualify you to play the style of music Watson has perfected over the years. And just because you wear a cowboy hat and look the part doesn't mean you're getting through the door.

Not while Watson is manning the ropes, at least.

"I think it's probably a more exclusive club than it is inclusive, but without apology," Watson told The Daily Times this week. "I think that's where Nashville and the entity that is country music made its biggest mistake. Anybody who puts on a hat, as long as they're making money, they say, 'OK, you're country.' So they put Kevin Costner on the Grand Ole Opry, and Darius Rucker suddenly decides he's country.

"It's like water calling itself whiskey and the people who make it saying, 'OK, we'll just add you to the bottle. It might still be called whiskey, but it ain't no kind of whiskey I want to drink."

"Ameripolitan" is a term coined by Watson to describe his own personal brand of country music. Like many of his contemporaries in the hinterlands of country music, far beyond the adoring masses cultivated by Nashville's industry insiders and mainstream radio, he labors in relative obscurity save for a small but dedicated following that heralds his take-no-prisoners, hardcore-troubadour approach as a direct descendant of men like George Jones and Merle Haggard and Waylon Jennings. He came up with it, he said, because "country" has become such a ubiquitous term these days that the mere mention of it conjures up images of polished prima donnas cavorting across CMT to electric guitar sounds that would be more at home on a pop album.

"I had been trying to think of a word that describes the kind of music I do and like, because people always ask when we're going down the road in the bus, and they don't recognize the name," Watson said. "If I tell them country, it gives the wrong picture of what I'm doing. They automatically think the Top 40, Toby Keith kind of stuff. It doesn't matter what word you put in front of it -- real or traditional -- because the only thing the mainstream knows to draw on is the mainstream; Kenny Chesney and all that crap.

"I like categories and always have. That's why there's dark chocolate, bitter chocolate and unsweetened chocolate, but if you just put chocolate up there, it's not gonna appeal to what people are looking for because it's too vague. I needed a name that when people heard it, they didn't have a preconceived definition of it. If you don't have them categories, people come out expecting one thing and get another.

"It is a very narrow genre -- Kenny Chesney would never fit in there, and neither would Taylor Swift," he added. "It has to be original music with a prominent roots influence. Alison Krauss would be in there, and so would Dwight Yoakam."

And, obviously, so would Watson. Born in Birmingham, Ala., he now calls Texas home, and he's come up through the ranks of that state's roots musicians to earn a respectable place at the table. He's more popular overseas than in the States, but he's also one of the few country musicians out there today who's lived the life about which he sings. He released his first album on the Hightone label in 1995, and five years later he almost lost his mind when his girlfriend, Terri Herbert, died in a car crash.

A documentary titled "Crazy Again" was made about that time period, and even today, Watson said, it's a film that makes him squirm. But it's his life, and he makes no apologies for living it like he does.

"It was a promise I made to myself to do that," he said. "I wrote a book and recorded a gospel album and did all of the stuff that would tell about what happened. I made that choice to put all of that out there. Obviously, I squirmed in my seat a lot, especially since the documentary aired at South By Southwest and a few other film festivals.

"But I promised myself I'd tell that story, and that's what I did. And as soon as I can get a publisher for the book, people will understand more of the details of that time."

Watson even tried stepping away from music in 2004. He moved his kids to Baltimore, trying his hand at over-the-road driving (he has a commercial driver's license) before realizing that his children had more readily adapted to Herbert's loss than he had. And so he returned to Austin, resuming his place as a fixture of the city's music scene.

"Just stepping away made me realize that I'm pretty lucky to be doing what I do for a living and have people who support what I do," he said. "You get up, go do your job and do what you do, and most of the time you don't think about it that much. But when you don't do it anymore, you get a little more introspective about what it is you do."

On Thursday (Jan. 28), Watson will travel to East Tennessee for a show at Patrick Sullivan's Saloon. As best he can remember, it's the first time he's ever played Knoxville, but he does have some local ties. He's friends with local singer-songwriter Roger Alan Wade as well as Wade's cousin, P.J. Clapp -- the South Knoxville native who goes by the name Johnny Knoxville. Knoxville even had a hand in the making of Watson's 2007 album "Cradle to the Grave."

"I met him through Mike Judge (creator of "Beavis and Butthead" and "King of the Hill"), who's a good friend of mine," Watson said. "Mike is a really good bass player; I don't know how he met Johnny, but they were hanging together, and Mike brought Johnny to a club where I was playing in Austin, and me and Johnny just hit it off.

"He likes roots music, and we just stayed in touch, and he kept asking me if I wanted to go out to his log cabin that he bought from Johnny Cash to write some songs and record some stuff."