Doug Kershaw

Decades after Warner Bros., and a handful of other labels, tried to make Doug Kershaw a star by selling his "crazy Cajun" (read: unreliable madman) shtick to the same folks who were buying Waylon and Willie and Kris and Johnny C., the 66-year-old "Louisiana Man" is still working a closed...

By Robert Wilonsky

October 24, 2002

[
        {
          "name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Inline Content - Mobile Display Size",
          "component": "18855504",
          "insertPoint": "2",
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "2"
        },{
          "name": "Editor Picks",
          "component": "17105533",
          "insertPoint": "4",
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "1"
        },{
          "name": "Inline Links",
          "component": "18349797",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 8,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "7",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        },{
          "name": "Air - MediumRectangle - Combo - Inline Content",
          "component": "17105532",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 8,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "7",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        },{
          "name": "Inline Links",
          "component": "18349797",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 12,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "11",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        },{
          "name": "Air - Leaderboard Tower - Combo - Inline Content",
          "component": "17105535",
          "insertPoint": "8th",
          "startingPoint": 12,
          "requiredCountToDisplay": "11",
          "maxInsertions": 25
        }
      ]

Decades after Warner Bros., and a handful of other labels, tried to make Doug Kershaw a star by selling his "crazy Cajun" (read: unreliable madman) shtick to the same folks who were buying Waylon and Willie and Kris and Johnny C., the 66-year-old "Louisiana Man" is still working a closed circuit that grows smaller by the year. Figures, though, since the kids have no idea who he is and their folks have forgotten; something about an ex-boozer fiddle player with mutton chops that sort of keeps audiences at bay. It's a shame, too, since few come with his cred or rep: hit singles in the '50s and '60s (including "Louisiana Man," which you'd know if you heard it), a long-running slot on the Louisiana Hayride when Elvis was in blue suede shoes, a shot on the first Johnny Cash Show, stints opening for the Plastic Ono Band and Derek & the Dominos, gigs playing with Hank Jr. and Bobby Zimmerman and Quincy Jones, a discography as estimable as any survivor-journeyman-superstar who went into music to avoid going into Daddy's gator-farming business. The rock's long gone from his recording output--the new one's titled Easy, because that's how it goes down--but the music's still far from trad-and-true; he's no museum piece fiddlin' dem Plexiglas blues.

KEEP THE OBSERVER FREE... Since we started the Dallas Observer, it has been defined as the free, independent voice of Dallas, and we'd like to keep it that way. Your membership allows us to continue offering readers access to our incisive coverage of local news, food, and culture with no paywalls. You can support us by joining as a member for as little as $1.