On hearing what you want to hear

I have been keeping track, for no explicable reason, of the number of places outside of the States where I hear a song that my fellow West Virginians and I can only consider an anthem, possibly one more emotionally significant than anything Francis Scott Key ever hummed. Never mind that John Denver only traveled through a teeny curved corner of our state, and then extrapolated a whole mega-hit’s worth of conclusions about what the place looks like and who the people are. When “Country Roads” comes on at a bar, anywhere in the world, West Virginians will burst into song at the top of their lungs.

I heard it in London in 1998, on my first trip out of the States to a place that, at that point, counted as “exotic.” I thought this was funny, but I realize now it is not funny at all. I heard it Amsterdam (also, for the record, not that funny). Prague, Krakow (okay, still a little funny). Kigali.

A Kenyan friend told me yesterday that her countrymen and countrywomen share a love for Denver’s ditty as well. When it comes on in a bar, anywhere in Kenya, everyone sings, at the top of their lungs, “Take me home, country roads, to the place, I belong, Western Kenya…”