אני לא יודע כמה קאנטרי שומעים בישראל. בראד פייזלי הוא אחד מהכוכבים העולים בקאנטרי האמריקאי השנה, ויש לי חיבה גדולה אליו. הוא לגמריי מיינסטרימי, עם חן של כאילו–לא–מלוטש–אבל–בעצם–סופר–מלוטש, ובמיטב המסורת של הקאנטרי, הוא כותב שירים–סיפורים פשוטים בלי שום סאב–טקסט, בלי תת משמעויות, סתם פיסות חיים "מהלב". בהרבה מובנים, ממלאת מוזיקת הקאנטרי בארה"ב את אותו מקום שממלאת המוזיקה המזרחית בישראל. בשני העולמות האלו, הזבל מרובה לעין ערוך על הפנינים, אבל מי שיודע להקשיב בלי דעה קדומה , נתקל מידי פעם בשירים נהדרים.

בראד פייזלי

אחד מאלו, בעיני, הוא הלהיט הנוכחי של פייזלי, “מכתב לעצמי", המועמד לשיר השנה בטקס פרסי הקאנטרי הממשמשים ובאים (המקבילה הקאנטרית לפרסי הגראמי).

והנה המילים

Letter to me/Brad Paisley

If I could write a letter to me

And send it back in time to myself at 17

First I'd prove it's me by saying look under your bed

There's a Skoal can and a Playboy no one else would know you hid

And then I'd say I know it's tough

When you break up after seven months

And yeah I know you really liked her and it just don't seem fair

All I can say is pain like that is fast and it's rare

And oh you got so much going for you going right

But I know at 17 it's hard to see past Friday night

She wasn't right for you

And still you feel like there's a knife sticking out of your back

And you're wondering if you'll survive

You'll make it through this and you'll see

You're still around to write this letter to me

At the stop sign at Tomlinson and Eighth

Always stop completely don't just tap your breaks

And when you get a date with Bridgett make sure the tank is full

On second thought forget it that one turns out kinda cool

Each and every time you have a fight

Just assume you're wrong and dad is right

And you should really thank Mrs. Brinkman

She spent so much extra time

It's like she sees the diamond underneath

And she's polishin' you ’til you shine

And oh you got so much going for you going right

But I know at 17 it's hard to see past Friday night

Tonight's the bonfire rally

But you're staying home instead because if you fail Algebra

Mom and dad will kill you dead

Trust me you'll squeak by and get a C

And you're still around to write this letter to me

You've got so much up ahead

You'll make new friends

You should see your kids and wife

And I'd end by saying have no fear

These are nowhere near the best years of your life

I guess I'll see you in the mirror

When you're a grown man

P.S. go hug Aunt Rita every chance you can

And oh you got so much going for you going right

But I know at 17 it's hard to see past Friday night

I wish you'd study Spanish

I wish you'd take a typing class

I wish you wouldn't worry, let it be

I'd say have a little faith and you'll see

If I could write a letter to me