Music History

Go-go boots, a stack of 45s, and a living room turned dance floor. My sisters did the dancing. I kept the records spinning. Who knew “It’s My Party” would give me a philosophy to carry through life? Pour a cup, folks. There’s another record waiting to drop.

October 24, 2026

cup of coffee near vintage record player — ^{_{Photo by Esra Erdem on Pexels.com}}

Good morning, coffee drinkers! Have you ever heard an old song and suddenly remembered an entire room?

Not just the music. The furniture. The people. Even what they were wearing.

For me, it’s my sisters in their go-go boots, dancing across the living room like they had landed a spot on one of those groovy television shows. Meanwhile, I had an important job: keeping the records playing.

Our record player lived inside a gigantic piece of furniture that also housed the speakers and an AM-FM radio. It took up enough room that you might have expected it to sleep overnight guests.

It played three speeds—33⅓, 45, and 78—but the numbers weren’t what interested me. I wanted to load the automatic changer and watch it work. One record finished, another dropped into place, and the show continued.

There were records belonging to my parents and an uncle who lived with us. I never knew exactly whose were whose. Once the grown-ups were gone and we were home from school, ownership became less important than what we wanted to hear next.

My sisters provided the dancing. I provided the entertainment. Whether they appreciated my musical judgment is another story.

There was “L.A. International Airport,” with those big jet engines, and “Galveston” when the mood settled down a little. “Judy’s Turn to Cry” and “Runaway” had their turns, too.

But the one that stuck with me was “It’s My Party.”

I wasn’t particularly concerned with the romantic trouble unfolding in the song. I liked the declaration: it was your party, and if you wanted to cry, you could.

That sounded like a useful policy.

Even as a kid, I could imagine occasions when somebody might really tick me off and I would need to explain that my feelings were my own business. Here was a record doing the explaining for me. All I had to do was put it on.

Of course, childhood gives you only a small preview of the occasions when you might want to invoke that rule.

Life eventually supplies the rest.

Vintage vinyl records, album covers, and shoes arranged in a retro collage

Plans fall apart. People disappoint you. Something you thought would last forever ends before you’re ready. And sometimes you’re simply having a rotten afternoon without the energy to pretend otherwise.

On those days, that old song still makes a reasonable argument.

You can have your cry. You can let the record play through. Nobody says you have to be ready to dance just because everybody else is.

What stays with me most, though, is that living room: my sisters dancing, another record waiting to drop, and me enjoying my position as the person in charge of what came next.

I couldn’t have known how often those songs would follow me through life—or how differently I would hear them later.

Fortunately, my Johnny always came back to me.

But now I’m getting into “Judy’s Turn to Cry,” and that’s another record altogether.

Have another sip, folks. I’ll see what’s next on the stack.

Signature of Benjamin Groff with name and copyright information.

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

May 25, 2026

From Louisiana dance halls to national television, the Kershaw brothers carried Cajun music into the American spotlight with fiddles, fire, heartbreak, and unforgettable Southern spirit.

The canjun era playboys — Rusty and Doug Kershaw

There are entertainers who become famous, and then there are entertainers who become woven into the cultural identity of an entire region. Doug Kershaw belongs in that second category.

For generations of Americans, the sound of Cajun music was introduced not through textbooks or documentaries, but through the fiery fiddle and unforgettable personality of the man known as “The Ragin’ Cajun.”

Born in Louisiana in 1936, Doug Kershaw grew up surrounded by the sounds of French-speaking Cajun culture. In fact, he reportedly did not learn English fluently until around the age of eight. Music came first. By childhood he had already mastered the fiddle and was performing professionally while still young. But Doug’s rise was not a solo journey.

Standing beside him during those early years was his younger brother, Rusty Kershaw.

The Ragin Cajun era — Rusty and Doug Kershaw

Together, the Kershaw brothers became one of the most recognizable Cajun acts in America during the 1950s and early 1960s. Rusty often played guitar while Doug handled the fiddle and vocals. The pairing worked perfectly. Doug brought explosive energy and showmanship, while Rusty added a smoother musical balance that grounded the performances. Their harmonies and stage chemistry helped carry Cajun music far beyond Louisiana dance halls and onto national stages.

The brothers recorded together under names such as “The Continental Playboys” and later found growing popularity with songs that blended traditional Cajun sounds with country and rock influences. Their performances helped open doors for Cajun music at a time when much of America had little exposure to the culture. In many ways, the Kershaw brothers became ambassadors for an entire way of life rooted in the Louisiana bayous.

Doug’s signature song, “Louisiana Man,” eventually became one of the defining Cajun recordings of the modern era. Written while serving in the military alongside Rusty, the song would later be recorded by hundreds of artists and become permanently tied to Louisiana musical history.

But success also brought hardship.

By the 1960s, the brothers’ partnership began to fracture under the pressures of touring, fame, and personal struggles. Rusty Kershaw battled severe substance abuse problems for years, an issue that would haunt much of his life and career. While Doug continued rising as a solo performer known worldwide as “The Ragin’ Cajun,” Rusty drifted through periods of instability despite remaining respected by musicians who recognized his immense talent.

Still, Rusty’s influence on Southern music remained significant. He worked with major artists, performed in recording sessions, and continued contributing to the broader Louisiana music scene even when public attention faded. Musicians who knew him often described him as gifted, deeply authentic, and troubled by demons that shadowed many performers of that era.

Rusty Kershaw in Nashville 1955 — Rusty Kershaw, from recording with brother Doug.

Rusty Kershaw died in 2001 at the age of 63.

Doug, meanwhile, carried on. Like many gifted performers of his generation, he openly battled depression and substance abuse during portions of his own life, yet continued performing with the same fiery spirit audiences had always loved. His story carried the same rough edges and resilience found in the music he played.

As of 2026, Doug Kershaw is still alive at 90 years old, a living reminder of a uniquely American musical tradition that once echoed from dance halls, roadside bars, radio stations, and county fairs across the South.

Over the years many people have also confused Doug Kershaw with another famous Louisiana-born performer, Sammy Kershaw. The similarity in names, combined with their Louisiana roots and unmistakable Southern styles, naturally led audiences to assume the two men were related. Surprisingly, they are not known to be close relatives.

Sammy Kershaw rose to fame during the 1990s country music boom with songs such as “She Don’t Know She’s Beautiful,” “Cadillac Style,” and “Queen of My Double Wide Trailer.” Where Doug Kershaw exploded onto stages with a fiddle and Cajun rhythms, Sammy carried Louisiana into mainstream country radio with honky-tonk storytelling and a voice many compared to George Jones.

What connected all of them was not necessarily blood, but heritage.

They emerged from the rich musical soil of Louisiana, where Cajun traditions, country music, gospel, swamp pop, and Southern storytelling blended into something that could not have come from anywhere else in America. Louisiana did not merely produce singers during that era — it produced personalities. Characters. Performers whose accents, styles, and energy reflected an entire culture.

In many ways, Doug and Rusty Kershaw helped pave the road for later Louisiana performers like Sammy Kershaw to reach national audiences while still sounding unmistakably Southern. One represented the wild spirit of Cajun fiddle music. Another represented its soulful backbone. Together they helped preserve the sound of Louisiana for generations of listeners.

And perhaps that is the real legacy of “The Ragin’ Cajun.” Doug Kershaw did not simply entertain audiences. He carried a culture with him every time he stepped onto a stage — fiddle in hand, sweat pouring under the lights, and enough energy to shake the walls like a Gulf Coast thunderstorm.