\u201cBorderline absurd\u201d was the Guardian\u2019s approving verdict on that show, during which Parton tooted a rhinestone saxophone and improvised a song called Mud (her crystal-studded white suit survived the weather unsullied). But that was just a workaday gig for a character who was always \u201con\u201d in public. Ebullient and warm by nature, she created a persona that had no real precedent in country music \u2013 she was a fantasy figure who was also very real. The exterior fakery, modelled on \u201ca whore or a high-class prostitute<\/a>, not even so much high-class\u201d, as she told Rolling Stone in 1980, was grounded by deep intelligence and honesty. While many of her songs covered classic misery territory \u2013 shamed single mothers, sickly children \u2013 she was the anomalous star whose own life was happy. Parton\u2019s appeal was multi-generational and boundary-defying; one of the first country stars to cross over, she played a major role in taking the genre into the mainstream.<\/p>\n
![](\"https:\/\/i.guim.co.uk\/img\/media\/1003aac70173053457180cd1d7e17915d2cccb2b\/562_56_3570_2856\/master\/3570.jpg?width=140&quality=85&auto=format&fit=max&s=abcec914a764eaaf9fb7e1ce4d26b4b5\" "\\"Dolly")
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