Rhinestones

It is no surprise that three of the five members of the Ralph Stanley band sport clothing fresh from the bedazzler: rhinestones are an essential component of the country music wardrobe.

Ralph wore his moderate glitter with security: a mere twenty or so stones—small and uncolored—tastefully arranged around the buttons and collar of his burgundy shirt. Paired with a stiff, pressed grey suit, his clothes exuded the perfect combination of classy and Partonesque.

His grandson—a fleshy 18-year old with a square face, lank hair, and a habit of forgetting to hitch up his jaw so he resembled a fish on ice—wore the same burgundy shirt, but covered it with a black velvet jacket, densely crusted with glass bits. Nathan Stanley glinted thickly in the dark as he moved towards the stage. When he leaned into a faster strum, his fingers shifting to the fourth chord he had mastered, the stage lights set off an ecstatic, multicolored sparkle. When he planted himself at the microphone for a sadder song, the rhinestones flickered earnestly.

He did not—accustomed to hearing applause from childhood, he hadn’t yet confronted his mediocrity as a singer or musician, or wondered if he could legitimately tag after his grandfather’s name.

The man on the upright, self-effacing as most bassists, had permitted himself only one piece of glass. The solitary rhinestone in his tie glowed from his belly, tellytubbyesque.

What store sells the subtle rhinestone tie?