When Kris Kristofferson released his first album in 1970, country music was practically defined by Merle Haggard’s “Okie From Muskogee,” a chauvinistic anthem that condemned war protesters, drugs and “long and shaggy” hair. The song was representative of a genre in a “surprisingly repressive” era that TIME would write about a few years later: well-chosen guitars, lush orchestrations and wise lyrics valuing authority and faith.
Then came Kristofferson: long-haired, anti-war, singing about homelessness, alcoholism, depression, drugs and sex. His approach to taboo themes surprised many members of the country establishment: the New York Times called him that year, he was an “odd man out” in Nashville, and TIME called him the following year “the most controversial country singer-songwriter of the era.”
But Kristofferson’s individualism, contrarianism, and stubborn brilliance not only made him a star, but helped break down genre walls, paving the way for outlaw country and many others rebels to find a home both within the confines of country music and within its mainstream over the past half year. century. In a genre often defined by conformity, Kristofferson, who died September 28 at age 88, was proof of another path.
Kristofferson’s resume may be the strangest of any for a country star. He was a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford, where he studied the poetry of William Blake, and a Golden Gloves boxer. He served as an Army helicopter pilot in Germany, then as a janitor after Bob Dylan’s sessions in Nashville, as he tried to break into the music business. After a few years of showcasing his songs around town, other country stars began cautiously recording them in the late 1960s, despite their depictions of racy scenarios and deprivation, including Sammi Smith on “Help Me Make It Through the Night,” about a desperate man. -night stand, and Ray Price on “For the Good Times,” which Kacey Musgraves later said “may be the saddest song ever.”
Songs from Kristofferson’s first album, Kristoffersonhas delved into even riskier territory, especially given the rightward leaning of many country fans. He sang about police brutality and his experience being arrested; about state mistreatment of black people and the poor. He mocked the moral hysteria surrounding rock stars like the Rolling Stones. And on his masterpiece “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down,” he sang from the perspective of a drug-smoking drifter in an existential crisis: “And there’s nothing short of dying/Half as lonely as a sound/On the sleeping city sidewalk/Sunday morning arrives.” The album received positive reviews but was a commercial failure.
But the project helped inspire other country stars, like Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings, to embark on their own experiments and rebellions. This new wing of the genre, soon called outlaw country, was less refined, more prickly and turbulent, more inclined to explore the gray areas of morality. These new stars wrote longer songs that fell outside of the three-minute box genre; they displayed vulnerability and diabolical instincts, embracing the dangerous contradictions of post-Vietnam War and post-1960s America. In 1974, TIME published a cover story documenting the changes taking place. are producing in the genre and quoting Kristofferson as saying, “There really is more honesty and less bullshit in music today than ever before.” »
After Kristofferson’s star began to rise in the early 1970s, thanks in part to his status as a Hollywood actor, he gave John Prine another bizarre country genius who railed against norms and patriotism insanehis big breakthrough in the business. Kristofferson befriended Muhammad Ali when the boxer was ostracized for his criticism of the Vietnam War. And he influenced new generations of songwriters by showing them that they didn’t have to create within precise genre boundaries: “His existence told us that maybe we could make a living writing songs. songs,” the alt-country legend. Steve Earle wrote years later. “He was what I wanted to be when I grew up: a highly literate mountain man.”
In 1985, Kristofferson formed the Highwaymen alongside Nelson, Jennings and Johnny Cash; they gave voice to those on the margins of society. At a concert in 1992, when Sinead O’Connor was subjected to a torrent of “boos” for her protest against the Catholic Church, Kristofferson went on stage to comfort her and tell her: “Don’t let yourself shot down by these bastards.”
And in an industry in which stars are discouraged from expressing their political views for fear of angering potential clients, Kristofferson had no fear in speaking his mind. He criticized the Reagan administration in harsh terms on a 1991 talk show, saying: “The fact that we have a one-party system, which controls all three branches of our government, and a pocket media that propagandizes for administration, would make a Nazi blush. » He was a longtime supporter of the United Farm Workers, playing numerous benefit shows for them and ultimately receiving the Cesar Chavez Legacy Award from the Cesar Chavez Foundation. He said his benefit shows for Palestinian children cost him concerts in Los Angeles: “If that’s the way it should be, that’s the way it should be,” he was quoted as saying in a biography from 2009.
Kristofferson battled many demons: he struggled with alcohol addiction and was divorced twice. But he never considered himself a paragon of morality, instead accepting the messiness of life and taking a stand where he saw fit. An unfettered approach to songwriting and truth-telling made him a crucial inspiration for many country stars after him, from Travis Tritt to Miranda Lambert to Brandi Carliled, whose supergroup the Highwomen paid tribute to the supergroup by Kristofferson. After his death, tributes were also paid to him by the film industry, including Barbara Streisand who starred alongside him in 1976 A star is born.
But fittingly, no one describes Kristofferson better than Kristofferson himself, in the 1971 song “The Pilgrim, Chapter 33,” which he wrote as a tribute to his musical peers:
