Rhodes scholar. Army pilot.
Janitor. Singer/songwriter. Drunkard. Movie star. Kris
Kristofferson, who turns 70 this year, has lived enough for 20 men,
and he’s not done yet. This Old
Road, his first album in 11
years, finds the grizzled troubadour taking stock of a life led
well, if not always wisely, and paying tribute to the people who
helped him find his true path. One emblematic track, “Wild
American,” celebrates the bravery and integrity of such
undersung icons as native American activist John Trudell and
alt-country gadfly Steve Earle. “Heroes happen when you need
’em,” Kristofferson sings, and although he’s too
modest to put himself in their company, he certainly belongs there.
The man who more than 30 years ago defined freedom as “just
another word for nothing left to lose,” the most elegant
encapsulation of existentialism ever to grace a Top 40 hit, is
still preoccupied with the eternal verities of the human condition:
love, honor, patriotism, responsibility, and, yes, freedom. An
unapologetic lefty and a fierce opponent of the Iraq war, he
won’t be invited to the White House anytime soon, but his
contributions to American culture will endure long after the lies,
blunders, and misdeeds of the current administration. Kristofferson’s songs, among the very
finest in the national canon, are best known as covers: Sammi
Smith’s “Help Me Make It Through the Night,”
Janis Joplin’s “Me and Bobby McGee,” Johnny
Cash’s “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” and Al
Green’s “For the Good Times” are just a few of
the immortal versions that have helped secure the songwriter
countless industry awards and a place in the Country Music Hall of
Fame. More a songwriter/singer than a singer/songwriter,
Kristofferson would be the first to admit that his wobbly, grainy,
and resolutely unbeautiful baritone is an acquired taste, but there is something deeply
affecting about his own performances, imperfect as they may be. With This Old Road, the
antique-piano timbre of his voice, the unassuming adroitness of his
phrasing, and the muscular poetry of his lyrics have the ideal
conditions in which to flourish, thanks to producer Don Was, who
clearly understands that Kristofferson’s music, like Shaker
furniture, requires no froufrou embellishments. Although Was, longtime Kristofferson
associate Stephen Bruton, and session man extraordinaire Jim
Keltner supply understated accompaniment on a few cuts, most of the
album consists of nothing but voice, acoustic guitar, and
harmonica, a spareness that allows the listener to notice the
subtle complexity infusing even the most apparently simplistic
songs. Consider, for example, “In the News,” an overtly
political effort that might have come off a bit bumper-stickerish
in less accomplished hands. Beginning with a sorrowful reference to
Laci Peterson, the verses tick off a laundry list of human
failings, from environmental depredation to war profiteering, false
propheteering, and neo-McCarthyism. About midway through,
Kristofferson sings, “Don’t blame God, I swear to God I
heard him say/‘Not in my name, not on my ground/I want
nothing but the ending of the war/No more killing, or it’s
over/And the mystery won’t matter anymore.’”
Despite the fact that he’s appropriated a well-known slogan,
the use to which he puts the line, the perfect audacity of
attributing it to God himself, invests the cliché with new
urgency. The uncharacteristically jaunty “Pilgrim’s
Progress” conflates the political and the personal in a
series of self-deprecating questions: “Am I young enough to
believe in revolution?/Am I strong enough to get down on my knees
and pray?/Am I high enough on the chain of evolution/ To respect
myself, and my brother and my sister/And perfect myself in my own
peculiar way?” Because you’re asking, Kris, the answer
is “Hell yeah.” Shine on, you wild American.
This article appears in Mar 16-22, 2006.
