By Kate Stow
My earliest music memories involved an assortment of eclectic 1960s talent. By the time I was old enough to understand big words and sing along, my mother was firmly ensconced in a lifelong imaginary love affair with Kris Kristofferson.
Each new album Kris released had a place of honor in the turntable cabinet. The vinyl disk rarely saw the inside of the cardboard cover until the next album made it home from Safeway.
Kris and Rita Coolidge at Moody Coliseum in Dallas, 1975. Photo by Ron McKeown, Copyright 2024 Buddy Magazine.
My mother – who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket – would sing along with Kris at the top of her lungs. My daddy would grab a Schlitz from the fridge and slam the kitchen door as he walked out to the patio for some peace and quiet.
I once asked my Daddy why Momma was trying so hard to sound like Kris. He laughed and replied, “Neither one of them is trying to sound like that. They’re just giving it their best shot.”
So, I asked my mom why she loved the guy so much. She gave me a watered-down, filtered version of “because he’s sexy.” She also mentioned that he was a Rhodes Scholar and a soldier, but he chose to work as a janitor in Nashville because he had such a passion for music.
Armed with this new knowledge, I went back inside to contemplate the appeal of the bearded janitor with the gravelly voice. I lay on the living room floor with my Big Chief tablet and crayons, writing the lyrics phonetically. I would then use the big Merriam-Webster hardback dictionary to look up words I didn’t know. An urban dictionary would have been beneficial.
Thus began my study of lyrics and song appeal. Even before I hit double digits, I knew Kris was some word wizard, casting spells with each verse that swirled upward on the music he conjured with his guitar-shaped wand.
Listening to the songs over and over not only taught me to be introspective and expressive but also to be more observant. Lyrics such as “I found my cleanest dirty shirt” and “the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken” have spent a lifetime stuck in my brain. Somehow, fried chicken just never seemed right on a Tuesday after that.
My self-taught music education expanded my vocabulary and cool factor. When I freed my dad’s old guitar from the hall closet, I intended to write Kris-worthy songs.
Each new Kristofferson album taught me new lessons in breaking boundaries and wrestling words into melodic rhymes. I learned to pay attention to the pictures in my head that appeared with certain phrases, sounds, or smells and then creatively describe those images in a way that might even impress Kris himself.
Based on the popularity of Kristofferson’s creations and the singers that went on to record them, Mom and I certainly weren’t the only ones he impressed. Later, I read that the record companies insisted he let others record his songs because his own voice wasn’t commercially appealing.
As a young girl, it wasn’t lost on me that Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash didn’t exactly have the greatest-sounding voices either. While they both did Kris’s songs justice, neither had the added soul that only the original songwriter could possess—and that’s what made him so special to fans all over the world.
Simply put, Kris changed music. Bob Dylan once said, “You can look at Nashville pre-Kris and post-Kris because he changed everything.”
That monumental change began when Kristofferson borrowed a helicopter and landed on Johnny Cash’s lawn to convince him to record the famous “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” And just like everything the man touched, that golden friendship lasted until Cash drew his last breath.
It didn’t take long for Kris to merit the respect of the entire music industry. Artists started following his example, and he led them like a pied piper toward a new way of doing music.
Music lovers all over the world noticed this change. Kris melded country, folk, and rock into one groovy ball that smoothly rolled from the 1960s into the 1970s and beyond.
When Kris decided to explore his acting abilities, Mom insisted we all go to the movie theater to share in the monumental experience. My favorite was “A Star is Born,” my brother loved “Convoy.”
After seeing Kris on the big screen, my image of him became three-dimensional; the song lyrics exposed his soul, while his acting showed his charisma. Then, there was the Playboy spread that exposed much more than his soul and charisma.
I was smack-dab in the middle of puberty when I found my mom’s copy of the July 1976 Playboy magazine buried in the bottom of a drawer in the bathroom. The photo shoot was touted as publicity for the film “The Sailor that Fell from Grace of the Sea,” and co-star Sarah Miles was also Kris’s partner in the photo shoot.
My sex education began right there as I sat on the bathroom rug, shocked and ashamed. Suddenly, some of his more ambiguous lyrics made sense – implications and innuendos were now translated into a language I could understand.
I suppose I was lucky that Kris Kristofferson was the first nude man I ever saw. At the same time, it was unfortunate for every male I dated my entire life because no one ever measured up to my image of the perfect man.
Like Alladin, I was thrust into a “Whole New World” (pardon the pun). My mom thought my newfound love of Kris’s music and movies had something to do with puberty. She had no idea how much she had to do with it – in fact, I kept that secret long after she died in 2012.
As a preteen, I was a big fan of rock’ n’ roll. I had both a piano and a ’68 Fender Strat that I was learning to play. At the time, most country music was acoustic, with few opportunities for big, loud guitar solos—then came Outlaw Country.
Outlaw Country – or Progressive Country – was a new style my dad called “country hippie.” Kris was at the forefront, alongside Willie, Waylon, and David Alan Coe. He wrote “Jesus was a Capricorn” in this style, among many other songs.
That song about Jesus and the autobiographical anthem “Why Me” taught me more about Christianity than my outdated Sunday School books. The “hippie country” message came over 20 years earlier than the “What Would Jesus Do” movement, and I was ready for it (although it was perplexing how someone could write those songs and also appear nude in a magazine).
Adding new songs to my repertoire, I gained a new respect for Kris’s composing talent. Until then, music was just background noise for his lyrics. Suddenly, I understood how he used notes and tempo to emphasize the song’s mood.
As I picked out melodies on my Strat, I learned how to become one with my instrument. I wanted to produce soulful ballads and rousing anthems like Kris, but I always fell short – and that’s how I knew he was a special breed.
During my high school years, while my classmates were getting hooked on pop, I struggled with the cheesy lyrics most bands were coming up with. After listening so long to Kris, I couldn’t stomach songs the writer didn’t perform – I sought out soulful tunes and intelligent lyrics over dance numbers.
As I grew and evolved, so did my favorite artists. Outlaw Country became a soft-rock subgenre called “country supergroup.” Music pioneers Kris, Willie, Waylon, and Johnny formed The Highwaymen and blew the world away for a second time, joining the Eagles and others on this new wavelength.
My mother kept a framed picture of Kris on her desk at work and at home. Her propensity for quoting his lyrics as life lessons was passed down to me, although my boys weren’t attracted to the Kris charisma.
When Mom died in 2012, I was responsible for planning the funeral and writing the eulogy. Writing had come easily to me until then, so I turned to Kris. Not only did I quote some of his lyrics, but a mix tape of his music played softly during the visitation and the service.
Kris Kristofferson’s songwriting is stitched into the fabric of American music. His lyrics tell stories that resonate with many, bridging the gap between personal experiences and universal truths. Through his music, Kris gives voice to the heartache and joys of everyday life, reminding us of our shared humanity.
He leaves behind a legacy that will continue to inspire future generations. His contributions to music and film will endure, and his spirit will remain alive in the hearts of those who found solace and connection in his work.
Although he may have departed from this world, his light will continue to guide us. As we say goodbye, let us carry forward his spirit and the profound impact he made on our lives.
“Don’t look so sad, I know it’s over. But life goes on, and this ole world will keep on turning. Let’s just be glad we had some time to spend together (Kris Kristofferson, ‘For The Good Times’).”
