Kris Kristofferson, singer-songwriter who changed country music, dies at 88
As I delve into the captivating tale of Kris Kristofferson, a man who defied conventional stardom and embraced the unconventional path with open arms, I find myself deeply moved by his extraordinary journey. His life is a testament to the power of imagination, resilience, and the relentless pursuit of freedom.
He disliked being called a poet and thought, more or less accurately, that he sang like a barking bullfrog, but Kris Kristofferson did more to change country music than a legion of golden-throated balladeers.
Bob Dylan once remarked, ‘Before and after Kris, you can consider Nashville.’ This is because Kris made a significant impact, transforming everything.
In a thoughtful manner, Kristofferson composed songs that were melancholic and foreboding yet avoided sentimentality. His work in “Me and Bobby McGee” allowed listeners to empathize with a man grieving over lost love. Similarly, his song “Help Me Make It Through the Night” captured the loneliness of a nocturnal bird yearning for companionship. Rolling Stone magazine acknowledged that his impact transcended country music, hailing him as one of the most outstanding songwriters across all genres and time periods.
As a passionate cinephile, I find myself reflecting on the extraordinary journey of a man who, having been a Rhodes scholar and an Army Ranger, later graced the silver screen as a prominent actor in Tinseltown. He shared the limelight with the legendary Barbra Streisand in a modern retelling of “A Star Is Born,” for which he received a Golden Globe award.
In his own words, John Sayles stated, “He can uncover the genuine essence of a character.” Notably, Kris Kristofferson possesses the skill to authentically embody the role.
Stricken with health issues, Kristofferson passed away at his residence in Maui, Hawaii, on Saturday, as confirmed by Ebie McFarland, his representative, to The Times. He was 88 years old. McFarland added that Kristofferson died serenely, with his loved ones by his side.
Born on June 22, 1936, in the border town of Brownsville, Texas, Kristofferson was the eldest child in a family with a notable military heritage. His father held the rank of Army major general, and it appeared for some time that his son would follow in his footsteps by serving duty. However, his family moved around frequently during his youth before eventually settling in San Mateo. As a young man, Kristofferson excelled in boxing as a Golden Gloves contender and was also an impressive college football player at Pomona College, despite being relatively tall at 5 feet 11 inches.
However, at age 18, he felt drawn to the life of an artist after winning a notable short story competition organized by Atlantic Monthly. During his time studying literature at Oxford University in the ’60s, under a Rhodes scholarship, he composed two novels, only to be disheartened when they were turned down by publishers.
As an artist, I had all but given up on carving out a sustainable career for myself, that is, until I found myself in the vibrant cityscape of Nashville.
Eager to embrace the typical lifestyle he imagined for himself, he chose to enlist in the military, marry his long-time sweetheart, start a family, serve as a helicopter pilot in the army, and was subsequently deployed to Germany. Upon leaving the service, the Pentagon presented him with an opportunity to teach at West Point, a prestigious offer that could advance his career. However, Kris Kristofferson opted to pause his life in this promising path to first visit Nashville, hoping to see if he could market the songs he’d been developing with his military friends, who formed a band they called the Losers.
In a span of merely two weeks, he altered his course yet again, this time permanently. Speaking about it, he expressed, “I found myself enthralled by the entire lifestyle, where songwriters gather to pen songs for one another.” He declined the invitation to West Point and instead chose Nashville as his new destination.
“It was pretty scary,” he recalled decades later.
Additionally, his family found it profoundly disliked. His mother even disowned him, penning a letter stating that whatever success he might find would never eclipse the “immense disappointment” he had always been to her. It was a harsh sentiment, but Kristofferson felt something he’d never known as the obedient, high-performing son: liberation. The pursuit of freedom, and the pain endured from his resistance to conforming to others’ expectations, would become the central theme in his artistic work.
In my critique as a film aficionado, I’d put it this way: “I found myself difficult to guide, as my third spouse, Lisa Meyers, would attest. Instead of accepting an imposed deadline for a financially rewarding autobiography deal, I opted out. To be told even something as simple as ‘have a good day,’ was met with a firm refusal, ‘Don’t dictate to me,’ as Meyers recounted.
Kristofferson’s long battle on Music Row didn’t really prove the rightness of his decision to abandon his military career. To make ends meet for his family, he took various odd jobs, from tending bar to flying helicopters transporting workers to oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. Eventually, his first wife, Frances Beer, grew tired of their hardships and left him with their little daughter. This period of struggle inspired one of his most poignant songs, “Sunday Morning Coming Down.
On Sunday morning, I awoke with a throbbing head, and there seemed to be no comfortable position. Finding solace in a morning brew, another drink didn’t seem out of place, so I decided to have another one as an afterthought.
He remarked, “On Sundays, it was particularly tough without family,” he shared, opening up about his personal experiences.
He hadn’t yet bottomed out. That came when the rundown room he was renting for $50 a month was broken into and his few possessions stolen. Once again, with the loss came the feeling of liberation, that he didn’t have “any expectations or anything to live up to.”
There was only one way to go, up.
By then, he had become an integral part of Columbia Records, not as a performer but as a studio technician. He often shared an amusing story about his role, jokingly referring to himself as more of a janitor, responsible for emptying ashtrays for musicians like Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, and others who were pursuing their own dreams. Though the job was simple, it provided him with opportunities to present his songs to Cash via intermediaries. Unfortunately, Cash didn’t record any of them.
Ultimately, Kristofferson resorted to drastic steps, piloting a helicopter to Cash’s residence and setting down in his garden. Upon seeing the commotion, Cash appeared. Kristofferson then presented him with a demo tape. “I had pitched every song I ever wrote to him,” Kristofferson explained in 2008, “so he was already familiar with me. However, it was definitely an intrusion of privacy that I wouldn’t advise repeating.
After enduring four tough years, things finally began to go smoothly for Ray Price. His hit single “For the Good Times” was followed by Johnny Cash’s success with “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” When Sammi Smith’s cover of “Help Me Make It Through the Night” climbed the charts, and Kristofferson released his own “Loving Her Was Easier (Than Anything I’ll Ever Do Again),” he swiftly became Nashville’s most sought-after songwriter.
He shared that within just a few months, I transformed from a pilot operating helicopters in the Gulf of Mexico to unexpectedly appearing before over half a million spectators. Fortunately for me, at that time, I was unaware of the magnitude of what I was getting myself into.
As a film enthusiast myself, I’ve been sharing materials created by others for quite some time now. Yet, recently, I’ve started composing my own tunes – something I’ve always been a bit modest about, given my self-professed mediocre singing abilities. “I might not be the best at strumming a guitar,” I’d joke, “and my voice isn’t much better than Willie Nelson’s, according to me. But apparently, I’m better than I think, as they say!” This statement was usually followed by a hearty laugh from yours truly.
His voice might have been raw and raspy, but it was also expressive and rich, a fitting accompaniment to his introspective songs. One critic compared it to the “grit and softness of ancient stone, worn smooth by time and elements.”
In the ’70s, Janis Joplin’s rendition of “Me and Bobby McGee,” one of Kris Kristofferson’s most famous songs, became almost like a symbolic soundtrack. Interestingly, Kristofferson had visited her home in LA, but he didn’t get to hear her version until the day following her tragic death due to an overdose in October 1970.
He remembered her as incredibly witty, intelligent, and deeply emotional. It’s surprising that she passed away so young at just 27 years old. She was like a playful child, prancing about in high heels and feathers within the house. Whenever he performed the song during concerts, he would softly dedicate it to Janis.
In one of his most open songs titled “Pilgrim, Chapter 33,” he shared his personal struggle against substance addiction.
He’s both a traveler seeking spiritual enlightenment and a speaker of religious messages, but can be troublesome when under the influence. He embodies a mix of reality and imagination, being partially factual and partially fictitious.
Initially, he wasn’t completely new to drinking alcohol. However, with the arrival of his fame, his casual drinking habit escalated dramatically to a point where he consumed two bottles of whiskey every day. Uncertain about his abilities, alcohol provided him comfort, making him feel confident and invincible.
In some way, he managed his work obligations, as they grew even more numerous when the film industry approached him. His distinctive “power-drill eyes” and “lawn mower voice,” as one critic put it, seemed tailor-made for the 1970s fascination with disheveled, long-haired rockers on the big screen. Initially, he starred in “Cisco Pike,” a movie about a deteriorating musician who resorts to drug dealing, and later, he became a heartthrob due to Barbra Streisand’s remake of “A Star Is Born.
In 1987, a woman from Newport Beach expressed that she didn’t care about the topics of his songs; instead, she only came to watch him perform, since it was during his activist phase and he was releasing albums like “Third World Warrior.
As a seasoned film critic, I must admit that when this star initially soared into the limelight, there was an undeniable allure to his success. Yet, it seemed as if he was determined to embody the stereotype of the self-indulgent celebrity, with an insatiable ego that left a trail in its wake. On the set of “A Star Is Born,” he earned the moniker Kris the Tempestuous, a testament to his turbulent demeanor.
In a difficult phase of his marriage to singer Rita Coolidge (his second spouse), he took a risk by appearing nude in Playboy alongside Sarah Myles, his co-star from “The Sailor Who Fell from Grace With the Sea.” This decision led to fans showing them the pictures for signatures during backstage encounters on tour. These confrontations and their disagreements on the road made him feel increasingly miserable and suicidal, he admitted.
1970 marked the launch of Kris Kristofferson’s career as a songwriter, entertainer, and philosopher. A decade later, his career experienced a significant setback. His divorce from Coolidge preceded his starring role in the critically panned western epic “Heaven’s Gate.” Although this role was expected to elevate his career, it almost brought about its downfall instead. The movie received harsh criticism and caused financial ruin for United Artists. Kristofferson described his reputation as being in the trash for several years afterward, expressing more amusement than resentment.
A strong desire for personal fulfillment, not popularity or wealth, had always guided him. Pursuing his own interests, seeking freedom, that was his priority. And when the top-tier job offers ceased, he quit drinking, abandoned his rebellious image, and rekindled his love for live performances. He rejoined his band, the Border Lords, performing more frequently at small, cozy venues instead of vast arenas.
In response to a query from a patron in Bakersfield, “What brings you to this dance hall?”, he simply replied, “I’d rather be here than cleaning.
Bud Shrake, friend and screenwriter, remarked that Kris doesn’t seem to understand the concept of ‘commercial’, implying he may have had a different career path if he chose to perform ‘Me and Bobby McGee’ nightly on stage. Instead, he opted for a life on tour, where listeners might catch 25 songs about the Sandinista revolution, potentially missing out on financial success.
In 1983, Meyers was studying law at Pepperdine University when she crossed paths with Kristofferson at a gym in Los Angeles. After their marriage, Kristofferson experienced parenthood anew and found great delight in it. He expressed that family is currently the most fulfilling aspect of his life (in 2006). Their home was situated on the island of Maui, not far from Nelson, with whom he often played golf.
Nelson played a significant role in one of Kristofferson’s career milestones by joining the illustrious country music group, the Highwaymen, alongside Nelson, Cash, and Jennings. Upon their invitation, Kristofferson likened himself to a small child who had managed to place his face among the greats on Mount Rushmore.
As years passed, various health issues emerged for him, including a triple heart bypass surgery in 1999. His memory deteriorated significantly in his late 70s, prompting doctors to prescribe medication for Alzheimer’s disease. It was later discovered that he had contracted Lyme disease on a film set within a Vermont forest. Once the depression and Alzheimer’s medications were discontinued, his wife reported, “Suddenly, he was himself again.
Despite continuing to struggle with memory issues, Kristofferson was one of the least concerned members of his family regarding his deteriorating mental sharpness. In 2016, he expressed this sentiment by saying, “I have no worries about managing my own life. Somehow, I just slid into it and it’s been working for me.
He retired from performing in 2020, at 83.
Looking back on his career, Kris Kristofferson stated that he felt as though “I and many of the people I admired were creations of our own minds. When I recall writing my first songs at the age of 11 in Brownsville, Texas, it seems to me now that I essentially willed myself into a rich and fulfilling life through my imagination.
Kristofferson is survived by his wife, eight children and numerous grandchildren.
Johnson is a former Times staff writer
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2024-09-30 02:02