R.I.P. Kris Kristofferson

A eulogy for Kris Kristofferson, one of the finest songwriters we ever had and heard

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Country music’s greatest songwriter, Kris Kristofferson, the man that both embodied and transcended the genre, has died. He was 88.

Kristofferson wasn’t the most prolific writer, but he had a level of quality control you rarely see once record companies and agents are in the mix. I think only of Leonard Cohen and Paul Simon as other examples of towering, culture-influencing writers with relatively finite catalogues. But Kristofferson had acting as a string to his bow, also. He appeared in many films, sometimes contributing to the score, but often as simply an actor, not just the cliche of the “famous musician-turned actor” but actually someone who could do that job.

But let’s remember him best for what he gave to the world, a small handful of songs that are as good as anything else by anyone else. Songs as perfect, beautiful, fragile and beguiling as Help Me Make It Through The Night, Sunday Morning Coming Down, Loving Her Was Easier (Than Anything I’ll Ever Do Again), and Me & Bobby McGee. A wee scratch of the surface. But, like Willie Nelson, and Bob Dylan, Kristofferson’s songs were perfect also in the hands of others. Many of them gifts to young artists starting their careers.

He also knew how to write for the female voice better than most men of the time.

And, both outside of that and within, gave a literary grit to country and folk music in the very early 1970s.

His 1970 album Kristofferson sits in record collections alongside the likes of Songs of Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell’s Clouds; albums that fully announced major talents and were of enormous influence to thousands of bedsit guitarists.

I was lucky enough to see Kristofferson in concert a decade ago. It was rough around the edges, and I was so glad that was the case — it just confirmed how truly unique and special his songwriting talent really was:

A wee wheeze of the harmonica, some blunt-fingered strumming, and just songs for the angels, songs from all angles.

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One of my favourite stories about Kristofferson is that when Sinead O’Connor was reduced to tears and walked from the stage, booed for her (correct) stance on the Catholic Church ahead of a tribute to Bob Dylan, it was Kristofferson that went and got her, stood by her, whispered in her ear to not let those bastards grind her down. There he stands by her and encourages her to be that best version of herself. It’s as good as any of his songs in a way.

Even better, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship:

Kristofferson lived through the years of being a player and being adored and walking, god-like, through wine, women, and song. He arrived a superstar and joined Willie, Waylon, and Johnny Cash in the Highwaymen, and did the heavy lifting in terms of songwriting.

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After that he enjoyed a small renaissance as a solo act, and made some nice recordings in the late 1990s and early/mid 00s. That enabled him to tour and play those amazing songs from the 60s and 70s to audiences around the world. He was a once in a lifetime type of songwriter. And you will be able to read more detailed and authoritative tributes elsewhere. But he remains a songwriter for me on a par with all I’ve mentioned here, and just a few others (Randy Newman, Warren Zevon, John Prine) where the humanity belies the simplicity, where the fragility is such a towering part of the strength. He has the honour now any writer will always wish for: His words (and songs) live on.

R.I.P. Kris Kristofferson