Hank Williams’ legend is one marked by an untimely Icarian fall, as the country music star’s substance abuse and social implosion culminated in his death at only 29 years old. From the time his like-named son, Hank Williams Jr. was a young child, his mother Audrey molded him into a compensatory image of his father, a trajectory he eventually rejected, asserting his father’s legacy did not require his son’s advertising to live on. The pursuit of identity and struggles of morality are recurring themes both within country music classics and American literature, therefore reflecting a contrast of American Identity between rational ideals and the romantic perversion of a rugged, individualistic lifestyle. Music and alike reveal themes of identity, as well as cultural phenomena. Thus, although they are distinct forms of expression, it is productive to assess their conceptual overlap.
Merle Haggard’s early life embraces this mode, as the future star engaged in petty crimes such as writing fraudulent checks and larceny. In “Mama Tried,” one of his better known singles, Haggard penitently addresses the gap between what his mother envisioned for his life, versus where he ended up: locked up in prison. “Mama tried to raise me right,” he bellows, following up with an acknowledgement of his stubborn nature, “no one could change my mind.” This mirrors Tarwater’s attitude of dismissiveness and rebellion in Flannery O’Connor’s The Violent Bear It Away, because it implies a backfiring of his fundamentalist upbringing, and by consequence a general apathy towards the world. Upon meeting Tarwater, his uncle Rayber, a secular-minded schoolteacher, describes him as “rigid and recalcitrant” (O’Connor IV). Shortly thereafter, he posits Tarwater’s “brand of independence” as “one that was irrational, backwards, and ignorant” (O’Connor IV). Much in the same way Merle Haggard’s mother supposedly sought to put her wayward son on the right track, resulting in nothing but counter-intuitive, penal outcome, so too did Mason’s strict and pseudo-moralistic parenting bring out a counter-productive defiance from his grandchild. Evidently, neither are living out their intergenerational ideals or expectations, instead opting to embody a perversion of the spirit of individualism.
Merle Haggard’s lyrics indicate an internal struggle, one which pits his family’s wishes against his rebellious habits. Rayber’s relationship with his cynical nephew shares a comparable dynamic, thereby demonstrating a continuity of American identity and intergenerational strife. Haggard describes himself as a “rebel child” whose mother “wanted [him] to have the best.” Despite this maternal desire, however, the young delinquent “refused,” “leav[ing] only [himself] to blame.” When Rayber presents new clothes to the disheveled Tarwater, “[he] look[s] at them as if the suggestion he put them on were equal to asking that he appear naked” (O’Connor IV). Even as his uncle tries to help him, Tarwater’s primary instinct is to reject the offer, his face showing “no look of appreciation or even interest” (O’Connor IV). Clearly, Tarwater is someone lacking an identity, spiteful of the world as a consequence. Haggard’s opening stanza exudes a similar feeling of being lost; He tells of being on a “freight train” headed away from home, and “not knowing where [he is] bound.” As both the passage and lyrics elucidate, the pair are as unmoored as they are defiant, the only difference being that Haggard seems to be self-aware and reflective, while Tarwater is too entrenched in his own poisonous mentality to even notice it.
In “Mama Tried,” Merle Haggard also acknowledges his Christian upbringing, implying that his actions have belied said teachings. While Tarwater lacks self-awareness in this sense as well, both he and Haggard are men brought up in a similar tradition, revealing dual conflicts between ingrained morality and free will. For instance, Haggard notes that “despite all [his] Sunday learning, towards the bad [he] kept on turning.” Rayber’s assumptions oppose Haggard’s, however: The former believes his nephew’s predicament to be a result of his father’s teachings, exclaiming at his nephew, “God only knows what the old fool has told you and taught you!” (O’Connor IV). In contrasting these two assessments — one literary, and the other musical, a grander message discloses itself concerning tradition and change in American culture. The Judeo-Christian value hierarchy, which has greatly defined American ethics and identity since the nation’s founding, does not always align with the likewise American notion of pure individualism. The result is a perennial intergenerational disagreement, in which two long standing archetypes compete for cultural standing.
The sentiments contained in Roger Miller’s 1964 hit “Dang Me” mirror those felt by Rayber in the aftermath of his son Bishop’s drowning. In this self-deprecation anthem, Miller chastises himself for evading his responsibilities. While his significant other “sit[s] at home with a month-old child,” he is “running wild,” spending exorbitant amounts of money on “drinks with the guys.” By night’s end, Miller’s musical protagonist has “spent the groceries and half the rent,” his debauched habits having clearly contradicted his fatherly duties. During and after Bishop’s murder at the hands of Tarwater, Rayber is similarly guilt-ridden. Watching his impaired son and craven nephew from a distance, “sens[ing] that he awaited a cataclysm,” he remains numb despite these feelings of impending disaster. Counter-intuitively, he laments his own lot in life, brooding that it was never “good enough to him for him to wince at [life’s] destruction” (O’Connor IX). Even in assuming the worst, he regresses into mental escapism, believing “to feel nothing [is] peace” (O’Connor IX). Alas, this misplaced comfort is fleeting, eventually coming into conflict with the reality of the situation, as his guilt becomes apparent. Rayber’s guilt is not rooted in grief, however — rather, it is rooted in the schoolteacher’s surprised indifference. Concluding Chapter IX, O’Connor reveals “it was not until [Rayber] realized there would be no pain that he collapsed” (O’Connor XX). The way evasive temptation and guilt interact in Rayber’s mind parallels the psychological phenomena explored in “Dang Me.” Within the chorus of said song, Miller’s character curses himself: “dang me, dang me,” he says, directly thereafter suggesting he ought to be hung “high from the highest tree.” In doing so, he acknowledges his own descent into neglectful, self-numbing behavior, reflecting the same mentality which drove Rayber’s opposing internal narratives.
In “Dang Me,” Roger Miller also laments the heredity of his bad decision making. Rayber makes similar assertions of hereditary fate, viewing his son’s baptismal drowning as an extension of the late Mason Tarwater’s guardianship. Well aware of what Bishop is enduring, Rayber could do nothing but “stand woodenly.” He remarks in this paralysis “that [Tarwater] was headed for everything [Mason] had prepared him for,” basking in his resentment instead of taking preventative action (O’Connor IX). Roger Miller curses his father as well, singing “My pappy’s a pistol, I’m a son-of-a-gun,” indirectly attributing his own actions to familial predisposition, almost suggesting that it was destined. This begs an age-old question: Are people slated to follow in the footsteps of family? Moreover, is it productive to try and actively avoid this phenomenon?
Early 20th century banjo extraordinaire Charlie Poole’s story is one marred by implosive excess as well; having died from alcohol poisoning at the age of 39, his life stands as a warning of hedonistic detriment. Poole’s depression era tune, “If the River Was Whiskey,” shares conceptual overlap with Tarwater’s encounter with the devil. After accepting a ride in the gaunt stranger’s “lavender and cream-colored” vehicle, Tarwater is immediately overcome by an “unpleasant sensation that he could not place” (O’Connor XI). Yet, he ignores this internal omen, because at this point, his “hunger for companionship” is on par with his will to sate his starvation and dehydration (O’Connor XI). Bitter and resentful, he accepts “rabbit tobacco” and a “flat bottle of whiskey” from his sinister company, simply wishing to avoid his pained mindset for the time being.
Charlie Poole voices similar intention in the namesake opening of his song, quipping “if the river was whiskey, and [he] was a duck,” that he would “dive to the bottom,” never to “come up.” Although upbeat, Poole’s ode to libation is eerily prophetic, since his life was essentially halved by his beloved, but self-effacing habit. In allowing himself to be tempted, Tarwater is subjected to a grim fate as well. While he temporarily “fe[els] himself pleasantly deprived of responsibility or of the need for any effort to justify his actions,” this bliss is short lived. Soon, Tarwater’s “heavy lids closed,” and in doing so resigns himself to the devil’s will. Manipulated by vice, and misled by desperation, Tarwater wakes from his stupor in a forest, his extremities bound “with a lavender handkerchief,” naked apart from his shoes (O’Connor XI). Presumably assaulted, if not raped, Tarwater is betrayed by his own lapse in judgement. Thus, akin to how Charlie Poole cut his existence short through an alcohol-induced heart attack, O’Connor’s protagonist allows naive impulse to lead him astray, burdened by an outcome which leaves him distraught and misanthropic enough to “[set fire to] all the bushes around,” until a “roaring blaze” devoured the entire surrounding area (O’Connor XI). In other words, Tarwater confronts betrayal and malevolence because he neglects his survival instincts for cheap pleasures and brief consolation, which while not a literal death like Poole’s, implies a death of innocence.
Contemporary sources suggest that Charlie Poole’s alcoholism worsened because “his fourth recording sold less than 1,000 copies,” largely a consequence of the Great Depression, which kicked off two short years before his death in 1931 (Bluegrass). This trend reflects the tragic human proclivity to isolate and become anti-social in the face of hardship. Just as Tarwater razes the forest around him after his dignity is violated, the historical record identifies Poole’s depressive habits as having “damage[d] his musical career and his relationships with fellow band members” (NC Hist. Project). In the same way malevolence prompts a dramatic shift of identity for Tarwater to the extent that his childhood surroundings “now looked like [a] strange and alien country,” Poole supposedly became unrecognizable to his acquaintances, falling victim to an addictive, vicious cycle (O’Connor XI).
Charlie Poole’s lyrics for “If the River Was Whiskey” are full of whimsical posturing, facetious in their dealings with acute alcoholism. As the evidence presents, however, Poole’s internal struggle was no humorous ordeal, shedding light on a battle between his identity as a musical star, and his own well-being. The loveable crooner, by embodying the traveling musician’s stereotype to a fault, sacrificed his health and longevity. In the end, in a turn of crooked irony, he essentially fulfilled his wish to reach the depths of a whiskey filled river, “never [to] come up.” Ergo, a key observation can be drawn: struggle is rooted internally, externally, and eternally; It can take place through the search for identity, through traumatic outside forces, or even inexplicable misfortune. For instance, Tarwater’s waywardness and malleable identity can be characterized as a result of rural isolation, being taught conflicting moral imperatives, and having suffered horribly and senselessly. Per the eleventh chapter’s closing, exits the immolated woods a changed man with “scorched eyes,” one who “knew that he could not turn back now” (O’Connor XI). Through temptation and its after effect, Tarwater undergoes a transfiguration, matching the personal shift alcoholism which led Charlie Poole to become a hostile stranger to his familiars. Poole’s struggle, unique as it is universal, is characterized by influential perceptions of others, a “rough-and-tumble” upbringing (NC Hist. Proj.), sudden economic downturn, and the loneliness of being the archetypal rugged nomad of country music.
Towards the end of “If the River was Whiskey,” Charlie Poole finally unveils his sorrow, albeit juxtaposed with more humor. Tarwater also grapples with decision making while riding with the devil, eventually ignoring his better judgement like Poole, once more shedding light upon the push-pull dynamic of rational thought and quickfire rebellion. Poole describes this tug-of-war, singing “Believe to my Lord, I’ve got the hesitation blues.” As his final years depict, however, the banjoist could not escape his blues, keenly aware of them, but eventually consumed by them. Desperate for company above all else, and willing to trust anyone as a consequence, Tarwater also disregards his conscience and Christian upbringing. After gulping down his driver’s abnormally thick whiskey, “he thrust his face forward and said, ‘It’s better than the Bread of Life!’” (O’Connor XI), no longer burdened by his previous feelings of unease. In these instances, Poole and Tarwater employ biblical allusions, despite making rather non-biblical decisions. This is fitting, because it represents the contrast between ideals and sin, and the interplay of good and evil. As both examples illustrate, moral struggle and the suppression of conscience appear across all spectra of artistic expression, revealing deep truths about the human psyche, and how these truths extend into the broader cultural realm.
Describing the American South, Flannery O’Connor is credited with deeming the region “hardly Christ-centered, but Christ haunted.” Tarwater’s fictional life, and the real lives of many country music stars lend credence to O’Connor’s declaration. Given country music’s popularity in and association with the American South, parallels in theme are bound to arise between the genre and Southern gothic literature. To the point, and perhaps unsurprisingly, while characters and musical icons alike were influenced primarily by Christian philosophy, it is abundantly clear their lives were hardly centered around Christ. Tarwater is the corruption of Christian morality personified, and despite envisioning himself as “Moses glimpsing the promised land” (O’Connor XII), he is hardly reminiscent of the Old Testament figure; Rather, he can be described as a young man being dragged in opposite directions, as Mason and Rayber’s differing philosophies spur him towards an identity crisis. Merle Haggard’s formative years are marked by a kindred tensity as well, his catechism and his mother’s wishes warring with his own reckless individual spirit. Charlie Poole, per his own lyrics, also dealt with this inner contention, invoking God while singing of binge drinking. Likewise, Roger Miller’s “Dang Me” protagonist grapples with his own free will, caught between paternal obligation and social temptation.
A more contemporary example of a young man battling his inner demons, the story of Chicago hip-hop artist Juice WRLD (AKA Jarad Higgins) also shows the eternal nature of the issue. Raised by a single mother who he described as conservative and extremely Christian, Higgins was restricted from listening to rap music as a boy, prompting him to sneak out during his adolescence, where he would listen to the forbidden genre, learning how to freestyle masterfully during these escapades. However, it was also during this time that Higgins began to use drugs heavily. Thus, while his rebellion provided him the skills for a successful career, this glory was short-lived, as the rising star died of an opiate overdose in late 2019, shortly after his 21st birthday. In his single “Rich and Blind,” Higgins even includes a prophecy of his early demise, belting “what’s the 27 club? We ain’t making it past 21,” showing an unsettling awareness of what was to come, and referencing a morbid trend of famous figures dying prematurely — one with deep ties to country music.
Writing and art, whether through lyrics, poetry, prose, or beyond, serve to immortalize innately human struggles, creating a cultural lexicon in the process. Compiling such a lexicon across time yields a portrait of change and continuity, and this certainly holds truth in its American form. The United States of America has experienced generational rifts since its inception; From the Civil War, to Reconstruction, to the Great Depression, to the Vietnam War, and even in the current day and age, American identity has been tested and molded through trial and error. As time progresses, and the American cultural lexicon expands, rational ideals and individualism will surely continue to collide. The overarching realization is such: People within the great American plurality will continue to struggle, as is part and parcel of the human condition; Their struggles will be unique and variable, but media like music and literature will continue to serve as guidance mechanisms, unearthing the universals across all individual plights, and providing a sense of oneness and consolation which is impossible to experience in isolation.
Works Cited
Bluegrass Messengers, “Charlie Poole and the North Carolina Ramblers” bluegrass messengers.com (accessed April 16, 2010) and Charlie Poole Music Festival, “About,” CharliePoole.com (accessed April 15, 2010).
Burns, Kenneth, director. Country Music. Florentine Films, 2019.
“Charlie Poole (1892-1931).” North Carolina History Project, John Locke Foundation, 2016, northcarolinahistory.org/encyclopedia/charlie-poole-1892-1931/.
O’Connor, Flannery. The Violent Bear It Away. New York: Farrar, Straus & Cudahy, 1960. Print.
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