The tragic life of an ancestor of modern music


Bob Dylan once said that “the highest purpose of art is to inspire. What else can you do? What else can you do for someone other than inspire them? Dylan himself lived by this mantra and has stirred millions of people over the years, but he, in turn, has had his ears pricked up by his own Promethean hero.

Inspiration is a continuous extension of modern music, and long after Dylan, a rather disparate modern artist, Alex Turner, remarked: “There’s always a band that comes in when you’re 14 or 15 and gets to hits you in the right way and changes your whole perception of things. Whether you are the “Voice of a Generation” or whatever, this would seem to hold true for anyone who loves music or has a passion for the arts.

For Dylan, he was only 11 when he stumbled upon his exciting first relationship with none other than country legend Hank Williams. As Dylan recalls in his memoir: “I realized that in Hank’s recorded songs were the archetypal rules for writing poetic songs,” he wrote. “Architectural forms are like pillars of marble.

This mandate of deeply rooted yet wonderfully poetic storytelling on simple melodic structures is one that will remain with not only Dylan’s seismic strength throughout his career, but the whole brotherhood of songwriters. Williams mastered the strange gift of creating fantastic hymns that seem to have drawn from the ether without ever losing sight of the humble caring traditions of a traveling troubadour. This alchemical act changed the world of music forever.

However, tragedy would strike before Williams himself could enjoy the fruits of his labor. Going back to the words of his most figurative son, as Dylan was about to begin worshiping his new hero, Williams passed away at the age of 29 on New Years Day in 1953. Sadly, the turmoil that The country’s star endured led to an addiction to alcohol and morphine, and he suffered a fatal heart attack. When a young Dylan heard the news, he remembered, “It was as if a big tree had fallen. It turns out that the slaughter of this song tower on the ground was in preparation for a long time.

Born in 1923 in Alabama, the star earned his nickname “Luke the Drifter” the hard way. His father, who worked as a lumberjack, entered the Veterans Administration hospital when he was only six years old, and rarely saw him afterwards. Her mother was forced to try to support the family on her own, so Williams’ childhood follows a winding path in and around Alabama.

The sense of isolation brought about by a wandering existence was heightened by the fact that he suffered from spina bifida and, as such, found it difficult to mingle with the rowdy games of his fellows, choosing instead to observe from a distance. It is perhaps this point of view of observing the world that sowed his introspective songs.

These songs formed from afar still naturally needed an outlet. He bathed in music and struck up an unlikely friendship with street blues musician Rufus Payne. If his life had been lonely at this point, then the arrival of music provided a world of comfort for him. He absorbed what he could of Payne, church musicians, and radio waves and quickly began to learn the trade.

He started playing when he was only eight years old, and only five years later he was making his radio debut. As his mother tirelessly guided him and his band, Hank Williams and the Drifting Cowboys, to Alabama afterwards, he quickly caught the attention of the music directors in one of the homes. the most important in American music: Nashville, Tennessee.

However, as his star began to rise, his back problems and the pressure and physical aches and pains of playing at an early age caused him to drink and have the cursed label of being unreliable. This is something that has hampered his career throughout his career. It was not until 1946 that MGM decided to try his luck and offered him a label. But by this point his wife Audrey Mae Sheppard, who had her own plans for fame, had started to fight with her mother and the pressure was mounting on the young father in the midst of it all.

When those pressures were eased in 1949 when he landed his first number one with “Lovesick Blues,” the fame and fortune that followed found a man vulnerable. While the creative freedom of financial security turned out to be the moment his germinated introspection blossomed into a bloom that would color the music garden forever, it did nothing to ease the burden of his burden. and worsened his substance abuse habits.

His music turned out to be a post-war boon for many. It contained the losses and pains of her own childhood and tumultuous life afterwards, giving the music the conscious side it needed to root itself in a world reflecting on its own sorrows, while its ways joys also provided enough exultation to lift them out of despair. Unfortunately, however, his wry smiles were more of a mask than the same mark of duality that audiences loved.

At the height of his success, he had become addicted to alcohol and morphine. Playing endlessly in demanding times only made the situation worse. In 1952, he was divorced and was fired from The Opry. Morphine caused further problems, his hair fell out, he suffered swelling and eventually began to suffer from minor heart attacks.

A year after this decline began, while locked up with a new wife, Billie Jean, the declining star left his mother’s home on December 30, 1952 and collapsed in a Knoxville hotel suffering from dementia. ‘alcohol poisoning and an overdose of morphine. A doctor was called to the scene and, remarkably, Williams was allowed more travel when he was resuscitated.

On New Years Day 1953, less than 48 hours after its collapse, he was on his way to a concert in Canton, Ohio. When the driver stopped to rest, he found Williams lying dead in the back seats. His music, however, had immortalized him, and his legacy blossomed from the embers of a sad end as people looked back on his career and the poetic song of his work. His songs were humble stories of heartbreak that made them painfully relatable, but as a humble and meek storyteller, forever in the demi-world of life, he also understood the importance of some sort of celebrity. With that, it would appear that Bob Dylan and the others were restless, and the rest, as they say, is history.

As one of Dylan’s favorite writers, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, wrote of the explosion of Russian literature: “We all came out of Gogol’s overcoat.” Well, when it comes to modern songwriters, it looks like they’ve all stepped out of the shadow of Williams’ wide-brimmed hat. And he did it all in 29 tough years, but the man nicknamed the Hillbilly Shakespeare, did it all quickly, as he said himself: “If a song can’t be written in 20 minutes, it’s not worth it. not worth writing.

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