Kris Kristofferson – Freedom’s still the most important thing for me

I was just thrilled to be invited in. You’d sit around and they’d pass the guitar and you’d try and knock each other out. Sue herself was just a sweetheart. She almost treated you like her children, you know? She was all teary-eyed when Waylon and Anita Carter first cut a song of mine. It was the first thing that had happened for me. I got emotional about it, too. I would say this is from ’65 through until I made it, about ’69. When I’d come back in town sometimes I’d go by there. I was still in touch with her. When she got sick, I helped her out a little bit.

ND: Were there other writers around in Nashville back then who were great but didn’t get their due? I always think about Vince Matthews, who wrote “On Susan’s Floor” but never got much success or recognition.

KK: Geez, Vince was one of my closest friends. Vince was a self-educated guy, from Waverly, Tennessee. I introduced him to Cowboy Jack Clement, and he ended up writing for Cowboy. He and I would always go to Johnny Cash’s house. I think Johnny Cash did “Wrinkled, Crinkled Dollar Bill”, that he wrote. Vince was a character.

I’ll tell you something else: Vince Matthews was the guy that told me to get rid of the line, “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose” [in “Me And Bobby McGee”]. He said I had all this concrete imagery and just jumped into this philosophical statement. That’s the kind of stuff we were talking about in those days. We’d tear each other’s stuff apart. He was really well-read. A self-educated guy. He was a writer, not a singer.

ND: Mickey Newbury is another guy that’s kind of a lost legend, in some ways. How important was he to your development?

KK: Aw, Mickey probably had more effect on my songwriting than any of my friends and contemporaries, you know. I met him at Bob Beckham’s office, which was kind of a hangout. I was blown away by his songs and his singing, you know: the simplicity of the songs, but how powerful they were. I can see his influence in the songs of mine that were breakthroughs, like “Sunday Morning Coming Down” — “Wishin’, Lord, that I was stoned” sounds like Mickey wrote it. He used “Lord” a lot to fill in the meter. Hell, “Bobby McGee”, when I started writing it, I was thinking of the rhythm of his song “Why You Been Gone So Long”. He was always a totally committed songwriter. Crazy little fucker. He used to drive around in a big ol’ Cadillac, and he lived out on a houseboat that he never wanted to leave.

ND: Who do you like out there now?

KK: I love Todd Snider’s new stuff. The “Conservative Christian” song: I heard that and thought, “God, he nailed it, again.” He’s really a natural writer. He makes me think a lot about John Prine, because his stuff comes with a genuine sense of humor. Even when Prine is teaching you something, he’s doing it in a humorous way. I don’t think he’s ever on a rant. That’s what I liked about Shel Silverstein’s stuff, too.

ND: What rolled through your mind when you learned about going into the Country Music Hall of Fame?

KK: Good Lord, all I could think about was what an honor it is to be in there with any of the people that are there. My next thought was the people that aren’t there. Is Tom T. in there?

ND: No.

KK: Well, he ought to be. So should Mickey Newbury. And Cowboy Jack Clement.

ND: What is your contribution to the music?

KK: I imagine that when I got started I was one of the people working, hoping, to bring respect to country music. Some of the songs I had that got to be hits did that. I would imagine that’s why someone might vote me into the Hall of Fame. I know it’s not because of my golden throat.

Listen, I really committed myself to this, back in ’65. I tossed it all in. I wish my old man was around to see it. And I know Johnny Cash would be proud. I’ve heard from enough writers in the few times I get into Nashville, somebody’s always coming up and telling me what they learned about songwriting or alliteration or something else.

ND: Or how to talk to a cop.

KK: How not to talk to a cop.