Townes Van Zandt

Townes Van Zandt's impact on American music has been enormous, especially given how little his work circulated during his lifetime: none of his recordings ever entered any chart, not even genre-specific ones. And yet his songs have received dozens of prestigious covers and have been used in films and TV series, his figure has been the subject of books and documentaries, and his influence is tangible on the most disparate artists, evenly split between the rock, folk and country scenes.

This very cross-genre reach has itself bred a misconception, distorting his cultural placement: it's easy, in fact, to come across articles and discussions in which the term "country" is pointedly avoided in reference to him.

This is a tendency found abroad as much as in Italy: consider that the Country Music Hall Of Fame has yet to induct him into its museum [note 1], while in Italy, back in 2002, he was mentioned in the book of 500 essential albums compiled by "Il Mucchio Extra", which described him using the term "Americana" [note 2], just as in 2003 the book of 600 essential albums by "Blow Up" spoke generically of "American singer-songwriter music". And yet there is no doubt whatsoever that Van Zandt was, in every respect, a country musician. He worked in Nashville for his entire career, played in the same venues as many other names from that scene, and his music reflected all the traits of the progressive country movement, some of which he actually helped shape, thanks to his abrasive, poetic and unorthodox approach: shifting his image toward folk or Americana would effectively mean having to shift most of the country musicians of his generation who, in that same period, developed an alternative model to the Nashville one, from John Hartford to Guy Clark, by way of Jerry Jeff Walker. [note 3]

Van Zandt was born in Fort Worth, Texas, in 1944, but spent his youth in various places across the United States, partly due to his family's moves and partly due to his studies. Although a brilliant student, his performance began to decline because of depression and bipolar disorder: his parents, in good faith, had him undergo the now-discredited insulin shock therapy, which resulted only in erasing part of his memory.

Passionate about music since he was a boy and a skilled guitarist, in 1966 he decided to drop out of school and make a living as a musician: that same year, his father, on his deathbed, encouraged him to write his own songs.

In 1968 he met Mickey Newbury while playing in a Houston club, and on Newbury's advice moved to Nashville to try his luck in the record industry. That same year he was signed by the fledgling Poppy label, an independent founded by producer Kevin Eggers.

His creativity during that period was feverish, and in just thirteen months he released three albums: "For The Sake Of The Song" (August 1968), "Our Mother The Mountain" (April 1969) and "Townes Van Zandt" (September 1969). Their trajectory reveals his need to develop a voice of his own: the debut, marked by baroque arrangements he felt were too close to the pop music of the time, left him unsatisfied, before he quickly moved away from that sound and squared the circle with his third effort, which he tellingly titled after himself. Production on the latter was handled by sound engineer Jim Malloy (Eggers' name also appears on the vinyl, though it's unclear what contribution he actually made, so much so that it has been removed from some reissues). Van Zandt plays acoustic guitar on every track, while it remains unknown who played steel guitar, bass and percussion (not even musician and teacher John Kruth, author of the 2007 biography "To Live's To Fly: The Ballad Of Townes Van Zandt", managed to track down the musicians' names).

Of the ten tracks on the album, six are previously unreleased, while four — "For The Sake Of The Song", "Waiting Around To Die", "I'll Be Here In The Morning" and "(Quicksilver Daydreams Of) Maria" — are re-recordings from the first album, which he finally manages to align with his own vision.

It's "For The Sake Of The Song" itself that opens the album. The lyrics address how songwriters and musicians approach pain and suffering, who all too often, in their pursuit of artistic purity, let themselves be overwhelmed by their own inner demons:

Why does he sing his sad songs for me?

I'm not the type to sweetly grant him weak compassion,

I've just begun to see my way clearly

and it's clear that if I stop, I'll fall.

I can shed a tear for his pain,

just one tear and nothing more,

what would he have me do?

She says she knows those moments are rare, I guess that's true,

then she goes on to say I don't care, and she knows that's not true,

maybe she just has to sing for the love of the song,

and who am I to say she's wrong?

She'd like to think that I'm cruel,

but she knows that's a lie, because I'd be nothing more than a puppet

if I let her cry on my shoulder.

My pain is real,

even if I can't change my plans,

if she could see how I feel

then I know she'd understand.

Does she really think it's my fault?

Does she really believe some words of mine could ease all her pain?

Doesn't she understand that she's only suffering because she's let herself be blindly fooled by her own shame?

But nothing is what it seems,

maybe one day he'll start to understand

that if he abandons his dreams

then all the words he'll say will only be lies,

when will he understand that winning is only losing?

All she offers me are her chains, I have to refuse them,

but it's only for herself that she lied,

she likes to pretend there's something she must defend with her pride,

I don't intend to stay here being the friend she has to hide from

The original arrangement, with echoing vocals, electric organ, recorder and a brisk-paced drum, has been overhauled, giving way to a ballad for acoustic guitars, a barely-there bassline, and, in the second half, a sparse bed of percussion. The vocals are clean and melodic, but this time without the echo effect.

The minimal approach is the antithesis of the countrypolitan style that dominated the charts at the time thanks to artists like Glen Campbell and Bobbie Gentry (not meaning this difference as a knock against the latter, themselves significant artists: it's precisely this breadth of stylistic range that makes country such a fascinating genre).

Another peak of Van Zandt's songbook overhauled for the occasion is "Waiting Around To Die": gone is the wall of echoing drums, harpsichord and organ, while the acoustic guitar is pushed to the forefront, showcasing Van Zandt's flawless fingerpicking technique, accompanied by the embellishments of a harmonica, a nod to the blues masters the artist admires (particularly Blind Willie McTell, Lightnin' Hopkins and Muddy Waters). The new arrangement makes room for the vocals, which bring out the Celtic flavor of the melody, far harder to detect in the previous year's version.

The lyrics portray a man going through alcoholism and gambling, before ending up committing crimes and being swallowed by addiction. Although it contains plenty of fictionalized elements, it's clearly a stand-in for Van Zandt's own struggles with life:

Sometimes I don't know where

this dirty road is taking me,

sometimes I don't even understand why,

so I guess I'll keep on gambling,

getting drunk and roaming around,

it's easier than waiting to die.

Once, friends, I had a mother and even a father,

he once beat her with a belt because she was crying,

she told him to take care of me and went down to Tennessee,

it's easier than waiting to die.

I grew up and found a girl

in a bar in Tuscaloosa,

she cleaned me up and then disappeared,

I tried to wash away the pain, I bought some wine

and jumped on a train,

it seemed easier than waiting to die.

A friend said he knew how to make some easy money,

we robbed a man and made a run for it,

but the [sheriff's] posse caught up with me and brought me back to Muskogee,

now it's been two long years I've been waiting to die.

Now I've gotten out of prison,

finally I found a friend who doesn't drink, or steal, or cheat, or lie,

his name is codeine

and he's the sweetest thing I've ever met,

and together we'll wait to die

The unreleased tracks are just as strong, as shown by "Lungs": acoustic guitar laying down the main melody, a resonator guitar solo, rhythm marked out by a single percussion instrument (a cajón?), and once again a melody that looks to Celtic tradition (whose influence on country music is sometimes underrated).

The lyrics are a manifesto on the transience of existence, dense with religious symbols and inscrutable metaphors, heavily influenced by songwriting from outside the country universe, particularly that of Bob Dylan [note 4]:

Would you lend me your lungs?

Mine are collapsing.

I stomp my feet and breathe bitterly

Another gem is "Fare Thee Well, Miss Carousel", which alternates verses in ballad form with a chorus driven by a galloping drumbeat, while the irregular bassline moves beneath an incessant acoustic guitar strumming. It's the only moment in the tracklist that actually leans closer to folk rock than country.

To describe the loneliness and heartache tied to the end of a relationship, the writer once again draws on a rich array of symbolism. While some are immediate, like the carousel horses (whose circular motion, fixed around its own center, well represents the cyclical nature of human relationships, built on precise patterns), others are obscure and harder to decipher:

Well, the drunk clown is still around,

but it's clear the laughter has died out,

the tears you tried so hard to hide are flowing,

and a blind man, knife in hand,

has convinced himself he understands,

I wish her the best, Mrs. Carousel,

but I have to go.

So you won't come and get me when you're sure

that you don't need me?

I'll be under your window

and I'll call your name with pride.

Well, the lady's been told that all that gold

is worth so much it can't be sold,

there's no time to cry, she'll sleep tomorrow.

When she takes her face to market and plays it in the opening bid,

she can ring her little bells, Mrs. Carousel,

but her singing causes me pain.

Well, it's always been that way for everyone,

you can tell grown men never run away,

so they fight with all their strength.

When the battle is over,

and everyone has been taught

that the trick is all in not getting caught,

will you give them hell

when they ask you to hide them, Mrs. Carousel?

When the need arises, your eyes close,

you pinch your nose with your fingers,

would you call that a way to judge him?

Well, first of all you don't have the authority to kill him,

but would you feel compelled

should you have something to envy him for, Mrs. Carousel?

On a velvet beach out of reach

of those who come to pray and beg,

the classic man trying to stand is falling,

well, how long before he sees

that you own his legs, but his mind is free,

only you can say, Mrs. Carousel,

how long he'll crawl.

Well, the castle wall has grown so high,

there seems to be no hope

of reaching the top, even if you stop to catch your breath,

but I won't try to make you cry,

the tears wouldn't find your eyes,

it's all been wonderful, Mrs. Carousel,

but the time has come to go

Other reinterpretations from the debut album include the gentle ballads "I'll Be Here In The Morning" (the adverb was "there" in the original version) and "(Quicksilver Daydreams Of) Maria", where you get to hear Van Zandt play a sweet fiddle melody (he was always fond of the instrument, but unlike guitar he never quite managed to fully master it), while the tracklist closes with "None But The Rain", a brief nursery rhyme for acoustic guitar, bass and recorder, which shows how comfortable the artist was even with the most elementary musical forms, to which he manages to give depth and poetic breath.

The album won't sell well, but Van Zandt will keep being supported by Poppy and then by Eggers' subsequent label, Tomato, for much of the Seventies. Between 1979 and 1986 no album will be released under his name, even though it's precisely during this period that he comes to be recognized as a cornerstone by all his fellow musicians, with covers of his songs starting to crop up with some frequency, until "Pancho And Lefty" reaches number 1 on the country chart in the version by Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard.

His last two albums, “At My Window” (Sugar Hill, 1987) and “No Deeper Blue” (Sugar Hill, 1994), were made during periods of relative sobriety, though never entirely free of relapses, which would see his health decline until the fatal heart attack on the night of January 1, 1997.

Since then, as already mentioned, his cult following has spread far and wide, and cataloguing every artist who has tackled his songbook would take an article of its own. Still, within his celebrated discography, probably only the live album “Live At The Old Quarter, Houston, Texas” (recorded in 1973 and released by Tomato four years later) can rival the album discussed in this article for mythology and stature — an album that fully deserves its place among the great classics of the local counterculture.

[note 1] Perhaps because his persona, notoriously volatile due to serious mental health issues and constant abuse of alcohol and drugs, never won over the higher-ups of the Nashville industry.

[note 2] “Americana” is a term that came into use during the Nineties, which some argue is used as an excuse to exclude from country music things that ought to be considered part of it, as stated by Tyler Childers, not entirely without reason. This tendency is especially present in the writing of progressive critics, who are uncomfortable with the fact that some highly regarded musicians in their own field come from a cultural background that in the popular imagination remains conservative (even though country music has actually boasted a significant progressive-leaning wing since the Sixties, to which Van Zandt of course belonged).

[note 3] This was not actually the first time a current within country music had moved outside the dictates of the Nashville industry — just think of the Bakersfield sound that developed at the end of the Fifties — but the progressive country movement was perhaps the first to do so with a subtly confrontational approach, one that later exploded through the outlaw subcurrent led by Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson.

[note 4] The relationship between Dylan and the country world was a two-way exchange: if the songwriter was undoubtedly one of the touchstones for the progressive country movement, it's also true that he in turn fell under the spell of many of its figures, going so far as to release “Nashville Skyline” in 1969, an album heavily influenced by that sound. Over the years he has also repeatedly named Van Zandt as one of his favorite songwriters, often performing his “Pancho And Lefty” live.

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05/01/2025