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The Pilgrim: A Celebration of Kris Kristofferson Track Listing

1. The Pilgrim: Chapter 33 – Emmylou Harris & Friends (Sam Bush, Jon Randall, Byron House, Randy Scruggs) (3:51)
2. Maybe You Heard – Todd Snider (3:28)
3. The Circle – Marta Gómez (4:20)
4. Lovin' Him Was Easier (Than Anything I'll Ever Do Again) – Rosanne Cash (3:37)
5. Come Sundown – Rodney Crowell (3:15)
6. For The Good Times – Lloyd Cole & Jill Sobule (3:25)
7. Jesus Was A Capricorn – Marshall Chapman (3:51)
8. The Silver Tongued Devil – Shooter Jennings (5:08)
9. Sunday Morning Coming Down – Gretchen Wilson (6:01)
10. Sandinista – Patty Griffin & Charanga Cakewalk (4:13)
11. Darby's Castle – Russell Crowe and The Ordinary Fear of God (3:57)
12. Me And Bobby McGee – Brian McKnight (4:59)
13. Smile At Me Again (instrumental) – Randy Scruggs (2:43)
14. The Captive – Jessi Colter w/special guest Vance Haines (3:53)
15. Help Me Make It Through The Night – Bruce Robison & Kelly Willis (3:03)
16. Why Me – Shawn Camp (3:34)
17. The Legend – Willie Nelson (6:25)
Coda: Please Don't Tell Me How The Story Ends – Kris Kristofferson (demo recording, circa 1970) (3:15)

1) "The Pilgrim: Chapter 33" (3:49)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Emmylou Harris and Friends (Sam Bush, Jon Randall, Byron House & Randy Scruggs)
Resaca Music Publishing Co., controlled and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Emmylou Harris Vocals and Guitar
Sam Bush Mandolin and Backing Vocals
Jon Randall Acoustic Guitar and Backing Vocals
Byron House Upright Bass
Randy Scruggs Acoustic Guitar
Kris Kristofferson (circa 1970) Acoustic guitar and spoken intro

Produced by Randy Scruggs
Engineered and Mixed by Ron "Snake" Reynolds
Recorded and Mixed at Scruggs Sound Studio
Emmylou Harris appears courtesy of Warner Bros. Records Inc.
Sam Bush appears courtesy of Sugar Hill Records, a Welk Music Group Company
Jon Randall appears courtesy of Sony BMG

2) "Maybe You Heard" (3:28)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Todd Snider
All rights controlled by Jody Ray Publishing (BMI)

Todd Snider Acoustic guitar, electric guitar, vocals
Lloyd Green Steel guitar
Eric McConnell Bass guitar
Peter Cooper Harmony vocals

Produced by Todd Snider and Eric McConnell at an unnamed studio in East Nashville, TN. Mixed by Eric McConnell and Joshua Muncy

3) "The Circle" (4:20)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Marta Gómez
All rights controlled by Jody Ray Publishing, Inc. (BMI)

Marta Gómez Vocals
Julio Santillán Guitar

Produced by Marta Gómez and Julio Santillán
Engineered and mixed by Julio Santillán at Jass Studios, New York City
Marta Gomez appears courtesy of Chesky Records

4) "Lovin' Him Was Easier (Than Anything I'll Ever Do Again)" (3:37)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Rosanne Cash
All rights controlled by Combine Music Corp. and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Rosanne Cash Vocals
John Leventhal Guitars, B-3 and Piano
Zev Katz Bass
Rich Pagano Drums
Rick Depofi Percussion

Produced and Mixed by John Leventhal
Recorded by Rick Depofi and John Leventhal
Recorded at NY Noise, NYC
Rosanne Cash appears courtesy of Capitol Records

5) "Come Sundown" (3:15)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Rodney Crowell
All rights controlled by Combine Music Corp. and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Rodney Crowell Vocals
Eddie Bayers Drums
Michael Rhodes Bass
John Hobbs Keyboards
J. T. Corenflos Electric Guitar
Gary Morse Steel Guitar
Randy Scruggs Acoustic Guitar

Produced by Randy Scruggs
Engineered by Richard Barrow
Additional Engineering by Randy Scruggs
Mixed by Ron "Snake" Reynolds
Recorded and Mixed at Scruggs Sound Studio
Rodney Crowell appears courtesy of Sony BMG

6) "For The Good Times" (3:25)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Lloyd Cole and Jill Sobule
All rights controlled by Careers BMG Publishing (BMI)

Jill Sobule Guitar and vocals
Lloyd Cole Keyboards, programming, vocals

Produced by Lloyd Cole and Jill Sobule
Recorded by Lloyd Cole at The Establishment, Easthampton, MA.
Mixed by Steve Marcantonio

7) "Jesus Was A Capricorn" (3:51)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Marshall Chapman
Resaca Music Publishing Co., controlled and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Marshall Chapman Vocals and Electric Guitar
Eddie Bayers Drums
Michael Rhodes Bass
John Hobbs Keyboards
J. T. Corenflos Electric Guitar
Gary Morse Steel Guitar and Dobro
Randy Scruggs Acoustic Guitar

Produced by Randy Scruggs
Engineered by Richard Barrow
Additional Engineering by Randy Scruggs
Mixed by Ron "Snake" Reynolds
Recorded and Mixed at Scruggs Sound Studio
Marshall Chapman appears courtesy of Tall Girl Records

8) "The Silver Tongued Devil" (5:08)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Shooter Jennings
Resaca Music Publishing Co., controlled and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Shooter Jennings Vocals, Electric Guitar, Organ
Leroy Powell Electric Lead Guitar, Acoustic 12-String, Harmonica, Dobro, Backing Vocals
Bryan Keeling Drums
Ted Kamp Bass, Backing Vocals

Produced by Randy Scruggs
Engineered and Mixed by Steve Marcantonio
Assistant Engineer by J. C. Monterrosa
Recorded at Scruggs Sound Studio
Shooter Jennings appears courtesy of Universal South

9) "Sunday Morning Coming Down" (6:01)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Gretchen Wilson
All rights controlled by Combine Music Corp. and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Gretchen Wilson Vocals
Jon Randall Acoustic guitar, harmony vocals
Phil Madeira Keyboard
Larry Atamanuik Drums
Byron House Stand up bass

Produced by Gretchen Wilson and Steve Fishell
Recorded at Buddy Miller's studio, Nashville, TN
Engineered by Buddy Miller
Mixed by Dave Sinko
Gretchen Wilson appears courtesy of Sony BMG

10) "Sandinista" (4:13)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Patty Griffin and Charanga Cakewalk
All rights controlled by Jody Ray Publishing (BMI)

Patty Griffin Guitar and vocals
Charanga Cakewalk Accordian, keyboards, programming, vocals

Produced, recorded and mixed by Michael Ramos at Cumbia Lounge, Austin, TX
Charanga Cakewalk appears courtesy of Triloka Records
Patty Griffin appears courtesy of Ato Records

11) "Darby's Castle" (3:57)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Russell Crowe and the Ordinary Fear of God
All rights controlled by Careers BMG Music Publishing (BMI)

Russell Crowe Vocals
Alan Doyle Guitar and Backing Vocals
Stewart Kirwan Flugal Horn and Backing Vocals
Dean Cochran Guitar
Stuart Hunter Piano
Dave Kelly Percussion
Murray Foster Bass

Produced by Alan Doyle
Engineered and Mixed by Tony Wall
Recorded at the Padded Cell, Nana Glen, NSW, Australia
Mixed at Studios 301, Sydney, NSW, Australia
Mastered by Don Bartley at Studios 301 Mastering

12) "Me And Bobby McGee" (4:59)
(Kris Kristofferson/Fred Foster)
Recorded by Brian McKnight
All rights controlled by Combine Music Corp. and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Brian McKnight vocals and instrumentation

Produced by Brian McKnight
Engineered by C. Wood
Recorded and mixed at Backroom Studios, Glendale, CA
Brian McKnight appears courtesy of McKnight Entertainment

13) "Smile At Me Again" (instrumental) (2:43)
(Kris Kristofferson and Stephen Bruton)
Recorded by Randy Scruggs
Resaca Music Publishing Co., controlled and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Randy Scruggs Acoustic Lead Guitar
Eddie Bayers Drums
Michael Rhodes Bass
John Hobbs Keyboards
J. T. Corenflos Electric 12-String Guitar
Gary Morse Steel Guitar

Produced by Randy Scruggs
Engineered by Richard Barrow
Additional engineering by Ron "Snake" Reynolds
Mixed by Ron "Snake" Reynolds
Recorded and Mixed at Scruggs Sound Studio

14) "The Captive" (3:53)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Jessi Colter w/special guest Vance Haines
All rights controlled by Jody Ray Publishing, Inc (BMI)

Jessi Colter Vocals
Ray Riendeau Bass guitar
Ron Derrosett Lead guitar
Handlebar Harmonica
Vance Haines Back up vocals

Produced by Vance Haines
Engineered and mixed by Scott Seymann
Recorded at Mallorie Studios in AZ
Mixed at Headpop Recording Services

15) "Help Me Make It Through The Night" (3:03)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Bruce Robison and Kelly Willis
All rights controlled by Combine Music Corp. and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Bruce Robison Vocals
Kelly Willis Vocals
Conrad Choucroun Drums
Chip Dolan Keyboards
Keith Gattis Guitar
Kevin Smith Bass
Tommy Spurlock Pedal Steel

Produced by Bruce Robison
Engineered and Mixed by Kevin Szymanski (www.kevin-s.com)
Recorded at Premium Recording Service (www.premiumrecording.com)

16) "Why Me" (3:34)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Shawn Camp
Resaca Music Publishing Co., controlled and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Shawn Camp Acoustic and Electric Guitars, Vocals
Bobby Wood Electric Piano
Dave Roe Upright Bass
Al Perkins Steel Guitar
Kenny Malone Drums

Produced by Shawn Camp
Engineered by Mike Esser at Sixteen Ton Studio, Nashville, TN
Shawn Camp appears courtesy of Skeeterbit Records

17) "The Legend" (6:25)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Willie Nelson
Resaca Music Publishing Co., controlled and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

Willie Nelson Vocals and Lead Guitar
Stuart Duncan Mandolin
Mickey Raphael Harmonica
Dave Pomeroy Upright Bass
Rob Ickes Dobro
Randy Scruggs Rhythm Guitar

Produced by Randy Scruggs
Engineered and Mixed by Ron "Snake" Reynolds
Assistant Engineer by Eric Tonkin
Recorded and Mixed at Scruggs Sound Studio
Willie Nelson appears courtesy of Lost Highway Records

Coda: "Please Don't Tell Me How The Story Ends" (3:15)
(Kris Kristofferson)
Recorded by Kris Kristofferson (Demo circa 1970)
All rights controlled by Combine Music Corp. and administered by EMI Blackwood Music Inc. (BMI)

No production information is available for this demo recording

Kristofferson Liner Notes by Peter Cooper

The Sunday morning sidewalk was 11 stories below the luxury suite at the Waldorf-Astoria in Manhattan. Room service had left black coffee to drink and fresh orange juice to ignore.

Kris Kristofferson, one of the great American songwriters, sat on a couch, by a window that let in the November light. In between coffee sips, he was talking about what he had seen, done and written. He was talking about trains and Cowboy Jack Clement, about acting in movies and working construction and meeting Johnny Cash. He was talking about how Mama Cass Elliot used to call him "No Eyes." He was talking about how damn hard it used to be to fly a helicopter.

"You had to be controlling the rotor disc with the right hand, the RPM and pitch of the blades with your left hand, and countering every change with the foot pedals," he said. "See, your foot pedals controlled the tail rotor. It was very difficult."

It's easier to fly a helicopter these days, he said. More automation, less physical exertion. Lots of things are probably easier these days. Kristofferson was never much for easy. For most of his life, he craved both desperation and accomplishment. Or maybe he craved the kind of accomplishment that can only spring from desperation. Anyway, he threw himself into worlds of bruised-hearted trouble, of excess and alcohol and worry and peril. That everything all worked out in the end is one measure of the man.

"All alone all the way on your own/ Who's to say that you've thrown it away for a song?" he once sang. Well, plenty of people said that about him. His mother, for one, but only for awhile. Born into a solid, traditional, well-to-do family and raised to think about honor, duty, justice, excellence and other such things, Kristofferson's personal turning point came in 1965, when he gave up an appointment to teach at West Point in order to head to Nashville, drink, laugh, howl, scuffle and learn to write songs. Soon, his mother sent him a letter informing him that he was essentially disowned and disavowed for his lousy decision-making. He was already a Rhodes scholar, a military man, a prose writer who had been published in Atlantic Monthly, a husband. The first thing he did when he got to Nashville was to buy a motorcycle.

"I was dangerous enough in a car," he said on that Sunday morning at the Waldorf. "I did a lot of drinking in those days."

This is all stuff of myth and adulation. We know how the story ends: Kristofferson writes "Me & Bobby McGee," "Sunday Morning Coming Down," "For The Good Times," "Help Me Make It Through The Night" and a slew of other master-works, alters the possibilities and expectations for Nashville songwriting, becomes a movie star, reconnects with his loving mother, makes controversial political stances (for freedom, justice, human rights and other apparently divisive ideals), joins Hank Williams and Johnny Cash as a member of the Country Music Hall of Fame and sleeps in fancy hotel rooms. All good, all true. Those are the facts, and the triumphs.

But it was holy hell to get there, and it could have gone the other way. Overwhelming talent and empathetic humanity were his constants. Turns out that those were the winning numbers, but he could easily have wrecked on the way to cash the lottery ticket. Again, Kristofferson was never much for easy.

"Was it bitter then, with our backs against the wall?" he wrote, in a song old friend Willie Nelson reprises on this celebration of Kristofferson's art. "Were we better men than we'd ever been before?"

Yes, it was probably bitter. And probably yes to the last part, too.

Kris Kristofferson made the newspaper one time for punching someone out. In the photo, a teenaged Kristofferson's right hand pounded the chin of a Golden Gloves boxing opponent, temporarily but grotesquely smashing the boy's face out of its customary, face-like configuration. The fight ended there, which was not long after it began.

In the next fight, Kristofferson was thoroughly beaten down by a better opponent. He realized after that one that the shame wasn't in the losing.

"The thing that was embarrassing was that I gave up," he told documentary producer Paul Joyce. "I thought, 'If this guy can beat me, I'll never be the champion.' I just took the beating."

It was decades after that before Kristofferson gave up on anything else, and by then all he ceded were bottles of whiskey and other mind-clouders. Though he was a child who knew substantial privilege, he sought to out-work others rather than to dazzle them with charm or footwork. Under-sized and under-quick, he made his small college football team and played through multiple concussions. He loved the game, living for competition as much as for football itself. His competitive inclinations extended into summer jobs as well: He still beams a little in remembering that the superintendent of his construction crew once told him he was the best man on the job.

"I took pride in being the best laborer, the guy that could dig the ditches the fastest," he said. "I think something, maybe my parents or maybe something inside me, made me want to do the tough stuff, to work up in Alaska fighting forest fires or on the railroad as a gandy dancer. And in California on road construction. Part of it was that I wanted to be a writer, and I figured that, like Jack London or something, I had to get out and live. I know that's why I ran in front of the bulls in Pamplona. I did it every day that whole week at the Fiesta de San Fermin, and they got closer and closer, until they finally ran around me the last day."

One of the ironies of Kristofferson's life has been that the acceptance of his parents' teachings and examples led him to veer from the road to traditional accomplishment that they'd plotted for him.

Father Henry was sturdy and driven, a major general who served in World War II and in Korea, worked as a commercial airlines manager and pilot after he retired from duty and gave his son "a sense of living up to who I should be." "He was the shining best at everything he did," was how Kristofferson wrote about his father in "The Heart," a song that recalled advice from his dad including "You'll feel better if you take it like a man." And Kristofferson's mother, Mary Ann, helped inspire in him a sense of social justice that would pervade his creative works.

"When I was growing up down in Brownsville, Texas, the racial issue wasn't between blacks and whites," he said. "It was Mexicans that there was prejudice against, and my mother made sure we knew that was wrong. One example I remember of it is when a Mexican from Brownsville won the Medal of Honor and they had a parade for him, and we were the only Anglos at the parade."

Kristofferson would later get used to the feeling of being among the only Anglos at the parade. Sometimes, he'd get his own parades together, and people would call it career suicide: The crowd would arrive to hear "Help Me Make It Through The Night" and he'd hit them with "Sandinista, may the soldiers disappear," or the one in support of Jesse Jackson, or the one in which he ponders what his military-grade father's reaction would be to a newfangled army "killing babies in the name of freedom."

The formative scenery shifted from Brownsville to San Mateo, California, where Kristofferson graduated high school in 1954. He went to college at Pomona, his mother's alma mater, though his decision was based neither on family ties nor academics. He wanted to play football, and he was good enough to play at Pomona but not at a bigger school.

"I was pretty slow, but I was small," is his assessment today.

At the college, he immersed himself in military studies through the ROTC, following in the footsteps of his father and of his military officer grandfathers. Still, Pomona's prime mark on Kristofferson would come in the form of Dr. Frederick Sontag, a writing instructor who pushed him to apply for the Rhodes scholarship.
When he arrived in London, Kristofferson was acknowledged as a writer, as a talent. He was creating short stories that were good, and that got published. In London, he worked on a novel. He was dabbling in music, crafting songs and even recording a session for the ill-titled Top Rank Records as "Kris Carson."
Kristofferson's main man at Oxford was long-dead writer William Blake, who had a riff about how anyone who refuses spiritual acts in favor of worldly desires and the need for natural bread will be pursued by sorrow and desperation through life and by shame and confusion for eternity.
Some people take that to mean we shouldn't hesitate to fill the collection plate even when the car payment is coming due. But Kristofferson was beginning to think that writing and creativity just might be spiritual acts.
Maybe he was put here to create, and if that was indeed the case then maybe the suppression of creativity was as sinful… maybe more sinful… than any much-chastised natural act. Sorrow and desperation didn't scare him, but eternal shame and confusion seemed too heavy a load. Then again, maybe William Blake didn't know any more about the grand scheme than the rest of us.

In 1960, Kristofferson earned his master's degree from Oxford. Then he went back home to California, got reacquainted with his high school sweetheart, got married, joined the Army and learned to fly helicopters. He was still excelling, but creativity pulled at him. He'd come up with funny songs to entertain his fellow soldiers, setting ribald words to the melodies of familiar hits. He'd always loved Hank Williams – though his parents had never understood the attraction – but he wasn't sure that country songwriting as it stood back then was worth a life's full attention.

"I was more interested in being Faulkner, Hemingway…. A serious writer," he said.

That's when a serious writer came along. Bob Dylan was a riddle speaking prophet whose words struck Kristofferson as being elevated enough to make writing songs seem a worthwhile avocation.

"The direction Dylan was pointing in made it a respectable ambition, a respectable thing to do," he said. "I still didn't know I was going to do it, though. I didn't know that I could."

That was about the time when he unsuccessfully volunteered for Vietnam. He tried to go fight, but was turned down. Kristofferson's colonel at division headquarters in Germany sent a telegram to the Pentagon to find out the reasons behind the denial, and word came back that the military had deemed it inappropriate for Kristofferson to fight in Vietnam because he was going to be assigned to teach literature at the Academy, at West Point, a long damn way from rival Vietcong. Safety. Relief. Honor. Terror.

"I went to West Point and got briefed about what might be expected of me, which looked pretty frightening," he said. "The guy said the cadets would come into class in a semi-rectangle around you. They'd be at attention. I'd say 'Seat' and they'd sit down. And then I'd have had to turn in a lesson plan 24 hours before that, about what I'd be doing that day in class. It sounded like hell to me."

So by the time Kristofferson visited Nashville in 1965, he was looking for a way out of hell. He was there through the kindness of Marijohn Wilkin, a respected Nashville songwriter and publisher who had penned hits like "Long Black Veil" and "Waterloo" and who was related to Kristofferson's platoon leader. She'd agreed to show the commissioned West Point teacher around if he ever got to Nashville, and he did, and she did.
If Kris Kristofferson could time-warp back to any time in his life, it might be those first two weeks in Nashville. He spent the first night at a bar called the Professional Club with Cowboy Jack Clement, whose name endures even though he neither wore boots nor rode horses. Clement was a songwriter, an idea man, a dreamer and a reckless soul. The next morning, the cowboy and the still-in-uniform soldier were in Clement's office when Rusty Kershaw came in to try to sell the rights to a song called "Louisiana Man." Cowboy should have bought it, but he didn't.

Then the odd couple headed down to the gulch beside 11th Ave., where trains moved in and out of music City.
"He had a thing about trains," Kristofferson said. "He talked about how he'd get onto a train and ride from Nashville to New Orleans and back. Just ride down, come back."

It became quickly clear that Nashville was a town without lesson plans. Kristofferson's radical decision to abandon both pedigree and security was cemented backstage at the Grand Ole Opry, when he met an emaciated, wild-eyed panther named Johnny Cash.

"He shook my hand, and it was electric," Kristofferson said. He's told the story hundreds of times, and yet the words still spill with a sense of wonder. "I felt that these people I met in Nashville were so fascinating that if I didn't make it as a writer of songs I could write about them. Backstage at the Opry, breathing the same air that Hank Williams breathed, it all felt enchanted. I told Marijohn when she drove me back to the hotel the last night I was there, 'I'm coming back to Nashville, and I'm going to write for you.'"

Wilkin hadn't offered to employ the young, close-clipped Army man. If she had wanted him, she would have told him so. He wasn't even very good yet. She had spent two weeks trying to be nice to her cousin's military friend and had instead aided and abetted what appeared to be a frightfully poor change of direction.

"When I told her, I remember that her head went right to the steering wheel," he said. "She said, 'Oh, my God.' That's exactly what she said, 'Oh, my God.'"

Everybody in Kristofferson's army company went to Vietnam. He met up with them in '65, at Fort Campbell in Kentucky, as they were getting ready to head oversees. Kristofferson tried to enlist Mel Tillis for the trip to see his old buddies, but Tillis' wife wouldn't let him go. Something about a bottle of vodka that Kristofferson dropped on the Tillis' steps. So Kris traveled alone, blew a tire just outside of the base and rolled the car about 300 yards. When some fellows came to survey the wreck, they found the car upside down and figured the driver was dead.

"It scared 'em when I yelled at them," he said. But they pushed the car over, some MPs came and a drunken but persuasive Kristofferson told the police he wanted to go see the guys in his unit that were on their way to Vietnam. He was taken directly to a runway where his friends sat on a plane that was about to take off. He ran up the steps to the plane and thought, "I might as well go with them." His car was trashed, his wife would be angry and his talent had not yet overwhelmed his new hometown to the point where any real possibilities were emerging.

"God looks after fools and songwriters," he said. "They made me get off that plane, and I laid down on the floor at that little guardhouse where you go into Fort Campbell. I called back to Linebaugh's restaurant in Nashville, 'cause songwriters hung out there and I knew one of them would come get me, and a friend finally came and picked me up. Had I gone to Vietnam, I have no doubt that if I didn't get killed over there then I would have done something in the name of duty that I would have had a hard time living with later. I didn't know that at the time, but I know that now."

The letter from home arrived soon after Kristofferson's move to Nashville. He was disowned, was the gist of the thing. His mother could not accept such a foolish and selfish turn of events, even if Marijohn Wilkin's Bighorn Publishing was offering a small weekly stipend. Train-loving Jack Clement told his buddy Johnny Cash about the letter, and Cash was impressed with the struggling writer's gumption.

Kristofferson lived along Music Row, right down the street from the Tally Ho Tavern that he would immortalize in "The Silver Tongued Devil." At the Tally Ho, the owner would let you get drunk, but he wouldn't let you arrive that way. The place was located on a corner, and it had a seating area in the back and a standard bar up front. A wino walked in soused one night, was quickly thrown out, stumbled around the corner, turned right, saw the back seating area and found his way into a chair. The owner saw him there and hollered "I told you to get the hell out of here!" The drunk stammered, "Damn, do you own every bar on this block?"

On many nights, Kristofferson's life wasn't far removed from that drunk's. As he entered his 30s, he figured total immersion into Nashville's blurry wildlife was the only way to learn to create. He and his wife broke up with frequency and then with permanence. He could not provide adequately for his children, one of whose health conditions required medical attention and money.

He worked as a bartender and worked more famously as a janitor at Columbia studios, where some of the musicians grumbled about his late arrivals. Seems he seldom got to the studio early enough to make a pot of coffee before the 10 a.m. sessions began. Some at Columbia also faulted Kristofferson's opportunistic streak: He'd try to talk to artists about cutting one of his songs. At one point, Columbia banned him from working during a Johnny Cash session, but Cash insisted that the janitor be present. Cash had a soft spot for the young man. Something about a letter from home.

In 1966, Dave Dudley recorded Kristofferson's last anti-war protestor song, "Viet Nam Blues," and took it into country's Top 20. Then the Nashville newbie's luck ran dry. Billy Sherrill produced a single on Kristofferson as an artist in 1967, but it failed to draw any flies. Searching for a way to earn some money, Kristofferson took jobs flying helicopters around the oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico.

"I remember in 1967, taking my daughter, Tracy, into the Tally Ho, to say goodbye to the people in there that knew her," he said. "Somebody saw us and said, 'Look, here comes Critter and the kid.' Some people called me Critter. Not long after that I wrote a song called 'Jody and the Kid.' When I was working in the Gulf, I wrote songs all the time. I was flying for hours without anything to think about except for the songs. I'm surprised they didn't all come out with the same rhythm of the blades."

He began to seriously consider getting back into the Army and going to Vietnam. Friends in the service talked him out of it. "These were veterans of Korea," he said. "They told me, 'You must be out of your mind. This is the most screwed-up thing we've ever been involved with."

Somewhere in there, hope began to poke its way through the desperate times and booze clouds. Billy Walker recorded Kristofferson's "From The Bottle To The Bottom," and wisened, well-established Tom Hall (soon to be Tom T. Hall) heard the song on the Tootsie's Orchid Lounge jukebox and was impressed enough to speak kindly about the song to its writer. And publisher and record mogul Fred Foster signed Kristofferson on the basis of four songs: "Jody and the Kid," "To Beat The Devil," "Duvalier's Dream" and "Best Of All Possible Worlds." Foster told the writer that he'd sign him on the condition that Kristofferson would eventually do an album for Foster's Monument Records. Kristofferson deferred, saying, "I sing like a frog." Foster shot back, "Yeah, but a frog that can communicate."

In hindsight, all these developments are signs of the genre-shaking, culture-tweaking successes that would soon come. At the time, they were merely straws at which to grasp. Kristofferson would walk an empty Music Row on Sunday mornings, impatient for the bars to open at noon and knowing that his musical aspirations had led to the dissolution of relationships with his mother and with his wife. In a bachelor's apartment, he wrote lines that spoke to his condition and that would later be received by millions.

"On the Sunday morning sidewalk/ Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned/ 'Cause there's something in a Sunday/ Makes a body feel alone."

In another instance, depleted by his strains to pay the bills and at the same time remain creative, he confessed to Fred Foster that he thought he had run out of songs. Foster offered some extra money to ease the evident financial distress, and he offered an idea to combat Kristofferson's writer's block. Write a song called "Me and Bobby McKee," Foster advised. McKee was his secretary, and the repeating hard E sounds made for a good title.

Back in a chopper, flying this time around Baton Rouge, Kristofferson was thinking of the rhythm to a Mickey Newbury song called "Why You Been Gone So Long" when he began working on "Me and Bobby McGee."
"When it came together was when the lines finally came about 'With the windshield wipers slapping time/ And Bobby clapping hands we finally sang up every song that driver knew,'" he said.

Helicopters and hard times provided for one more now-epic moment, the day Kristofferson determined that the great Johnny Cash was going to take notice of more than his mother's letter of dismissal. Kristofferson had been giving tapes of his songs to Cash for a couple of years, and Cash would put the tapes in a pile with all the other tapes he got from all the other would-be writers, and then he'd throw the tapes into Old Hickory Lake. Convinced that Cash would like his stuff if he would take the time to listen, Kristofferson took a tape with him in a National Guard helicopter and flew the machine onto Cash's lawn.

"I could have damaged the house or the helicopter, and I could have gotten into trouble with the Guard, or John could have shot me out of the sky," Kristofferson said. "It could have gone real wrong."

It didn't go wrong. Cash wound up cutting a stunning version of "Sunday Morning Coming Down," and the two began a friendship of mutual respect and admiration that would last throughout Cash's life and that would result in Kristofferson's appearances on Cash's taste-making ABC television show.

The down side is that Kristofferson has spent a few minutes in nearly every one of his thousands of interviews talking about the flying-onto-Cash's-yard stunt. And Cash's interviews about the thing gave people the wrong idea.

"Johnny always said I got out of the helicopter with a beer in one hand and a tape in the other," he said. "I wouldn't have been able to fly while holding all that. It was damn hard to fly a helicopter in those days."

Roger Miller was a big deal. Still is, really. Maybe more so now in death, when he's larger than life. Back then he was just… life. And back then he took an interest in Kristofferson. He took an interest in the Bobby McGee song, particularly, though he was well pleased with the Miller-esque "Best Of All Possible Worlds" and the ruminative "Darby's Castle" as well. In 1969, he recorded all of those, and in that same year Johnny Cash brought Kristofferson up to sing at the Newport Folk Festival, and in that same year Ray Stevens recorded "Sunday Morning Coming Down." And after that things got good and weird and lucrative for Kris Kristofferson. Decades later, Tim Carroll would write that Nashville is a five-year-town. Kristofferson got in just under the wire. The helicopter trick was neither shame nor salvation.

In the spring of 1970, Kris Kristofferson released his first album. It was called Kristofferson, and, in terms of dollars earned, it wasn't any kind of table-thumping smash. The songs contained on that album, though, spoke to people. "For The Good Times" hit No. 1 for Ray Price and "Sunday Morning Coming Down" hit No. 1 for Johnny Cash. "For The Good Times" wound up as the Country Music Association's song of the year and "Sunday Morning Coming Down" wound up as the Academy of Country Music Association's song of the year. No matter what organization was doing the tallying, Kristofferson went from nonentity to relative affluence. And then people started to want to hear the way the author sang the songs that were on the radio. Turned out he sang them like a frog, but like a frog that could communicate.

Kris Kristofferson's songs changed things. Some people point to the way he used sex as part of the storyline, the "Shake it loose and let it fall" deal. That was part of it, but all of that was in service of the songs. Mostly, what he did was to transform reality through poetry and melody. Or to transform poetry and melody through reality. It was not altogether different than what Hank Williams tried, and lots of people will swear it's just as memorable. Kristofferson, Tom T. Hall, Mickey Newbury, John Hartford and some others transformed country songwriting in the same way that Dylan transformed rock 'n' roll songcraft. Nashville-based country songs became literate, layered and respectable.

And other folks began to cut those songs, too. Kristofferson's friend and companion Janis Joplin cut the hell out of "Me and Bobby McGee," and then she died, and after that the song became a hit, and Kristofferson still found the thing tough to hear. He loved the way she did it, but his nerves were raw and frayed, and he couldn't think about her without getting sad.

His career as a performer took off quickly, with a festival performance at the Isle of Wight coming just weeks after he began performing with his band in clubs. Kristofferson brought his band to Europe for the festival show, and he found himself far from the star attraction.

"They were throwing shit at me, but I kept singing," he said. "I told 'em, 'I brought this band over here at my own expense. They told me to do an hour, and I'm going to do an hour, in spite of anything but rifle fire.'"
Right then, band member Billy Swan got Kristofferson's attention and reprimanded, "Don't say 'Rifle fire!'"
For Kristofferson, the early 1970s should have been nothing but fun, yet they were laced with regret. He reconnected with his mother, but love affairs went awry. And there was the lingering notion that perhaps the payoff wasn't worth the struggle, or that the going up wasn't worth the coming down. He knew his victories were made possible by what others would call wildness, irresponsibility and selfishness. If Blake was correct, and if he was called to create, then he was alright. If not, then he was doing something far worse than not living up to his parents' plans: He was not living up to their ideals.

He had built himself a myth, with the drunken nights and the helicopter rides and all such as that. And he was writing things like, "He's a pilgrim and a preacher and a problem when he's stoned/ He's a walkin' contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction/ Takin' every wrong direction on his lonely way back home."

"Of course I was writing about myself," he said. "I was tickled, 'cause Johnny Cash always thought I wrote that song about him. I guess if the shoe fits you can wear it. But what me and Ramblin' Jack and Cash and Chris Gantry had in common is that it is partly truth and partly fiction."

The second marriage was an all-star affair, as Kristofferson hooked up with glamorous singer Rita Coolidge. The two will forever be recalled as one of Nashville's power couples. Onstage, they were augmented by Funky Donnie Fritts, Stephen Bruton, Billy Swan (Yes, the same fellow who did "I Can Help") and others. Offstage, they were beautiful people surrounded by what appeared for all the world to be beautiful circumstances. The husband was good in the movies, where he exuded a combination of handsomeness and believability that was more truth than fiction. The wife was a fine singer and a lovely lady, and they seemed perfect. Trouble is, nothing is perfect. It's all a walking contradiction of some sort. And the marriage didn't last.

In the bitter wake of things, Kristofferson was outraged by the reaction of the people around him, by the way that friends would turn away.

"Hey, Goddamn you, he was your brother," he wrote and sang in a barely-removed third person, talking to the people who were supposed to be close to him. "Turn on your father, sister, mother, brother he was your friend/ Don't you condemn him, leave it to strangers."

Much is made of Kristofferson's politics, of his attention to justice and compassion and fairness. But there is no greater example of such things than the remainder of "Maybe You Heard," a divorce song in which he finds as much fault with those who shun his ex-bride as with those who blame him for the bust-up.

"You used to love her," he sings. "Don't you condemn her, leave it to strangers."

Fame isn't inherently interesting, though Kris Kristofferson made it so. After writing a batch of songs with enough intelligence, sensuality and emotion to alter the course of country music, he moved to California, starred in movies and wrote more songs with intelligence, sensuality and emotion.

He was a fine big-screen actor, and he still is. Lord, he's lived enough to play so many parts from memory: Sinner, sage, fool, drunkard, hard-ass, villain and martyr. As has been well-chronicled, he sometimes invested himself so fully in his characters as to swirl creativity and reality. Those swirls came at the detriment of his own life, though they usually bolstered the believability and impact of whatever film he was working on at the time.

As for the songwriting, his mastery knew few bounds. And the writing led to a performing career that found him playing major halls throughout the 1970s. He was a revered writer, a sex symbol, a movie star and other things to which men aspire, mostly because of the way women react to them. And then he went and got political, went back to being the only Anglo at the parade, to being a riddle speaking prophet who released albums with names like Repossessed and Third World Warrior. It bugged him, and still bugs him, that the more he spoke out the more he was called "irrelevant."

"I was trying, and I'm still trying, to live up to my responsibilities as a human being," he said. "If you're given the tools to be a creative person, would you use them right?"

There's that Blake riff about eternal shame and confusion. Kristofferson never forgot that one.

Not once in the 21st century has Kris Kristofferson been called "irrelevant." His legacy is secured in part by the things he did to put that legacy in question: Toughened by alcohol fire, broadened by his acting experiences, hardened by the passing of decades and illuminated by the performers whose art he's supported (John Prine, Steve Goodman, Todd Snider, etc.) in much the same way that Cash nurtured Kristofferson's art. Blasts of creativity from decades ago now begin to take on a timeless quality, and a Hall of Fame plaque now hangs in Nashville as a reminder of the transformative nature of Kristofferson's contributions. "Every true thing we wrote on the wind is still singing," is a good way to put it, which is why he put it that way.

Kristofferson's remains a contradicted soul. He willingly took every wrong direction along the way, and while the results of those wanderings are unassailable, there was a substantial toll. Pride and embarrassment hold hands through his memories, and he remains given to fits of bleak depression.

"I have lived with the dark, with the 'black dog' they call him," Kris Kristofferson said. "It never leaves totally. You fight it off with family, friends and your work."

He's married now, for what looks for all the world like the last time. He has more children, all handsome enough for movie roles. Now in his 70s, he's making albums, writing lines like "Am I young enough to believe in revolution?" and acting in such a way that makes such questions easier to answer than they were to conceive. Kristofferson believes in revolution, in art, in justice, in words, in actions, in love, in mercy, in excellence, in sorrow, in redemption. He believes in belief, though he's doubted it at times.

"Sometimes I laugh about it today, thinking how audacious I was," he said, 11 stories above the Manhattan fray. "It makes you feel like there's some kind of divine guidance going along there. I know there were mistakes. I know there were things I did that were stupid, and that I probably would rather I didn't do. But I'd hate to change anything because of the way it's turned out."

Kristofferson wrote his music's epitaph early on, in 1971, on the back cover of his second album, The Silver Tongued Devil and I.

"Call these echoes of the going-ups and the coming downs, walking pneumonia and run-of-the-mill madness, colored with guilt, pride, and a vague sense of despair," he wrote. That's as good a description as any for the pleas, prayers and shouts that ring loud enough to drown out guitars, snare strikes, bass rumbles or helicopter blades of any era:
"The going up was worth the coming down."
"We'll take our own chances and pay our own dues."
"Dreaming was as easy as believing it was never going to end."
"Maybe you heard, your old buddy's gone crazy."
"If you can't find nobody else then help yourself to me."
"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."
"And it took me back to something that I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way."
"You have lived up to your name."
"I'll be stronger for whatever I've been through."
"Let me go on loving and believing, 'til it's over."
"So help me, Jesus, I know what I am."

--Peter Cooper, East Nashville, Tenn.

ARP Liner Notes: The American Roots Publishing Story, Chapter 2

When American Roots Publishing released our first CD, Beautiful Dreamer: The Songs of Stephen Foster, we were astonished at the attention it received from the media and music lovers all over the world. Although we cherished it, we never could have predicted that so many people would delight in our little album.

The praise culminated with a Grammy Award for Best Traditional Folk Album at the 2005 Grammy Awards. At the Grammy after-party, between champagne toasts, ARP Vice President Tom Frouge and I began talking about our new dilemma. How in the world would we find a project for our New Great American Songbook Series to follow the now Grammy-winning Beautiful Dreamer: The Songs of Stephen Foster? While I think we were both daunted at the thought of the task that lay before us, Tom pointed out the obvious. We actually have a relationship with a significant American songwriter.

I have been working with Kris Kristofferson as his publicist for several years. There is no doubt he is one of America's most exceptional and important songwriters. There had been some talk around Nashville about one of the major record labels producing a tribute to Kris, but I had an inkling that it wouldn't happen. Tribute CDs aren't typically big sellers and in today's climate at the majors, the bottom line is what matters most.

I said to Tom: "If we can get the family (Willie Nelson, Rosanne Cash, Jessi Colter, Shooter Jennings) and then work from there, man, we could make a fantastic album." Tom agreed. Thus, The Pilgrim: A Celebration of Kris Kristofferson became our pet project for the remainder of 2005 and early 2006.

But the story starts earlier. Al Bunetta of Oh Boy Records hired me to work Kris's Broken Freedom Song: Live From San Francisco album in June, 2003. I had just returned from two weeks in Italy, a much-needed vacation after I was fired from my job as a television producer for speaking out against the war in Iraq. My friend Al knew I needed work (my name was mud in the mainstream country music industry in Nashville) and he was kind enough to call on me for the Kristofferson project.

I was so excited I called my sweetie Paul who was still in Europe working on Bruce Springsteen's The Rising Tour. "Baby, Al Bunetta just hired me to work the new Kris Kristofferson record," I shouted. Long pause. "Kris Kristofferson?" Paul asked. "Isn't he the guy from (Wesley Snipes movie) Blade?

I laughed. My Paul is not exactly hip to country music. "Well," I said, "That's not the first thing I think about when I hear the name Kristofferson, but yes, I think he was in that movie."

In retrospect, that conversation with Paul may have been the seed for the album you hold now. It got me to thinking that although I always thought of Kristofferson first and foremost as a songwriter, there are likely legions of fans that know him only as an actor. There are likely people out there completely unaware that Kris is a songwriting legend. As Peter Cooper notes earlier in this book, Kris changed the songwriting landscape in Nashville. In this town, he is revered for his songwriting, as he should be, and every music person in Nashville is a fan or has been influenced by Kris's work.

Although I had an absolute blast working on the Stephen Foster tribute, dreaming up this album has been an extraordinary experience. Kris is a man I've come to know and love. This is our collective love letter to him—a gift for his 70th birthday and a token of our admiration and respect for his musical legacy. Kris's songs will live forever, and I am proud and happy to add this record to the national archive. It has been especially heartwarming to witness Kris's reaction to these recordings…a moment in time I will remember affectionately for the rest of my life.

As always, there are many people to thank for an endeavor like this one. At the top of the list is Lisa Kristofferson. Lisa is Kris's wife, best friend, mother of their five children, and champion of his work. I'm continually amazed at how she keeps it all together and rolling forward. Lisa and the younger kids go everywhere with Kris and they are one of the finest families I've had the pleasure of knowing. Thank you, Lisa, for your belief in American Roots Publishing, your help in pulling this project together, your continual personal support, and the laughs on the road. You are a friend to many and we are all better people for knowing you.

To Tracy, Kris Jr., Casey, Jesse, Jody, Johnny, Kelly and Blake Kristofferson, the heritage is yours. Thanks for understanding its importance and keepin' it going.

Tom Frouge, my partner, my friend, my counselor (when can we talk about Irving Berlin?) you are the best, best, best and I can't imagine managing ARP without you. I'm glad you were born and the universe saw fit to bring us together.

The venerable Randy Scruggs came on board to produce The Pilgrim: A Celebration of Kris Kristofferson and we are extremely fortunate to have his handprint on this project. Thank you Randy, for the long days and nights, for putting your heart into the music, and for guiding the artists and musicians throughout the process. It's been a pleasure to work with you and to watch you work your magic in the studio.

A special thank you to Peter Cooper for donating his time and talent to write the amazingly insightful liner notes. Thank you, also, to Peter's colleagues at The Tennessean for allowing him to contribute to this project. There was no other choice than Peter to tackle the task at hand. I've not met a journalist who understands Kris and his legacy more than Peter.

Credit for the beautiful packaging of this album goes to Aimee Roberts-Mazurek, who, for the second time, brought our subject to life visually and under the tightest of deadlines and frustrating circumstances. Thanks, Aimee, for still taking my calls and working within our restrictive timelines and resources. Jim Marshall took the vintage photo of Kris on the cover and Matt Gunther took the recent photo of Kris's boots on the back of the booklet. Thanks Guys, for giving me exactly what I wanted.

The American Roots Publishing board of directors: Emmylou Harris, Steve Wozniak, Cameron Strang, Dale Cockrell, Stephen Bond Garvan, Tom Frouge, Dave Marsh, Steve Fishell, Kathi Whitley, and Bobbie Eakes. Can you believe we've come this far? Thanks for believing and pushing on in spite of everything else going on in your busy lives. Earnest thanks also to Cameron and New West Records for distributing Beautiful Dreamer internationally, which generated much of the resources for us to complete this CD.

When we started working on this project, Dave Marsh, Tom and I agreed from the beginning that the only way we would do it is if we could count on Willie Nelson, Rosanne Cash, Jessi Colter and Shooter Jennings being part of the record. Kris's history with Willie, Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings insisted that they be included, and I couldn't fathom doing an album of Kristofferson songs without the four of them contributing. Steve Fishell, Mark Rothbaum, John Leventhal, Dan Gillis and Marc Dottore were instrumental in helping us secure recordings from these four artists. We are sincerely grateful to all. This album wouldn't be complete without them.

After the first four artists, there were obvious choices of artists who had clearly been influenced by Kris and we knew were fans. We reached out to Emmylou Harris (and her friends Jon Randall, Sam Bush and Byron House), Rodney Crowell, Todd Snider, Shawn Camp, and Bruce Robison & Kelly Willis knowing they were natural choices for the album, loved Kris, and could take Kris's compositions and make them their own. Although we expected great things from all of them, we are humbled by their imaginative choices and fabulous performances. Thank you.

Then there were the wildcards. Randy, Tom and I (with some interesting aid from Lisa Kristofferson) threw around names of artists we thought would be cool to have on the album and not the usual suspects. Furthermore, it was a goal of Tom's we represented through our choices the scope and breadth of Kris's influence (after all, his songs have been covered by everyone from Janis Joplin to Ray Price to Al Green) as well as his political and social consciousness as a songwriter and activist. We're thrilled that Brian McKnight, Jill Sobule, Lloyd Cole, Patty Griffin, Charanga Cakewalk, Russell Crowe & The Ordinary Fear of God, Gretchen Wilson, Marta Gómez and Marshall Chapman were inspired to contribute. Of course, we couldn't have a musical prodigy like Randy Scruggs in the room without him contributing a track. Special thanks to Steve Fishell for jumping in enthusiastically when we needed him. As always, you rock, Brother.

All of these artists donated their talent to further our mission of preserving American culture through music, literature and art. We are enormously grateful. It's clear to me after our first two projects that our music community abounds with benevolent and compassionate souls. I am privileged to live and work among them.

Kris, thanks for the incredible ride and for believing in me. Working with you is inspirational.

As always, to Paul Whitfield for daily encouragement, love, support, and indulgence. I love you.

This record is dedicated to my daughter, Michelle Lynn Brockman, with the wish that it inspires her to create her own wonderful life.

Tamara Saviano
Nashville, TN
February 9, 2006
TSaviano@comcast.net

Biography

Kris Kristofferson has been making things happen his entire life. Born in Texas and raised in a military family, he was a Golden Gloves boxer who studied creative writing at Pomona College in California. The Phi Beta Kappa graduate earned a Rhodes scholarship to study literature at Oxford, where he boxed, played rugby and continued to write songs. After graduating from Oxford, Kristofferson served in the army as an Airborne Ranger helicopter pilot and achieved the rank of Captain. In 1965, Kristofferson turned down an assignment to teach at West Point and, inspired by songwriters like Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash, moved to Nashville to pursue his music.

"When I was in the army, I was one of the few people outside of his personal friends who knew about Willie Nelson," Kristofferson recalls. "I listened to a disc jockey who happened to be a Willie fan. He would play Willie's songs and talk about him all the time. By the time I got to Nashville, he was a superhero to me. For guys like me, Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson were two gods we worshipped. Then Willie and I got to be best friends. I came from a position of idolizing him to finding out he's the funniest son of a bitch you could be around."

After struggling in Music City for several years, Kristofferson achieved remarkable success as a country songwriter at the start of the 1970s. His songs "Me and Bobby McGee," "Help Me Make It Through the Night," "Sunday Morning Coming Down," and "For the Good Times," all chart-topping hits, helped redefine country songwriting. By 1987, it was estimated that more than 450 artists had recorded Kristofferson's compositions.

His renown as a songwriter triggered Kristofferson's successful career as a performer and that, in turn, brought him to the attention of Hollywood, leading to his flourishing career as a film actor. Kristofferson has acted in more than 50 films. In 1977 He won a Golden Globe for Best Actor in "A Star Is Born." He's appeared in cult favorites including the "Blade" trilogy, "Lone Star," "A Soldier's Daughter Never Cries," "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore," "Blume In Love," "Cisco Pike," and "Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid." Recent films include "Fast Food Nation," "The Wendell Baker Story," "Dreamer: Inspired By A True Story," "The Jacket," "Silver City," and "Disappearances."

Heralded as an artist's artist, the three-time GRAMMY winner has recorded 26 albums, including three with pals Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings as part of the Highwaymen. Kristofferson has spent three decades performing concerts all over the world, in most recent years in a solo acoustic setting, which puts the focus on the songs. "There's an honesty in the sparseness. It feels like direct communication to the listener," he says. "I still have more fun when I'm with the band, but being alone is freer, somehow. It's like being an old blues guy, just completely stripped away."

Kristofferson has reached living legend status, but that hasn't changed or hindered his creativity. His current CD, This Old Road contains eleven gems that explore love, gratitude, aging, war, and his ever-present theme of freedom. "If you took freedom out of the songs, you'd have very few Kristofferson songs," he laughs.

In addition to many other awards, Kristofferson is a member of the Country Music Hall of Fame, winner of the prestigious Johnny Mercer Award from the Songwriter Hall of Fame, and was honored with the American Veteran's Association's "Veteran of the Year Award" in 2002. For Kristofferson's 70th birthday in 2006, his friends and admirers gifted him with a tribute CD, The Pilgrim: A Celebration of Kris Kristofferson. Stars including Willie Nelson, Russell Crowe, Emmylou Harris, Gretchen Wilson, Rosanne Cash, and Brian McKnight recorded 17 of Kristofferson's compositions for the tribute. In 2007, Kristofferson was honored with the Johnny Cash Visionary Award from Country Music Television.

Download bio as pdf

Quotes

What critics are saying about The Pilgrim: A Celebration of Kris Kristofferson

"One of the most consistently engaging and worthwhile Americana tribute albums of recent years."
— Barry Mazor, No Depression

"What makes the album work is the distinctive personal voice each artist gives to these earthy, poetic tunes."
— Michael McCall, Associated Press

"There's a palpable sense of love and respect permeating this cozy and homey 70th birthday party."
— Jeff Tamarkin, allmusic.com

"This exemplary tribute showcases the many facets of his songwriting--political, spiritual, self-mythologizing, peerlessly romantic--while celebrating the esteem in which he's held by generations of fellow artists."
— Don McLeese, amazon.com

"Kristofferson's true genius is his ability to write about romance, spirituality, and social consciousness with equal amounts of intensity and elegance, and the 18 songs here expose those qualities with obvious reverence."
— Jim Caligiuri, Austin Chronicle

"What's a fitting gift for a legendary singer/songwriter for his 70th birthday? How about a tribute album? Even better, how about a great tribute album?"
— Christy Goelz, Fort Worth Star-Telegram

"The producers were apparently pretty serious about taking chances and about illustrating Kristofferson’s sphere of influence… Hopefully there are several chapters yet to be written for Kristofferson and for American Roots, which might just want to clear some shelf space next to that Grammy."
— Sean Moores, hickorywind.org

"The final track, listed as 'Coda,' has Kristofferson himself delivering his 1970 song 'Please Don’t Tell Me How the Story Ends.' Sorry to ruin it for you, Kris, but the story ends with you being an all-time country music great, and this album testifies to that fact."
— Tom Farrell, Hustler Magazine

"The second of American Roots Publishing's 'The New Great American Songbook Series,' The Pilgrim matches their first release, Beautiful Dreamer: The Songs of Stephen Foster in ambition, scope, and the successful realization of their lofty artistic goals."
— Steven Stone, Vintage Guitar

"This is one tribute album that surpasses expectations by offering some engaging interpretations of his timeless material."
— Newhouse News Service

Press Releases

The Pilgrim: A Celebration of Kris Kristofferson
Arrives June 27 from American Roots Publishing

Grammy-Winners, Legends, Friends & Fans Interpret the Poetry of an Icon/Outlaw

May 15, 2006
Nashville, TN

When Beautiful Dreamer: The Songs of Stephen Foster, America Roots Publishing's inaugural release, won the Best Traditional Folk Album Grammy, founder Tamara Saviano and VP Tom Frouge knew it would take something special to follow their launch project.

Thankfully, that inspiration was already in the family--Saviano's longtime client, friend and mentor Kris Kristofferson, whose songwriting--often overlooked in the fullness of his superstardom--defined the intersection of genuine poetry, human fragility and the quest for love, dignity and personal freedom.

With 18 songs spanning the breadth of Kristofferson's career - tendered by an expansive roster of artists across myriad genres (r&b's silken Brian McKnight caressing “Me & Bobby McGee,” Latina songstress Marta Gomez embracing the humanistic protest of “The Circle” and Patti Griffin with Charanga Cakewalk on an austere “Sandinista,” popfringe writers Lloyd Cole & Jill Sobule entangling “For The Good Times” and Oscar-winner Russell Crowe's heroistic turn on “Darby's Castle”), The Pilgrim offers testament to the truth, timelessness and timeliness of the former Rhodes Scholar, Country Music Hall of Famer and original Outlaw's work.

Starting with “family,” Frouge and Saviano went to those closest: Rosanne Cash (“Lovin' Him Was Easier”), Willie Nelson (“The Legend”), Jessi Colter (“The Captive”) and Shooter Jennings (“The Silver Tongued Devil & I”) - and then expanded out to include old friends like Marshall Chapman (“Jesus Was A Capircorn”), Emmylou Harris (“The Pilgrim: Chapter 33”), Texans in Rodney Crowell (“Come Sundown”) and Bruce Robison & Kelly Willis (“Help Me Make It Through The Night”) and Music Row rebels and refugees, worn for the wear but true believers in song Todd Snider (“Maybe You Heard”), Shawn Camp (“Why Me”) and Gretchen Wilson (“Sunday Morning Coming Down”).

Produced by Grammy-winner Randy Scruggs (Will The Circle Be Unbroken, Vol. 2), who contributes the breathtaking instrumental “Smile at Me Again,” and featuring a 1970 demo from Kristofferson of “Please Don't Tell Me How The Story Ends,” along with brilliantly written extensive liner notes by The Tennessean music writer Peter Cooper, The Pilgrim is a legacy of love.

Begun as a way to maintain the artistic standards and integrity of a burgeoning organization built on principles, not profit, their sophomore release quickly blossomed into something far more personal.

Music journalists have always remarked on how Kris writes a lot about freedom, but what he's really writing about is love and life," Saviano says. "There are many people who don't know Kris as a songwriter--and to us, that's the most important part of his storied career. Hopefully with this record, it'll be obvious how much Kris changed the way we all live, love and feel about our place in the world. Like Stephen Foster before him, I believe Kris's songs are classics and generations after us will celebrate him as one of America's greatest songwriters."

"It's been so humbling to work on this project," says Frouge. "Kris Kristofferson is one of my all-time favorite songwriters but beyond that he is a person I greatly admire--a man who has always stood fast for human rights and justice, for the displaced, here and abroad, and has never flinched. Our goal for this tribute is to reflect both of these aspects. If Kris had only written 'Sunday Morning Coming Down' and 'Me & Bobby McGee' he would be canonized as one of our greatest songwriters--but his catalogue and it's varied subject matter is as expansive as his influence and his unselfish motivation to create awareness on issues with global, philosophical and emotional significance. Kristofferson is a national treasure and while he has been celebrated for his achievements, this tribute--and the artists involved-- focuses on the breadth and scope of a career and a life of honesty and integrity lived without compromise."

For more information on The Pilgrim: A Celebration of Kris Kristofferson contact: