The Country Music history podcast Cocaine and Rhinestones called this book “everything a Country Artist’s autobiography should be.” Even if you aren’t into this particular genre (I was not and have no plans to read any anytime soon), this is a worthwhile read. And despite the (content warning) constant cussing (including many “f-bombs”), I even felt the Spirit at one point. Let me explain:
The Louvin Brothers (birth name “Loudermilk” – they changed it because people made fun of their name and they felt a different name would make it easier to get on the Grand Ole Opry) grew up the children of cotton farmers in the midst of the Great Depression. As they had been singing together since children, they had what Country artists call “blood harmony” – the kind of harmony only two brothers who are intimately familiar with each other’s voices can have. Many critics and fans say that the recording equipment of the era could never accurately capture just how tight their harmonies were.
Ira, the older brother, battled alcohol abuse and spousal abuse (both giving and getting – he was shot six times by one of his many spouses), whereas younger brother Charlie was the good boy who never drank and had a solid, successful, and single marriage. They eventually broke up when Ira started either not showing up to shows, or showing up too drunk to perform.
Shortly after they broke up, Ira was killed in a drunk driving accident (amazingly, he was sober at the time – the other driver was drunk and crossed over the median) after returning from a solo concert, and Charlie blamed himself somewhat, thinking perhaps if they had stayed together Ira would not have been on the road at that point, and he also worried about the state of his brother’s soul.
Well, at one point Charlie felt an urgent need (a prompting, we might call it) to go visit his brother’s grave at something like 2 a.m.
As he sat on a bench near his brother’s grave, he hears Ira’s mandolin start to play, and then he heard his brother singing. He sang along, a “last duet”, and then he heard the mandolin fade off into the distance. This assured him his brother was fine, and it comforted his soul.
A skeptic or atheist might just explain it away as grief. But honestly, I felt the Spirit during that part of his narrative. And considering over half of US adults (in a supposedly secularized society) report interacting with dead relatives, I think the Spirit World is more interactive than we often realize.
Thanks for this. Way to find a diamond in the rough. There is an interesting venn diagram somewhere that shows the intersection between people who believe in ghosts, who believe they have felt the presence of ancestors, and who believe in the Holy Ghost. The intersection, as I recall, is less than I thought it would be.
As one who lives and works alone, but who is almost never fully alone, I believe Charlie’s story with my whole heart. Thanks, Ivan.
Nice that some people on the “other side” get to help those still here with grief. Tells me how much Charlie meant to Ira.