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“Shot poor Collins, shot him through and through…”

We rarely shy away from research in this blog.  Yet, one reason to focus on this murder ballad as art, and to lay off the background, is that there’s precious little in the way of its history to know.  The lyrics give us few clues.  No motive is ascribed to Louis Collins’s murderers, Bob and (another) Louis. None is needed for the song to work. But there are a few tidbits worth mentioning in the pursuit of provenance. In 2011, Philip R. Ratcliffe included a couple in his comprehensive biography Mississippi John Hurt – His Life, His Times, His Blues.

The origin of the song “Louis Collins” has proved something of a mystery. Only John Hurt’s version of the song is known, and he almost certainly wrote it about a real event. Jerry Ricks reckoned that it was a favorite song of John’s and was about his cousin. Conversations with John, Tom Hoskins, and others during the first recording sessions for Piedmont provided confirmation from John that the murder was about a real event, but John said that it did not happen locally and did not mention a cousin. A leading question from Tom Hoskins elicited a response from John that the murder may have happened in Memphis, leaving the truth in some doubt. Another source states that John made up the song from hearing people talk about the murder, which suggest that it was a well-publicized event. John added that “He [Collins] was a great man, I know that, and he was killed by two men named Bob and Louis. I got enough of the story to write the song.”

The only other theories I could find were mentioned online by John Garst, the chemist turned amateur folklorist who uncovered the story behind the murder ballad “Delia’s Gone.”  You can read a transcription of Garst’s sleuth-work here, but suffice it to say he finds only two examples of notable southern homicides of a man with the right name.  One was a barroom murder in Comanche County, Texas in 1880 – the right setting in relation to the lyrics, but unlikely as a story Hurt would have heard as big news forty years later.  The other was the 1924 execution of a prominent citizen of McDowell County, West Virginia, one Lewis Collins, in his own bed by an unknown killer.  His son-in-law was charged but acquitted, and the events surrounding it all made big local news for about six months. Though radio was in its infancy as a tool of mass media, that murder might have been the subject of gossip over 500 miles away in Mississippi when Hurt was a young adult – but the details are wrong in comparison to the lyrics.

Unfortunately, that’s it for the provenance I’m afraid. I know, I know – you’re heartbroken.  You were really looking forward to several paragraphs of detailed digging and historical context!  If anyone can find more, please comment below.  For now, though, let’s wipe our tears and get back to some music.

“Kind friends, oh ain’t it hard…?”

Though I’m not the first to say it, the wonderful thing about reproducing John Hurt’s art is that, on the one hand, no one can come close to sounding like him – but on the other, his music is accessible to a variety of performers and adapts itself well to diverse styles.  In other words, talented pickers/singers who make the effort can cover Hurt and pull it off beautifully without ever having to worry about being derivative.  It’s a wonderful gift woven directly into the fabric of his songs.  You don’t believe me?  Again, don’t take my word for it.  (And if you don’t like my curated top five examples, please check out my Spotify playlist.)

Click to play “Louis Collins”
from Shady Grove

For a Deadhead like me, Garcia and Grisman’s version is “just lovely, a symphony.” Jerry’s comments before the performance exhibit a good-natured sarcasm that befits the occasion – a meeting of two old friends with a pick-up band in a kick-ass private studio playing whatever-the-hell they wish.  At first, no one meant for this recording to make it to public release. But Garcia’s passing changed all that.  His finger-picking and voice here are far from technical perfection, but they hold up fine and steady like a poor carpenter’s shotgun shack in the Mississippi woods east of the big river. And Grisman’s mandolin flows like muddy holy water.

Click to play “Louis Collins” from
Songs of Mississippi John Hurt

On his 1999 tribute album Songs of Mississippi John Hurt, folk giant Bill Morrissey took his inspiration from the refrain “angels laid him away” and turned “Louis Collins” into a sort of blues spiritual – essentially a gospel bad man ballad. I have to admit, I’d rather hear Bill’s soft but gravelly voice in a more traditional performance of the song. But Morrissey’s goal was clearly not to imitate one of his heroes – on this song and the entire album he seems to be elevating Hurt’s music and lyrics in such a way that his own post-modern folk audience might hear the good news in a fresh way. Though it’s not my cup of tea, respect for that audience – and more importantly for Morrissey himself – compels me to include this one.

Click to play “Louis Collins”
from Bootlegger’s Daughter

Rachel Harrington, an Oregonian purveyor of Americana, covered “Louis Collins” on her critically acclaimed 2007 debut album The Bootlegger’s Daughter.  Though it’s certainly novel to hear the song in a woman’s voice, that’s not really what sets this track apart from more traditional covers.  If Bonnie Raitt performed in an acoustic band with David Rawlings, and they brought Chris Thile out on stage for a mellow number – that trio might have a shot at sounding as nice as Harrington on this track. Though she had her chops down before she went into the studio, it’s still a remarkable achievement for a first outing.  Not only does the record deserve top marks as a production, it’s a solid tribute to that lovely man John Hurt.

Click to play “Louis Collins”
from Foreign Shore

The Swedish quartet Yonder covered “Louis Collins” on their second album Foreign Shore, released in 2010.  I’m new to their music, and its obvious from a quick Internet search that they are not a famous act – but I like what I hear.   Front man Mats Qwarfordt says of their approach “We wanted to make room for stillness and silence in our music …”  There is indeed a quiet, deep breathing in this performance, as if one is standing in the burying ground at the grave of a loved one, years after the loss, looking up from the weathered stone to the trees.  You can get hung up on the accent as they deliver the sacred lines – but I imagine Hurt smiling humbly while listening to the descendants of Vikings deliver his song with such love and care.

Click to play “Louis Collins”
from Baby O!

For my final example, I offer Brooks Williams‘ cover of “Louis Collins” from his 2010 album Baby O. Full disclosure: I picked his name out first from my finished playlist for a listen because my guitar-duo partner-in-crime plays a Larrivee he bought from Williams back in the ’90s. I expected somehow to hear something like that sweet guitar on this track – what a surprise! This finger-picking slide-guitar soul-celebration of a song is at once delicate and edgy, both firmly rooted and reaching recklessly to the heavens. It’s easy to call it a traditional performance, because it is! But it also seems like a bold experiment. Blah, blah…  Just check this one out!

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