“The Devil’s Right Hand” (artwork courtesy of Christopher Konecki )

Introduction

After enjoying Pat’s excellent exposition of the Grateful Dead’s “China Doll,” I want to turn this week to the third song of the initial trio I envisioned to start out our occasional Implements of Destruction series. Today’s post will depend a good deal on some familiarity with the first two installments of the series, which covered Dave Carter’s “41 Thunderer” and Ellis Paul’s “Autobiography of a Pistol.” All three songs in this initial group focus their themes of murder or murderousness through the symbolic lens of the handgun. All three incorporate an artistic negotiation with the theme of responsibility. All three show us the legacy, the mythology, of the American West.

Carter’s lyrically rich “41 Thunderer” is a multi-layered, inward exploration of the power of temptation and the temptation of power. It resonates regardless of whether you’ve ever held a gun. Paul’s “Autobiography…” is more clever and polemical. Like a joke or a fable, it’s a song that you “get,” rather than a song that “works you over” like “41 Thunderer.” It stakes out territory in a political debate in a way that few of our songs do. It strikes for relevance, whereas “Thunderer” captures something existential and enduring.

“The Devil’s Right Hand,” written by Steve Earle in 1977 is more of a straight-up murder ballad. It’s less supernatural/metaphysical than “41 Thunderer” and a good deal less political than “Autobiography of a Pistol”; although thereby hangs a tale, which we will get to, of course. It’s a song in which the fatal attraction that brings our hero’s downfall is solely between him and his gun. It’s a song from the pen of a 22 year old song writer that has aged with him in a way that would have surprised that 22 year old.

Steve Earle (photo c. 1986)

It’ll get you into trouble, but it can’t get you out

Very early on in the blog, in our first discussion of “Omie Wise,”  we included a clip of “Omie” and Elvis Costello’s sequel to it that ended with a brief interview clip of Steve Earle reflecting on the influence of folk music over rock music. You can listen to the clip here, but the essence of it is that folk music opened the door for rock music to be explored as literature. We’ll take him at his word.

Earle has been generous with interviews through the years in sharing biographical details of his reckless youth, his drug-fueled personal and professional crisis and collapse, and his re-emergence as a redeemed and sober senior statesmen of Americana and left-wing alt.country. He’s a story-teller, which gives us a few more handles on this simple song than we otherwise might have.

A 1977 songwriting date puts “The Devil’s Right Hand” right around Earle’s first Nashville period, when he was working blue-collar day jobs and trying to break through in songwriting and performance circles. He had already made his way through the Texas coffee house circuit, and was following in the footsteps of his hero and mentor, Townes Van Zandt in more ways than one.

Earle first recorded the song for CBS Records in the early 80s, for an album that was never released. Nevertheless, CBS retained the rights to the song for another 5 years. When this period elapsed, Earle was able to re-record it for his 1988 album Copperhead Road. By this time, the song had already been covered by Waylon Jennings. We’ll get to it and a few other covers in the next post.

Lyrics

The song, in this second version, appeared on numerous compilations and live collections over the ensuing years. In live performances, Earle would explicitly and sincerely deny that the song had an anti-gun message.

Here he is in 1987:

He reaffirms this a little less explicitly in a 1990 performance with The Dukes in 1990:

It wasn’t too much longer into the 1990s before Earle’s heroin abuse and associated issues led to prison and rehab. This Spin magazine article from that time chronicles Earle’s nadir, and leaves the reader with a dim forecast for Earle–none too optimistic that a redeemed, revitalized, and sober Earle would again step on to the stage.

But Earle charted a new course. Through a mix of sobriety and a clear, honest, and unapologetically more political bent to his song-craft, the artist reemerged. A different kind of edge started coming through, often in songs that were more political in nature, with a left-wing, populist point of view. The early years of the George W. Bush administration provided him with ample raw material. More importantly, songs from the more mature Earle were themselves more mature–his genius depended neither on his youth nor his addictions.

A few years into this new period of his career, Earle was asked by the producers of Brokeback Mountain to record “The Devil’s Right Hand” for the movie soundtrack. (For those of you keeping score out there, it’s a musical history error in the film–appearing in the film’s timeline before any version of the song was recorded.) Earle later commented that this recording was really the first time he felt that he got it right, in part because he was asked to arrange it as it might sound on a country bar’s jukebox in the 1970s. In other words, it was finally musically set in the decade it was written.

Something else happened to the song after Earle cleaned up. He stopped pushing back against people interpreting the song as having an anti-gun message. Nothing had changed in the song, but Earle had a personal experience that altered his perspective on guns and gun ownership.

You can find several live performances on YouTube and elsewhere where Earle tells the story. The essence of it is that Earle used to own a lot of weapons, having grown up around them in Texas. After he went through rehab, his ex-wife brought his son, Justin Townes Earle, to live with him. The younger Earle soon stole the handgun Earle kept under his mattress for protection, and he wouldn’t reveal where it was. This was around 1996. Steve should tell the rest of the story:

(Free parenting tips from Murder Ballad Monday)

I’m frankly not sure how all this gun possession (or dispossession) related to the conditions of his parole, but it’s a good story, well-told. It speaks to a profound change of perspective on the issue. Earle is more than happy now to say it’s an anti-gun song.

Nothing touched the trigger but the Devil’s right hand.

However much Earle, as the songwriter, renegotiates the song’s meaning, it remains an open question for the listener. We still have some questions within this song about how the gun draws us in and how responsibility seems to fly one way when the bullets are flying another. I think it’s safe to say that whether the song truly contains an anti-gun message is a far more open question than it is with “Autobiography of a Pistol.”

As I mentioned above, this song is actually a much more straightforward ballad than either “41 Thunderer” or “Autobiography of a Pistol.” It’s less lyrically and thematically dense than the former and less gimmicky than the latter. It still testifies to the allure of guns and the ease with which they go off, however; and it’s the power of the gun, rather than the madness of desire, for instance, that overrides whatever good judgment our hero may have. In the end, he’s left with the pitiful defense that it wasn’t him, but the Devil’s right hand that pulled the trigger. The protagonist in this song is like the pistol in Ellis Paul’s–externalizing and scapegoating, shifting the responsibility away, avoiding the inner confrontation.

As a thought experiment, consider how this song functions differently for you from Earle’s own “Carrie Brown.” We may give “Carrie Brown” its own direct attention some day, but it works as an effective foil for isolating how “DRH” engages our core themes. Both have a similar historical setting and feel, but the scorned lover and confessional aspects of “Carrie Brown” carry more weight with me than the pistol worship and shifting of responsibility of “Devil’s Right Hand.”

“Just a song about a juvenile delinquent…”

In all my listening to it, the song wasn’t really hitting home for me. Perhaps this is because I haven’t ever owned a handgun. More likely it’s some of the issues above. It lacks the ancient feel of traditional folk songs, with layers upon layers of detail buried in each word in the story. It doesn’t have the air of romance or that existential quality that haunts other murder ballads.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was missing, at least until I saw the Austin City Limits clip below. Of all the live performances I’ve seen, and even in comparison to Earle’s Brokeback Mountain version when he thought he finally got it right, this one seems to me like the best match of singer, arrangement, and song.

Part of me thinks that Earle’s earlier introduction of the song as “just a folk song” is also off. This murder ballad rocks. Despite the 19th century setting and the country twang, the structure of the song and the sentiment within it are all rock and roll. It supplements the lyrics with a healthy dose of attitude. There’s probably also something to be said for the difference in Earle’s vocal quality earlier in his career, and how it fits the song. Once again, I’m probably trying to eff the ineffable. But however troubled Earle may have been at the time, this more defiant, “up yours” performance is the only one I most believe.

Next up

I’ll add another post later this week with some notable covers of “Devil’s Right Hand.” After that, Pat will take aim on next week’s song. Thanks for reading, and thanks again to Christopher Konecki for sharing the cover image.