J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown – January ’11 #10: “River” by David Allan Coe

River is the name of my youngest daughter, and she is the wide open spirit amongst our children, most reminding me of myself when I was little, both in wacky style and looks. Her name and mine, in fact, I have noted in my nerd brain are 60% exact replicas of each other (R-x-V-E-x). All of our children have copied what my parents did with me by giving me the name Raven – we have a Gypsy, a Phoenix, and a River. Thus, they can tattoo their names on themselves graphically when they are older (though my oldest has already said she’s never going to drink or get a tattoo because she doesn’t want to “pollute my body”). The go-to name for a son was going to be Nation, which would’ve been fine, but I’m kinda glad it never happened. That’s a heavy fucking name to be saddled with. I know my life has probably been altered plenty by carrying the name of “Raven” on my birth certificate, and being known as that from birth. The name was inherited from a friend of my folks’ who had a sort of infamous ’57 Chevy muscle car back in Cumberland County in the late ‘60s. He suffered a mysterious death involving wrecking his car along a road he had driven blind a million times before. He had previously upset some people from up north in a money race, so the theory I heard most growing up was he had been ran off the road.
I feel that some of their names have automatically influenced all of my children in similar manners. Gypsy is quiet and artistic and a truly beautiful and cerebral person. Phoenix is young and struggles to find comfort in her self, and even wants to be called Charlotte at times (her first name). We have not said no, but instead said if she still feels that way in two weeks, we’ll start. She never does. She is Phoenix, and will eventually find her rebirth from whatever internal struggle she was born with as the center child in this family. River just goes. More than any of other children, she leaps before she looks, and if she lands head first on hardwood troubles, tends to find laughter in that as often as tears. As a parent, this can be distressing, because you’d like for your child to protect her skull. But at the same time, with such a seriously psychically powerful household with multiple fifty-foot auras crowding around each other, it’s nice to have that “don’t give a fuck” youthful goofiness shine into the mix with a little bit of purple to mellow out all the lime greens.
I just found the Heartworn Highways this version of “River” comes from, and every time I play it, I go, “Hey River, here’s a song about you,” and she’ll take her wooden noisemaker thing she uses for a microphone and sashay around the kitchen singing barely intelligible 3-year-old songs from her pure little golden head. In-laws who respect money more than aura bought her some high dollar record-your-own-voice doohickey microphone for Christmas, nice enough to leave the price tag on it as well (how tacky – and what a waste at $75). That sits in a moldy basket on the bathroom floor with some dollar store mermaids. When she is singing her soul out, River uses that same wooden noisemaker thing as her microphone. And if she’s really getting into something, she pushes this purple turtle footstool we have into the middle of the kitchen floor and stands on top that to get everyone’s best attention.
STEAL “River”
NEXT UP: One of my two favorite jazz songs of forever!