Pity poor Kris Kristofferson. After his discovery and all the subsequent ballyhoo, he was expected, even demanded to save country music from its cotton candy vapidity and be the new—or at least the interim—Dylan. Quite a burden for a young man who possessed a maximum of writing talent and a minimum of vocal prowess. Manfully, he tried to shoulder the mantle thrust upon him by critics and audiences alike. When it became obvious that he couldn't assume all the roles expected of him, he started receiving an unequal share of abuse. All of which is patently ridiculous. It should be apparent to anyone with an average attention span that no one person can do much about the state of most
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contemporary country music and it's even more absurd to ask anyone, even Dylan, to be a "new Dylan."
Kristofferson never tried to be anything more than what he is: a good writer and a fair performer. His ability—not to mention his temperament—is simply too fragile for the superstar role. His three previous albums—full of bits and pieces of his basic themes of social comment, boozy despair, highway exuberance and broken love—appeared hurried and incomplete, though tinged with flashes of brilliance. That sloppiness in the studio began disappearing with Border Lord and is now all but gone with Jesus Was A Capricorn. The latest is so polished, as a matter of fact, that 47 different musicians and singers appear, including a string section. It also marks a departure for Kristofferson, and it's mostly for the better. Capricorn is a satisfying album, though in a more mellow, quiet way than would have been expected. Most conspicuous by its absence is his earlier despair, although the other themes that have sustained him appear less and in muted forms.
The obvious comparisons are to such albums as John Wesley Harding and Carney: Works that mark a certain maturity as well as signifying a breathing spell; a time for the artist to answer critics, to tend to loose ends, and to try out one or two new things. In short, a request that he be at last judged on realistic terms. In that light, he's mostly successful.
The critics get a gentle blast in the title cut, the message of which is "everybody's gotta have somebody to look down on": "Most of us hate anything we don't understand .../If you can't find nobody else/Then help yourself to me./Help yourself, brother."
That song was inspired by John Prine and the debt is acknowledged but another tune here, "Sugar Man," bears a startling resemblance to "St. James Infirmary" and no mention is made of that. There is little of the old Kristofferson here: only one road song ("Out of Mind, Out of Sight") and the only thing that would qualify as an outlaw song ("Jesse Younger") is strangely substanceless. The varying love songs—"It Sure Was (Love)," "Enough for You," and "Give It Time to Be Tender"—are quiescent and almost passive. It's as if th
By the time Kristofferson released this album in 1972, he had seen about 100 people take his songs to the top of the charts, all the while experiencing little or no personal success. The closer "Why Me" changed all that, but the record's real rewards lie in "Nobody Wins" which can really hurt under the right circumstances and "It Sure Was (Love)," which hurts all the time.
