Kris Kristofferson’s Sunday Mornings (and week-day mornings) are coming down. His songs are catching up with him. He’s 77 and “feelingnearly faded as his jeans”. In a moving story forEsquire (May 2014), Turk Pipkin writes, “As he’s aged, his eyes have receded deeper into the geology of his face, deep-blue pools set back in a way that makes you look at them more intently. And the surest sign of his years is in this voice: The deepest baritone will erode to a higher pitch in an old man, and so it is with Kristofferson, whose voice has gone a bit feathery now. You might say that his voice has finally caught up to his words.” (TD could not find an online link to the story. If someone finds it, please post it on our Facebook page.)
In his number-one hit, “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down,” he sings:
Well I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad so I had one more for desert…
Then I crossed the empty street and caught
The Sunday smell of someone fryin’ chicken
And it took me back to something that I’d lost somehow somewhere along the way
On the Sunday morning sidewalk wishing Lord that I was stoned
Cause there’s something in a Sunday makes a body feel alone
There ain’t nothing sure to dying half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleepin’ city sidewalk Sunday morning coming down
