The Louvin Brothers, "I Don't Believe You've Met My Baby" c/w "In The Middle Of Nowhere," Capitol F3300 (rel. 12/1955)

 

The Louvin Brothers are celebrated as one of the great performers in American country music. When they first recorded, aside from a few anomalies, their sole focus was gospel music. Ira Louvin, a hard-drinking, hard-living borderline sociopath, embodied the inner struggle we see in many MAGA congress-critters: a sharp contrast between an alleged hard-line Christian faith and the most worldly desires, actions and behavior a man can conceive.

As has been noted, some of the most chronic users of drugs, booze, pornography, you name it are “good Christians” whose inner life is utter turmoil and chaos. You get a Lindsey Graham—as flaming and obvious a gay man as ever there was who crows against homosexuality, and Pete Hegseth, alcoholic who rails against the unfit through a booze-addled, perpetual cloud of confusion. I pity them for their struggle, but neither are the least bit willing to get out of their private hells; they’re soaking in it.

Ira Louvin was one such person. His religious material is so harsh and extreme that most reactions to it are disbelief. Those not steeped in rigorous religion scoff and chuckle at the hard-line expressions; those like myself, who had hellfire-and-brimstone Southern Baptist childhoods, cannot listen to the Louvins’ religious material: it’s loaded with traumatic triggers.

Thus, I acknowledge that the gospel material exists, but I do not listen to it. I am grateful that they chose to record secular music, starting with 1955’s “When I Stop Dreaming,” one of country music’s most powerful and haunting songs. It was an immediate success and Capitol Records suggested that Charlie and Ira Louvin ease off on the hellfire stuff and focus on chart-friendly material. With reservations, Ira agreed and began to write some of his most salacious material—for other groups.

For sibling harmony trio The Browns, who female member Maxine Ira lusted after, he penned “A Man with a Plan,” a still-shocking story-song of a sleazy late-night pickup that leaves no ambiguity about what will happen as the record ends. Ira never trafficked in such material for his own recordings; his love songs are just a step away from the gospel stuff in their messages of devotion, concern and disappointment. Though both brothers signed their names to their original material, Ira was the driving force behind it all and the clarity of his songwriting remains gripping.

For their follow-up to the first secular hit, they didn’t use their own material. Nashville cleffer/singer Autry Inman, who penned countless songs and was a Decca Records artist in the 1950s. “I Don’t Believe You’ve Met My Baby” remains his finest song; this recording was my introduction to The Louvin Brothers in the mid-1980s and was a musical game-changer for me. Four decades later, its clarity and beauty still entrance me.

Ira’s nimble mandolin kicks off this recording, with Charlie’s acoustic guitar, Paul Yandell's electric guitar and stand-up bass the only instrument. Ira and Charlie trade off the opening lines of each stanza before they resolve in harmony. The song has the eerie air of an old folk ballad; its narrator relates a dream he had that depicted a possible rejection and betrayal but has a surprise ending.

I’ve not come across a song quite like this in all my years of music-loving and it remains among my favorite recordings. It was a country hit in early 1956 but remained unknown to the mainstream world. In recent years, The Louvin Brothers have gotten acceptance from listeners who don’t identify as country fans; they, like George Jones and Johnny Cash, have appeal to many. “I Don’t Believe…” is the finest song the Louvins recorded that wasn’t from Ira’s hand.

The careless Cash Box reviewer got a song title wrong.

“In the Middle of Nowhere” is Ira’s song. This waltz features Charlie’s voice, with Ira’s angelic high harmonies here and there. I’m fond of Charlie Louvin’s humble, sincere voice, and it’s ideal for this tense song of romantic uncertainty.

Ira’s mandolin and Yandell’s guitar trade off the instrumental chorus. Though it can’t compare to the A-side, it’s a powerful piece and typical of the quality and intensity of Ira Louvin’s songwriting.

In May 1956, the brothers made their first proper album, Tragic Songs of Life, which focused on traditional folk/country material peppered with a few originals and highlighted with two incandescent versions of classic folk songs, “Knoxville Girl” and “In the Pines.” Ira’s original “Alabama,” a holdover from their first secular session, is a curious song that celebrates the brothers’ home state with rapturous accounts of its natural beauty and a mention of the child labor they endured earlier in life. It evokes a mixed feeling unique in country music: is this really worth celebrating? There’s no sure answer, but the performances on this album remain mesmerizing.

Tomorrow: more country-flavored sounds with a Sun Records single by Ernie Chaffin from 1959.