Sometimes, the most profound encounters with music happen unexpectedly. You might be seeking solace, distraction, or simply background noise, and suddenly, a song pierces through your current state, offering a new perspective, a hidden depth you hadn’t noticed before. This is precisely what occurred when I rediscovered Kris Kristofferson’s “Duvalier’s Dream,” a track that transformed into a deeply resonant “Dream Song” in a moment of introspective listening.
Last week presented its challenges. Amidst the aftermath of a particularly taxing period and the anticipation of a significant meeting, I sought refuge in the simple act of listening to music and reading. Pouring myself a drink, I put on my headphones, aiming to both inspire and drown out the boisterous party upstairs. It was during this moment of seeking tranquility that “Duvalier’s Dream” emerged from my playlist, and it struck me with an unforeseen force, particularly as I was immersed in a passage from Jon Krakauer’s Under the Banner of Heaven.
The passage I was reading explored the fervent religious experimentation of 19th-century America, specifically during the Second Great Awakening. Krakauer writes:
“ ‘Lucy especially was devoted to the mysticism so often found among those suddenly released from the domination and discipline of the church…She accepted a highly personalized God to whom she would talk as if He were a member of the family circle. Her religion was intimate and homely, with God a ubiquitous presence invading dreams, provoking miracles, and blighting sinners’ fields.’…Following the Revolutionary War, the new republic was jarred by a period of ecclesiastical turmoil, during which the established churches were viewed by a large segment of the populace as spiritually bankrupt. The flood of religious experimentation that roiled the United States during the first decades of the nineteenth century, [was] christened the Second Great Awakening… The line separating religion from superstition can be indistinct, and this was especially true during the theological chaos of the Second Great Awakening, in which Joseph came of age. The future prophet’s spiritual curiosity moved him to explore far and wide on both sides of that blurry line.”
Krakauer’s exploration into the blurred lines between faith, superstition, and the intense spiritual curiosity of the era resonated deeply. Having recently devoured Into Thin Air, I was already captivated by Krakauer’s immersive writing style and his ability to dissect complex human motivations. Under the Banner of Heaven, with its focus on Mormon Fundamentalism and the volatile religious landscape of 19th-century America, further ignited my fascination. The era, with its chaotic blend of wealth, poverty, violence, and fervent attempts at moral order within a society grappling with slavery and misogyny, felt incredibly compelling.
It was against this backdrop of religious fervor and personal reflection that “Duvalier’s Dream” transformed for me from a familiar tune into a powerful “dream song.” The confluence of Krakauer’s words and Kristofferson’s melody sparked a reinterpretation, shifting the song’s meaning beyond its surface narrative. Like my previous deep dives into song analysis, this experience felt compelling enough to explore further, driven not just by the song’s resonance with my mental state, but by its inherent quality as a truly great piece of songwriting.
On the surface, “Duvalier’s Dream” appears to be a classic tale of romantic disillusionment. The lyrics depict a man rescued from isolation by a captivating woman, only to be left heartbroken and shattered when she moves on. However, when viewed through the lens of Joseph Smith’s story and the era of spiritual experimentation, the song takes on a richer, more nuanced meaning. Consider Smith’s prophetic charisma and the controversies surrounding “spiritual wifery,” and suddenly, Kristofferson’s words resonate with a different kind of betrayal, a spiritual deception masked by allure.
“He shunned the world of mortals and the sounds of human tongues
And blessed the night that chased their sight away.
A disillusioned dreamer who would never love again
Who’d tried of it and found that it was rotten.…
It’s hard to keep believing when you know you’ve been deceived
To face a lie and dare to try again
But there’s nothing like a woman with a spell of make believe
To make a new believer of a man…
She touched him through the senses that his mind could not control
Then smiling, stepped aside and watched him fall
Betrayed by his own body and the hunger in his soul
Duvalier was a dreamer after all”
Structurally, the song’s brilliance lies in its simplicity. It’s a testament to Kristofferson’s songwriting prowess that “Duvalier’s Dream” captivates without elaborate instrumentation or complex arrangements. The verses are stark, almost bare, while a small ensemble of strings provides a haunting backdrop for the rest of the song. These strings, which open and close the track and fill in the instrumental sections, carry the main riff, resolving with a poignant half-step at the song’s conclusion. This subtle musical motif, particularly emphasized at the very end, creates an eerie sense of resolution that is ultimately unresolved, lingering in the listener’s mind.
The song’s melody and overall sonic atmosphere evoke a sense of familiarity, a feeling that it echoes other musical pieces. While the exact pathways remain elusive – whether Kristofferson consciously or unconsciously incorporated elements from other songs, or whether subsequent artists have drawn inspiration from “Duvalier’s Dream” – the feeling of déjà vu persists. A faint echo of Leonard Cohen’s “Sisters of Mercy” perhaps? The specific connections remain just out of reach, a frustrating yet intriguing aspect of the song’s enigmatic charm.
Adding to the song’s power is Kristofferson’s vocal delivery. As someone who deeply appreciates vocal nuance, I find his performance in “Duvalier’s Dream” particularly compelling. While I admire Kristofferson generally, and even succumbed to the collective excitement of seeing him perform live, his voice in this song elevates it to another level. The subtle creak in his voice as he delivers the final line, “Duvalier was a dreamer, after all,” imbued with a sigh of resignation, encapsulates the song’s core message. It’s a knowing delivery, suggesting a shared understanding of human fallibility, the struggle to transcend our desires, and the inevitability of succumbing to temptation.
This exploration of desire and belief resonates with the themes within Mormonism and similar American religious movements of the 19th century. There seems to be an undercurrent suggesting that these burgeoning faiths, to varying degrees, offered a framework where worldly indulgences could be reconciled with spiritual salvation. Whether it was material wealth or earthly pleasures, these religions, in some interpretations, provided a loophole, a way to navigate human desires without jeopardizing eternal rewards. The story of Duvalier, in this context, becomes a metaphor for the seductive power of belief, the vulnerability to illusion, and the ultimate triumph of human desire over attempts at stoicism or detachment.
My limited research into Kristofferson’s background hasn’t revealed any explicit religious affiliations or intentions. It’s unlikely he consciously intended “Duvalier’s Dream” to be interpreted as a commentary on spiritual conversion and disillusionment. Yet, the beauty of great songwriting lies in its capacity for multiple interpretations. Kristofferson’s artistry, rooted in literary depth and a questioning worldview, allows for such rich, multifaceted readings. In just under three minutes, “Duvalier’s Dream” encapsulates complex themes of desire, deception, and the enduring human search for meaning, solidifying its place as a truly remarkable “dream song” that continues to resonate and reveal new layers with each listen.
