The first time I remember listening to Tanya Tucker’s song “Delta Dawn” was at a restaurant in the Florida panhandle called Redd’s. It was a gas station-restaurant-karaoke bar amalgamation my family had read about online, where the only singer was a woman named Redd, who I assumed was the owner. Instead of those dining in walking up to sing, you could pay Redd to sing a song chosen from a book reminiscent of a Cheesecake Factory menu.
In the crammed, dimly lit bar that seemed to be held together by wooden planks and red wallpaper, Redd weaved through the labyrinth of tables, singing. My cousin requested “Delta Dawn,” and although I knew the song, the earliest memory I have of hearing it is in Redd’s titular and surreal station.
When “Delta Dawn” was released in 1972, Tucker was just 13 years old. The track propelled to the top of the country charts and shoved Tucker into the spotlight, her husky voice sounding far more weathered than any newly-teenaged-person should sound. The song, penned by Larry Collins and Alex Harvey, was haunted by the death of Harvey’s mother; she was an alcoholic, and after arriving at one of Harvey’s concerts drunk, he kicked her out. She died in a car accident that night, leading to years of guilt for Harvey.
Given the melancholy themes of alcoholism and guilt sewn into the lyrics of “Delta Dawn,” it is no surprise the song struck such a heavy chord with listeners on its release. As the first single for Tucker’s debut album, the song launched Tucker’s decades-long career of hits and sparked numerous folk and country artists’ musical ambitions.
Music is a powerful invention; it is political, a measuring tool for societal issues. “Delta Dawn” and its downtrodden mood reflects the upheaval in the U.S. at the time. Amid high inflation, domestic unrest because of the U.S.’s involvement in Vietnam and changing societal norms, it makes sense that a song inspired by the death of the songwriter’s mother would be a hit.
Songs like Tucker’s “Delta Dawn” are not only musically enduring, but also act as ways to understand the issues of the past and connect them to our current time. The U.S. — and the world as a whole — faces inflation, domestic unrest and changing societal norms. The monumental events unfolding during the early ‘70s mirror our current standings; President-elect Donald Trump, twice impeached and twice elected, is often compared to former President Richard Nixon, who was twice elected but only once impeached.
In the decades to come, people will likely look back and tie songs released before, during and shortly after Trump’s second presidency and connect them to issues facing the people of their time. Music connects people and societies across years, opening a window into the past in ways few other things can.
However, music can be, and often is, far more present and personal than this. We form connections to the songs that are important to us, connections that are constantly evolving. My earliest memory of “Delta Dawn” is in a bar in Florida, but I associate it with the friendships I’ve made on Ohio University’s campus. My love for Tucker is rooted in my bonds with my family as well as those of my friends.
We as humans form connections over everything, but one of the greatest bridges for these connections is music. We download apps that share the music we listen to with our friends; we track the artists and albums we play throughout the year so we can talk about them; we rush to our friends when we hear a song that reminds us of them. Whole communities are built around people’s favorite genres, and local music scenes gain common faces and repeat concert attendees. In Athens, we walk into bars and meet people and listen to music, music that we can’t help but remember our favorite people singing and dancing to.
In the era of turbulence that is sure to come, music will continue to exist. Finding ways to steady ourselves, ways to take ourselves out of the chaos, ways to not feel like what’s happening only affects you are going to be increasingly important. Music is sure to be one of these ways, and it is sure to be studied and analyzed in order to understand our collective disrupted mental state. But it will also always be a way to remember the people around you are all people who can be your people.
The music you listen to now is anthropological but also interpersonal. “Delta Dawn” exists within the context of the issues of the late 1960s and early 1970s, but it also lingers on the walls of Redd’s and in the voices of my favorite people.
Jackson McCoy is a sophomore studying journalism at Ohio University. Please note that the views and opinions of the columnists do not reflect those of The Post. Want to share your thoughts? Let Jackson know by emailing or tweeting him at jm049122@ohio.edu or @_jackson_mccoy_.
