ON THE TRAIL OF “IN THE PINES” (WHERE THE SUN NEVER SHINES.)

Intro

Some people will recall Nirvana’s mesmerizing performance of “In the Pines” at MTV Unplugged back in 1993. The band, led by Kurt Cobain, labeled its rendition “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” which represents a common alternate title of the traditional folk tune. Whoa. Wait a minute. Nirvana? Doing a folk song? Yes, and before the band launched into the song, Cobain referenced the group’s inspiration for it: the country blues musician Lead Belly. I imagine that many people in the MTV Unplugged audience had not heard of “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” and did not know much about Lead Belly either. When I first encountered the name “Lead Belly” I imagined someone plugged full of bullets, in the midriff. This stage name has a compelling outlaw tinge even as it derives from the man’s actual last name, Ledbetter. Huddie Ledbetter. There, in the air, wafted the royal name Lead Belly as Nirvana built the song, bit by bit, towards the (inevitable) howling vocals.

Most folk songs live happily among the clatter of everyday life, curated by the folk themselves, yet every so often a tune like “In the Pines” will enjoy a large audience moment with performers like Nirvana, bolstered, in this case, by a platinum-selling album that followed Cobain’s death. Tens of millions have found themselves drawn to this performance, and invariably, inquiring minds will want to know where did “In the Pines” come from, what does it represent, and where does it stand today, more than 30 years after Nirvana performed it and roughly 80 years after Lead Belly recorded his momentous rendition. The song may date to the final years of the nineteenth century, give or take, with ultimate roots perhaps in English folksong and English poetry.

The cover page of Judith McCulloh’s 

 detailed and enlightening dissertation

A “Marriage of Songs” (as Opposed to a “Family of Songs”)

Devoted readers know that I maintain more than a passing relationship to the “Liza Jane” family of folk songs. These bright songs originated in the antebellum South among enslaved people and eventually enjoyed large audience moments such as Harry Belafonte’s energetic (and controversial) 1960 performance of “Little Liza Jane” on CBS television in front of thirty or forty million households. As I describe in my 2023 book Poor Gal, the “Liza Jane” family contains several sturdy branches that feature a range of lyrics and melodies but these “family members” share several common threads—none greater than the sassy, obstinate “everywoman” of Liza Jane herself. She never quite says “yes” despite the suitor’s repeated, sometimes frustrated, sometimes cynical efforts at winning her favor. While “Liza Jane” and “In the Pines” exhibit considerable differences, they do possess enough similarities as traditional folk songs such that some comparison will be helpful in exploring their beginnings, travels, and enduring significance.

Anyone studying the evolution of “In the Pines” would have to begin with the excellent work of Judith McCulloh, a decorated folklorist who eventually became Executive Editor of the University of Illinois Press. McCulloh wrote her (unpublished) PhD dissertation on “In the Pines,” completing it in 1970. She cites similarities in tune that enabled a late nineteenth century merger between a formative version of “In the Pines” and a second song commonly known as “The Longest Train.” The combined song would often contain three basic ingredients: (1) a couplet to the effect of “In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines / And I shivered the whole night through”; (2) a couplet to the effect of “The longest train I ever saw / Went down the Georgia Line”; and (3) one or more verses describing the aftermath of a horrific accident in which a character is decapitated. Notably, these verses can have their own variations and there exist many more possible (but secondary) lyrics. Most musicians would title their renditions “In the Pines” but others might call the song “Black Girl” and still others “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” Lead Belly employed both latter titles; he recorded the song more than once.

A precursor song (recorded by Barbara   

Dane) mentions a train 100 coaches long

Before They Merged, How Did “The Longest Train” and “In the Pines” Originate?

Though the “Liza Jane” tunes formed as a group of one-verse songs among enslaved people, they may have been influenced by popular songs and poetry of the era. The same may be true with “In the Pines” and “The Longest Train.” To begin, “The Longest Train” may share lyrics and tonic properties with a suite of other railroad songs including “Nine Hundred Miles” (above) and “Reuben.” Most notably, the decapitation couplets originate among “The Longest Train” songs but these same tunes often simultaneously refer to “Joe Brown’s coal mine” as the site of an impossibly long train. The person in question, Joseph Emerson Brown, served as Georgia’s governor during the Confederacy and after the war owned a coal mine (or perhaps several mines) that exploited the labor of convicts. (Joe Brown may merit a variety of labels, the least of which would be “S.O.B.”) Musicologist Alan Lomax expresses confidence that “The Longest Train” spread into the mountains from African American traditions.

Meanwhile, the tune of “In the Pines” as well as certain lyrics may resemble the ballad “George Collins,” an American interpretation of the English ballads “Lady Alice” and “Clerk Colvill.” Many renditions of “George Collins” describe a dove flying from “pine to pine” (cooing about its lost love) and we might also recall some lines from Tennyson’s early nineteenth century poem “Oenone” concerning a “swimming vapor” that “creeps from pine to pine.” These precursor lyrics project sadness and eeriness that would seem to inform the nascent version of “In the Pines.” Early performances involve the speaker interrogating a love interest or a close relative: “My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me / Tell me where did you sleep last night.” The typical response involves a flight (“in the pines”) to a place of dark isolation (“where the sun never shines”) and where the girl would experience bodily discomfort (“shiver the whole night through.”) There are numerous potential contexts here—betrayal, shame, fear, and punishment—but the precise connections never truly emerge. McCulloh names the state of Georgia as the likely birthplace for one or both songs but also allows nearby states as potential breeding grounds. She additionally speculates on the 1870s as the likely time of inception but neither song turns up in musicological studies, newspaper articles, and other sources during that period and therefore the songs may have formed ten, twenty, or thirty years later.

The regal Lead Belly

The Dominant Twentieth-Century Performances and What They Represent

“Liza Jane” songs frequently traded hands between Black and white musicians and, in the process, became popular in virtually every genre of American music. These songs invited improvisation and virtually every musician obliged by attaching choice “snotches of folk material” (a.k.a. verses that floated from song to song) as well as original lyrics and novel arrangements to the catchy refrains. “Little Liza Jane” for instance rarely presents with a “point A to point B” narrative arc.

Both “In the Pines” and “The Longest Train” demonstrate similar “snotchy” properties, almost to the extent that the songs resist a cohesive story. This may be especially true after the songs merged to form what we might call the “classic contemporary version” of “In the Pines.” While many important musicians recorded “In the Pines”—including an influential bluegrass rendition by Bill Monroe—the two dominant twentieth century performances would have to be those by Lead Belly and Nirvana. As noted, Lead Belly cut a few different records of “In the Pines.” Collectively, these versions inspired generations of folk musicians to come, but in particular, the 1944 recording “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” on the Musicraft label stirred Nirvana at the height of their popularity and clearly informed their 1993 rendition on MTV Unplugged. 

  “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?”
  Lead Belly, 1944

   My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me
   Tell me where did you sleep last night?

   (Come on, tell me baby.)

   In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine
   I will shiver the whole night through.

   My girl, my girl, where will you go?
   I’m going where the cold wind blow.

   (Where’s that at baby?)

   In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine
   I will shiver the whole night through.

   My girl, my girl, don’t you lie to me
   Tell me where did you sleep last night?

   (Come on and tell me something ‘bout it.)

   In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine
   I will shiver the whole night through.

   (Shiver for me now.)

   (Uh huh.)

   (What happen down there?)

   My husband was a hard-working man
   Killed a mile and a half from here.

   (What happened to him?)

   His head was found in a driver wheel
   And his body haven’t never been found.

   My girl, my girl, don’t you lie to me
   Tell me where did you sleep last night?

   (Come on and tell me something ‘bout it.)

   In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine
   I will shiver the whole night through.

The Nirvana lyrics, though rendered somewhat differently, do not stray far from Lead Belly’s example. Both versions omit any trace of “the longest train” language but continue the “interrogation” language, the decapitation accident, and, of course, the description of the pines: a solitary, shivery, dark destination for the girl addressed by the singer. We ought not to debate which version may be better or more powerful. Lead Belly recorded the song without a band in an era before television; Nirvana added two musicians to their trio (including a cellist) and appeared in front of a live studio audience; each of the two songs dominates in its own way.

Critics sometimes breathe scenarios into the lyrics that I find difficult to support. The “sordid pines,” according to one critic writing in The New York Times, “serve as a metaphor for everything from sex to loneliness and death.” I cannot grasp how the pines (trees, cold air, cold wind, cones, needles) serve as a metaphor for sordid sex. As for loneliness and death, both the Nirvana and Lead Belly performances advance rather obvious (i.e., non-metaphorical) content regarding both. Ultimately, the singers address a young woman, demanding to know where she slept the night before and imploring her not to lie. Of course, the word “sleep” could conjure a sexual situation but it could also represent a short, meaningful disappearance.

In both songs, we eventually come to understand that the girl’s husband (her husband) had been killed, had not merely been killed—but decapitated. Were she being challenged about an affair by a boyfriend or a parent, the song would not seem to be about “sordid sex” as much as abject fetishist cruelty, and in fact, might support a brief disappearance as opposed to sordid intimacies. Either way, if the girl is a liar, then how do we know that she fled to “the pines” at all? And if she is telling the truth, then all she says is that she shivered the whole night through (seemingly alone). The text does not mention or imply a tryst. In short, we have Tennyson’s “swimming vapor” creeping from tree to tree. 

The imagery of “In the Pines” may refer to a   

vanishing (or imaginary) American melancholy

Neither Lead Belly nor Nirvana invented “In the Pines.” Both inherited a song that had been condensed, considerably, from more formative material. While both took a folk song and added their unique performative gifts to their performances, we might be brave enough to admit that the songs do not offer much conventional “meaning” at all. (“Meaning” is highly overrated anyway.) The genius of the “Liza Jane” songs centers around the bright engines of their refrains. A musician can add virtually any lyrics to them without sacrificing their essential nature. Folk music tends to operate in “composite” forms that blend lyrics, characters, and variations. By now, a song like “In the Pines” especially resembles a piece built from “snotches” of folk material since its predecessor songs likely came together in precisely such a fashion. A clear, discernible narrative will likely never apply.

Lead Belly created a powerful, influential version of a folk song that he may have learned from (depending upon who you believe) hearing an early recording, serving as chauffeur for John Lomax when Lomax recorded prisoners at Bellwood Prison Camp, trading material with folk musicians of his era including Woody Guthrie, or some combination of these factors. Nirvana obviously intended their performance as a tribute to Lead Belly. Some of the present-day “meaning” therefore would include a group of white musicians trying to inhabit the performance of an African American musician who, himself, likely inhabited both Black and white traditions dating back a few decades into Appalachian railroading and/or coal mining areas—if not the earlier balladry of England. The song presents with menacing properties—the confrontation, the isolated forest, the deadly accident—but in the end, “In the Pines” might succeed (as does “Liza Jane”) because people want to sing the refrain. Yes, the song may appeal to our infatuation with the macabre, or even some inarticulable sense of a vanishing (or imaginary) American melancholy, one that is even more difficult to access in an era of shock journalism, divisive politics, and indifference to mass-casualty events.

    “In the Pines” lives on, quite            

forcefully, in the wake of Nirvana

Coda

The same New York Times reporter suggests that Cobain’s performance “is so definitive that the stray ends of [the song’s] history come together” and that “there is really no need for anyone to ever sing it again.” Tell that to the musicians in St.Lô, whose thumping hip hop rendition from 2012 may rankle “purists” but belongs in the same conversation with Lead Belly and Nirvana. Singer Hanifah Walidah also credits Lead Belly at the very beginning and then channels the song’s content more viscerally, in my opinion, than does Cobain. Her performance (watch the entire video) reminds me, in its own way, of how Nina Simone performed “Little Liza Jane”—at times exhibiting almost a trancelike connection to the Liza Jane character. “In the Pines” (like “Liza Jane”) will continue to evolve, with new genres, styles, and innovations building the song’s legacy: almost like a massive unfinished quilt work. Clearly, there is good reason for others to sing “In the Pines.”

There is also good reason to reinvestigate the history of “In the Pines.” Digitization and other sources will likely enable an updating of Judith McCulloh’s meticulous work with respect to the dates and geographical locales of incipient versions as well as rounding out information on a scoundrel like Joe Brown or a particularly relevant (I hate to say it but) “railroad decapitation.” Like “Liza Jane” I imagine that “In the Pines” will resist “ultimate statements of literal meaning” especially since the decapitation incident (from “The Longest Train”) has been installed—either preposterously or stupendously—among the “interrogation verses” (from “In the Pines”) when the two had nothing originally to do with one another. Yet folk music operates in this way, with “bits of folk material” drifting from version to version. In the end, “In the Pines” is highly relevant today despite or perhaps due to the accidental juxtapositions that make for an eerie listen. Perhaps we should not demand anything more than to acknowledge the industrial brawn that a long train may symbolize, or the urge to flee in the wake of a horrific loss, or the fluencies of a lonely refuge that attract our individuality despite the twin forces of darkness and accusation.  

The song given a treatment by   

a large jazz combo with vocals 

Primary Sources of Information

Judith McCulloh, unpublished dissertation: “In the Pines”: The Melodic-Textual Identity of an American Lyric Folksong Cluster. Indiana University, 1970.

[My own book, Poor Gal: The Cultural History of Little Liza Jane. University Press of Mississippi, November 2023.]

Alan Lomax. The Folk Songs of North America. Doubleday. New York, 1960.

Francis James Child. The English and Scottish Popular Ballads. [In particular “Clerk Colvill” (Child 42) and “Lady Alice” (Child 85).]

Bertrand Harris Bronson. The Traditional Tunes of the Child Ballads. Princeton University Press, 1962.

Lord Alfred Tennyson. “Oenone.” 1829.

Eric Weisbard. “Pop Music: A Simple Song That Lives Beyond Time.” New York Times, November 13, 1994.

Norm Cohen. Long Steel Rail: The Railroad in American Folksong. University of Illinois Press, 1981.

Nicholas Fournier, Todd Harvey, Bertram Lyons, and Nathan Salsburg. Lomax Family Audio Recordings, 1908–1991: A Chronological Guide to Field Trips and Recordings. Library of Congress, 2016.

—A variety of other sources include Wikipedia, Georgia Encyclopedia, discography sites (45cat, Discogs), and a variety of recordings on YouTube, Spotify, and elsewhere. 

Discography of Recordings and Performances

“Where Did You Sleep Last Night.” Nirvana: Kurt Cobain (vocals, acoustic guitar), Krist Novoselic (acoustic guitar); and Dave Grohl (drums); with Lori Goldston (cello) and Pat Smear (acoustic guitar). MTV Unplugged (New York, 1993). Also released as part of an album and as a single.

“Nine Hundred Miles.” Barbara Dane (vocals, guitar). When I Was A Young Girl, Side 1, track 3. Horizon Records SWP-1602. (Los Angeles, 1962). 

“Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” Lead Belly (vocals, guitar). A-side b/w “In New Orleans” B-side. Musicraft 312. (New York, 1944.) Compositional credit given to Huddie Ledbetter; the song is a traditional folk tune.

“In the Pines.” St.Lô: Hanifah Walidah (vocals); iOta (beatmaker); Ton’s (synthesizer? Keyboards?); and DocMau (artistic director). TransMusicales festival (France, 2012). Based upon one of Lead Belly’s recordings.

“Black Girl.” Likely personnel: Clifford Jordan (tenor saxophone); Sandra Douglas (vocals); Julian Priester (trombone); Roy Burrowes (trumpet); Chuck Wayne (banjo); Cedar Walton (piano); Richard Davis (bass); and Albert Heath (drums). These Are My Roots: Clifford Jordan Plays Leadbelly, Side 2, track 3. Atlantic Records 1444. (New York, 1965). Compositional credit is given to Huddie Ledbetter (Lead Belly).