“Scroll down to the end of the article to listen to music.”
Introduction
Have you ever heard a song that feels like a conversation with an old friend—one who understands your darkest days and yet offers a glimmer of hope? That’s exactly what Kris Kristofferson’s “To Beat the Devil” does. Released in 1970 on his debut album Kristofferson, this song is more than just a piece of music. It’s a raw, honest portrayal of the artist’s own battles, as well as a comforting reminder to anyone who’s ever felt the weight of the world on their shoulders.
The narrative begins with Kristofferson describing a chance encounter with a washed-up musician in a run-down bar, a man who’s given up on his dreams because, as he puts it, “nobody listens.” This character could have easily been Kristofferson himself, or any artist struggling to keep the fire alive amidst rejection and self-doubt. What makes the song truly special, though, is the way it taps into a universal struggle—the feeling of fighting against the odds, wrestling with self-doubt, and coming face-to-face with that metaphorical “devil” who tells you to just give up.
But here’s where the magic of the song lies: Instead of succumbing to despair, Kristofferson turns it around, as if looking that devil in the eye and saying, “Not today.” It’s the line, “I said, ‘If you waste your time a-talkin’ to the people who don’t listen, to the things that you are saying, who do you think’s gonna hear?’” that resonates most. It’s Kristofferson’s way of reminding himself—and us—that even when it feels like nobody’s listening, even when every door seems closed, we’ve got to keep pushing forward. Because, in the end, it’s not about winning or losing; it’s about finding the strength to keep playing the game.
The song has an almost conversational tone, making it feel deeply personal and relatable. It’s as if Kristofferson himself is sitting across from you, telling you this story over a drink, his voice a mix of weariness and defiance. There’s a poetic grit to his words, a kind of weary resilience that speaks to anyone who’s been at their lowest but still found a way to push on.
Beyond its lyrics, “To Beat the Devil” also stands out musically. The melody is simple yet haunting, allowing the words to take center stage. There’s no need for embellishment here—just a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm that pulls you into the story, making you hang onto every word.
Kristofferson once said that the song was inspired by a real-life meeting with Johnny Cash, who was struggling with his own demons at the time. Cash, like many artists, had been “beaten down” by the industry, by addiction, by life itself. But this song, in its quiet way, pays tribute to those who keep fighting, those who refuse to let the devil have the last word.
In the end, “To Beat the Devil” isn’t just a song; it’s an anthem for the weary, a battle cry for anyone who’s ever felt the pull of giving up. It’s a reminder that sometimes, just showing up and refusing to surrender is its own kind of victory.
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Lyrics
A couple of years back, I come across a great and wasted friend of mine in the hallway of a recording studio; and while he was reciting some poetry to me that he’d written, I saw that he was about a step away from dyin’ and I couldn’t help but wonder why. And the lines of this song occurred to me. I’m happy to say he’s no longer wasted and he’s got him a good woman. And I’d like to dedicate this to John and June, who helped show me how to beat the devil.
It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row.
And I was lookin’ for a place to get myself out of the cold.
To warm the frozen feelin’ that was eatin’ at my soul.
Keep the chilly wind off my guitar.
My thirsty wanted whisky; my hungry needed beans,
But it’d been of month of paydays since I’d heard that eagle scream.
So with a stomach full of empty and a pocket full of dreams,
I left my pride and stepped inside a bar.
Actually, I guess you’d could call it a Tavern:
Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the floor;
Friendly shadows.
I saw that there was just one old man sittin’ at the bar.
And in the mirror I could see him checkin’ me and my guitar.
An’ he turned and said: “Come up here boy, and show us what you are.”
I said: “I’m dry.” He bought me a beer.
He nodded at my guitar and said: “It’s a tough life, ain’t it?”
I just looked at him. He said: “You ain’t makin’ any money, are you?”
I said: “You’ve been readin’ my mail.”
He just smiled and said: “Let me see that guitar.
“I’ve got something you oughta hear.”
Then he laid it on me:
[Sung:]
“If you waste your time a-talkin’ to the people who don’t listen,
“To the things that you are sayin’, who do you think’s gonna hear.
“And if you should die explainin’ how the things that they complain about,
“Are things they could be changin’, who do you think’s gonna care?”
There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind,
Who were crucified for what they tried to show.
And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time.
‘Cos the truth remains that no-one wants to know.
[Spoken:]
Well, the old man was a stranger, but I’d heard his song before,
Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door.
When no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor,
And lonesome was more than a state of mind.