Book review: 'Man of Constant Sorrow'

Dr. Ralph Stanley doesn’t mince words in his new ‘Life and Times’ autobiography

“Man of Constant Sorrow: My Life and Times,” Dr. Ralph Stanley with Eddie Dean (Gotham Books, $27.50, 2009): Ralph Stanley doesn’t mince words about being misunderstood. And why not?
All his life, the Dickenson County native has been called the boy with the hundred-year-old voice. And, to hear him say it, he’s been tricked, too, when he’s run for local office.
Oh, another thing: Stanley is nowhere near as “dumb” as he might have been portrayed on stage at the Barter Theatre in Abingdon, Va.
This singer, known for “Pretty Polly” and “Little Maggie,” tours the country – and the world. Still, he has not always gotten along with his hometown folks in Clintwood, Va., and the political circles of Dickenson County.
He’s been shy. In the old days, too, he would let his late brother Carter do all the talking.
So, that left Ralph to hover in the background – with his banjo and his hundred-year-old voice.
“I’m a man of few words, but I try to make ’em count,” Stanley writes in a new autobiography, “Man of Constant Sorrow: My Life and Times.”
With this book, the smoky-voiced crooner reveals his secrets and frustrations in plain-spoken, often broken sentences.
“I’ve got plenty of stuff I’ve kept bottled up, and I’m ready to let it out,” Stanley promises.
For one, he tells the truth about God and whiskey – and how he would once combine the two.
Stanley recalls singing old gospel songs on 500-mile-long car rides. With another musician, he would also trade taking nips off a bottle of whiskey.
“The singing and the sipping set us right,” Stanley writes, “and I reckon it probably saved us from many a car wreck. Never did fall asleep at the wheel, and I’ve made a million miles or more. I reckon the Man Upstairs was taking care of us.”
The prose of Stanley’s “Man of Constant Sorrow” appears jagged, much like the haunting tone of Stanley’s voice.
Never mind Eddie Dean, the writer who helped the musician pen this project: These are Stanley’s words for sure.
Like when he reflects on “”Man of Constant Sorrow: The Story of the Stanley Brothers,” a play featured a few years ago at The Barter Theatre.
“They played me pretty dumb in that play, made me more backwards than I ever was,” Stanley writes. “The writers told me they done that to sell more tickets, and I can understand, because in a play you can make your story any way you want.”
Born in 1927 near Stratton, Va., Stanley grew up wanting to please his Mama. “If anything made my mother happy,” he writes, “well, I was happy, too.”
Stanley formed The Stanley Brothers in 1946 with his brother, Carter. These brothers played music together – and made lots of albums – until Carter’s death in 1966.
Later, as a solo artist, Stanley saw his career rise to its greatest peaks, especially after he was featured a few years ago in an acclaimed box office hit, “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”
Even so, that success came as a surprise: “If you’d told me I’d become famous in my seventies for singing in a comedy movie,” Stanley writes, “I’d have said you were the biggest liar I ever heard.”
With that film, Stanley became known for a dreary yet uplifting a cappella tune called “O Death.”
And, when performing it in concert, he would sometimes apologize. “I got to where I’d introduce ‘O Death’ by warning the crowd, ‘Now here comes the sad part.’ ”
Still, the cheers resonated for Stanley, who styles himself as “an old hillbilly.”
“Music keeps me young,” Stanley writes, “and I’m going to keep right on singing until I can’t no more.”