1965 Roger Miller: King Of The Road

The romance of motoring is often portrayed as taking joy from being at the wheel with the open road stretching out in front you. From the highbrow wordplay of Whitman's 'Song Of The Open Road', the Beat travels of Kerouac and Cassady in 'On The Road' to the clowning of Hope and Crosby on various roads to God knows where, the concept has been writ large in American culture since the Iron Horse opened up their vast boundaries - they've got the space for it after all. In Britain not so. I've already briefly mentioned Billy Bragg's piss-taking of the 'Route 66' iconography on 'A13 Trunk Road To The Sea': "It starts down in Wapping, there ain't no stopping. By-pass Barking and straight through Dagenham. Down to Grays Thurrock, and rather near Basildon Pitsea, Thundersley, Hadleigh, Leigh-On-Sea, Chalkwell, Prittlewell, Southend's the end". Yes, the end - we're never far from anywhere in the UK and the romance of the road trip too often descends into a bad tempered nightmare of roadworks and delays.*As for trains, don't get me started.

It's this freedom that 'King Of The Road' celebrates - not motoring per se, but unfettered, shiftless travel by any means at your disposal in order to hop from one situation to the next. Miller's idealised romanticism of an American hobo deftly shaves off any rough edges like cold, hunger and random violence in favour of a happy go lucky life of carefree adventure where lack of roots and responsibility are a positive virtue, and Miller relays the story of his lifestyle choice over a jazzy fingersnap with a wink in his voice that makes it sound almost credible.

From my own childhood diet of American serials like 'Casey Jones' or 'Champion The Wonderhorse' then I can vouch that this post cowboy/pre modern era was often portrayed as a time where blind and forgiving eyes could be turned to such kindly uncle characters who knew "every handout in every town. And every lock that ain't locked when no one's around". To my young eyes it added to the charm and allure of the country as any local vagrants I knew of weren't treated quite so fondly. I suppose today they'd either be burned or kicked to death by kids who'd film it on their phones and stick it on You Tube or else be branded scroungers by the government and then left to starve in the gutter after their benefits were stopped. Which is way I always have a soft spot for 'King Of The Road'. It reminds me of my own childhood innocence where to spend "two hours of pushin' broom" to buy "an eight by twelve four-bit room" were aspiration enough and, as an adult, it still provides the briefest of glimpses through the curtains to a parallel world where the Protestant work ethic and consumerist desire for money and chattels don't rule the roost with quite as much authority.


* For a visual account of the grinding tedium of a very British road trip from London to Bristol, check out Christopher Petit's 1980 film 'Radio On'. The Gumball Rally it ain't.