The Devil Shouldn't Have Gone to Georgia, An American Myth

Justin Sczesny

So, I want to get ahead of the easy shut down to this essay: being an American right now kind of sucks. The Union is in shambles, society is ripping at the seams, and those in power have declared empathy to be a disease. It all sucks and is terrible all the time; so please, for the sake of having a good time, lets pretend that we’re the Americans that Charlie Daniels believes us to be circa 1979. 

Cool? 

Anyway. 

Ya’ll ever hear about the time the Devil went down to Georgia? 

Well, the Devil went down to Georgia 

He was lookin’ for a soul to steal 

He was in a bind ‘cause he was way behind 

And he was willing to make a deal 

When he came across this young man 

Sawin’ on a fiddle and playin’ it hot 

And the Devil jumped up on a hickory stump 

And said “Boy, let me tell you what.” 

Myth, folklore, tall tales, whatever name they go by in whatever era they exist in, have always been in human history. An effort to explain the world at large, provide meaning to the struggles that plague mankind, and a way to impart lessons and knowledge from our forefathers. Wolves chase the sun and moon which give us our days, Sisyphus is cursed to always push the rock up the hill, and Hansel and Gretel; these are all part of the tapestry that makes up our collective attempt to explain this human condition that we all share, whether we want it or not. Each story added to the canon, like all worthwhile art, tells us something about how the culture/people/religion that authored such tales view the society that they live in, the values that they hold, and how they regard the reality that they exist in. 

“The Devil Went Down to Georgia” by Charlie Davis is a valued addition to this canon of stories, simply because of how it distills the core idea of Americana down to its barest essential: to be American is to be the best, to be anything else is less. 

"You probably didn't even know it, but I am a fiddle player too 

And if you'd care to take a dare, I'll just make a bet with you 

Now you're playin' pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the Devil his due 

I'll bet a fiddle o' gold against your soul, I think I'm better than you" 

The boy said, "My name's Johnny and it might be a sin 

But I'm gon' take your bet and you're gonna regret 

I'm the best there's ever been" 

Johnny is a fiddle player, but more importantly he’s an American. We open on Johnny honing his craft and “Sawin’” on his fiddle. He’s a man of the arts, and as we learn in the second stanza, a man of faith. He balks, only briefly, at the idea of engaging with the Devil in a gentleman’s game of skill and talent, worried about the black mark it might leave on his soul. 

But this is Johnny’s only concern. He is not worried that he could lose or that the Devil could win (in many stories involving some deal with a Devil, these are different things). No, his main concern is that his next confession at church might run a bit long. 

The only one should be worried is a Devil where he doesn’t belong. 

Johnny, rosin' up your bow and play your fiddle hard 

'Cause Hell's broke loose in Georgia and the Devil deals the cards 

And if you win, you get this shiny fiddle made of gold 

But if you lose, the Devil gets your soul 

Our narrator gives us crucial details of the dual to come: the Devil is not fucking around. He is no pushover: the threat the Devil poses is very real, permanent, and seemingly not worth the reward. All this risk for a golden fiddle? It almost paints Johnny as a foolish protagonist who is overstepping his earthly and mortal accomplishments in want of something he shouldn’t seek. 

Battle: start. 

The Devil opened up his case and he said, "I'll start this show" 

And fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow 

And then he pulled his bow across the strings and it made a evil hiss 

And then a band of demons joined in and it sounded something like this 

So obviously this is a text format medium, but this stanza is followed by an instrumental break with pounding keys, pulsating drums, buzzing electric guitars, a walking bassline, and as our narrator tells us: a fiddle that hisses like the Devil swain’ its strings. It’s an impressive display, the Devil’s full backing band is worthy of some foot tapping and head bopping. The bar is set high, might our all-American hero be over his head, challenging the Devil himself? 

When the Devil finished, Johnny said 

"You know, you're pretty good ol' son 

But you just flop down in that chair right there 

I'm gon' show you how this stuff's done" 

Oh. 

The Devil’s fucked. 

Fire on the mountain, run, boys, run 

The Devil's in the house of the risin' sun 

The chicken in the bread-pan pickin' out dough 

Granny, does your dog bite? No, child, no 

Johnny’s retort is swift and decisive, his own backing band providing support in the form of a beefy instrumental and some clean harmonies. Already, there’s more skill and prowess on display, more moving parts and just more to get lost in. Then Johnny comes in with the fiddle and its game over. While the Devil’s fiddle playing was technically impressive, there were an awful lot of quick slides and scales and such after all, Johnny is simply in a league all his own. His playing is not only impressively played, but there’s melody to it. It’s catchy, it’s an ear worm, it goes call-and-response with the harmonies from Johnny’s band, Johnny is just doing more and doing it well. The lyrics themselves are pointed jabs as well, each line of Johnny’s turn in battle containing references to famous American folk songs. “Fire on the mountain” is a reference to a 19 th century fiddle tune as well as the title of a previous Charlie Daniels record. “House of the Rising Sun” is an obvious allusion to the folk song about that house in New Orleans. “Chicken in the bread pan pickin’ out dough” is a line from the song Ida Red by Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys. And lastly, “Granny does your dog bite” is purposely pulling at a classical American folk tune by the name of “Granny will your dog bite?” 

This flurry of reverence for the roots of then-modern American folk music further lifts Johnny up as the obvious victor in this duel. The song almost tells the listener: look where he came from, these are shoulders he stands upon, how could the Devil ever hope to beat this embodiment of American folk music? 

The answer: The Devil never had a chance. 

Well, that ol' Devil bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat 

And he laid that golden fiddle down on the ground at Johnny's feet 

Johnny said, "Devil, come on back if you ever wanna try again 

I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I'm the best there's ever been" 

And he played 

Johnny’s victory is punctuated by a time-honored American trait: arrogance. The Devil takes this defeat in stride, bowing his head and giving Johnny his prize won fair and square. Johnny however, isn’t satisfied with just this though and insists on twisting the knife of failure as far as he can within the Devil. He brags and ends the transaction of the claim he made when he agreed to the Devil’s terms: “I’m the best there’s ever been” like he’s telling the Devil “I warned you, you asked for this.” And in true idealized American fashion this confidence is not unfounded, if anything it’s warranted. Johnny stomped the Devil at the game the Devil picked because at the end of the day it was the Devil who picked a fight with a good Georgian boy named Johnny. And then as if dancing on the Devil’s proverbial grave, Johnny tells his boys to run it back and blast through the hook one last time for the road. 

I mentioned at the beginning that folk tales and myths tell us about the culture and people that it is made for. So, what does The Devil Went Down to Georgia tell us about Americans? That they’re arrogant? That they gamble? That they love gold? I think all three are valid readings of the text, but they miss the forest for the trees. 

The lesson of the song is not that Americans are great or arrogant or anything like that. 

The lesson of the song is that those trying to prey on the weak have no place in America. 

Americans are arrogant, they love to gamble, they do love gold, and if you attempt to take advantage of these virtues then you are either misguided or evil. You cannot win against fiddle player who just simply is the best there’s ever been. 

The lesson of the song is the Devil shouldn’t have gone to Georgia.