(Note: Spoiler Alert for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes)
(Author’s Note: This is a draft excerpt from my future book focusing on the culture of District 12, still taking shape as of this writing.)
One of the southern Appalachian region’s most distinctive cultural forms is found in its music. While Collins incorporated some hints of the region’s musical tradition in the original Hunger Games trilogy, it did not exactly leap off the page and grab us in the midst of all the darkness and rebellion going on. All that changed with her Prequel, the title of which even reflects the cultural importance of the ballad to this region. For music enthusiasts like me, it was a treat to be introduced to the Covey in chapter 23. Though we had been introduced to Lucy Gray and some of her singing earlier in the story, it is in this chapter where Collins goes “full Covey” and provides us with a front-row seat to one of Appalachia’s most enduring cultural legacies.
Just as some 200 District 12 peacekeepers and local citizens enjoyed a Saturday night concert at the Hob by this talented musical group, I imagine readers like me also appreciated taking a breather from the otherwise dour and tragic Hunger Games theme to unwind and get our toes tapping. Even Coriolanus couldn’t resist the happy atmosphere as the Covey took the stage. He “found his hands joining in” as the audience called for the show to begin. As the Covey let loose with their first number, Coriolanus “felt his heel tapping out the beat” as “his girl,” Lucy Gray prepared to sing. Upon further researching the Covey this summer, I have discovered that this “toe-tapping” style was no accident on Suzanne Collins’ part. Indeed, nothing Collins writes is an accident, but instead is full of calculation and purpose. Such is the case with the Covey’s musical style.
Although Collins never directly mentions the Covey’s style or genre, some form of early country music would be a good first guess. Throughout the Prequel, Collins includes a sampling of actual American songs—or adaptations of them—that had become popular prior to World War II and generally represent the early country genre—originally referred to as “hillbilly music” before the recording industry adapted the less stereotypical “country” term. Early country songs adapted for Lucy Gray include “Keep on the Sunny Side,” and the mournful “Valley Song” adapted from a traditional American folk-turned-country tune, “Down in the Valley” (also known as “Birmingham Jail”).
For its part, however, the Covey is not a country band. The Covey’s performance style and instrumentation described in the Prequel allow us to narrow down their genre even further. What we have in the Covey is a rather traditional example of an Appalachian bluegrass band. For those not majoring in music history, it is important to make the distinction here between genuine bluegrass style from its more general “cousin” known as “country” music. What Collins provides here is not country, but is rather “bluegrass with a vengeance,” as I like to say.
Cutting to the chase, I have identified the Covey’s likeness to one specific—and historically significant—bluegrass band whose original membership from 1939-1942 included the precise instrumentation of the Covey: mandolin, guitar, string bass, and fiddle. This seminal band represented the historical origin of the “bluegrass sound”. Known as Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys, Monroe himself is credited as the “Father of Bluegrass music”. In brief for now, his early band had first “wowed” the managers of the Grand Ole Opry in 1939 with an up-tempo rendition of a more traditional song, “Mule Skinner Blues”. The Blue Grass Boys were hired on the spot for a lifetime commitment to the Opry, where they were featured performers for half a century (when not touring the eastern half of the U.S like the Covey). Monroe’s primary instrument was the mandolin, and he was credited with elevating that once-popular instrument to the occasional lead role of many bluegrass bands, including his own. Tam Amber would be proud! (See this site for an image of Monroe’s early group with the same instrumentation as the Covey. Also includes sample songs. Notice how they are all gathered around the mic, similar to the Covey.)
Interestingly, the use of the term “bluegrass” to define their new music style would not be used in print until more than a decade after their showstopping premier performance at the Opry in 1939. It turns out that Monroe had originally named his trend-setting band after his home state of Kentucky’s nick name, the Blue Grass State.

Strangely, the Covey instrumentation does not include a banjo, a traditionally African-American instrument (with origins in Africa) that became a quintessential feature of bluegrass music (see this informative 4-minute video on the African heritage of the banjo and its development in America). My only possible explanation at this time is that Bill Monroe’s original Blue Grass Boys likewise did not employ a banjo until he actively sought to add one in 1942. After that, it would become fairly standard to include a banjo within bluegrass bands. This is why the closest approximation I can find to the Covey is—quite precisely—Bill Monroe and the Bluegrass Boys as they existed in their earliest formation, between 1939 and 1942 as mentioned above. Given the propensity for Suzanne Collins to adopt a variety of early twentieth-century cultural and economic traits for her version of District 12, it would not surprise me if she decided specifically to model the Covey on the Blue Grass Boys of this era — including a possible “nod” to Bill Monroe with the fast-fingered picking of Tam Amber. However, this all remains speculation on my part, as I have absolutely no evidence that this was how she was thinking. Still, the similarities here are uncanny, so I’m running with it here.
The Covey and that Bluegrass Sound
Let’s take a sample look at the Covey’s own style. While Collins often makes readers guess and ponder her hidden meanings, we are fortunate in this case that she provides quite a thorough description of a typical Covey performance at the Hob (and yet another follow-up at the Peacekeeper base!).
With geographical roots that are southern, rural, African-American, Anglo-American, and Scots-Irish, bluegrass is first distinguished through its rather standard instrumental mix as mentioned earlier. The core of a typical bluegrass band usually features five different and complimentary “acoustic,” stringed instruments—those whose sounds are not enhanced or modified with electronic amplification. Thus, an electric guitar would not qualify for the “traditional bluegrass” genre, and traditional bluegrass fans will do anything they can to keep percussion sets away from a bluegrass performance (though this is more common today). A typical bluegrass group would consist of five non-amplified, string instruments, namely the mandolin, guitar, fiddle, five-string banjo, and upright bass, according to historian Stephanie Ledgin in her book, Homegrown Music: Discovering Bluegrass (2004). Another source defines a bluegrass group as needing at least four musicians and instrumentation that would include acoustic guitar, an upright bass, and banjo, “though these instruments are not mandatory,” given that the fiddle, mandolin, and resonator guitar (Dobro) are common as well (That High, Lonesome Sound). As one might expect, this is not a hard-and-fast rule for bluegrass bands, but this is the expected core of instrumentation.

The Covey fits this pattern almost precisely, as Maude Ivory introduces their members at the start of their show. Namely, Tam Amber arrives on stage first with his mandolin, followed sequentially by Clerk Carmine on fiddle, Barb Azure on base, and none other than Lucy Gray Baird (“fresh from her engagement in the Capitol”), with her guitar. We don’t know if Maude Ivory plays an instrument or not at this point, as she may focus on vocal performance at her young age. Beyond this instrumental makeup, there is no indication of additional current instruments, such as percussion, brass, or use of amplification—mirroring a pretty standard bluegrass group.
Beyond the current Covey, there was one additional member we also know about, namely Billy Taupe. His is a good example of how bluegrass band membership can change and shift with time. Not only is his name representative of the Covey lexicon—first name for a ballad, second for a color—but he also seems to walk around randomly carrying his former instrument that he once played with the group. This instrument is clearly a significant part of his own identity. At the end of their Hob performance, it is a somewhat inebriated Billy Taupe who approaches the stage to confront Lucy Gray and all of the Covey. As Collins narrates, “Over one shoulder hung a boxy instrument with part of a piano keyboard along one side.” Later in the story, the bulky instrument appears once again after Coriolanus and the Peacekeepers take Mayfair home. As Coriolanus leaves with his peers to head back to base, he was distracted by the sound of a “soft, mechanical wheeze”. A light from the house revealed Billy Taupe, who held his instrument, “the source of the wheeze, against his chest”. (Chapter 24). Given these descriptions, Billy’s instrument is most certainly the accordion. And part of him already misses not playing with his counterparts. As a true musician might argue, he claims “You’re all sounding thin. You’re sounding thin,” as one hand slaps his instrument. My point here is that, like traditional bluegrass groups, the Covey’s instrumentation and membership can change and adapt to circumstances over time. In fact, Bill Monroe’s group included an accordion player for a limited time (a woman named Sally Ann Forrester: 1943-46), and instruments such as the accordion, harmonica (mouth harp), and others occasionally show up in bluegrass bands. However–perhaps like Billy Taupe himself–these are supplemental and not fully necessary for bluegrass instrumentation.
As for the Covey’s leader, Lucy Gray opens the story’s first performance with an “old song” while the rest are “gathered in a close half circle around the mic”. This is standard practice for bluegrass performers, to utilize the mic for singing songs with two, three, or even four-part harmonies. Because these bands are typically acoustic with no electronic amplifiers, the mic actually plays a pivotal role in the group’s performance routine and projected sound. While electronically enhanced instruments are frowned upon, a lone mic on stage is not only acceptable but plays a critical role in a standard bluegrass performance. The mic serves as a minimalist though critical “sound reinforcement system” to make instruments and singers more audible to larger audiences (Ledgin 2004). In fact, the audience tends to demand this practice, as these avid listeners and fans are eager to pick out every instrument and vocal performer. As Smith describes, an important bluegrass skill for any serious musician is the ability to “maintain the proper relationship, spatially and thus aurally, with the rest of the band and the microphone.” (Smith 1965).
As for vocal style and pitch, the “high, lonesome sound” associated with bluegrass is not so much “Appalachian” in origin, but rather the legacy of the country singer, Jimmie Rodgers. He is considered the first country music star from the 1920s (along with the Carter Family) and is credited for establishing the popularity of the “blue yodel”. He further helped integrate the blues into country music and directly affected the eventual bluegrass sound (Perryman 2013). In fact, Bill Monroe adapted several of Rodger’s songs for his first recordings with the Blue Grass Boys and made good use of the Jimmie Rodgers yodel within his vocals. Most prominent was the very song that Monroe performed with the Blue Grass Boys during their premier at the Grand Ole Opry in 1939, Mule Skinner Blues. The song had previously been co-written by Jimmie Rodgers and titled simply Blue Yodel #8, revealing the yodel’s prominent role in the song. Monroe modified it and transformed it into a bluegrass favorite.
Further, the contribution of black musical traditions to the style of Jimmie Rodgers and later bluegrass music should not be understated. Yodeling had already been ingrained within African folk music, and traces were found within the field-hollers of African-Americans. The tradition likely influenced the singing of Jimmie Rodgers, who was raised in a predominantly black community. His style also incorporates that of the blues, a strong black influence (Phillips 1991). With so much historical mixing of such stylistic traits, bluegrass and its “high, lonesome” qualities essentially represent an ongoing cultural exchange among peoples from three continents: Europe, Africa, and North America. Bill Monroe just happened to be the one to creatively blend these elements into his own unique style that would eventually become known as bluegrass.
To conclude here, these are a few of the characteristics that define bluegrass music as a distinctive genre and why the Covey appear to epitomize this style more than any other. I would not be surprised if the future Lionsgate film features some pretty snappy bluegrass tunes to supplement the more traditional country numbers and ballads of Lucy Gray and her Covey family. I do hope the movie producers provide the Covey with plenty of “air time,” as their music should provide for one of the delightful highlights of the film adaptation! I would further not be surprised to see yet another generational resurgence of interest in bluegrass music and maybe even the otherwise obscure mandolin (please see my related post, Tam Amber’s “Teardrop” Mandolin.)
Want a taste of bluegrass video?
Watch this to see a close approximation to the Covey’s performance style as described in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes: A sample performance of Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys, around the late 1960s or early 70s for a TV show called “The Country Place”. Notice how musicians come in and out of the lead role, taking turns. The vocals are gathered around a single mic, like the Covey. This also speaks to the diverse origins of bluegrass music, the repertoire for which includes traditional gospel music such as the first number here. Also, an excellent example of the so-called “high, lonesome sound” characteristic of bluegrass harmonies.
Here’s a fun 15-minute sampling of a professional bluegrass performance, a one-time concert of with bluegrass/country stars including Ricky Skaggs (who tears it up on the mandolin!), Travis Tritt, Vince Gill, Patty Loveless, and the “great” Earl Scruggs, the father of the 3-finger roll picking style on the banjo (who got his start with the Blue Grass Boys in 1945!). You’ll find numerous other bluegrass videos like this as well.
Example of modern-day, 4-member bluegrass band (with banjo replacing mandolin in this case): Southern Raised Bluegrass Band performs “Orange Blossom Special,” a bluegrass classic (along with a creative music video and some other integrated songs!)
A traditional, 6-member bluegrass group with standard bluegrass instrumentation (with two fiddles and banjos), the Augusta Bluegrass Women, performing during Bluegrass Week (2014) at the Augusta Heritage Center of Davis and Elkins College, WV. A great example of a local band (not necessarily professional musicians) having fun with their music and performance (like the two local bands pictured above). This is similar to the numerous bluegrass festivals that are held every year and attract untold numbers of local bluegrass bands and enthusiastic audiences.
Feature post image: Bill Monroe performing on his Gibson F-5 mandolin in 1989, 50 years after his debut at the Grand Ole Opry. (Courtesy of Barry Brower, Creative Commons)
REFERENCES:
Ledgin, Stephanie. 2004. Homegrown Music: Discovering Bluegrass. (ABC-CLIO Publishing).
Perryman, Charles. 2013. Africa, Appalachia, and Acculturation: The History of Bluegrass Music. West Virginia University dissertation.
Phillips, John. 1991. “The African Heritage of White America,” in Africanisms in American Culture, ed. Joseph E. Holloway, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press).
Smith, Mayne. 1965. An Introduction to Bluegrass. The Journal of American Folklore, Vol. 78, No. 309, pp. 245-256.
That High, Lonesome Sound: A Guide to the Instruments in Bluegrass. Accessed 03 August, 2020.
(NOTE: Spoiler Alert for the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes)
A considerable amount of discussion is occurring right now about the whereabouts of Lucy Gray Baird near the end of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (BSAS). In typical form for Suzanne Collins, this is one of numerous aspects that she leaves hanging at the end, fueling even further speculation that future books might be coming (or not). While there is reason to believe that Lucy Gray actually dies at the end of the story — and quite logically due to the fact that an impulsive Coriolanus tries to shoot her — I am not yet convinced. There is little or no evidence in the actual narrative that she is even injured, let alone deceased (please bear with me as I play this out below). Admittedly, those who believe she dies have good reasoning to back them up, namely the ballad for which she is named, “Lucy Gray”. If this isn’t a classic case of foreshadowing, I don’t know what is. And just as in “her” ballad, Lucy Gray does indeed disappear within the story. But there is no evidence here of actual death, since the original poem by Wordsworth is modified and only signals disappearance. We don’t know for how long Lucy Gray’s whereabouts will remain unknown.
As a bit of background, the original “Lucy Gray” is a poem written by William Wordsworth in 1799 and is one of his most well-known works. It was also later published in Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads. The original poem is based on a true event that was told to Wordsworth by his sister about a little girl in Yorkshire, England who became lost in a snow storm. Her parents traced her footsteps to the middle of a canal lock, where they disappeared. Eventually, this girl’s body was actually found in the canal. In Wordsworth’s version, however, the lost girl simply vanishes into nowhere, likely a spirit which, some say, can still be seen “Upon the lonesome wild”.
The Lucy Gray of Suzanne Collins’ creation clearly parallels the Wordsworth poem as Maude Ivory explains in BSAS. Maude explains that “We mixed it up a little” to change the words to better represent Lucy Gray’s life in the Covey (p. 424 BSAS). Those who believe this Lucy Gray actually perishes at the end can rationally point to both the original and altered poems that suggest Lucy should essentially become a ghost at the conclusion of the story. A supporting argument relates to the confusing exchange in Chapter 30 when Coriolanus is chasing Lucy Gray wildly through the woods and attempts to shoot at her through the trees. He clearly cannot see her, however, and there is no clear indication of whether his bullets hit her (fatally or not). He does hear “a faint cry,” which some interpret as Lucy being hit.
Despite these rational arguments, I’m not convinced. Even if she was struck by a bullet, it could be a non-fatal injury, if she was even hit at all. A flock of birds took off at the same time he heard the cry (p. 583 BSAS). And, she was nowhere to be seen when he reached the spot he thought she would be. Further, it is after this exchange when Lucy somehow amazingly keeps her composure enough to capably sing The Hanging Tree, as a final symbolic gesture to Coriolanus. The mockingjays then fittingly pick up the song with not a little irony.
It is further important to note that Lucy Gray likely knows that forested area like the back of her hand, which Coriolanus does not. She knows where to run and how to get around. A possible clue about her familiarity with the woods is found in Chapter 27, when an unsure Coriolanus asks Lucy Gray how Tam Amber knows the way to the lake. She replies matter-of-factly, “We all know the way. . . It’s our second home”. Suzanne Collins may have included that earlier conversation as a clue for later, indicating that Lucy Gray can easily find her way around the lake and through the forest. And the forest undergrowth is quite thick, which is primarily what impedes Coriolanus’s view — and scrapes him up as well. If it was simply a thinned forest with tree trunks, he would likely have been able to see where she went. Much of the forest in the south-central Appalachians consists of dense undergrowth and a variety of deciduous and evergreen tree species. For someone unfamiliar with such a wide patch of forested land, good luck to them! This is all to say that there is consequently very little, if any, evidence that Coriolanus actually kills her.
Does she disappear as indicated in the poem? Yes—at least until the end of Chapter 30. And this is where all the speculation arises now as to her whereabouts. One possibility is that she simply wandered home to deal with her nemesis, the Mayor, head on while rejoining the Covey. She does admit to Coriolanus earlier that she is not too keen on living in the wild. She says, “It’s not just how hard it will be. It’s too lonely. I might’ve made it for a few days, but then I’d have come home to the Covey” (p. 491, BSAS). Of course, she also admits that the Covey can “get by,” and that Maude Ivory will be old enough to lead the group in a few years. But this reflection on her part came when she was still planning to escape with Coriolanus. Now suddenly without him by her side, it is very possible that she simply went back home. Her one true concern in life was to protect her Covey family, so it is reasonable that her determination in this regard is what finally sends her home (not to mention the foreboding loneliness of the Appalachian mountains).
A New “Theory” of Three Kills
There is one other possible reason why I personally believe Lucy Gray is still alive at the end of BSAS. And despite all of the strong arguments one way or another in the fandom world, I have yet to see this hypothesis (not sure that it’s really a theory yet in the literal sense, but I’ll call it that for now). This argument in support of Lucy’s continued living is based on Suzanne Collins’ continued and strategic use of the number “three”. A lot of things occur in threes throughout the original trilogy (including the chapter numbering and total number of books in the original series). This trend continues apace in BSAS. In fact, there are at least three prominent examples of the use of “threes” that I managed to take note of while reading. The first is the well-known murder of three men by the condemned Arlo Chance, which serves as the fodder for Lucy Gray’s new song, The Hanging Tree. Beyond this, however, Lucy Gray admits to three of her own “kills” during the Tenth Hunger Games, namely Wovey, Reaper, and Treech. She explains each of these in turn in Chapter 24. The first (Wovey) she claims to have been a mistake (she had been “gunning for Coral”). The second was Reaper, which was a “mercy killing”. And Treech’s fate came through her own self-defense with the viper.
The other set of threes has apparently not been considered much in discussions surrounding Lucy Gray’s eventual fate. This involves Coriolanus’s own “kills,” the third of which ends up being Sejanus. Thus, both Coriolanus and Lucy Gray claim three kills each, through the end of Chapter 30. Would Suzanne Collins suddenly defy her habit of using groups of three to allow one more “kill” for Coriolanus? If he actually killed Lucy Gray, this would be his fourth, countering Collins’ own trend. Is this a clue she left us as to the fate of Lucy Gray? We will not know for sure, of course, until (and if) she publishes another book—and only if she decides to continue her character’s story. Now, the one possible glitch in this theory (or whatever it is) is in the Epilogue, when Coriolanus actually does successfully knock off poor Dean Highbottom. However, this occurs technically in the Epilogue, which is not part of the main story. I have to admit the chance, however, that the Epilogue may punch a serious hole in my argument. Still, I can’t see Suzanne Collins suddenly abandoning her trend of “threes,” which to me is a possible code that Lucy Gray is still alive. Until we learn otherwise, however, her footprints will remain as in the Wordsworth poem, suddenly ending in the snow with no Lucy Gray in sight.
Postscript:
One might find it fascinating as I did to learn how closely their final exchange in the woods parallels the actual final verse of the Wordsworth poem. The verse reads as follows:
O’er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
It appears that Suzanne Collins purposely crafted Lucy Gray’s disappearance in the woods to closely match this final verse. In BSAS, Lucy Gray certainly “trips along” through the woods as Coriolanus chases her and for some time at least, “never looks behind”. Then she sings her “solitary song” (The Hanging Tree) for Coriolanus’s benefit. The song essentially “whistles in the wind” as the mockingjays pick up the tune. Quite the fitting conclusion for Lucy Gray and her own ballad of life!
(Photo: “Winter Road” by Hotel Ocho, Creative Commons)
(Revised and Expanded April 8, 2025)
One aspect of the Ballad prequel that astonished many of us is the incredible central role that music plays in the story. Of course, this is directly implied by the book’s title. Some of the numerous songs included in the prequel are original creations for Collins’ story, while others are based closely on actual historical tunes. (See this complete inventory of songs in all Hunger Games books.) One prominent example of the latter is Maude Ivory’s sing-along song, Keep on the Sunny Side. This was an actual song (almost word for word as in the book), written in 1899 by Ada Blenkhorn as a Gospel hymn, apparently inspired by her disabled nephew, who always wanted his wheelchair pushed down “the sunny side” of the street. The song became a popular hit across the country when the famous country group, the Carter Family first recorded the song in 1928. The Carters and Johnny Cash featured the song in various albums in decades thereafter. The tune became a sort-of theme song for the Family singers.
In the book as in the film, a spritely Maude Ivory is featured as lead singer on this one, serving as a snappy, crowd-pleasing sing-along. Collins modified only one verse to render it more secular. Rather than having faith in “our Savior,” we are entrusted to the more inclusive “tomorrow” instead.
In brief, the Carter family was legendary for their contributions to country and bluegrass genres (including June Carter Cash, Johnny’s wife). According to the book, Homegrown Music: Discovering Bluegrass (2004), “Husband and wife, A.P. and Sara Carter, along with Sara’s cousin, Maybelle Carter, carried music from their southwest Virginia homeplace to a new national audience. They shared the music they grew up with in their families and community, messages and themes that touched hearts and souls everywhere.” Given the rise (and some scholars argue, the birth of) country music in the southern Appalachians around District 12 territory, it makes sense that Collins is tying the history of early 20th-century country music to this region.
Also contributing to the Carters’ budding musical fame was Maybelle’s unique style of guitar playing. Hers was a technique which came to be immortalized as the “Carter scratch.” Basically, this involved her striking one string as the lead note with her thumb while brushing the other strings with her index finger. Since then, guitar players everywhere have sought to imitate her trademark technique.
Despite the challenge of comprehending the song’s words within the Ballad film, the snappy Carter Family staple can be heard in its full glory on the movie soundtrack of songs or on YouTube. Ten-year-old musician Josie Hope Hall provides the delightfully lively singing voice for Maude Ivory in the film and on the soundtrack. Though actress Vaughan Reilly plays Maude Ivory, it is Josie Hope who sings lead on the number. According to their web site, she and her two older sisters comprise the Bennett Hall Band, which performs all around the middle Tennessee region and beyond. Josie Hope is a regular, real-life Maude Ivory, competent as she is on the drums, ukelele, tambourine, and in “killer solo and sibling harmony.” It is to everyone’s benefit that Ballad producers discovered her talents for this upbeat role. (Fun Easter egg in Ballad: One Peacekeeper says to the other, “Who was that girl you were dancing with?” He responds, “I think her name was Josie.” Could this be a shout-out to the actual singer of this number?)
Did You Know? Molly Tuttle, who played the guitar for the Ballad film numbers, wrote, “Fun fact: guitar I recorded with is the same one that you see [Rachel Zegler] play in the movie.” She explains the guitar was inspired by the archtop Gibson model once played by Maybelle Carter of the famed Carter Family.
(Photo: A.P., Sara and Maybelle Carter in their early years. Credit: jean-christophe salad, Creative Commons)
(NOTE: Spoiler Alert for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes).
Probably one of the more recognizable songs we enjoy in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is one that Maude Ivory adores (and one that bugs Coriolanus to no end): “Oh My Darling, Clementine”. I didn’t know much about the song’s background and how it might relate to the book/series, so I naturally researched a few intriguing aspects for those interested. One connection between the song and District 12 makes immediate sense, that of mining. Even Suzanne Collins chose to provide two verses of the song in the actual text (p. 431 in my hard copy), which includes “Excavating for a mine, dwelt a miner, forty-niner”. Curiously, the song thus refers to the California Gold Rush, not coal mining in D-12, which may raise some eyebrows (including mine initially). The “forty-niner” reference gives it away, of course, meaning the Gold Rush of 1849. Those who participated in some way were known generally as “forty-niners”. Beyond this, here is more of the story…
The song is considered an important western “folk ballad,” which provides yet another rationale for Collins’ decision to include it. Generally, a ballad is a song that tells a story, and the ballad tradition heavily influenced the southern Appalachians and its music during the 1700s and 1800s with British immigrants (mainly English and Scots-Irish). But the lyrics of this ballad of Clementine is actually attributed to Percy Montrose around 1884 (though not entirely confirmed), and one author claims that it was an old Spanish ballad that Mexican miners made popular during the Gold Rush. One reputable web site with the song’s lyrics (see below) includes 8 verses of the song (not including the repeated chorus, which Maude Ivory enjoys shouting). So, there are at least two clear connections between the song and Hunger Games, those of “mining” and its “ballad” form. But wait, there’s more!
The typical focus of District 12 in the series is on coal. No problem, as the connections between coal, District 12, and the entire Collins series runs “deep” (pun intended). But what about gold mining and California? Well, I really don’t know if Collins considered this, but here we go: First, before there was coal mining in the “real” D-12 area of the Appalachians, there was gold! America’s first gold rush occurred not in California but within the southern Appalachians (D-12 area), particularly western North Carolina and north Georgia beginning in 1829. The rush came to a crashing end only in 1849 when California became the next great hope of striking it rich. So, there’s that–the gold-rush heritage of the D-12 region. But then, guess where a high percentage of the CA Gold Rush “forty-niners” migrated from in the first place? Yes, southern highlanders from North Carolina and Georgia, often accompanied by slaves, as they had been in the Appalachians as well. A good proportion of the CA forty-niners therefore were Appalachian transplants (either by choice or not).
With all this, I wonder if Collins intended some further symbolic connection between the gold-colored mockingjay pin, the gold bangles (Catching Fire), and of course her hair… In any case, there seems to be an underlying “gold” theme running through the series, and now it shows up again with Clementine. I am not sure yet what Collins had in mind, but it would surprise me if she was not aware of much of this history and connection.
One decent site for the full lyrics of Clementine can be found here.
(Photo: Inside an old gold mine. Credit: tiflex2, Creative Commons)