Born on January 1, 1953, in the coal hills of Oak Hill, West Virginia, Slim Hawkins came into the world just as his mother, Rosie, was leaving it.

Raised by his grandmother Rosetta and tutored by an old bluesman named J.J. Foster, Slim learned early that music could heal what words could not.

By twelve, his father had him busking on street corners across the South, selling “No Other” nerve tonic and singing for coins. 

A Nashville radio man named Caleb Hunter heard that voice and took him on the road. From there, Slim’s life became a restless pilgrimage through juke joints, desert motels, and back-road roadhouses — a mix of gospel grace and outlaw grit. He recorded seven country albums over his 15 year career, spanning traditional country, gospel, forays into cosmic honky tonk. They have been long out of print, but will be re-released in the coming months.

Slim wrote songs the way folks pray: some with doubt, some with devotion, and a some with a little danger. After a series of misfortunes and mystical visions, Slim went into hiding, until he was urged by a fan to make music again. In 1984, back on the road to redemption, his first gig was a surprise show at a roadhouse in Amarillo, Texas. During Slim’s set, a fire broke out which destroyed the building and killed 8 people. His body was never found. But his legacy lives on. In 1987, a bootleg recording of that last show was released as the album “Vincible.” 

Though his story blurred long before it ended, the legend of Slim Hawkins keeps finding new listeners. And who knows? Slim could still be alive out there, flying fierce, flying kind.