They weren’t supposed to be stars. Honestly, look at them—a ragtag bunch of hippies, poets, and pickers from Springfield, Missouri, who decided to call themselves the Family Tree before settling on a name that sounded like a traveling circus act. The Ozark Mountain Daredevils didn't fit the 1970s mold. They weren't slick like the Eagles. They weren't gritty like the Allman Brothers. They were just... Missouri.
If you grew up with a radio in the mid-70s, you know "Jackie Blue." You know that high, almost ethereal vocal and that infectious, rolling drum beat. But here is the thing: that song is a total anomaly. It sounds nothing like the rest of their catalog. While the world saw them as a pop-rock outfit because of that one massive hit, the folks back in the Ozarks knew better. They were a sprawling, democratic collective of songwriters who could pivot from a foot-stomping bluegrass breakdown to a psychedelic harmonica jam in the span of four minutes.
The Weird, Wonderful Birth of the Daredevils
It started at a place called the New Yorker Theater in Springfield. This wasn't some high-stakes industry showcase. It was just a bunch of guys like John Dillon, Randle Chowning, Larry Lee, and Steve Cash hanging out and realizing they all had songs that didn't really fit anywhere else.
They were weird. They were eclectic.
Glyn Johns, the legendary producer who worked with The Beatles, The Who, and the Stones, actually flew out to Missouri to hear them play. Think about that for a second. One of the biggest producers on the planet lands in a cow pasture because he heard a demo tape that sounded "authentic." He famously told them to stop trying to sound like everyone else and just be who they were. That led to their self-titled debut album (the one with the quilt on the cover), and suddenly, "If You Wanna Get To Heaven" was blasting out of every car window in America.
It’s a song about spiritual skepticism set to a killer harmonica riff. It peaked at number 25. Not bad for a bunch of guys who spent their off-time hanging out in the Missouri brush.
Why "Jackie Blue" Was Both a Blessing and a Curse
Success is a funny thing in the music business. By 1975, the band was under immense pressure to deliver another hit. Larry Lee and Steve Cash sat down and wrote "Jackie Blue." Originally, it was about a friend of theirs—a guy who dealt drugs and was always a bit of a hermit. The lyrics were originally "re-written" to be about a girl because, well, the 70s.
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It went to number 3 on the Billboard Hot 100.
Suddenly, The Ozark Mountain Daredevils were pop stars. But they hated it. Well, maybe not hated it, but they were deeply uncomfortable with the "pop" label. They were a rock band. A country band. A folk band. They were a "Choose Your Own Adventure" of musical genres. The friction between their Missouri roots and the demands of A&M Records in Los Angeles eventually started to fray the edges.
The "Southern Rock" Label is Wrong
People love to bucket things. If you're from the South and you play guitar, you're Southern Rock. But the Daredevils always resisted that. They weren't singing about the Confederacy or "Sweet Home Alabama." They were singing about the rivers, the caves, and the strange, insular culture of the Ozark Plateau.
Listen to "Chicken Train." It’s a bizarre, rhythmic piece of art-pop-bluegrass that uses a mouth bow and weird vocal tics. It shouldn't work. It’s objectively strange. Yet, it’s one of their most beloved tracks. That’s the core of this band—they were experimentalists disguised as hillbillies.
The Long Road and the "Farewell" That Never Ends
Bands usually burn out or fade away. The Daredevils did a bit of both, but they never truly died. Members left. Members returned. Tragically, we lost Steve Cash in 2019. He was the philosophical heart of the group and one of the greatest harmonica players to ever touch the instrument. You can’t replace that kind of soul.
Yet, here we are in the mid-2020s, and the band is still a touring entity. They recently announced a "When It Shines" final tour, which feels like a heavy bookend to a career that spanned over five decades. They even made it to the Grand Ole Opry—a stage that probably should have welcomed them forty years ago, but better late than never, right?
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The current lineup still features founding members like John Dillon and Michael "Supe" Granda. If you ever get a chance to read Supe's book, It Shined, do it. It’s one of the most honest, hilarious accounts of rock-and-roll survival ever written. He doesn't polish the edges. He tells you exactly how it felt to be at the top of the charts one day and playing a county fair the next.
The Missouri Influence
It’s impossible to talk about this band without talking about Springfield. In the 70s, Springfield was a weirdly fertile ground for music. You had the Skeletons (and the Symptoms), and you had this cross-pollination of jazz, country, and rock. The Daredevils were the crown jewels of that scene. They proved that you didn't have to move to London or LA to make a record that the whole world would talk about. You could record in a barn. You could write about what you knew.
Their Discography: Where to Actually Start
If you only know the hits, you’re missing the best stuff.
- The Quilt Album (1973): This is the essential. "Road to Glory" and "Standing on the Rock" are masterpieces of the era.
- It’ll Shine When It Shines (1974): This is where they peaked creatively. It’s moody, atmospheric, and includes "E.E. Lawson," a song that feels like a short story set to music.
- The Car Over the Lake Album (1975): A bit more polished, a bit more experimental.
They weren't just a band; they were a vibe. They represented a specific kind of Midwestern independence. They didn't care about the fashion. They didn't care about the "scene." They just cared about the song.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Band
The biggest misconception is that they were a "one-hit wonder." A one-hit wonder doesn't sell millions of albums over a decade. A one-hit wonder doesn't influence a generation of alt-country artists like Jeff Tweedy or Old 97's.
Another myth? That they were just "The Eagles of the Midwest." No. The Eagles were meticulous and corporate. The Daredevils were loose and communal. At any given show, you might have five different guys taking lead vocals. That’s not a brand; that’s a brotherhood.
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How to Experience the Daredevils Today
If you want to understand the legacy of The Ozark Mountain Daredevils, don't just stream "Jackie Blue" on repeat. Dig into the deep cuts. Look for live footage from the 70s where they look like they just walked out of a woodworking shop.
- Listen to "Black Sky": It’s a brooding, heavy track that shows their darker side.
- Watch the documentaries: There have been several local Missouri features on the band that capture their humility perfectly.
- Visit Springfield: If you’re ever in Southwest Missouri, the spirit of this band is still in the air. You can feel it in the local record stores and the small venues.
The Daredevils represent a time when music felt less like a product and more like a conversation. They were the voice of a region that is often overlooked, and they did it with a smirk and a harmonica. They didn't change the world, but they changed the way a lot of us felt about the place we came from.
As they wrap up their final tours, the lesson they leave behind is simple: be yourself, even if "yourself" is a bit too weird for the radio. It worked for them.
Next Steps for the Music Collector
To truly appreciate the Daredevils' craft, track down an original vinyl pressing of It'll Shine When It Shines. The production by Glyn Johns and David Anderle on those early A&M records has a warmth and "air" that modern digital remasters often squash. Specifically, listen for the way the acoustic guitars sit in the mix—it's a masterclass in folk-rock engineering. If you're looking for their modern output, their 2018 album Off The Beaten Path is a surprisingly robust late-career entry that proves their songwriting chops didn't evaporate when the 70s ended.