David Allan Coe was an asshole; about that there can be little disagreement. A self-mythologising braggart, he was never slow to trade on his troubled past, even if much of it was in his imagination.

But he had indisputable talent and, like his fellow country singer, Merle Haggard, to whom he was often comared, he was a genuine badass.

Coe might not have had the reputation of Waylon and Willie and Johnny, but more than any of those he put the outlaw into Outlaw Country.

He also turned lying and bragging into an art form long before the present incumbent of the White House. It seemed to be his way of dealing with a tough start in life.

While Johnny Cash famously performed at Fulsom Prison, leading many to believe (wrongly) that he was incarcerated there, Coe actually did serve time. Hence the title of his 1969 debut album Penitentiary Blues, featuring songs written in his cell.

Coe’s four-year stretch was not his first time behind bars. After a troubled childhood in a broken home in Akron, Ohio, he was sent to a reform school in another state, Michigan, at the age of nine.

He would spend most of the next 20 years in and out of various correctional institutions, convicted of crimes ranging from possession of burglary tools to car theft. He once claimed he had killed a fellow prisoner in an Ohio penitentiary and was at one point facing execution.

No one was ever able to substantiate the story. Nor could anyone confirm his tale of taking up songwriting behind bars with the encouragement of fellow inmate Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. 

Upon his release in 1967 he headed straight for Nashville, living in his car and occasionally camping out in front of Ryman Auditorium (home of the Grand Ol’ Opry) in hopes of getting noticed, and scraping enough cash to make that first record.

Buoyed by good reviews, he went out on the road, singing in bars and, as his reputation grew, opening for rock bands including Grand Funk Railroad, while his music began to evolve from blues into a hard honky tonk country sound.

Most of his best known songs were by other songwriters, including his first hit single You Never Even Called Me By My Name, written by Steve Goodman and John Prine.

Conversely, several of his own were hits for other artists; among them Tanya Tucker, with Would You Lay With Me (In A Field Of Stone) and Johnny Paycheck’s favourite Take This Job And Shove It.

As Coe began making a name for himself as a songwriter, he glammed up his onstage persona, wearing rhinestone-studded suits and a mask, billing himself as “The Mysterious Rhinestone Cowboy” on his first major-label album in 1974 – a year before Glen Campbell had his hit single of that name.

He quickly ditched his masked image, going on to become a mainstream country hitmaker with tunes like Longhaired Redneck and Waylon, Willie And Me. But as his fame grew, so did his self-mythologising, with with wild tales of prison, polygamy, drugs and booze.

He found an enthusiastic among biker gangs in Florida after moving to the Sunshine State and, regrettably, recorded a pair of albums aimed at his redneck fan base, devoted to unpleasantly explicit songs about sex, with some racism and homophobia thrown in for good measure.

Despite dropping such material from his live sets, he continue to be dogged by accusations of racism and sexism, but enjoyed a resurgence in the 1980s with a string of successful singles including The Ride, Mona Lisa Lost Her Smile, It’s Great to Be Single Again, She Used to Love Me a Lot and Don’t Cry, Darlin’.

He also turned his hand to acting in a pair of TV movies with Johnny Cash and Kris Kristofferson, and after developing an interest in magic he began to incorporate illusions in his stage shows.

Ever the oddball, he also attempted to enhance his outlaw image with elaborate tattoos, a braided beard and, most regrettably of all, dreadlocks.

A reluctance to declare his concert earnings brought him back to the familiar surroundings of a courtroom and saw him put on probation for three years, and his house repossessed by the tax authorities, after which he claimed, again without evidence, to have been living in his car again.

In another unpredictable move, in the late 1990s he began a friendship and unlikely musical collaboration with members of the heavy metal band Pantera, recording an album called Rebel Meets Rebel, followed by an even more unlikely hook-up with Trump cheerleader Kid Rock.

Coe’s life of ups and downs continued into the 21st century when he was seriously injured in a car crash in 2013, but recovered in time to perform at Willie Nelson’s annual Fourth of July picnic.