When Loretta Lynn wrote “Coal Miner’s Daughter” in late 1969, it was about three times longer than the version she would eventually record. After all, this was her life on the page—once she started, there was no holding back. The song not only became her signature, it helped introduce America to the conditions of life at the margins in Appalachia. Country music had always embraced working-class pride. But Lynn’s images—of reading the Bible by oil light, or watching her mother scrub laundry until her fingers bled—were something else. This wasn’t just hard work; it was abject poverty. She later said that the song didn’t tell the half of it—but that if she had told the whole story, people wouldn’t believe her. The 11 tracks on Lynn’s 1971 classic Coal Miner’s Daughter are all rich with details from her life. Like any woman in a country song, she was subject to wayward men and the women who seduced them (as evidenced by tracks like “The Man of the House” and “What Makes Me Tick”). But where Dolly Parton represented purity and tolerance, and Tammy Wynette the comforts of self-pity, Lynn was an inveterate fighter, like a honky-tonk hero reborn for the 1970s. She wasn’t too proud to admit she’d been the other woman (“Another Man Loved Me Last Night,” “Any One, Any Worse, Any Where“), nor did she avoid responsibility when she knew she was wrong (“Hello Darlin’”). In other words, she was a woman with agency, and she knew it—a message that felt especially resonant at a time when feminism was starting to ripple through the American mainstream. And if you come for her man, she’ll shoot you and nail your hat to the wall (“It’ll Be Open Season on You”). Of course, that might be a metaphor—but by the way she sings, it doesn’t sound like it.