I remember the chill of that first listen. Not the chill of a New York winter, though the film paints that vividly, but the sudden, sharp, internal cold that comes with true, uncomplicated sadness. I was in a small, acoustically thoughtful cafe, the kind that values its premium audio setup, and the trio’s voices came through with a startling clarity, as if they were seated right across the worn, wooden table. This piece of music, a collective cover of the folk standard “500 Miles,” isn’t just a song on a soundtrack; it’s the quiet, beating heart of the Coen Brothers’ 2013 film, Inside Llewyn Davis. It is the sound of a dream deferred, a future foreclosed, and a desperate, beautiful attempt to keep hope alive with nothing but a melody.
The track is an integral part of the Inside Llewyn Davis: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack, an album of American and traditional folk songs primarily performed by the film’s cast, produced with meticulous, period-correct care by the legendary T Bone Burnett. The context is crucial: the film is set in the 1961 Greenwich Village folk revival, a time before the genre exploded into mainstream pop, when the music was still gritty, acoustic, and deeply rooted in Appalachian and blues traditions.
The arrangement of “500 Miles” is credited to its performers: Justin Timberlake, Carey Mulligan, and Stark Sands. Unlike the film’s title character, Llewyn Davis—whose solo performances are often characterized by a weary, brilliant isolation—this song is about community. It’s performed by the fictional couple Jim (Timberlake) and Jean (Mulligan), alongside their colleague Troy (Sands), as the folksy ensemble “Jim, Jean, and Troy.” This contrast is the entire point. Llewyn is an authentic, uncompromising, but ultimately self-destructive genius. Jim and Jean, with their clean harmonies and slightly more palatable, commercial edge, represent the way forward for folk—the direction Llewyn refuses, and perhaps is incapable of, taking.
The song itself, traditionally credited to Hedy West and derived from older folk songs like “900 Miles,” is a lament of distance and destitution. “Lord, I’m five hundred miles away from home,” the lyric repeats, setting a tone of weary, yet almost peaceful, resignation. The trio’s instrumentation is purposefully restrained. The entire piece rests on the foundation of a gently strummed guitar, likely acoustic steel-string, providing a simple, unfussy rhythmic bedrock. There is no trace of a piano or any other major instrumentation; the focus is solely on the voices and that essential, grounding rhythm.
The texture of the vocals is what elevates this recording beyond mere cover. Timberlake, taking the lead, delivers a performance completely stripped of his usual pop vibrato and stylistic flourishes. His voice is straight, clean, and warm, possessing a clarity that makes the folk tradition seem not archaic, but timelessly appealing. The true genius lies in the background harmonies. Mulligan’s voice, often cutting and cynical as the character Jean, here blends seamlessly, providing the high, mournful descant, while Sands locks in the lower harmony. Their blend is nearly flawless, an almost familial lockstep that contrasts sharply with the chaos of the lives they are singing about.
“If the film is about the agony of being a talented loner, this song is about the temporary solace of finding a shared voice.”
The dynamics are equally studied. The song is sung with a quiet intensity, a hushed reverence that suggests they are singing it as much for each other as for the audience. The microphones feel close, capturing the subtle mouth sounds and the slight imperfections in the breath control that give the recording its raw, authentic timbre. It is a studio recording, of course, but it manages to feel like a live moment in a dim Gaslight Café, thanks to Burnett’s production philosophy of capturing genuine performance.
It’s a micro-story in itself: the sound of three people, tired from the road and the low-wage hustle of the folk circuit, finding a moment of perfect, melodic communion. They sing about being “not a penny to my name,” a reality Llewyn Davis constantly faces, yet Jim, Jean, and Troy deliver it with a kind of hopeful buoyancy. This contrast—the sad, stark lyric delivered by an arrangement that is polished and perfectly synchronized—is where the bittersweet power of the song resides. It hints at the beginning of folk music’s move from the dark, smoky corners of Greenwich Village to the bright lights of commercial success.
Imagine a young person today, just starting out, searching for guitar lessons online to learn the chords to this very song. They are connecting to a lineage that predates the internet, stretching back to train whistles and hobo camps. That is the enduring power of classic folk music: its simplicity makes it eternally accessible, its themes eternally relevant. It is a direct transmission of feeling from one broken heart to the next, across generations and continents.
The Coen Brothers use this song cinematically as a moment of painful clarity for Llewyn, who witnesses this pure, collaborative beauty but can only stand outside it, a silent, resentful observer of a life he could never have. The resulting album is a masterclass in using music not just as backdrop, but as character and plot driver. This specific track, with its clean harmonies and yearning melody, serves as the perfect foil to Llewyn’s own grittier, more tormented style. It’s the version of the folk revival that made the cover of Life magazine—charming, beautiful, and emotionally resonant without being truly devastating.
It’s a powerful testament to the skill of the artists and the producer that a song already canonical, a staple in the folk songbook, can feel so fresh and so utterly essential to a modern narrative. It is a song about being unable to go home, yet hearing this rendition is a kind of homecoming—a return to the foundational sounds of American acoustic music.
Ultimately, “500 Miles” in the context of Inside Llewyn Davis is not about the distance traveled, but the distance felt. It’s a beautifully crafted performance of yearning, a quiet masterpiece of vocal blend and authentic acoustic tone, which invites us all to pause and consider the simple, aching beauty of being far away from where we belong. It asks us to re-listen not just to the music, but to the silence between the notes, where the true loneliness resides.
Listening Recommendations
- Peter, Paul and Mary – “500 Miles”: The most famous 1960s folk revival version, providing the direct blueprint for the Inside Llewyn Davis trio’s clean, harmonized approach.
- Odetta – “900 Miles”: A more traditional, blues-inflected ancestor of the song, featuring Odetta’s powerful, grounded vocal delivery and stark acoustic guitar work.
- Bob Dylan – “Farewell”: Featured elsewhere on the Inside Llewyn Davis soundtrack, it shares the theme of painful departure and the wistful, minor-key melodic sensibility.
- Simon & Garfunkel – “Sounds of Silence”: Another early 60s folk track built on acoustic guitar and close harmonies, capturing a similar mood of alienation and hushed intimacy.
- Dave Van Ronk – “Green, Green Rocky Road”: Van Ronk was the primary inspiration for Llewyn Davis; this track (also on the album) showcases the grittier, more virtuosic solo style Llewyn embodies.
- The Kingston Trio – “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”: A somber folk staple from the same era, highlighting the genre’s capacity for gentle, profound political and personal melancholy.