Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Carolyn Hester Doing " The Praties They Grow".
CD REVIEW
Carolyn Hester At Town Hall 1965, Carolyn Hester, Bear Family Records, 1990
Earlier this year I posed a question concerning the fates of a group of talented male folk singers like Tom Rush, Tom Paxton and Jesse Colin Young, who, although some of them are still performing or otherwise still on the musical scene have generally fallen off the radar in today’s mainstream musical consciousness, except, of course, the acknowledged “king of the hill”, Bob Dylan. I want to pose that same question in this entry concerning the talented female folk performers of the 1960’s, except, of course, the "queen of the hill” Joan Baez. I will start out by merely rephrasing the first paragraph from the reviews of those male performers.
“If I were to ask someone, in the year 2008, to name a female folk singer from the 1960’s I would assume that if I were to get an answer to that question that the name would be Joan Baez (or, maybe, Judy Collins but you get my point). And that would be a good and appropriate choice. One can endlessly dispute whether or not Baez was (or wanted to be) the female voice of the Generation of ’68 but in terms of longevity and productivity she fits the bill as a known quality. However, there were a slew of other female folk singers who tried to find their niche in the folk milieu and who, like Baez, may today still quietly continue to produce work and to perform. The artist under review, Carolyn Hester, certainly had the talent to challenge Baez to be “queen of the hill.”
Carolyn Hester wrote a number of good songs (“Three Young Men” here, among others), sang like a nightingale, filled Town Hall in New York City on several occasions, was political and had long, straight hair(presumably ironed as was the fashion started by Ms. Baez then) hair. Oh, yes, and was beautiful and wistful. That sounds like the formula for success in the 1960’s folk scene, right? But, and I pose this as a query as much as a statement, where is she now? Certainly off this CD (produced in 1990 from the 1965 Town Hall performances) she had a voice to die for. Listen to her on Tom Paxton’s “Outward Bound” or the classic “Summertime” or the nice musical rendition of Walt Whitman’s Lincoln tribute poem, “Captain, My Captain” or “Jute Mill Song” and several others here. Then you will be asking the same damn question that I have posed above.
O Captain! My Captain!
Walt Whitman
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart! 5
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck, 15
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
CD REVIEW
Carolyn Hester At Town Hall 1965, Carolyn Hester, Bear Family Records, 1990
Earlier this year I posed a question concerning the fates of a group of talented male folk singers like Tom Rush, Tom Paxton and Jesse Colin Young, who, although some of them are still performing or otherwise still on the musical scene have generally fallen off the radar in today’s mainstream musical consciousness, except, of course, the acknowledged “king of the hill”, Bob Dylan. I want to pose that same question in this entry concerning the talented female folk performers of the 1960’s, except, of course, the "queen of the hill” Joan Baez. I will start out by merely rephrasing the first paragraph from the reviews of those male performers.
“If I were to ask someone, in the year 2008, to name a female folk singer from the 1960’s I would assume that if I were to get an answer to that question that the name would be Joan Baez (or, maybe, Judy Collins but you get my point). And that would be a good and appropriate choice. One can endlessly dispute whether or not Baez was (or wanted to be) the female voice of the Generation of ’68 but in terms of longevity and productivity she fits the bill as a known quality. However, there were a slew of other female folk singers who tried to find their niche in the folk milieu and who, like Baez, may today still quietly continue to produce work and to perform. The artist under review, Carolyn Hester, certainly had the talent to challenge Baez to be “queen of the hill.”
Carolyn Hester wrote a number of good songs (“Three Young Men” here, among others), sang like a nightingale, filled Town Hall in New York City on several occasions, was political and had long, straight hair(presumably ironed as was the fashion started by Ms. Baez then) hair. Oh, yes, and was beautiful and wistful. That sounds like the formula for success in the 1960’s folk scene, right? But, and I pose this as a query as much as a statement, where is she now? Certainly off this CD (produced in 1990 from the 1965 Town Hall performances) she had a voice to die for. Listen to her on Tom Paxton’s “Outward Bound” or the classic “Summertime” or the nice musical rendition of Walt Whitman’s Lincoln tribute poem, “Captain, My Captain” or “Jute Mill Song” and several others here. Then you will be asking the same damn question that I have posed above.
O Captain! My Captain!
Walt Whitman
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart! 5
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck, 15
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
This is Walt Whitman's well-known homage to the fallen Civil War President Abraham Lincoln. It deserves space in any left history blog. For an excellent musical rendition of this poem (and the inspiration for placing the poem here) listen to Carolyn Hester's "Carolyn Hester At Town Hall" recording from 1965.
ReplyDeleteO Captain! My Captain!
Walt Whitman
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart! 5
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck, 15
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.