*Songs To While Away The Class Struggle By-Phil Och's "Hazard,Kentucky"

Click on the title to link to a site to hear Phil Och's Hazard, Kentucky.

In this series, presented under the headline “Songs To While Away The Class Struggle By”, I will post some songs that I think will help us get through the “dog days” of the struggle for our communist future. I do not vouch for the political thrust of the songs; for the most part they are done by pacifists, social democrats, hell, even just plain old ordinary democrats. And, occasionally, a communist, although hard communist musicians have historically been scarce on the ground. Thus, here we have a regular "popular front" on the music scene. While this would not be acceptable for our political prospects, it will suffice for our purposes here. Markin.

*******

Markin comment:

Of course this one has special meaning as my father was born and raised down in that country, coal country.


Hazard, Kentucky Lyrics
Artist(Band):Phil Ochs

Well, some people think that Unions are too strong,
Union leaders should go back where they belong;
But I wish that they could see a little more of poverty
And they might start to sing a different song.

Well, minin' is a hazard in Hazard, Kentucky,
And if you ain't minin' there,
Well, my friends, you're awful lucky,
'Cause if you don't get silicosis or pay that's just atrocious
You'll be screamin' for a Union that will care.

Well, let's look at old Kentucky for a while.
It's hard to find a miner who will smile.
Well, the Constitution's fine, but it's hard reading in the mines,
and when welfare stops, the trouble starts to pile.

Well, minin' is a hazard in Hazard, Kentucky,
And if you ain't minin' there,
Well, my friends, you're awful lucky,
'Cause if you don't get silicosis or pay that's just atrocious
You'll be screamin' for a Union that will care.

Well, the Depression was ended with the war,
But nobody told Kentucky, that is sure.
Some are living in a sewer while the jobs are getting fewer
But more coal is mined than ever was before.

Well, minin' is a hazard in Hazard, Kentucky,
And if you ain't minin' there,
Well, my friends, you're awful lucky,
'Cause if you don't get silicosis or pay that's just atrocious
You'll be screamin' for a Union that will care.

Well, the badge of Sheriff Combs always shines
And when duty calls he seldom ever whines.
Well, I don't like raisin' thunder, but it sort of makes you wonder
When he runs the law and also runs the mines.

Well, minin' is a hazard in Hazard, Kentucky,
And if you ain't minin' there,
Well, my friends, you're awful lucky,
'Cause if you don't get silicosis or pay that's just atrocious
You'll be screamin for a Union that will care.

Well, our standard of living is highest all around,
But our standard of giving is the lowest when you're down,
So give a yell and a whistle when they light that Union missile
And we'll lift our feet up off the ground.

Well, minin' is a hazard in Hazard, Kentucky,
And if you ain't minin' there,
Well, my friends, you're awful lucky,
'Cause if you don't get silicosis or pay that's just atrocious
You'll be screamin for a Union that will care.

*Labor's Untold Story-John L. Lewis And The Limits Of Trade Union (Sometimes)Militancy

Click on title to link to Wikipedia's entry for "labor leader" and United Mineworkers Union President John L. Lewis. His career exemplifies the contradictions of the labor movement in America, as well as the perfidious role of the labor bureaucracy. If that story sounds familiar, well, it is from the likes of old Brother Lewis that they got their "skills".

Every Month Is Labor History Month

This Commentary is part of a series under the following general title: Labor’s Untold Story- Reclaiming Our Labor History In Order To Fight Another Day-And Win!

As a first run through, and in some cases until I can get enough other sources in order to make a decent presentation, I will start with short entries on each topic that I will eventually go into greater detail about. Or, better yet, take my suggested topic and run with it yourself.

*Labor's Untold Story-The Class War In The Kentucky Coal Fields- Bloody Harlan

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip on "Bloody Harlan". There will be much more on this subject. The Kentucky coal country and its history are personal in these quarters.

Every Month Is Labor History Month

This Commentary is part of a series under the following general title: Labor’s Untold Story- Reclaiming Our Labor History In Order To Fight Another Day-And Win!

As a first run through, and in some cases until I can get enough other sources in order to make a decent presentation, I will start with short entries on each topic that I will eventually go into greater detail about. Or, better yet, take my suggested topic and run with it yourself.

*Labor's Untold Story-The Class War In The Kentucky Coal Fields- Bloody Harlan's Heroic Aunt Molly Jackson

Click on title to link to Aunt Molly Jackson's site. There will be much more on this subject. The Kentucky coal country and its history are personal in these quarters.

Every Month Is Labor History Month

This Commentary is part of a series under the following general title: Labor’s Untold Story- Reclaiming Our Labor History In Order To Fight Another Day-And Win!

As a first run through, and in some cases until I can get enough other sources in order to make a decent presentation, I will start with short entries on each topic that I will eventually go into greater detail about. Or, better yet, take my suggested topic and run with it yourself.

*Labor's Untold Story-The Class War In The Kentucky Coal Fields- Bloody Harlan In Song

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of the song "You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive". There will be much more on this subject. The Kentucky coal country and its history are personal in these quarters.

Every Month Is Labor History Month

This Commentary is part of a series under the following general title: Labor’s Untold Story- Reclaiming Our Labor History In Order To Fight Another Day-And Win!

As a first run through, and in some cases until I can get enough other sources in order to make a decent presentation, I will start with short entries on each topic that I will eventually go into greater detail about. Or, better yet, take my suggested topic and run with it yourself.

*A Salute To Mountain Music- "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The Persall Sisters Doing "Angel Band". Ya, I know they were not on this CD reviewed below but I am doing a separate review of Ralph Stanley (and his brother) elsewhere and will put their version of "Angel Band" there. The sisters, in any case, do a great job on this.

CD REVIEW

O Brother, Where Art Thou?: Music from the movie “O Brother, Where Art Thou?, various artists, UMG Recordings, 2000.

Sometimes a revival of a musical form, like the "talking blues", that highlighted the urban folk revival of the early 1960's is driven by a social need. In that case it was to provide a format for the "glad tidings" that a new political and social movement was a-bornin'. In the case of the revival several years ago of what is called "mountain music" it was the films "The Song Catcher" and, more importantly, the very popular movie starring George Clooney, " O Brother, Where Art Thou?". The CD under review is a compilation of music from that movie, a not unnatural tie-in in the modern entertainment business. The movie deserves a separate review, however, this CD can stand on its own as a very nice cross section of "mountain music", some familiar most not so.

Without straining credulity "mountain music" is the music of the simple folk of Appalachia, those who worked hard in the coal mines, on the hard scrabble farms and in the isolated mills of the region. This was their Saturday night entertainment and with the advent of radio was a unifying cultural experience. The songs "speak" of hard and lonely lives, the beauty of the then pristine countryside, the usual vagaries of love and lost and the mysterious ways of a very personal, if arbitrary, god. Throw in a few upbeat tunes reflecting the love of "corn" liquor, women and the sometimes funny side of coping with life's trials and tribulations and you have the mountain version of the folk experience. Sound familiar? Sure it does, except, it is done with simple guitar, a blazing fiddle and, hopefully, a full-bodied mandolin.

Here you have all the above types of songs mentioned above in one spot. The cadence of the work in hard prison life gets a nod in "Po Lazarus". The hobo's national anthem (Great Depression era version) "Big Rock Candy Mountain" is also here. The vagaries of love get spelled out in "Didn't Leave Nobody But The Baby". For uplift try the one everyone knows- "You Are My Sunshine". Norman Blake, worthy of a separate review of his own as a master of mountain music, provides a very rich instrumental "A Man Of Constant Sorrow". Finally, no recent compilation of mountain music is complete without Ralph Stanley's eerie "O Death" and "Angel Band". If you need a primer for learning about mountain music here you are.

Soggy Bottom Boys - I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow Lyrics

I am the man of constant sorrow
I've seen trouble all my days
I bid farewell to ol' Kentucky
The place where I was born and raised.

The place where he was born and raised

For six long years I've been in trouble,
no pleasure here on earth I've found
For in this world, I'm bound to ramble,
I have no friends to help me now.

He has no friends to help him now

It's fair thee well, my old true lover,
I never expect to see you again.
For I'm bound to ride that Northern Railroad,
perhaps I'll die upon this train

Perhaps he'll die upon this train

You can bury me in some deep valley,
For many years where I may lay.
And you may learn to love another
while I am sleeping in my grave.

While he is sleeping in his grave

Maybe your friends think I'm just a stranger
My face you never will see no more
But there is one promise that is given,
I'll meet you on Gods golden shore

He'll meet you on God's golden shore

Big Rock Candy Mountain

One evening as the sun went down and the jungle fire was burning
Down the track came a hobo hiking and he said boys I'm not turning
I'm headin for a land that's far away beside the crystal fountains
So come with me we'll go and see the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains there's a land that's fair and bright
Where the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night
Where the boxcars are all empty and the sun shines every day
On the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees
Where the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains all the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth and the hens lay soft boiled eggs
The farmer's trees are full of fruit and the barns are full of hay
Oh, I'm bound to go where there ain't no snow
Where the rain don't fall and the wind don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains you never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats and the railroad bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew and of whiskey too
You can paddle all around 'em in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains the jails are made of tin
And you can walk right out again as soon as you are in
There ain't no short handled shovels, no axes saws or picks
I'm a goin to stay where you sleep all day
Where they hung the jerk that invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

I'll see you all this coming fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountains


Ralph Stanley - O Death Lyrics

O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over til another year
Well what is this that I can't see
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me
Well I am death, none can excel
I'll open the door to heaven or hell
Whoa, death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day
The children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach
I'll fix your feet til you cant walk
I'll lock your jaw til you cant talk
I'll close your eyes so you can't see
This very air, come and go with me
I'm death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim

O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over til another year
My mother came to my bed
Placed a cold towel upon my head
My head is warm my feet are cold
Death is a-movin upon my soul
Oh, death how you're treatin' me
You've close my eyes so I can't see
Well you're hurtin' my body
You make me cold
You run my life right outta my soul
Oh death please consider my age
Please don't take me at this stage
My wealth is all at your command
If you will move your icy hand
Oh the young, the rich or poor
Hunger like me you know
No wealth, no ruin, no silver no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul

O, death
O, death
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year

The Stanley Brothers - Angel Band Lyrics

The latest sun is sinking fast, my race is nearly run
My strongest trials now are past, my triumph is begun
O come Angel Band, come & around me stand
O bear me away on your snowy wings to my immortal home
O bear me away on your snowy wings to my immortal home
I know I'm near the holy ranks of friends & kindred dear
I've brushed the dew on Jordan's banks, the crossing must be near
I've almost gained my Heavenly home, my spirit loudly sings
The Holy ones, behold they come, I hear the noise of wings
O bear my longing heart to Him who bled & died for me
Whose blood now cleanses from all sin & gives me victory

Deep In The Hills And Hollows Of Mountain Country- “The “Appalachians” In Story And Song

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Iris Dement performing "Pretty Saro" in the film "Song Catcher".

DVD Review

The Appalachians, 3 DVD set, various commentators and mountain musicians, PBS Productions, 2005

I have spend no little time over the past several months putting roots music, the historical roots of mountain music in the hills and hollows of the Appalachians, especially Kentucky and my own personal connection with the place as a son of a coal mining son of the region together. This film documentary takes two of those strands, roots music and the history of the region and tries to explain the values behind the music and behind the pioneer spirit that drove some of our forbears to those lonely hill and hollows to eke out a an existence and create a cultural gradient that is not always understandable to those of us not immersed in that milieu. Except those virtues of hard work, hard religion, hard times and hard liquor are not all that far from the mainstream experiences, at least of earlier generations. In a sense this film is a tribute to a vanishing breed, a breed the mined the coal in the eastern mines, and farmed those hard rock acres. I like to think that some of those virtues and, of course, the music would not die.

Along the way this documentary traces the roots of the original Northern European settlers as they fled, or were pushed , from the East Coast and sought the new virgin lands of the then ‘west’ in the 17th and 18th centuries. Their uneasy relationship, finally untenable, with the various indigenous Native American tribes in the 19th century. The film also points out the gathering storm over the slavery issue that would literally become the “brothers’ war” in much of the region in the mid-19th century civil war. In the post- Civil War period the outlines of a distinctive Appalachian cultural gradient became recognizable through an exploitation of the natural resources of the area generated by the needs of the emerging industrial age, especially mining of the abundant coal fields. The struggle between labor and capital takes center place as the driving force from then until the near present. This includes the titanic struggles for mine workers union recognition, the demise of labor intensive coal mining and the rise of mass high tech mining that has ravished the land.

But, mainly this film is an exposition on the music. Without straining credulity "mountain music" is the music of the simple folk of Appalachia, those who worked hard in the coal mines, on the hard scrabble farms and in the isolated mills of the region. This was their Saturday night entertainment and with the advent of radio was a unifying cultural experience. The songs "speak" of hard and lonely lives, the beauty of the then pristine countryside, the usual vagaries of love and lost and the mysterious ways of a very personal, if arbitrary, god. Throw in a few upbeat tunes reflecting the love of "corn" liquor, women and the sometimes funny side of coping with life's trials and tribulations and you have the mountain version of the folk experience. Sound familiar? Sure it does, except, it is done with simple guitar, a blazing fiddle and, hopefully, a full-bodied mandolin.

John Prine, Paradise Lyrics

When I was a child my family would travel
Down to Western Kentucky where my parents were born
And there's a backwards old town that's often remembered
So many times that my memories are worn.

Chorus:
And daddy won't you take me back to Muhlenberg County
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay
Well, I'm sorry my son, but you're too late in asking
Mister Peabody's coal train has hauled it away

Well, sometimes we'd travel right down the Green River
To the abandoned old prison down by Adrie Hill
Where the air smelled like snakes and we'd shoot with our pistols
But empty pop bottles was all we would kill.

Repeat Chorus:

Then the coal company came with the world's largest shovel
And they tortured the timber and stripped all the land
Well, they dug for their coal till the land was forsaken
Then they wrote it all down as the progress of man.

Repeat Chorus:

When I die let my ashes float down the Green River
Let my soul roll on up to the Rochester dam
I'll be halfway to Heaven with Paradise waitin'
Just five miles away from wherever I am.

Repeat Chorus:


Soggy Bottom Boys - I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow Lyrics

I am the man of constant sorrow
I've seen trouble all my days
I bid farewell to ol' Kentucky
The place where I was born and raised.

The place where he was born and raised

For six long years I've been in trouble,
no pleasure here on earth I've found
For in this world, I'm bound to ramble,
I have no friends to help me now.

He has no friends to help him now

It's fair thee well, my old true lover,
I never expect to see you again.
For I'm bound to ride that Northern Railroad,
perhaps I'll die upon this train

Perhaps he'll die upon this train

You can bury me in some deep valley,
For many years where I may lay.
And you may learn to love another
while I am sleeping in my grave.

While he is sleeping in his grave

Maybe your friends think I'm just a stranger
My face you never will see no more
But there is one promise that is given,
I'll meet you on Gods golden shore

He'll meet you on God's golden shore

Big Rock Candy Mountain

One evening as the sun went down and the jungle fire was burning
Down the track came a hobo hiking and he said boys I'm not turning
I'm headin for a land that's far away beside the crystal fountains
So come with me we'll go and see the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains there's a land that's fair and bright
Where the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night
Where the boxcars are all empty and the sun shines every day
On the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees
Where the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains all the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth and the hens lay soft boiled eggs
The farmer's trees are full of fruit and the barns are full of hay
Oh, I'm bound to go where there ain't no snow
Where the rain don't fall and the wind don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains you never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats and the railroad bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew and of whiskey too
You can paddle all around 'em in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains the jails are made of tin
And you can walk right out again as soon as you are in
There ain't no short handled shovels, no axes saws or picks
I'm a goin to stay where you sleep all day
Where they hung the jerk that invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

I'll see you all this coming fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountains


Ralph Stanley - O Death Lyrics

O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over til another year
Well what is this that I can't see
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me
Well I am death, none can excel
I'll open the door to heaven or hell
Whoa, death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day
The children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach
I'll fix your feet til you cant walk
I'll lock your jaw til you cant talk
I'll close your eyes so you can't see
This very air, come and go with me
I'm death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim

O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over til another year
My mother came to my bed
Placed a cold towel upon my head
My head is warm my feet are cold
Death is a-movin upon my soul
Oh, death how you're treatin' me
You've close my eyes so I can't see
Well you're hurtin' my body
You make me cold
You run my life right outta my soul
Oh death please consider my age
Please don't take me at this stage
My wealth is all at your command
If you will move your icy hand
Oh the young, the rich or poor
Hunger like me you know
No wealth, no ruin, no silver no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul

O, death
O, death
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year

The Stanley Brothers - Angel Band Lyrics

The latest sun is sinking fast, my race is nearly run
My strongest trials now are past, my triumph is begun
O come Angel Band, come & around me stand
O bear me away on your snowy wings to my immortal home
O bear me away on your snowy wings to my immortal home
I know I'm near the holy ranks of friends & kindred dear
I've brushed the dew on Jordan's banks, the crossing must be near
I've almost gained my Heavenly home, my spirit loudly sings
The Holy ones, behold they come, I hear the noise of wings
O bear my longing heart to Him who bled & died for me
Whose blood now cleanses from all sin & gives me victory

*The Genesis of The Folk Revival - A New Lost City Ramblers Encore

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The New Lost City Ramblers In Concert.

CD Review

The New Lost City Ramblers: The Early Years, 1958-1962, The New Lost City Ramblers, Smithstonian/Follways, 1991

Recently I was listening to a local talk show here in Boston in which the subject was which way at least part of the American music scene was headed. One of the premises of the show was that roots music, you know, the blues, jazz, and the mountain music presented here in this album was once again going to form the new “in " music. Fair enough. These genres have been mined before for their expressions of Americana and they can be mined in the future for that same purpose. But here is the question that I have that underlies that above-mentioned radio show premise. How is it that “roots” music, and here I want to concentrate on mountain music and other traditions genres, transmitted?

Well, one answer to that question, before the last “dust-up’ a few years ago with the movies “The Song Catcher” and George Clooney’s “Brother, Where Art Thou”, was the folk revival of the early 1960’s. And one of the key groups that consciously sought to find and play that music in its old form was the group under review, The New Lost City Ramblers. Needless to say, having Mike Seeger the legendary Pete’s Seeger's half-brother involved meant that there is going to be a very deep respect for those traditions. And it shows here in this compilation of their work from 1963-73. There is pure mountain music, some ragtime, some elemental jazzy things, some impromptu jug music, a little talking blues, some politics of the liberal FDR kind; in short everything one needs to investigate the music of the folk before the arrival of serious technology changed the regional nature of folk and traditional music forever. Listen here for thoughtful renditions of these types of music and respect for the instrumentation of the times.


HOW CAN A POOR MAN STAND SUCH TIMES AND LIVE ?

Blind Alfred Reed - 1929

There once was a time when everything was cheap,
But now prices nearly puts a man to sleep.
When we pay our grocery bill,
We just feel like making our will --
I remember when dry goods were cheap as dirt,
We could take two bits and buy a dandy shirt.
Now we pay three bucks or more,
Maybe get a shirt that another man wore --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?
Well, I used to trade with a man by the name of Gray,
Flour was fifty cents for a twenty-four pound bag.
Now it's a dollar and a half beside,
Just like a-skinning off a flea for the hide --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Oh, the schools we have today ain't worth a cent,
But they see to it that every child is sent.
If we don't send everyday,
We have a heavy fine to pay --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Prohibition's good if 'tis conducted right,
There's no sense in shooting a man 'til he shows flight.
Officers kill without a cause,
They complain about funny laws --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Most all preachers preach for gold and not for souls,
That's what keeps a poor man always in a hole.
We can hardly get our breath,
Taxed and schooled and preached to death --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Oh, it's time for every man to be awake,
We pay fifty cents a pound when we ask for steak.
When we get our package home,
A little wad of paper with gristle and a bone --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Well, the doctor comes around with a face all bright,
And he says in a little while you'll be all right.
All he gives is a humbug pill,
A dose of dope and a great big bill --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?


We've Got Franklin Delano Roosevelt Back Again Lyrics

WE'VE GOT FRANKLIN DELANO ROOSEVELT BACK AGAIN

Just hand me my old Martin for soon I will be startin'
Back to dear old Charleston far away
Since Roosevelt's been re-elected, we'll not be neglected
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again

Back again, back again
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again
Since Roosevelt's been re-elected
Moon liquor's been corrected
We've got legal wine, whiskey, beer and gin

I'll take a drink of brandy and let myself be handy
Good old times are coming back again
You can laugh and tell a joke, you can dance and drink and smoke
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again
We'll have money in our jeans
We can travel with the queen
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again

No more breadlines, we're happy to say the donkey won election
day
No more standing in the blowing, snowing rain
He's got things in full swing, we're all working and getting our
pay
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again

We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again
Since Roosevelt's been re-elected
Moon liquor's been corrected
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again

No Depression In Heaven

For fear the hearts of men are failing,
For these are latter days we know
The Great Depression now is spreading,
God's word declared it would be so

I'm going where there's no depression,
To the lovely land that's free from care
I'll leave this world of toil and trouble,
My home's in Heaven, I'm going there

In that bright land, there'll be no hunger,
No orphan children crying for bread,
No weeping widows, toil or struggle,
No shrouds, no coffins, and no death

This dark hour of midnight nearing
And tribulation time will come
The storms will hurl in midnight fear
And sweep lost millions to their doom

My Sweet Farm Girl - Clarence Ashley
Lyrics:

My sweet farm girl, she's jolly of my pride
My sweet farm girl, she's jolly of my pride
She knows I know how to keep her satisfied

So early in the morning I cut her grass you bet
So early in the morning I cut her grass you bet
Pull up the hose; I keep her lawn all wet

I close her fire; I shake her ashes down
I close her fire; I shake her ashes down
We eat our breakfast, then we ride on back to town

I keep her garden all free from bugs and weeds
I keep her garden all free from bugs and weeds
I plow her land, and then I sow my seeds

I trim her hedges; I clean out her back yard
I trim her hedges; I clean out her back yard
She loves her daddy because I'm long and hard

Notes:
Recorded on December 1, 1931 in New York City. Ashley plays guitar and sings, with Gwen Foster on guitar and harmonica. The sexual connotations are rather obvious.


Battleship Of Maine - Lyrics & Chords

C

Mc Kinley called for volunteers,

Then I got my gun,


F
First Spaniard I saw coming
C
I dropped my gun and run,
G7 C
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.

Chorus:


C
At war with that great nation Spain,

When I get back to Spain I want to honor my name,


G7 C
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.

Why are you running,
Are you afraid to die,
The reason that I'm running
Is because I cannot fly,
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.


The blood was a-running
And I was running too,
I give my feet good exercise,
I had nothing else to do,
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.


When they were a-chasing me,
I fell down on my knees,
First thing I cast my eyes upon
Was a great big pot of peas,
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.


The peas they were greasy,
The meat it was fat,
The boys was fighting Spaniards
While I was fighting that,
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.

*They'll Be Coming Around The Mountain-Again- The Music Of Appalachia-The New Lost City Ramblers

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The New Lost City Ramblers.

CD Review

Outstanding In Their Field, Volume II, 1963-73, The New Lost City Ramblers, Smithstonian/Follways, 1993

Recently I was listening to a local talk show here in Boston in which the subject was which way at least part of the American music scene was headed. One of the premises of the show was that roots music, you know, the blues, jazz, and the mountain music presented here in this album was once again going to form the new “in " music. Fair enough. These genres have been mined before for their expressions of Americana and they can be mined in the future for that same purpose. But here is the question that I have that underlies that above-mentioned radio show premise. How is it that “roots” music, and here I want to concentrate on mountain music and other traditions genres, transmitted?

Well, one answer to that question, before the last “dust-up’ a few years ago with the movies "The Song Catcher" and George Clooney’s "Brother, Where Art Thou", was the folk revival of the early 1960’s. And one of the key groups that consciously sought to find and play that music in its old form was the group under review, The New Lost City Ramblers. Needless to say, having Mike Seeger the legendary Pete’s Seeger's half-brother involved meant that there is going to be a very deep respect for those traditions. And it shows here in this compilation of their work from 1963-73. There is pure mountain music, some ragtime, some elemental jazzy things, some impromptu jug music, a little talking blues, Cajun; in short everything one needs to investigate the music of the folk before the arrival of serious technology changed the regional nature of folk and traditional music forever. Listen here for thoughtful renditions of these types of music and respect for the instrumentation of the times.


HOW CAN A POOR MAN STAND SUCH TIMES AND LIVE ?

Blind Alfred Reed - 1929

There once was a time when everything was cheap,
But now prices nearly puts a man to sleep.
When we pay our grocery bill,
We just feel like making our will --
I remember when dry goods were cheap as dirt,
We could take two bits and buy a dandy shirt.
Now we pay three bucks or more,
Maybe get a shirt that another man wore --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?
Well, I used to trade with a man by the name of Gray,
Flour was fifty cents for a twenty-four pound bag.
Now it's a dollar and a half beside,
Just like a-skinning off a flea for the hide --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Oh, the schools we have today ain't worth a cent,
But they see to it that every child is sent.
If we don't send everyday,
We have a heavy fine to pay --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Prohibition's good if 'tis conducted right,
There's no sense in shooting a man 'til he shows flight.
Officers kill without a cause,
They complain about funny laws --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Most all preachers preach for gold and not for souls,
That's what keeps a poor man always in a hole.
We can hardly get our breath,
Taxed and schooled and preached to death --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Oh, it's time for every man to be awake,
We pay fifty cents a pound when we ask for steak.
When we get our package home,
A little wad of paper with gristle and a bone --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?

Well, the doctor comes around with a face all bright,
And he says in a little while you'll be all right.
All he gives is a humbug pill,
A dose of dope and a great big bill --
Tell me how can a poor man stand such times and live?


We've Got Franklin Delano Roosevelt Back Again Lyrics

WE'VE GOT FRANKLIN DELANO ROOSEVELT BACK AGAIN

Just hand me my old Martin for soon I will be startin'
Back to dear old Charleston far away
Since Roosevelt's been re-elected, we'll not be neglected
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again

Back again, back again
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again
Since Roosevelt's been re-elected
Moon liquor's been corrected
We've got legal wine, whiskey, beer and gin

I'll take a drink of brandy and let myself be handy
Good old times are coming back again
You can laugh and tell a joke, you can dance and drink and smoke
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again
We'll have money in our jeans
We can travel with the queen
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again

No more breadlines, we're happy to say the donkey won election
day
No more standing in the blowing, snowing rain
He's got things in full swing, we're all working and getting our
pay
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again

We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again
Since Roosevelt's been re-elected
Moon liquor's been corrected
We've got Franklin D. Roosevelt back again

No Depression In Heaven

For fear the hearts of men are failing,
For these are latter days we know
The Great Depression now is spreading,
God's word declared it would be so

I'm going where there's no depression,
To the lovely land that's free from care
I'll leave this world of toil and trouble,
My home's in Heaven, I'm going there

In that bright land, there'll be no hunger,
No orphan children crying for bread,
No weeping widows, toil or struggle,
No shrouds, no coffins, and no death

This dark hour of midnight nearing
And tribulation time will come
The storms will hurl in midnight fear
And sweep lost millions to their doom

My Sweet Farm Girl - Clarence Ashley
Lyrics:

My sweet farm girl, she's jolly of my pride
My sweet farm girl, she's jolly of my pride
She knows I know how to keep her satisfied

So early in the morning I cut her grass you bet
So early in the morning I cut her grass you bet
Pull up the hose; I keep her lawn all wet

I close her fire; I shake her ashes down
I close her fire; I shake her ashes down
We eat our breakfast, then we ride on back to town

I keep her garden all free from bugs and weeds
I keep her garden all free from bugs and weeds
I plow her land, and then I sow my seeds

I trim her hedges; I clean out her back yard
I trim her hedges; I clean out her back yard
She loves her daddy because I'm long and hard

Notes:
Recorded on December 1, 1931 in New York City. Ashley plays guitar and sings, with Gwen Foster on guitar and harmonica. The sexual connotations are rather obvious.


Battleship Of Maine - Lyrics & Chords

C

Mc Kinley called for volunteers,

Then I got my gun,


F
First Spaniard I saw coming
C
I dropped my gun and run,
G7 C
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.

Chorus:


C
At war with that great nation Spain,

When I get back to Spain I want to honor my name,


G7 C
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.

Why are you running,
Are you afraid to die,
The reason that I'm running
Is because I cannot fly,
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.


The blood was a-running
And I was running too,
I give my feet good exercise,
I had nothing else to do,
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.


When they were a-chasing me,
I fell down on my knees,
First thing I cast my eyes upon
Was a great big pot of peas,
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.


The peas they were greasy,
The meat it was fat,
The boys was fighting Spaniards
While I was fighting that,
It was all about that Battleship of Maine.

*They'll Be Coming Around The Mountain-Again- The Music Of Appalachia

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The Soggy Mountain Boys Doing "Man Of Constant Sorrow".

CD REVIEW

Man Of Constant Sorrow and Other Timeless Ballads, various artists, Yazoo, 2002

Recently I was listening to a local talk show here in Boston in which the subject was which way at least part of the American music scene was headed. One of the premises of the show was that roots music, you know, the blues, jazz, and the mountain music presented here in this album was once again going to form the new “in " music. Fair enough. These genres have been mined before for their expressions of Americana and they can be mined in the future for that same purpose. But here is the question that I have that underlies that above-mentioned radio show premise. What is it about “roots” music, and here I want to concentrate on mountain music, that reaches out to many generations, social classes and tastes far removed from those craggy coal-laden hills of Appalachia and other isolated regions of the country?

Well one reason for this reviewer, as least, is that confirmed urbanite that he is a little scratch at his “roots” reveals a father who grew up in the coal mining regions of Kentucky and whose extended family mined the coal back into some mists of memory. Scratch your family tree, especially if your family has been here a few generations and you might find some mountain there too. But enough of that as a reason. How about simple lyrics that talk of hard lives, longing, love, death, hard death, tragic death, death by many means not as a strange outside thing but as very personally expressed ways of understanding the world in the land of the hollows and creeks. Add to that the obligatory fiddle, maybe a mandolin, or other handmade musical instrument of choice and you have an idea, or the beginning of an idea, of the appeal of this music today. Hell, some of it in the end is just music to be social on those long lonesome Saturday nights after a hard week of work and (in the beginning) before radio took center stage. We leave off the dissertation with that said.

As always the question on any compilation, especially as here we are dealing with very old tracks from some very old records produced in the 1920’s and 1930’s, is what is worth listening to. Well, my number one choice here is the two-part “The Island Unknown” by Eck Robertson and Family that closes out this CD. Jesus, even to this hardened city boy this is hauntingly beautiful. How about Buell Kazee on “John Hardy”. It has been done a million times but listen to this version of the story, it is a little different. And of course the also well-covered title song “Man Of Constant Sorrow”. This is good stuff. By the way, when your friends come and try to high hat you with their knowledge of the “in” music just run this little CD at them.

Willie Moore

Willie Moore was a king, his age twenty-one,
He courted a damsel fair;
O, her eyes was as bright as the diamonds every night,
And wavy black was her hair.

He courted her both night and day,
'Til to marry they did agree;
But when he came to get her parents consent,
They said it could never be.

She threw herself in Willie Moore's arms,
As oftime had done before;
But little did he think when they parted that night,
Sweet Anna he would see no more.

It was about the tenth of May,
The time I remember well;
That very same night, her body disappeared
In a way no tongue could tell.

Sweet Annie was loved both far and near,
Had friends most all around;
And in a little brook before the cottage door,
The body of sweet Anna was found.

She was taken by her weeping friends,
And carried to her parent's room,
And there she was dressed in a gown of snowy white,
And laid her in a lonely tomb.

Her parents now are left all alone,
One mourns while the other one weeps;
And in a grassy mound before the cottage door,
The body of sweet Anna still sleeps.

[Willie Moore never spoke that anyone heard,
And at length from his friends did part,
And the last heard from him, he'd gone to Montreal,
Where he died of a broken heart.]

This song was composed in the flowery West
By a man you may never have seen;
O, I'll tell you his name, but it is not in full,
His initials are J.R.D.4

A Man Of Constant Sorrow: Soggy Bottom Boys.

(In constant sorrow through his days.)

I am a man of constant sorrow,
I've seen trouble all my day.
I bid farewell to old Kentucky,
The place where I was born and raised.
(The place where he was born and raised )

For six long years I've been in trouble,
No pleasures here on earth I found.
For in this world I'm bound to ramble,
I have no friends to help me now.
(He has no friends to help him now.)

It's fare thee well my old lover.
I never expect to see you again.
For I'm bound to ride that northern railroad,
Perhaps I'll die upon this train.
(Perhaps he'll die upon this train.)

You can bury me in some deep valley,
For many years where I may lay.
Then you may learn to love another,
While I am sleeping in my grave.
(While he is sleeping in his grave.)

Maybe your friends think I'm just a stranger
My face, you'll never see no more.
But there is one promise that is given
I'll meet you on God's golden shore.
(He'll meet you on God's golden shore.)

LYRICS AS REPRINTED IN ALAN LOMAX, FOLK SONGS OF NORTH AMERICA, GARDEN CITY, 1960, pp. 271-273:

John Hardy was a brave little man,
He carried two guns ev'ry day.
Killed him a man in the West Virginia land,
Oughta seen poor Johnny gettin' away, Lord, Lord,
Oughta seen poor Johnny gettin' away.
John Hardy was standin' at the barroom door,
He didn't have a hand in the game,
Up stepped his woman and threw down fifty cents,
Says, "Deal my man in the game, Lord, Lord...."

John Hardy lost that fifty cents,
It was all he had in the game,
He drew the forty-four that he carried by his side
Blowed out that poor Negro's brains, Lord, Lord....

John Hardy had ten miles to go,
And half of that he run,
He run till he come to the broad river bank,
He fell to his breast and he swum, Lord, Lord....

He swum till he came to his mother's house,
"My boy, what have you done?"
"I've killed a man in the West Virginia Land,
And I know that I have to be hung, Lord, Lord...."

He asked his mother for a fifty-cent piece,
"My son, I have no change."
"Then hand me down my old forty-four
And I'll blow out my agurvatin' [sic] brains, Lord, Lord...."

John Hardy was lyin' on the broad river bank,
As drunk as a man could be;
Up stepped the police and took him by the hand,
Sayin' "Johnny, come and go with me, Lord, Lord...."

John Hardy had a pretty little girl,
The dress she wore was blue.
She come a-skippin' through the old jail hall
Sayin', "Poppy, I'll be true to you, Lord, Lord...."

John Hardy had another little girl,
The dress that she wore was red,
She came a-skippin' through the old jail hall
Sayin' "Poppy, I'd rather be dead, Lord, Lord...."

They took John Hardy to the hangin' ground,
They hung him there to die.
The very last words that poor boy said,
"My forty gun never told a lie, Lord, Lord...."

JOHN HENRY

Some say he's from Georgia,
Some say he's from Alabam,

But it's wrote on the rock at the Big Ben Tunnel,

That he's an East Virginia Man,

That he's an East Virginia man.

John Henry was a steel drivin' man,
He died with a hammah in his han',

Oh, come along boys and line the track

For John Henry ain't never comin' back,

For John Henry ain't never comin' back.

John Henry he could hammah,
He could whistle, he could sing,

He went to the mountain early in the mornin'

To hear his hammah ring,

To hear his hammah ring.

John Henry went to the section boss,
Says the section boss what kin you do?

Says I can line a track, I kin histe a jack,

I kin pick and shovel too,

I kin pick and shovel too.

John Henry told the cap'n,
When you go to town,

Buy me a nine pound hammah

An' I'll drive this steel drill down,

An' I'll drive this steel drill down.

Cap'n said to John Henry,
You've got a willin' mind.

But you just well lay yoh hammah down,

You'll nevah beat this drill of mine,

You'll nevah beat this drill of mine.



John Henry went to the tunnel
And they put him in lead to drive,

The rock was so tall and John Henry so small

That he laid down his hammah and he cried,

That he laid down his hammah and he cried.

The steam drill was on the right han' side,
John Henry was on the left,

Says before I let this steam drill beat me down,

I'll hammah myself to death,

I'll hammah myself to death.

Oh the cap'n said to John Henry,
I bleeve this mountain's sinkin' in.

John Henry said to the cap'n, Oh my!

Tain't nothin' but my hammah suckin' wind,

Tain't nothin' but my hammah suckin' wind.

John Henry had a cute liddle wife,
And her name was Julie Ann,

And she walk down the track and nevah look back,

Goin' to see her brave steel drivin' man,

Goin' to see her brave steel drivin' man.

John Henry had a pretty liddle wife,
She come all dressed in blue.

And the last words she said to him,

John Henry I been true to you,

John Henry I been true to you.

John Henry was on the mountain,
The mountain was so high,

He called to his pretty liddle wife,

Said Ah kin almos' touch the sky,

Said Ah kin almos' touch the sky.

Who gonna shoe yoh pretty liddle feet,
Who gonna glove yoh han',

Who gonna kiss yoh rosy cheeks,

An' who gonna be yoh man,

An' who gonna be yoh man?



Papa gonna shoe my pretty liddle feet,
Mama gonna glove my han',

Sistah gonna kiss my rosy cheeks,

An' I ain't gonna have no man,

An' I ain't gonna have no man.

Then John Henry told huh,
Don't you weep an' moan,

I got ten thousand dollars in the First National Bank,

I saved it to buy you a home,

I saved it to buy you a home.

John Henry took his liddle boy,
Sit him on his knee,

Said that Big Ben Tunnel

Gonna be the death of me,

Gonna be the death of me.

John Henry took that liddle boy,
Helt him in the pahm of his han',

And the last words he said to that chile was,

I want you to be a steel drivin' man,

I want you to be a steel drivin' man.

John Henry ast that liddle boy,
Now what are you gonna be?

Says if I live and nothin' happen,

A steel drivin' man I'll be,

A steel drivin' man I'll be.

Then John Henry he did hammah,
He did make his hammah soun',

Says now one more lick fore quittin' time,

An' I'll beat this steam drill down,

An' I'll beat this steam drill down.

The hammah that John Henry swung,
It weighed over nine poun',

He broke a rib in his left han' side,

And his intrels fell on the groun',

And his intrels fell on the groun'.



All the women in the West
That heard of John Henry's death,

Stood in the rain, flagged the east bound train,

Goin' where John Henry dropped dead,

Goin' where John Henry dropped dead.

John Henry's liddle mother
Was all dressed in red,

She jumped in bed, covered up her head,

Said I didn't know my boy was dead,

Said I didn't know my boy was dead.

They took John Henry to the White House,
And buried him in the san',

And every locomotive come roarin' by,

Says there lays that steel drivin' man,

Says there lays that steel drivin' man.

The Roots Of Urban Folk


*They'll Be Coming Around The Mountain-Again- The Music Of Appalachia

*Honor The Heroic British Miners Strike Of 1984-85

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Newsreel Footage Of A tribute To The British Coal Miners And Their Families

Guest Commentary

20th anniversary of an historic battle: the British miners strike
by Kjell Pettersson

The following article is translated from the April 8 issue of Internationalen, the weekly newspaper of Socialist Action’s cothinkers in Sweden, the Socialist Party, Swedish section of the Fourth International. It commemorates the great British coal miners strike of 1984-85, the opening battle against the worldwide capitalist and imperialist offensive known as neoliberalism, which has since worn away many of the historic gains of working people and sent millions of workers into chronic unemployment and misery. In several Latin American countries and Indonesia, it has led to recent mass uprisings. But the first fight came in the oldest country of capitalism, and it already demonstrated the new aggressiveness of capital in the age of economic decline that began with the recession of the early 1970s.

The British working class and especially the British coal miners have their pride. They have a strong self-consciousness and an acute awareness of their historic importance for the British energy supply. They struck in 1925. They broke the Heath Conservative government in 1973. Politicians, whether they come from the British Labour Party or the Conservative Tories, had to think more than once before they took a decision that did not suit this section of the British working class.

The coal miners and their families live in British working-class row houses where life tends to be hard and unrelenting. A cave-in, a badly laid dynamite charge—there are always risks. And those who have to live with death have to harden themselves.

But not even the coal miners, with their collective strength as their foundation and a mutual solidarity pact against the expected results of the Tory victory in 1979 for their own cause, were prepared for the fight they would have to face. Nor could the other British unions in their wildest imaginations grasp the scope of the open class war that was launched the same day that Margaret Thatcher took office as prime minister.

Thatcher, also called the "Iron Lady," with her icy gray eyes and her nimble tongue, was more neoliberal than neoliberalism itself. She was a reactionary fanatic, a dangerous visionary, who understood that one of the prerequisites for the capitalism of today and tomorrow is to sweep away all the obstacles on its path. For Thatcher that meant tearing down the public sector, the state monopolies, job security, wage bargaining—and not least of all, the counterpower, the hated trade unions.

This not something that she and the other members of her government and her advisors first thought of in 1979. It had been in the works before the Tory government came into office in 1979. It was to develop into an open crusade against the coal miners in the year-long strike that started at the end of January 1984.

Already in May 1978, the British magazine The Economist had ferreted out the future government’s strategy for fighting the unions. The outlines were drawn up by the Conservative parliamentary Policy Group under the leadership of MP Nicolas Ridley. This group was perceptive enough to work with the entirely likely hypothesis that, a year or two after the Tory election victory, the unions would start to recover from the shock. A challenge would come either over wages or layoffs.

Having learned from their previous experience, they feared that the fight would start in a so-called vulnerable industry, such as coal, electricity, or the docks, with the support of what they called "the full force of the Communist troublemakers."

After a day’s work, the Policy Group came to the conclusion that the most likely and the most favorable battleground was the coal industry. Out of sheer self-preservation, the coal miners and their militant leader, Arthur Scargill, had to fight back when the government announced that at least 20,000 jobs were going to go, and in the longer term talked about 70,000 jobs.

If the government could break the hard nut of the coal miners, it would be much easier for it to tame the weaker and more yielding sections of the trade-union movement.

But to win they needed a strategy. The Policy Group, or more correctly, the general staff of the Tory government, thought there several prerequisites for winning the fight. They needed a series of cards to win the fight. The hand they played had at least six. Before the government launched its war, it had to: Build up the maximum coal stocks. Make plans for the eventual importation of coal. Promote the recruitment of unorganized truck drivers to help transport coal when necessary. Introduce parallel coal and oil firing at all power stations as soon as possible. Cut all benefits for strikes and force the union to finance the strike. Have a mobile police force equipped and ready to enforce the law against strike pickets. "Good unorganized drivers should be recruited to drive through strike picket lines under police protection." The government was playing a loaded game. It held the aces. The war could start, and it started a few months into 1984.

Before it got underway, the British National Coal Board got a new chief, Ian McGregor. He did not mince any words: "Behave yourselves and you have a future, don’t behave yourself, and you have none. " Later on, it turned out that there was no future for any coal miners.

At the start of the strike, the Iron Lady thundered, "On the Falkland Islands [in the war against Argentina], we had to fight the foreign enemy. We have the internal enemy, and it is harder and more dangerous to freedom."

The coal miners’ strike held out for an incredible year. The odds from the beginning were not the best. By April, 80 percent of the coal miners had joined the strike.

But, and this is an important "but," in Nottinghamshire, the strike front broke from the start, when a majority of the coal miners in the district refused to join the strike. They did this in the belief that their mines were more secure. Later, after the strike, they would see things differently. Even though during the strike, the coal miners proclaimed again and again, "Miners united cannot be defeated," they were not entirely united.

Moreover, it is one thing to strike for higher wages when the economic situation is good and the enterprise is making high profits. It is quite another thing, and a much harder struggle, to strike against layoffs, when the employers want to shed labor power.

Strikebreakers and a hard fight to save jobs were already in store before the strike started. Moreover, there was a government ready to resort to any means whatever to crush the strike.

In order for the strike to have a chance, the miners had to get all the support they could; in part from the central British trade union organization, the Trades Union Council; and not least from the British Labour Party, led by Neil Kinnock.

The support from the TUC remained half hearted, and from the Labour Party not even that. On the other hand, the miners got unprecedented support from solidarity organizations in Great Britain and internationally.

Facing an almost unnatural test of strength, it was a wonder that the miners could hold out for a year before they finally were forced to lower their flag. For those arrested, imprisoned, and harassed, there was no money—nothing but their class feelings and their solidarity. They had been mocked and slandered by a more or less united British press, which loyally followed and supported the Thatcher government.

Their opponents were well organized. They had passed laws against the blockades around the workplaces, stocked coal, and when the coal stocks began to empty out in the summer of 1984 they managed to bring in the first ships of strikebreaker coal—from Poland, among other places.

Through laws, the government had stopped all local and state contributions, and that led to unions being able to pay strike support only exceptionally. The total outlay for police was around about $250 million. About 11,000 workers were arrested and treated like criminals.

They sacrificed everything. The words, "Blood, sweat, and tears," never had such a concrete meaning as during the long miners’ strike.

A description of what the miners were forced to go through comes from a miners’ community where both father and son struck. A nearly year-long strike had led to many miners’ families living on the edge of starvation. In one of these many families, the situation was more than stark. Someone simply had to go back to work and become hated as a blackleg for the rest of his life. The father took on this burden so that his son could avoid being called a "scab" for the rest of his life, because he himself had less time to live.

On Sunday, March 1,1985, a year after the strike started, two Welsh miners’ wives, Anne Jones and Barbara Edwards, were to speak at the Fokets Hus in Stockholm. An hour before the rally, they learned that the Mine Workers Delegate Conference had decided by a narrow majority to end the strike. But the two women still summoned up their strength went up to the platform.

"As the men go back to work on Tuesday," they said, "bills are going to start pouring in. For the whole strike, we did not pay rent, gas, or electricity. the bills are going to mount up in the miners' homes. Some of us have already gotten eviction notices.

"Our going back is not because the miners did not fight hard enough for their cause. The responsibility for the defeat does not lie with the coal miners or their union. The responsibility falls entirely on the leadership of the TUC and the right-wingers in the Labour Party who did not lift a finger to support the miners."

Two days later, on March 3, the miners went back to work. Over TV, I saw a union leader of a type that does not grow on trees, Arthur Scargill, at the head of his miner comrades behind a trade-union banner leading the union Golgotha march back to work in the Welsh mine where he once worked.

In 1984, when the strike started, there were 170 coal mines in Great Britain. Ten years later, in 1994, there were 17. In the same period, the number of coal miners declined from 181,000 to 11,000.

After the end of the strike, the National Coal Board chief, Ian McGregor, scolded, "Now people are finding out the price of their stubbornness and rebelliousness. And, my children, I will see that it is recognized."

Now it is 20 years since the coal miners’ strike started. It was a strike that certainly ended in a crushing defeat. A defeat that for the Thatcher government was a victory that opened the door for neoliberalism and ruinous capitalism.

The defeat was not one for the coal miners alone but for the whole international workers’ movement and not the least for its trade-union structures. They did not want, or were not allowed, to understand that the coal miners were fighting for them as well.

The coal miners lost. But one thing cannot be taken from them. They fought, and in the circumstances, they fought more than well.

*Opposition To Levelling The Mountains To Get the Coal- Free The Resisters

Click On Title To Link To Article About Resistance To Levelling The Hills Down In Coal Country And Links To More Information About That Struggle.

Commentary

The above cited link provides information about the struggle down in Kentucky and West Virginia against the efforts various energy companies to work the again sought after coal in the historic coal regions, minus the unionized (and many times heroic class warrior) mine workers. Readers of this site, may or may not know of my (secondary) roots to coal country but these efforts to resist the ravaging of Appalachia bear attention. Frankly, although I know that the coal country singer/songwriter Kathy Mattea is involved in the efforts to publicize this issue I am not, at the moment, that familiar with the particulars down there. But I will be commenting more on this issue. Fr now though, the corporate cast of characters should, instinctively, tell the tale of where our sympathies should lie. Later.

*She’ll Be Coming Around The Mountain- The Work Of Traditional Mountain Singer Gillian Welch

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Gillian Welch performing "Orphan Girl".

CD Review

Revival, Gillian Welch, Almo Records, 2001

The Carter Family, Maybelle and Sara Carter, June Carter Cash, Jean Ritchie and so on. What they all have in common is that they form part of the line of our common mountain music heritage. I am sure that there are others whom I could have included without doing an injustice but I wanted to make this point. Just as the folk revivalists of the 1960’s searched for roots musicians (once they knew they were still alive and kicking and waiting, just waiting, for a second chance) to emulate and then extend those musical traditions today there is a need for develop a new generation of mountain music singers. That task has been made infinitely easier by the emergence over the past decade or so of Gilliam Welch in order to keep this mournful mountain music alive. This CD under review, “Revival”, from 1996 is my prima facie case for that last statement.

I do not, honestly, know the details of this singer’s background although I have heard that she is from some upscale background in California. And that is the rub here. Before I knew that information, whether it is true or not, I would have sworn on that proverbial stack of bibles that she was from the hills and hollows of Harlan County, Kentucky or somewhere nearby. That gives her plenty of credibility in my circles. What gives her more, much more is her voice and her song selection as she goes through the mountain women’s litany of troubles: not enough money, two many kids, a hard-drinking, two- fisted man who takes out his frustrations on … well you know the rest. And then there are the songs of lost, like “Orphan Girl” (the first song of Ms. Welch’s that I ever heard), longing and, of course, out in those lonely hills facing an inscrutable god, death. Welcome to the mountain music tradition.



Gillian Welch, Orphan Girl Lyrics

I am an orphan on God's highway
But I'll share my troubles if you go my way
I have no mother no father
No sister no brother
I am an orphan girl

I have had friendships pure and golden
But the ties of kinship I have not known them
I know no mother no father
No sister no brother
I am an orphan girl

But when He calls me I will be able
To meet my family at God's table
I'll meet my mother my father
My sister my brother
No more orphan girl

Blessed Savior make me willing
And walk beside me until I'm with them
Be my mother my father
My sister my brother
I am an orphan girl



Gillian Welch, Annabelle Lyrics

I lease twenty acres and one Jenny mule
From the Alabama trust
Half of the cotton, a third of the corn
Ya get a handful of dust

Chorus:
And we can not have all things to please us
No matter how we try
Until we've all gone to Jesus
We can only wonder why

I had a daughter called her Annabelle
She's the apple of my eye
Tried to give her something like I never had
I didn't want to ever hear her cry

Chorus

When I'm dead and buried I'll take a hard life of tears
For every day I've ever known
Anna's in the churchyard, she's got no life at all
She's only got these words on a stone

Chorus
Until we've all gone to Jesus
We only wonder why

*Hard Times In Babylon- Growing Up Among The Working Poor In The 1950s

COMMENTARY

GROWING UP DIRT POOR IN THE 1950’S

Recently I wrote a personal commentary about a childhood friend from back in the old neighborhood where I grew up in the 1950’s (see "An Uncounted Casualty of War", May 8, 2007 archives). I have also been re-reading the recently deceased investigative journalist David Halberstam’s book "The Fifties" that covers that same period. Halberstam’s take on the trends of the period in contrast to the reality of my own childhood experiences as a child of the working poor that missed most of the benefits of that ‘golden age’ rekindled some memories. It is no exaggeration to say that these were hard times in Babylon. Those events have also made me reflect on why the hard anti-communist politics of the period left people like my parents high and dry. The defeat and destruction of the left-wing movement, principally pro-communist organizations, of that period has continued to leave a mark on today’s political landscape and on this writer.

There are many myths about the 1950’s to be sure. However, one cannot deny that the key public myth was that those who had fought World War II and were afterwards enlisted in the anti-Soviet Cold War fight against communism were entitled to some breaks. The overwhelming desire for personal security and comfort on the part of those who had survived the Great Depression and fought the war was not therefore totally irrational. That it came at the expense of other things like a more just and equitable society is a separate matter. Moreover, despite the public myth not everyone benefited from the ‘rising tide’. The experience of my parents is proof of that. Thus this commentary is really about what happened to those, like my parents, who did not make it and were left to their personal fates without a rudder to get them through the rough spots. Yes, my parents were of the much ballyhooed and misnamed ‘greatest generation’ but they were not part of it.

I will not go through all the details of my parents’ childhoods, courtship and marriage for such biographic details of the Depression and World War II are plentiful and theirs fits the pattern. One detail is, however, important and that is that my father grew up in the hills of eastern Kentucky, Hazard, Harlan County to be exact, coal mining country made famous in song and by Michael Harrington in his 1960s book "The Other America". This was, and is, hardscrabble country by any definition. Among whites these ‘hillbillies’ were the poorest of the poor. There can be little wonder that when World War II began my father left to join the Marines, did his fair share of fighting, settled in the Boston area and never looked back.

By all rights my father should have been able to take advantage of the G.I. Bill and enjoyed home and hearth like the denizens of Levittown described in Halberstam’s book and shown on the classic television shows "Ozzie and Harriet" and "Leave It To Beaver". But life did not go that way. Why? He had virtually no formal education. And moreover had three young sons born close together in the immediate post-war period. Furthermore he had no marketable skills usable in the Boston labor market. There is no call for coal miners here. My father was a good man. He was a hard-working man; when he was able find work. He was an upright man. But he never drew a break. Unskilled labor, to which he was reduced, is notoriously unstable, and so his work life was one of barely making ends meet. Thus, well before the age when the two parent working family became the necessary standard to get ahead my mother went to work to supplement the family income. She too was an unskilled laborer. Thus, even with two people working we were always dirt poor.

Our little family started life in the housing projects, at that time not the notorious hell holes of crime and deprivation that they later became but still a mark of being low, very low, on the social ladder at a time when others were heading to the Valhalla of the newly emerging suburbs. By clawing and scratching my parents saved enough money to buy an extremely modest single-family house. The house was in a neighborhood that was, and is, one of those old working class neighborhoods where the houses are small, cramped and seedy, the leavings of those who have moved on to bigger and better things. The neighborhood nevertheless reflected the desire of the working poor in the 1950’s, my parents and others, to own their own homes and not be shunted off to decrepit apartments or dilapidated housing projects, the fate of those just below them on the social ladder. This is social progress?

But enough of all that. Where in this story is there a place for militant political class-consciousness? Not the sense of social inferiority of the poor before the rich (or the merely middle class). Damn, there was plenty of that consciousness in our house. But where was there an avenue in the 1950’s, when it could have made a difference, for a man like my father to have his hurts explained and have something done about them? Nowhere. So instead it went internally into the life of the family and it never got resolved. One of his sons, this writer, has had luxury of being able to fight essentially exemplary propaganda battles in small left-wing socialist circles and felt he has done good work in his life. My father’s hurts needed much more. The ‘red scare’ aimed mainly against the American Communist Party but affecting wider layers of society decimated any possibility that he could get the kind of redress he needed. That, dear reader, in a nutshell is why I proudly bear the name socialist today. And the task for me today? To insure that future young workers, unlike my parents in the 1950’s, will have their day of justice.

*Organize The Coal Mines- A Life And Death Struggle- A Guest Commentary

Click on the title to link to a "Workers Vanguard", newspaper of the Spartacist League/U.S, article on the subject mentioned in the headline.