Happy Birthday Eric Andersen-*From The Edges Of The Folk Revival- The Work Of Eric Andersen

Happy Birthday Eric Andersen-*From The Edges Of The Folk Revival- The Work Of Eric Andersen

CD Reviews

So Much On My Mind-The Eric Andersen Anthology, Eric Andersen, Raven Records, 2007

In the great swirl that was the folk music revival movement of the early 1960's a number of new voices were heard that created their own folk expression and were not as dependent on the traditional works of collective political struggle or social commentary associated with the likes of the Weavers, Pete Seeger or Woody Guthrie. Although Eric Andersen was a product of the intense Cambridge folk scene and knew and played with many of the stars of that scene he had a distinctive niche in that he performed mainly his own his music and his subject matter tended toward the very personal. It was only political in the most general sense that he, like the others, was breaking away from Tin Pan Alley to express his sentiments.

That said, this anthology is heavily weighted toward songs that he wrote in the 1960's and early 1970’s - the most productive period of his career. I have seen some of his more recent performances (post 1980’s) and listened to his later work and nothing compares with the work of this period. Such tunes of personal sorrow and anger as “Florentine” and “Sheila” (not included here) and well as the classic “Violets of Dawn” and “Leaving You” (not here) come from this period. Here “Time Runs Like A Freight Train” sticks out as does “Sign of a Desperate Man”.

I would note than for veteran folkies this album may suffer, as seems to be fairly common these days when artist cover their originals versions, of being over-produced. If that makes the sound more appealing to younger audiences drawn to this type of music that is to the good. If done for artistic reasons I beg to differ on the value of that effort. Especially with a fine-voiced artist like Andersen, who lived and died by the simple presentation of his songs.

In short, you have listened to (and read) the lyrics of this singer/ song writer from this time to get a real feel for his work. But if you want to take a trip back to a time when a serious argument could, and was made, that the personal was political and that folk music was, above all, about expressing the seemingly eternal notions of the complexities of love and loss then this is a part of the archives.

Thirsty Boots written by Eric Andersen

I note here that this is one of Eric Andersen's more political songs, made famous by Judy Collins, and relates to some of his friends who were working in the civil rights movement down in the South in the early 1960's.-Markin


C C/B C/A C/G
You've long been on the open road
F C C/G
You've been sleepin in the rain
C C/B C/A C/G
From the dirty words and muddy cells
F G
Your clothes are soiled and stained.
C C/B C/A C/G
But the dirty words and muddy cells
F G
Will soon be hid in shame
C F C
So only stop to rest yourself
F G
Till you'll go off again.
C F
So take off your thirsty boots
C F
And stay for awhile
C C/B C/A
Your feet are hot and weary
Dm G
From a dusty mile
C F
And maybe I can make you laugh
C F
Maybe I can try
C C/B C/A
I'm just lookin' for the evening
Dm G C
And the morning in your eyes.
C C/B C/A C/G
But tell me of the ones you saw
F C C/G
As far as you could see
C C/B C/A C/G
Across the plain from field to town
F G
A-marching to be free
C C/B C/A C/G
And of the rusted prison gates
F G
That tumbled by degree
C F C
Like laughing children one by one
F G
They looked like you and me
C F
So take off your thirsty boots
C F
And stay for awhile
C C/B C/A
Your feet are hot and weary
Dm G
From a dusty mile
C F
And maybe I can make you laugh
C F
Maybe I can try
C C/B C/A
I'm just lookin' for the evening
Dm G C
And the morning in your eyes.
C C/B C/A C/G
I know you are no stranger down
F C C/G
The crooked rainbow trails
C C/B C/A C/G
From dancing cliff-edged shattered sills
F G
Of slender shackled jails
C C/B C/A C/G
But the voices drift up from below
F G
As the walls they're being scaled
C G C
All of this and more
F G
Your song shall not be failed.
C F
So take off your thirsty boots
C F
And stay for awhile
C C/B C/A
Your feet are hot and weary
Dm G
From a dusty mile
C F
And maybe I can make you laugh
C F
Maybe I can try
C C/B C/A
I'm just lookin' for the evening
Dm G C
And the morning in your eyes.

VIOLETS OF DAWN
(Eric Anderson)

Take me to the night I'm tipping
Topsy turvy turning upside down.
Hold me close and whisper what you will
For there is no-one else around.
Oh, you can sing-song me sweet smiles
Regardless of the city's careless frown.
Come watch the no colors fade, blazing
Into petaled sprays of violets of dawn.

In blindful wonderments enchantments
You can lift my wings softly to flight.
Your eyes are like swift fingers
Reaching out into the pockets of my night
Oh whirling twirling puppy-warm
Before the flashing cloaks of darkness gone.
Come see the no colors fade, blazing
Into petaled sprays of violets of dawn.

Some Prince Charming I'd be on two white steeds
To bring you dappled, diamond crowns
And climb your tower, Sleeping Beauty,
'Fore you even know I've left the ground.
Oh you can wear a Cinderella, Snow White,
Alice Wonderlanded gown.
Come see the no colors fade, blazing
Into petaled sprays of violets of dawn.

But if I seem to wander off in dream-like looks
Please let me settle slowly.
It's only me just starin' out at you,
A seeming stranger speaking holy.
No, I don't mean to wake you up,
It's only loneliness just coming on.
So let the no colors fade, blazing
Into petaled sprays of violets of dawn.

Like shadows bursting into mist
Behind the echoes of this nonsense song
It's just the chasing, whispering trails
Of secret steps, oh see them laughing on.
There's magic in the sleepiness
Of waking to a childing sounding yawn.
Come see the no colors fade, blazing
Into petaled sprays of violets of dawn.

Written by Eric Anderson
Copyright United Artists Music Co., Inc.


Close The Door Lightly When You Go (Eric Andersen)

Turn around, don't whisper out my name
For like a breeze it'd stir a dying flame
I'll miss someone, if it eases you to know
But close the door lightly when you go

Chorus:
Who was the one that stole my mind
Who was the one that robbed my time
Who was the one who made me feel unkind
So fare thee well, sweet love of mine

Take your tears to someone else's eyes
They're made of glass, and they cut like wounding lies
Memories, are drifting like the snow
So close the door lightly when you go

Chorus

Don't look back to where you once had been
Look straight ahead, when you're walking through the rain
And find a light, if the path gets dark and cold
But close the door lightly when you go

Chorus

Turn around, don't whisper out my name
For like a breeze it'd stir a dying flame
I'll miss someone, if it eases you to know
But close the door lightly when you go



My Land Is A Good Land (Eric Andersen)

My land is a good land
Its grass is made of rainbow blades
Its fields and its rivers were blessed by God
It's a good land so they say
It's a good land so they say

My land is a rich land
Its hills and its valleys abound
Its highways go to many good places
Where many good people are found
Where many good people are found

My land is a sweet land
It's a sweet land so I've heard
Its song is made up of many men's hands
And a throat of a hummingbird
And a throat of a hummingbird

(instrumental on 'Bout Changes 2, 1st verse on 'Bout Changes 1)

My land is a free land
It's a free land so I'm told
Freedom is a thing money can't buy
And it's worth even more than gold
And it's worth even more than gold

My land is my homeland
My homeland is a strong land too
It starts where the sun is born each morn
And it ends where the skies are blue
And it ends where the skies are blue

My land is a good land
Its grass is made of rainbow blades
Its fields and its rivers were blessed by God
It's a good land so they say
It's a good land so they say


Waves: Great American Song Series, Volume 2, Eric Andersen and various artists, Appleseed Records, 2005

This first paragraph is taken from a previously reviewed Eric Andersen CD.

“In the great swirl that was the folk music revival movement of the early 1960's a number of new voices were heard that created their own folk expression and were not as dependent on the traditional works of collective political struggle or social commentary associated with the likes of the Weavers, Pete Seeger or Woody Guthrie. Although Eric Andersen was a product of the intense Cambridge folk scene and knew and played with many of the stars of that scene he had a distinctive niche in that he performed mainly his own his music and his subject matter tended toward the very personal. It was only political in the most general sense that he, like the others, was breaking away from Tin Pan Alley to express his sentiments.”

Here, Eric, older and wiser (right?) pays musical tribute to his fellow singer/songwriters of the 1960’s who influenced his own work and were in turn influenced by his. An added attraction is accompaniment by Arlo Guthrie, Tom Rush, Judy Collins and other artists that also were instrumental in that period or who were later influenced by the songwriters covered here. So what is good here? Tom Paxton’s “Ramblin’ Boy”; Tim Buckley’s “Once I Was”; Lou Reed’s “Pale Blue Eyes”, and Richard Farina’s “Bold Marauders”. Like I say this is a labor of love and it shows.


Pale Blue Eyes- Lou Reed

Sometimes I feel so happy,
Sometimes I feel so sad.
Sometimes I feel so happy,
But mostly you just make me mad.
Baby, you just make me mad.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

Thought of you as my mountain top,
Thought of you as my peak.
Thought of you as everything,
I've had but couldn't keep.
I've had but couldn't keep.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

If I could make the world as pure and strange as what I see,
I'd put you in the mirror,
I put in front of me.
I put in front of me.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

Skip a life completely.
Stuff it in a cup.
She said, Money is like us in time,
It lies, but can't stand up.
Down for you is up."
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

It was good what we did yesterday.
And I'd do it once again.
The fact that you are married,
Only proves, you're my best friend.
But it's truly, truly a sin.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

For Bob Dylan Bringing It All Back Home, Indeed- Bob Dylan’s Later Work- "World Gone Wrong"

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Bob Dylan Covering Blind Willie McTells' "Delia".

Once Again Haunted By The Question Of Questions-Who Represented The “Voice” Of The Generation Of ’68 When The Deal Went Down-And No It Was Not One Richard Millstone, Oops, Milhous Nixon

By Seth Garth

I have been haunted recently by various references to events in the early 1960s brought to mind by either seeing or hearing those references. First came one out of the blue when I was in Washington, D.C. on other business and I popped in as is my wont to the National Gallery of Art to get an “art bump” after fighting the dearies at the tail-end of the conference that I was attending. I usually enter on the 7^th Street entrance to see what they have new on display on the Ground Floor exhibition areas. This time there was a small exhibit concerning the victims of Birmingham Sunday, 1963 the murder by bombing of a well-known black freedom church in that town and the death of four innocent young black girls and injuries to others. The show itself was a “what if” by a photographer who presented photos of what those young people might have looked like had they not had their precious lives stolen from them by some racist KKK-drenched bastards who never really did get the justice they deserved. The catch here, the impact on me, was these murders and another very disturbing viewing on television at the time, in black and white, of the Birmingham police unleashing dogs, firing water hoses and using the ubiquitous police billy-clubs to beat down on peaceful mostly black youth protesting against the pervasive Mister James Crow system which deprived them of their civil rights.

Those events galvanized me into action from seemingly out of nowhere. At the time I was in high school, in an all-white high school in my growing up town of North Adamsville south of Boston. (That “all white” no mistake despite the nearness to urban Boston since a recent look at the yearbook for my class showed exactly zero blacks out of a class of 515. The nearest we got to a black person was a young immigrant from Lebanon who was a Christian though and was not particularly dark. She, to my surprise, had been a cheer-leader and well-liked). I should also confess, for those who don’t know not having read about a dozen articles  I have done over the past few years in this space, that my “corner boys,” the Irish mostly with a sprinkling of Italians reflecting the two major ethic groups in the town I hung around with then never could figure out why I was so concerned about black people down South when we were living hand to mouth up North. (The vagaries of time have softened some things among them for example nobody uses the “n” word which needs no explanation which was the “term of art” in reference to black people then to not prettify what this crowd was about.)

In many ways I think I only survived by the good graces of Scribe who everybody deferred to on social matters. Not for any heroic purpose but because Scribe was the key to intelligence about what girls were interested in what guys, who was “going” steady, etc. a human grapevine who nobody crossed without suffering exile. What was “heroic” if that can be used in this context was that as a result of those Birmingham images back then I travelled over to the NAACP office on Massachusetts Avenue in Boston to offer my meager services in the civil rights struggle and headed south to deadly North Carolina one summer on a voting drive. I was scared but that was that. My guys never knew that was where I went until many years later long after we had all gotten a better gripe via the U.S. Army and other situations on the question of race and were amazed that I had done that.         

The other recent occurrence that has added fuel to the fire was a segment on NPR’s Morning Edition where they deal with aspects of what amounts to the American Songbook. The segment dealt with the generational influence of folk-singer songwriter Bob Dylan’s The Times They Are A-Changin’ as an anthem for our generation (and its revival of late in newer social movements like the kids getting serious about gun control). No question for those who came of political age early in the 1960s before all hell broke loose this was a definitive summing up song for those of us who were seeking what Bobby Kennedy would later quoting a line of poetry from Alfred Lord Tennyson call “seeking a newer world.” In one song was summed up what we thought about obtuse indifferent authority figures, the status quo, our clueless parents, the social struggles that were defining us and a certain hurried-ness to get to wherever we thought we were going.

I mentioned in that previous commentary that given his subsequent trajectory while Bob Dylan may have wanted to be the reincarnation Plus of Woody Guthrie (which by his long life he can rightly claim) whether he wanted to be, could be, the voice of the Generation of ’68 was problematic. What drove me, is driving me a little crazy is who or what some fifty plus years after all the explosions represented the best of what we had started out to achieve (and were essentially militarily defeated by the ensuing reaction before we could achieve most of it) in those lonely high school halls and college dormitories staying up late at night worrying about the world and our place in the sun.

For a long time, probably far longer than was sensible I believed that it was somebody like Jim Morrison, shaman-like leader of the Doors, who came out of the West Coast winds and headed to our heads in the East. Not Dylan, although he was harbinger of what was to come later in the decade as rock reassembled itself in new garb after some vanilla music hiatus but somebody who embodied the new sensibility that Dylan had unleashed. The real nut though was that I, and not me alone, and not my communal brethren alone either, was the idea that we possessed again probably way past it use by date was that “music was the revolution” by that meaning nothing but the general lifestyle changes through the decade so that the combination of “dropping out” of nine to five society, dope in its many manifestations, kindnesses, good thought and the rapidly evolving music would carry us over the finish line. Guys like Josh Breslin and the late Pete Markin, hard political guys as well as rabid music lovers and dopers, used to laugh at me when I even mentioned that I was held in that sway especially when ebb tide of the counter-cultural movement hit in Nixon times and the bastinado was as likely to be our home as the new Garden. Still Jim Morrison as the “new man” (new human in today speak) made a lot of sense to me although when he fell down like many others to the lure of the dope I started reappraising some of my ideas -worried about that bastinado fate.  

So I’ll be damned right now if I could tell you that we had such a voice, and maybe that was the problem, or a problem which has left us some fifty years later without a good answer. Which only means for others to chime in with their thoughts on this matter.         

CD Review

World Gone Wrong, Bob Dylan, Columbia Records, 1993

The first paragraph of this review has been used to review other later Bob Dylan CDs.

Okay, okay I have gone on and one over the past year or so about the influence of Bob Dylan's music (and lyrics) on me, and on my generation, the Generation of '68. But, please, don't blame me. Blame Bob. After all he could very easily have gone into retirement and enjoyed the fallout from his youthful fame and impressed one and all at his local AARP chapter. But, no, he had to go out on the road continuously, seemingly forever, keeping his name and music front and center. Moreover, the son of a gun has done more reinventions of himself than one could shake a stick at (folk troubadour, symbolic poet in the manner of Rimbaud and Verlaine, heavy metal rocker, blues man, etc.) So, WE are left with forty or so years of work to go through to try to sort it out. In short, can I (or anyone else) help it if he is restless and acts, well, ...like a rolling stone?

All of this is by way of introduction to the latest group of CDs from the vaults of one Bob Dylan's vast repertoire of musical interests. I note that there is a touch of going back, way back, and a life time's summing up driving the music in this later work. I also note the increased emphasis on the music that influenced him early on in his rise to fame and many tips of the hat to the various genres that make up the so-called "American Songbook" that he seemingly knows by heart. While we are all familiar with the various periodizations of the Dylan musical trajectory- folk troubadour a la Woody Guthrie, hard rockster, semi-Christian evangelical, old vaudeville showman and sentimental retro (for him) songster it is good to see him return once more to his beginnings. "Bringing It All Back Home", "Blonde On Blonde" and "Blood On The Tracks" will probably be his monuments in the folk/rock/pop pantheons but some of the late work, especially some of the covers of the early blues men like Skip James and Blind Willie McTell will endure as well. Kudos, Bob.

"World Gone Wrong" represents the highest expression in this later work of Dylan's return to his roots as he "merely" rearranges (as he has always done with covers) many old traditional ballads and songs that "spoke" to him in the early 1990's when he was making yet another "endless tour" comeback. Stick outs here include a couple of Mississippi Sheiks tunes ( a group, by the way, that will be reviewed on its own merits separately in this space at a later date). Blind Willie McTell (a seminal influence in the Dylan old days) also rates a cover with "Delia".

Finally, a song (also covered by Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard and, I believe, from which Dylan is taking his cover)from back in the depths of time, "Two Soldiers", explores the pathos and futility of war from a personal perspective. I should also note here that Dylan provides a very interesting, if sometimes cryptic, set of liner notes filled with symbolic meanings that a generation of devotees will spend plenty of time trying to decipher. Nice.

For Bob Dylan - A Song For Our Times- Bob Dylan's "With God On Our Side"

Commentary

I am in high dudgeon today against the latest Obama moves for troops escalation in Afghanistan. I am also writing a review of the Martin Scorsese documentary on Bob Dylan, "No Direction Home", from PBS in 2005. This film covers the early protest song-oriented part of Dylan's career, among other things. As part of the documentary there are many film clips of early performances. The one that struck me as apt for today is his rendition of the song "With God On Our Side" together with Joan Baez at the Newport Folk Festival in 1963. Powerful stuff. Here is my take on it today.

In the interest of completeness concerning my earlier evaluations of the Dylan songs "Masters Of War" and "With Good On Our Side" on his early albums here are the lyrics to the latter song.

Interestingly, except for changing the Cold War theme against the Russians then to the so-called War On Terror now against seemingly every Muslim that any American presidential administration can get it hands on (Bush in Iraq and Afghanistan) and Obama (same and, maybe, Pakistan) these lyrics "speak" to me today. The word they speak is hubris, American hubris, that the rest of the world has had reason to fear, and rightly so. What do they "speak" to you?

"With God On Our Side"-Bob Dylan-1963

Oh my name it is nothin'
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I's taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And the land that I live in
Has God on its side.

Oh the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh the country was young
With God on its side.

The Spanish-American
War had its day
And the Civil War too
Was soon laid away
And the names of the heroes
I's made to memorize
With guns on their hands
And God on their side.

The First World War, boys
It came and it went
The reason for fighting
I never did get
But I learned to accept it
Accept it with pride
For you don't count the dead
When God's on your side.

When the Second World War
Came to an end
We forgave the Germans
And then we were friends
Though they murdered six million
In the ovens they fried
The Germans now too
Have God on their side.

I've learned to hate Russians
All through my whole life
If another war comes
It's them we must fight
To hate them and fear them
To run and to hide
And accept it all bravely
With God on my side.

But now we got weapons
Of the chemical dust
If fire them we're forced to
Then fire them we must
One push of the button
And a shot the world wide
And you never ask questions
When God's on your side.

In a many dark hour
I've been thinkin' about this
That Jesus Christ
Was betrayed by a kiss
But I can't think for you
You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

So now as I'm leavin'
I'm weary as Hell
The confusion I'm feelin'
Ain't no tongue can tell
The words fill my head
And fall to the floor
If God's on our side
He'll stop the next war.

Once Again Haunted By The Question Of Questions-Who Represented The “Voice” Of The Generation Of ’68 When The Deal Went Down-And No It Was Not One Richard Millstone, Oops, Milhous Nixon

By Seth Garth

I have been haunted recently by various references to events in the early 1960s brought to mind by either seeing or hearing those references. First came one out of the blue when I was in Washington, D.C. on other business and I popped in as is my wont to the National Gallery of Art to get an “art bump” after fighting the dearies at the tail-end of the conference that I was attending. I usually enter on the 7^th Street entrance to see what they have new on display on the Ground Floor exhibition areas. This time there was a small exhibit concerning the victims of Birmingham Sunday, 1963 the murder by bombing of a well-known black freedom church in that town and the death of four innocent young black girls and injuries to others. The show itself was a “what if” by a photographer who presented photos of what those young people might have looked like had they not had their precious lives stolen from them by some racist KKK-drenched bastards who never really did get the justice they deserved. The catch here, the impact on me, was these murders and another very disturbing viewing on television at the time, in black and white, of the Birmingham police unleashing dogs, firing water hoses and using the ubiquitous police billy-clubs to beat down on peaceful mostly black youth protesting against the pervasive Mister James Crow system which deprived them of their civil rights.

Those events galvanized me into action from seemingly out of nowhere. At the time I was in high school, in an all-white high school in my growing up town of North Adamsville south of Boston. (That “all white” no mistake despite the nearness to urban Boston since a recent look at the yearbook for my class showed exactly zero blacks out of a class of 515. The nearest we got to a black person was a young immigrant from Lebanon who was a Christian though and was not particularly dark. She, to my surprise, had been a cheer-leader and well-liked). I should also confess, for those who don’t know not having read about a dozen articles  I have done over the past few years in this space, that my “corner boys,” the Irish mostly with a sprinkling of Italians reflecting the two major ethic groups in the town I hung around with then never could figure out why I was so concerned about black people down South when we were living hand to mouth up North. (The vagaries of time have softened some things among them for example nobody uses the “n” word which needs no explanation which was the “term of art” in reference to black people then to not prettify what this crowd was about.)

In many ways I think I only survived by the good graces of Scribe who everybody deferred to on social matters. Not for any heroic purpose but because Scribe was the key to intelligence about what girls were interested in what guys, who was “going” steady, etc. a human grapevine who nobody crossed without suffering exile. What was “heroic” if that can be used in this context was that as a result of those Birmingham images back then I travelled over to the NAACP office on Massachusetts Avenue in Boston to offer my meager services in the civil rights struggle and headed south to deadly North Carolina one summer on a voting drive. I was scared but that was that. My guys never knew that was where I went until many years later long after we had all gotten a better gripe via the U.S. Army and other situations on the question of race and were amazed that I had done that.         

The other recent occurrence that has added fuel to the fire was a segment on NPR’s Morning Edition where they deal with aspects of what amounts to the American Songbook. The segment dealt with the generational influence of folk-singer songwriter Bob Dylan’s The Times They Are A-Changin’ as an anthem for our generation (and its revival of late in newer social movements like the kids getting serious about gun control). No question for those who came of political age early in the 1960s before all hell broke loose this was a definitive summing up song for those of us who were seeking what Bobby Kennedy would later quoting a line of poetry from Alfred Lord Tennyson call “seeking a newer world.” In one song was summed up what we thought about obtuse indifferent authority figures, the status quo, our clueless parents, the social struggles that were defining us and a certain hurried-ness to get to wherever we thought we were going.

I mentioned in that previous commentary that given his subsequent trajectory while Bob Dylan may have wanted to be the reincarnation Plus of Woody Guthrie (which by his long life he can rightly claim) whether he wanted to be, could be, the voice of the Generation of ’68 was problematic. What drove me, is driving me a little crazy is who or what some fifty plus years after all the explosions represented the best of what we had started out to achieve (and were essentially militarily defeated by the ensuing reaction before we could achieve most of it) in those lonely high school halls and college dormitories staying up late at night worrying about the world and our place in the sun.

For a long time, probably far longer than was sensible I believed that it was somebody like Jim Morrison, shaman-like leader of the Doors, who came out of the West Coast winds and headed to our heads in the East. Not Dylan, although he was harbinger of what was to come later in the decade as rock reassembled itself in new garb after some vanilla music hiatus but somebody who embodied the new sensibility that Dylan had unleashed. The real nut though was that I, and not me alone, and not my communal brethren alone either, was the idea that we possessed again probably way past it use by date was that “music was the revolution” by that meaning nothing but the general lifestyle changes through the decade so that the combination of “dropping out” of nine to five society, dope in its many manifestations, kindnesses, good thought and the rapidly evolving music would carry us over the finish line. Guys like Josh Breslin and the late Pete Markin, hard political guys as well as rabid music lovers and dopers, used to laugh at me when I even mentioned that I was held in that sway especially when ebb tide of the counter-cultural movement hit in Nixon times and the bastinado was as likely to be our home as the new Garden. Still Jim Morrison as the “new man” (new human in today speak) made a lot of sense to me although when he fell down like many others to the lure of the dope I started reappraising some of my ideas -worried about that bastinado fate.  

So I’ll be damned right now if I could tell you that we had such a voice, and maybe that was the problem, or a problem which has left us some fifty years later without a good answer. Which only means for others to chime in with their thoughts on this matter.         

*Who Will Keep The Lamp Light Burning? - The Folk Music Of Caroline Herring

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Caroline Herring performing from her "Lantana" CD.

CD Review

Golden Apples Of The Sun, Caroline Herring, Signature Sounds, 2009

Okay, today I am under the influence of the children of the moon. Or is it that this weekend I went to a folk music concert (featuring the jug music of Maria Muldaur of the old time 1960s Jim Kweskin Jug Band and sidekick John Sebastian of The Lovin’ Spoonful) and noticed that the ages of the majority of the patrons could have permitted the session to double up as an AARP meeting. This brings me to the subject at hand. Who will, if anyone, carry on the old folk traditions that we helped revive in the 1960s?

Every musical genre needs its revivalists, or it will merely past out of history. Folk (or, more properly, traditional music) has always had boosts: sometimes from surprising sources like Francis Child and his incessant ballad collecting in the 19th century, the father and son Lomaxes, John and Alan, the father, sons and daughter Seeger, Charles, Pete, Mike and Peggy. They, and others, carried the tradition through to the 1960s (and beyond) but I do not now see, and that concert audience's composition kind of confirmed a long held suspicion of mine, the younger blood that will preserve the tradition.


We know, however, that it will continue as long as people want to make ad hoc music for themselves and their circle. Moreover, that future folk music will, maybe, sound unlikely to our ears. That has always been the case though. Who would have thought that, let’s say, Harry Smith’s “Anthology Of American Folk Music” with its eclectic mishmash of styles and forms like mountain music, gospel, country blues and the like would have the seminal influence that it had on an urban, educated, for the most part upscale and upwardly mobile population that came of age in the 1960s.

That said, I have no answer about whom, or what whirlwind, will ultimately set the new agenda for folk music but I would take time here to point out one candidate whose CD I am reviewing as part of this commentary, Caroline Herring. Her latest CD "Golden Apples Of The Sun” seems to be me to set the right tone for what the future of folk might look like. Obviously it will continue to depend on guitars, fiddles, mandolins and whatever low or high tech instrumental developments come along. But it will, like the revival of the 1960s, depend as well on the mix of old time music with some new, fresh material that will response to the needs of a new audience.

In that sense this CD fits a right balance. Three excellent compositions on this CD “Tale of The Islander”, “The Dozens”, and “Abuelita” (as well as a couple of others) are Ms. Herring’s own work, and influenced by ideas that stem from her experiences and worldview. “See See Rider”, a classic old time tune that I first heard Mississippi John Hurt do back in the days, the much covered mournful ballad “Long Black Veil”, and the poem by William Butler Yeats set to music “Song Of The Wandering Aengus” reflect that tip of the hat to tradition. Of course in this space anyone who has the forethought to set a Yeats poem to music will have me eating out of their hand, no question. But that is a story for another day. What is for today is that this is what the future of folk looks like.

See See Rider Lyrics

Oh see, See See Rider
Girl see, what you've done
Oh, oh, oh See See Rider
See what you've done now
You've gone away and left me,
Lord, now and now the blues have come, oh yes, they do

Oh, well I'm goin', goin' away baby
And I won't be back till fall
Oh yes I am, going away baby
And I won't be back till fall
If I get me a good lookin' woman
No, no, no, I won't be back at all, all right

And I see, See See Rider, I love you, yes I do
And there isn't one thing darlin'
I would not do for you
You know I want you See See
I need you by my side
See See Rider, ough, keep me satisfied

Oh See See Rider, See See Rider, See See Rider
See See Rider, See See Rider, See See Rider
You keep on ridin', keep on riding
Here I come baby, look out, beat it, all right
Don't lose it now, come one, come on, yeah

Here she comes, she's all right,
She's so fine, she's all mine
See See, come on, can we take a ride now, hey

Well, I'm goin, goin' away baby
And I won't be back till fall
Oh yes I'm goin', going away baby
And I won't be back till fall
If I find me a good lookin' woman
No, no, no, I won't be back at all
And that's the truth baby
Listen, I'm going, all right
Somebody told me, somebody told me
I'm Joe Jackson, I'm leavin'
All right, all right, ough!

The Summer Of Love, 1967 -Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere- Neil Young

DVD REVIEW

Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, Neil Young With Crazy Horse, Reprise Records, 1970


I have mentioned elsewhere in this space that, on any given night in the 1960’s, Jim Morrison and the Doors were pound for pound the best rock and roll band in the world. I would stand by that remark as a general proposition but only add that for quality over the long haul the Rolling Stones would edge the Doors out. However, somewhere, somehow into this mix one must place Neil Young’s work with Crazy Horse in the early 1970’s. Young himself has gone through many transformations including grunge bandleader and lately sort of a soulful folk-rock elder statesman. But back in the day he could rock with the best of them-first with Buffalo Springfield and then the various combinations with Crosby, Stills and Nash.

So what makes Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere special? Easy. Young on lead vocals and guitar and the band play the kind of acid-inspired rock that has withstood the test of time. That is not true for most of the work of that era. Some Jefferson
Airplane, some The Who yes but most of it is rather grating on the ear these days. And the aging of this reviewer is only one of the factors for that belief. Neil and the guys knew how to work the riffs as they related to any particular song. Take, for example, Down By The River, it is simply powerful without being overdone. Or the title song mentioned above, for that matter.

I think that Young, as experienced musician by that point in his career, had something in the back of his mind about doing music for the long haul. The quality of this album reflects that decision. Look, electricity will take virtually anything that an instrument has to offer. The history of rock and roll proves that. If you want to get a slice of what the best use of that electricity was like when men and women played rock and roll for keeps listen here.

Where Will The Next Big Folk Wave Come From- The Music Of Kate Campbell

Where Will The Next Big Folk Wave Come From- The Music Of Kate Campbell

A "YouTube" film clip of Kate Campbell performing "Jesus and Tomatoes." Hey, don't shoot the messenger.


CD Review

Visions of Plenty, Kate Campbell, Compass Records, 1998


I have used the first paragraph of this CD review in other reviews of contemporary folk musicians and it fits here as well:


“Frankly, I do not spend much time reviewing some of the more contemporary folk artists on that scene today, although I am vitally interested in where that music is going, and who will keep the folk flame burning. Part of the reason for my neglect is, to paraphrase a somewhat famous folkie from the 1960s folk revival; it is “hard to get worked up about lyrics complaining that the family Volvo is not available or the foibles of a trip to the Swiss Alps.” No question that much of the current scene when not just plain jailing lyrics into some “politically correct” form in order to offend no one or nothing tends to those trivialities.”

That said, I still, in the nature of things get information, or get told information that leads me to listen to some more current performers who may have broken out of that box described above. That is the case with the artist under review, Kate Campbell. This one is kind of a long story but it entails someone I know going to a folk music summer camp (for adults, if you can believe that) where Ms. Campbell was running a songwriting workshop. This friend came away a devotee not only of Ms. Campbell's music but of the her lyrical skills. So, naturally, I had to give a listen. Although I can’t say I am a devotee I can see where Ms. Campbell’s lyrics come from the depths of her Southern soul and reflect a very different way of coming to terms with the Southern experience of the past half century or so.

To get an idea of what I mean listen to the title track, “Visions Of Plenty” (with great vocals), “Perfect World”, and “Bus 109”. For a zany side (the side that reflects what I meant in the first paragraph) listen to “Jesus and Tomatoes”. I rest my case.


Kate Campbell Visions Of Plenty written by Kate Campbell
Tricia Walker

Kate Campbell vocals/acoustic guitar
Emmylou Harris harmony vocal
Johnny Pierce acoustic guitar/vocals
Don Johnson bass
Bo Ramsey guitar
Howard Laravea keyboards
Wayne Killius drums
Dave Hoffner keyboards
Kristen Wilkinson viola

http://www.chebucto.ns.ca/~ac490/kate.html

A
I live south of Memphis in downtown Hollywood

And these fields are all I've ever known

Season after season I have worked to find a way

To buy a piece of land to call my own
D A
Sometimes when that Delta sun comes beating down
E A
Well I swear those rows of cotton shine like gold
D
Visions of plenty
A
Roll across my mind
E
Still my hands are empty
A
And the system's going dry
D
I keep thinking bout my children
A
What's left down here for them
E
Just a cotton field of dreams
D E
And everybody's dreaming everybody's dreaming
A
Dreaming just like me
A
A sign went up for Harrah's on highway 61

Promising we'd all be winners soon

So every Friday evening I go and spin the wheel

Sometimes I win most times I lose
D A
These lights are so much brighter than I thought they'd be
E
And they make me think
A
I'll see my dreams come true
D
Visions of plenty
A
Roll across my mind
E
Still my hands are empty
A
And the system's going dry
D
I keep thinking bout my children
A
What's left down here for them
E
Just a cotton field of dreams
D E
And everybody's dreaming everybody's dreaming
A
Dreaming just like me
D
I keep thinking bout my children
A
What's left down here for them
E
Just a cotton field of dreams
D E
And everybody's dreaming everybody's dreaming
A
Dreaming just like me


From Kate Campbell "Visions Of Plenty"
Compass Records 1998

©1996 Large River Music Inc. (BMI)/Songs Of Crossfield Inc (BMI)
Inspiration: Elvis

Kate Campbell
c/o Large River Music
P. O. Box 121743
Nashville, TN 37212
USA

*"Our Side of Town – A Red House Records 25th Anniversary Collection”- A CD Review

"Our Side of Town" – A Red House Records 25th Anniversary Collection”- A CD Review

CD Review

“Our Side of Town – A Red House Records 25th Anniversary Collection”
Various Artists, Red House Records, 2008


I have, except as the occasion called for it as in the case of Sun Records or Chess Records, not spent much time discussing the various ups and downs of particular record labels and their attempts to corner a piece of the music market. There is certainly history there, sometimes very interesting history as in the cases of those labels mentioned above, but I leave that for others to toil over. I prefer to concentrate on various musical influences that flow through the folk world, except that here one can not avoid, or should not avoid, paying some respect to the Red House Record label that has been a mainstay of post-1960s folk revival folk music and artists.

Frankly, I know Red House mainly as the long time vehicle for one of the artists performing on this anniversary CD, Greg Brown. And also for a few late efforts by Rosalie Sorrels, especially her tribute to Utah Phillips last year. Of course, those two names tell you much about what this label is about and about the musical traditions of not just the past 25 years of folk and folk rock but the last half century.

This label has also been the launching pad for some lesser known names like Jimmy LaFave, Lucy Kaplansky, Eliza Gilkyson, and the Wailin’ Jenny’s. What you have here, my friends, are tributes by the performers who have struggled, and sometimes struggled in lonely spots, to keep the folk genre part of the great American songbook. So match up the performers and the label and you have quite a piece of history and a primer of the latter-day folk scene. Listen up.

The Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love- California Dreamin’- The Music Of The Mamas And The Papas

The Anniversary Of The Summer Of Love- California Dreamin’- The Music Of The Mamas And The Papas

The Best of the Mamas and the Papas, The Mamas and the Papas, SPA, 1998

Over the past couple of years I have reviewed a fair number of performers from the folk revival of the 1960s. Looking over quickly the names of those reviewed discloses a personal predilection for individual performers, although there were plenty of good to excellent groups around at the time, like the New Lost City Ramblers, The Greenbriar Boys, The Chambers Brothers, The Clancy Brothers, and other such groups who did traditional folk music.

As folk evolved, in the mid-1960s, a little away from those more traditional forms and into something like folk rock, younger groups picked up on the spirit of the movement with their own more modern lyrics and more harmonic works. The classic example in this genre would probably be Peter, Paul and Mary but the group under review, the Mamas and the Papas, also fits that description as well. Led vocally by big-voiced "Mama" Cass and with lyrics written by lead male singer "Papa" John Phillips the group had a number of hits in that folk rock moment, many of them on this compilation.

So what is still good almost half a century later? Well, "California Dreamin" still holds its own as a signature song for the foursome. As does "Monday, Monday" and "Words Of Love". The real surprise is their cover of the old Benny King classic (written by Jerry Leiber and Phil Spector), "Spanish Harlem". That song also displays the great harmonics, the feel and balance, as well as the understated performance that was the M&P hallmark.

California Dreamin' Lyrics-John Phillips, Michelle Phillips

All the leaves are brown
(All the leaves are brown)
And the sky is gray.
(And the sky is gray).
I've been for a walk
(I've been for a walk)
On a winter's day.
(On a winter's day).

I'd be safe and warm
(I'd be safe and warm)
if I was in L.A.
(If I was in L.A.)
California dreamin'
(California dreamin') on such a winter's day.

Stopped in to a church I passed along the way.
Well I got down on my knees
(got down on my knees)
And I pretend to pray.
(I pretend to pray).
You know the preacher likes the cold.
(preacher likes the cold).
He knows I'm gonna stay.
(knows I'm gonna stay).
California dreamin'
(California dreamin') on such a winter's day.

(Bridge)

All the leaves are brown
(All the leaves are brown)
And the sky is gray.
(And the sky is gray).
I've been for a walk
(I've been for a walk)
On a winter's day.
(On a winter's day).

If I didn't tell her
(If I didn't tell her)
I could leave today.
(I could leave today).
California dreamin' (California dreamin')on such a winter's day,
California dreamin' on such a winter's day,
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.

*Ya, Let’s Hang Around Mama And Put A Good Buzz On- The Music Of Jonathan Edwards

*Ya, Let’s Hang Around Mama And Put A Good Buzz On- The Music Of Jonathan Edwards

CD Review

Jonathan Edwards, Atlantic Records, 1971


Over the past several years I have spent some time working around the idea of why certain folk revival performers of the early 1960s, or later folk rock artists either never made it big and stayed big (relatively) as with the obvious case of the staying power of Bob Dylan, or were more one-hit wonders who faded from the scene quickly, if not quietly. I have mentioned names like Tom Paxton, Dave Van Ronk, Tom Rush and Jesse Winchester who made their names in that era. Singer/songwriters of immense talent yet except among the ever dwindling core of aficionados have faded from any spotlight. With the artist under review, Jonathan Edwards, who came a little later and can be more rightly classified under the folk rock genre, I find myself asking the same question.

Now in this case I am not asking merely an academic question. I recently attended a performance of the very much alive Mr. Edwards at a local folk club in Cambridge, Ma. and came away from the very up tempo performance of his, mainly, older work scratching my head. The man and his band (including a couple of his old band members on this CD, Bill Elliot and Stuart Schulman) have, if anything, more energy that in the old days and certainly more stage presence. The versions of the tunes played were perhaps more clearly done in bluegrass/country tempo which always helps. But that does not solve the question. Of course sometimes one's personal life, for good or evil, sets you on a different path. Or one gets tired of the road. Or one runs out of musical energy and thoughts but I am still, nevertheless, scratching my head on this one.

That said, in his prime Jonathan Edwards had a number of minor classics of the folk rock genre, all of which he played at that local club. The highlight, as to be expected, is the song, some of whose lyrics form part of the headline of this entry, “Shanty”. Others include a tribute song going back to his roots in Ohio, “Athens County”, “Everybody Knows Her”, “Don’t Cry Blue”, “Sunshine”, and one of my favorites, “Emma”. Not bad for a “minor” light in the folk firmament.

JONATHAN EDWARDS EMMA LYRICS

The first time I saw Emma
She was above me in a dream
And she throwed her arms around me
And off we flew, it seemed
Like an airplane
Moving up and down
Through the country town
Passing oe'r the cities so slow
Slowly...

But Emma comes to see me
About 8 o'clock each night
And she throws her arms around me
And off we go in flight
Like an airplane
Moving up and down
Through the country town
Passing over the cites so slow
Slowly...

But Emma's late
Emma's late
Oooh and I
I can't wait
My dinners served by half past eight and
I can't wait
Can't wait 'til 9

The last time I saw my Emma
She made me love her 'til I died
And we walked through clouds together
Searching open skies
fFr airplane
Moving up and down though the country town
Passing over the cites so slow
Slowly

But Emma's late, Emma's late, Emma's late
and I
I can't wait
My dinner's served by half past 8 and
I can't wait
I can't wait 'til 9 oooh no no noooo

* Another Peep At The British Side Of Contemporary Folk /Rock- Richard Thompson’s “You? Me? Us?-“Voltage Enhanced”/”Nude”

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Richard Thompson performing "Put It There Pal".

CD Review

You? Me? Us?-Voltage Enhanced/Nude, 2 CD set, including lyrics booklet, Richard Thompson, Capitol Records, 1996

This review has also been used to review another Richard Thompson CD.

Recently in this space I went through a chronology of how I happened to come across certain musical selections to review. In that case it was tracing the roots of country blues through well-known old time country bluesman Charley Patton via Bob Dylan tribute, “High Water Everywhere” on his latest “Bootleg” volume. Here, the route to reviewing folk/rock lyricist and singer Richard Thompson, known back in the day as part of the well-thought of British folk group Fairport Convention, is a cover of his classic working class love song, “1952 Vincent Black Lightning’ covered, and covered very well, by American folksinger Greg Brown. But that is where the comparisons end. In the case of Dylan’s tribute I was able to review Patton’s early work very favorably. Here I am, frankly, stymied.

I was not particularly a fan of Fairport Convention back in the days, although anytime I heard them then (or now, when played on a local oldies folk radio program) I was always impressed by their harmonics. When I asked others about Richard Thompson as a solo artist I thought I was confronting the Second Coming with the profuseness of the praise for his work. And that is where the problem is. His lyrics, as “1952 Vincent” shows, are incredibly well thought out and richly evocative. (How about that combination, right?) However, his presentation, mainly the result of over-production, leaves me flat. So, I guess, and it will not be the first time this has happened, Google for Thompson’s lyrics and find out who covers his material. Here I will say that these songs really stick out- From “Voltage”- “She Steers By Lightning” and “Am I Wasting My Love On You?” From “ Nude”- “Burns Supper” and “Woods Of Darney”

Am I Wasting My Love On You? lyrics

Oh I can't get started, and I'm broken hearted
You smile so sweet but you're fast on your feet
Do you want me to catch you, or just get near?
Should I chase you forever? I think I got the idea

Am I wasting my love on you?
Am I wasting my love on you?
Am I wasting my love on you?
Must be better things I can do

Oh I went to a party, you were standing there
You looked so retiring with that fruit in your hair
I said "What gives?" and you said "I do"
And that was the last sense I ever got from you

Am I wasting my love on you?
Am I wasting my love on you?
Am I wasting my love on you?
Must be better things I can do

Well I'm wasting my love, wasting my love, wasting my love on you
Wasting my love, wasting my love, wasting my love on you

Am I wasting my love on you?
Am I wasting my love on you?
Am I wasting my love on you?
Must be better things I can do

I went to your house, and I drank your tea
We were getting very cosy on Greek philosophy
You chewed on my ear and when I begged for more
You went off to bed, barricaded the door

Am I wasting my love on you?
Am I wasting my love on you?
Am I wasting my love on you?
Must be better things I can do
Than wasting my love, wasting my love, wasting my love on you
Am I wasting my love, wasting my love, wasting my love on you
I'm wasting my love, wasting my love, wasting my love on you
Am I wasting my love, wasting my love, wasting my love on you

*A Peep At The British Side Of Contemporary Folk /Rock- Richard Thompson’s “Sweet Warrior”

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Richard Thompson performing "Daddy's Going To Kill Me".

CD Review

Sweet Warrior, including lyrics booklet, Richard Thompson, Shout Factory, 2007

Recently in this space I went through a chronology of how I happened to come across certain musical selections to review. In that case it was tracing the roots of country blues through well-known old time country bluesman Charley Patton via Bob Dylan tribute, “High Water Everywhere” on his latest “Bootleg” volume. Here, the route to reviewing folk/rock lyricist and singer Richard Thompson, known back in the day as part of the well-thought of British folk group Fairport Convention, is a cover of his classic working class love song, “1952 Vincent Black Lightning’ covered, and covered very well, by American folksinger Greg Brown. But that is where the comparisons end. In the case of Dylan’s tribute I was able to review Patton’s early work very favorably. Here I am, frankly, stymied.

I was not particularly a fan of Fairport Convention back in the days, although anytime I heard them then (or now, when played on a local oldies folk radio program) I was always impressed by their harmonics. When I asked others about Richard Thompson as a solo artist I thought I was confronting the Second Coming with the profuseness of the praise for his work. And that is where the problem is. His lyrics, as “1952 Vincent” shows, are incredibly well thought out and richly evocative. (How about that combination, right?) However, his presentation, mainly the result of over-production, leaves me flat. So, I guess, and it will not be the first time this has happened, Google for Thompson’s lyrics and find out who covers his material. Here I will say that three songs really stick out- “Needle And Thread”, “She Sang Angels To Rest”, and “Sunset Song”.

Lyrics to Needle And Thread :
(Richard Thompson)

I see young girls with old faces
I see good girls in bad places
I see plain girls in finery
And every one be the death of me

Needle and Thread, Needle and Thread
Hand me down my Needle and Thread
Hey Hey Hey
Hey Hey Hey
Going to thread up my needle and then
Gonna sew my soul back together again

Now pretty Caitlin she went too far
Shaking all she had at the topless bar
Right in the face of Ben and Bob
Put a little too much into the job

Now sweet Myfanwe she took a shine
Dumped me for Dai worked down the mine
I was a temp, Dai was a keeper
He knew how to dig that little bit deeper

Now Bonnie Jean meant everything
But she threw back my hard-earned ring
Said she had other men who dig her
She was holding out for something bigger


Lyrics to Johnny's Far Away :
(Richard Thompson)

Johnny's joined a ceilidh band,
They're known quite well throughout the land, The Drones
The Drones are signed up on a cruise
While Tracey's laying in the booze back home
She's got herself another man, a smoothie
While the kids are in the front room watching movies
She's got him in a head lock, in an arm lock, in a jam
She says, I can't express myself with my old man

While Johnny's Far away on the Rolling, Rolling
Johnny's Far Away On The Rolling Sea

Johnny's cruising out to sea
And he believes in chastity - for some
The wealthy widows bill and coo
He fends off one or two, and then succumbs
As they're turning hard-a-port in the Bahamas
He's turning her right out of her pyjamas
He's turned her every which way to the rhythm of the sea
He says, I can't express myself with my old lady

While Johnny's Far away on the Rolling, Rolling
Johnny's Far Away On The Rolling Sea

Johnny's home, he opens up his door
While someone's sneaking out the back
And Tracey says, you look so poorly
Sores and all, you need to see the quack
She wipes the snot from off the kiddies' noses
He charms her with eleven battered roses
And by and by they get down to the job of man and wife
Back to the old comforts of the missionary life

While Johnny's Far away on the Rolling, Rolling
Johnny's Far Away On The Rolling Sea


Lyrics to Sunset Song :
(Richard Thompson)

With you or without you, love,
I must be moving
Never meant to linger here so long
With you or without you,
Though it breaks my heart
To hear the Sunset Song

Wasn't that a time we had,
And bless you for it
But I'm a stranger here, I don't belong
The band's down on the jetty,
If you cup your ear
You'll hear the Sunset Song

You said, if I hold my breath
Dive down deep enough
I might grow fins
Seems to me I've held my breath
Held my breath to please you
Ever since

Early morning, that's the time
For fare-thee-wells
Slip out of the warm sheets and gone
But I want to hear it as I walk along
Hear the Sunset Song

In your waking, in your dreams,
I won't be martyred
On that cross where some say
I belong
Opinions are coffins, I'll just trust my feet
To find the Sunset Song

Every day I'll wear your memory
Like a favourite shirt upon my back
In the hallway, there's my suitcase
By the door, I never did unpack

With you or without you, love,
I must be moving
Never meant to linger here so long
With you or without you,
Though it breaks my heart
To hear the Sunset Song

*From The Muisc Archives-Les Paul Is Gone- The Great Granddaddy Of Electric Guitar Music

Click on title to link to Les Paul article from Comcast.

 

*The Bob Dylan Bootleg Legacy- The Royal Albert Hall Concert of 1966- You Do Need The Band To Play The Last Waltz- The Band's LeVon Healms Passes At 71

Click On Title To Link To A YouTube Film Clip Of Bob Dylan And The Band Performing Like A Rolling Stone.

CD REVIEW

Bob Dylan Live 1966: The Bootleg series, Volume 4, “The Royal Albert Hall” Concert, Bob Dylan and The Band, Columbia Records, 1966.

Of all the bootleg, genuine basement tapes, fake basement tapes, etc. that have come out of over the years detailing the career of the premier folk troubadour of his times, Bob Dylan, this volume that contains the bulk of the famous (or infamous, if you are one of those old folk traditionalists who never moved on) English "Royal Albert Hall" Concert of 1966 may be historically the most valuable. Certainly after Martin Scorsese used the concert as a central backdrop to his Dylan documentary "No Direction Home" the argument for its importance in the folk pantheon has been enhanced. The CD issued many years ago prior to Scorsese's effort only confirms that judgment.

Here, in a quick summary, is what the hullabaloo was all about. Many early 1960's folkies were looking for a new "king of the hill" to continue the tradition established by the likes of Woody Guthrie (an early Dylan hero, by the way) and Pete Seeger. Certainly off the first few years of Dylan's rise it looked to one and all, including this reviewer, that Dylan would fill the bill. Then, he switched gears and started to write more starkly personal songs (rather than quasi-political songs like "Blowing In The Wind") and, oh lord here it comes, to use the electric guitar as backup. And worst of all, an electric backup band (the now immortal The Band). You know, with drums and all. "Albert Hall" was one of the first major venues where he presented both concepts, acoustic and electric. The British traditionalists (or at least some of them) were not pleased. But as I have noted elsewhere in earlier reviews of Dylan's work everyone else should be glad, glad as hell, that he made that move.

Needless to say this concert is divided into an acoustic section where he plays some great numbers like "Visions Of Johanna", "Mr. Tambourine Man" and the like. His highlight here is "Desolation Row" an incredible almost surreal use of words and phrases that read more like a poem than a mere song. If I had not been a Dylan fan before this song then the first time I hear "They are selling postcards of the hanging. They are painting the passports brown. The beauty parlor is filled with sailors. The circus is in town" would have caught my attention for life right then and there.

The second, more controversial electric part includes the 1960's semi-national anthem for the counter cultural generation "Like A Rolling Stone" and a good literary companion piece to "Desolation Row" the very fine "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues.” Finally, as an extra bonus if you want to hear Dylan without the slurs that make understanding some of the lyrics in other albums hard this is one for you.

LIKE A ROLLING STONE

Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1965 Warner Bros. Inc
Renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all come down and did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

DESOLATION ROW

Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1965 Warner Bros. Inc
Renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

They're selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They've got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they're restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy
"It takes one to know one," she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he's moaning
"You Belong to Me I Believe"
And someone says," You're in the wrong place, my friend
You better leave"
And the only sound that's left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The fortunetelling lady
Has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel
And the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing
He's getting ready for the show
He's going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row

Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid

To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They're trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She's in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
"Have Mercy on His Soul"
They all play on penny whistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row

Across the street they've nailed the curtains
They're getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They're spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words

And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls
"Get Outa Here If You Don't Know
Casanova is just being punished for going
To Desolation Row"

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero's Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody's shouting
"Which Side Are You On?"
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain's tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

JUST LIKE TOM THUMB'S BLUES

Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1965 Warner Bros. Inc
Renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

When you're lost in the rain in Juarez
And it's Eastertime too
And your gravity fails
And negativity don't pull you through
Don't put on any airs
When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there
And they really make a mess outa you

Now if you see Saint Annie
Please tell her thanks a lot
I cannot move
My fingers are all in a knot
I don't have the strength
To get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor
Won't even say what it is I've got

Sweet Melinda
The peasants call her the goddess of gloom
She speaks good English
And she invites you up into her room
And you're so kind
And careful not to go to her too soon
And she takes your voice
And leaves you howling at the moon

Up on Housing Project Hill
It's either fortune or fame
You must pick up one or the other
Though neither of them are to be what they claim
If you're lookin' to get silly
You better go back to from where you came
Because the cops don't need you
And man they expect the same

Now all the authorities
They just stand around and boast
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
Into leaving his post
And picking up Angel who
Just arrived here from the coast
Who looked so fine at first
But left looking just like a ghost

I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they'd stand behind me
When the game got rough
But the joke was on me
There was nobody even there to call my bluff
I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough


BALLAD OF A THIN MAN

Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1965 Warner Bros. Inc
Renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, "Who is that man?"
You try so hard
But you don't understand
Just what you'll say
When you get home

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You raise up your head
And you ask, "Is this where it is?"
And somebody points to you and says
"It's his"
And you say, "What's mine?"
And somebody else says, "Where what is?"
And you say, "Oh my God
Am I here all alone?"

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel
To be such a freak?"
And you say, "Impossible"
As he hands you a bone

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To just give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations

You've been with the professors
And they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well read
It's well known

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you
And then he kneels
He crosses himself
And then he clicks his high heels
And without further notice
He asks you how it feels
And he says, "Here is your throat back
Thanks for the loan"

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Now you see this one-eyed midget
Shouting the word "NOW"
And you say, "For what reason?"
And he says, "How?"
And you say, "What does this mean?"
And he screams back, "You're a cow
Give me some milk
Or else go home"

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

Well, you walk into the room
Like a camel and then you frown
You put your eyes in your pocket
And your nose on the ground
There ought to be a law
Against you comin' around
You should be made
To wear earphones

Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?