For Bob Dylan Once More Into The Time Capsule, Part Three- The New York Folk Revival Scene in the Early 1960’s-Phil Ochs

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Phil Ochs performing the classic anti-war song "I Ain't Marching Anymore".

CD Review

Washington Square Memoirs: The Great Urban Folk Revival Boom, 1950-1970, various artists, 3CD set, Rhino Records, 2001

Except for the reference to the origins of the talent brought to the city the same comments apply for this CD. Rather than repeat information that is readily available in the booklet and on the discs I’ll finish up here with some recommendations of songs that I believe that you should be sure to listen to:

Disc Three: Phil Ochs on “I Ain’t Marching Anymore”, Richard &Mimi Farina on “Pack Up Your Sorrows”, John Hammond on “Drop Down Mama”, Jim Kweskin & The Jug Band on “Rag Mama”, John Denver on “Bells Of Rhymney”, Gordon Lightfoot on "Early Morning Rain”, Eric Andersen on “Thirsty Boots”, Tim Hardin on “Reason To Believe”, Richie Havens on “Just Like A Woman”, Judy Collins on “Suzanne”, Tim Buckley on “Once I Was”, Tom Rush on “The Circle Game”, Taj Mahal on “Candy Man”, Loudon Wainwright III on “School Days”and Arlo Guthrie on “The Motorcycle Song”


Phil Ochs on “I Ain’t Marching Anymore”. Phil Ochs wrote the very politic songs that Bob Dylan either ceded to him or that he did not want to write as he went his own way in the musical world. Phil got the notion that some things desperately needed fixing (and still do) and he was the guy to write about them. Except a bad, a very bad thing happened to Brother Ochs. His generation, our generation of ’68, got cold feet when the deal went down and abandoned the struggle to “seek a newer world”. For a political songwriter that is the kiss of death and no more needs to be said. Someday, Brother, we will not be marching anymore. But until then we have to fight the bastards.

I Ain't Marching Anymore
By Phil Ochs

D G C D
Oh I marched to the battle of New Orleans
G C D
At the end of the early British war
G C
The young land started growing
G
The young blood started flowing
C Am D
But I ain't marchin' anymore

For I've killed my share of Indians
In a thousand different fights
I was there at the Little Big Horn
I heard many men lying
I saw many more dying
But I ain't marchin' anymore

C G
It's always the old to lead us to the war
C Am D
It's always the young to fall
Now look at all we've won with the sabre and the gun
Tell me is it worth it all

For I stole California from the Mexican land
Fought in the bloody Civil War
Yes I even killed my brother
And so many others
And I ain't marchin' anymore

For I marched to the battles of the German trench
In a war that was bound to end all wars
Oh I must have killed a million men
And now they want me back again
But I ain't marchin' anymore

(chorus)

For I flew the final mission in the Japanese sky
Set off the mighty mushroom roar
When I saw the cities burning
I knew that I was learning
That I ain't marchin' anymore

Now the labor leader's screamin' when they close the missile plants,
United Fruit screams at the Cuban shore,
Call it "Peace" or call it "Treason,"
Call it "Love" or call it "Reason,"
But I ain't marchin' any more.


There seems to be a variety of opinions about the chords for this song. Since I am not able to judge which is right, I will simply present all of them.

The first set of chords were provided by Dave Miller:

D G C D
Oh I marched to the battle of New Orleans
G C D
At the end of the early British war
G C
The young land started growing
G
The young blood started flowing
C Am D
But I ain't marchin' anymore

C G
It's always the old to lead us to the war
C Am D
It's always the young to fall


Jeffrey Shallit tells me that these are the correct chords:
D G C C/B D/A
Oh I marched to the battle of New Orleans
G C C/B D/A
At the end of the early British war
G C
The young land started growing
F Em
The young blood started flowing
Am C D
But I ain't marchin' anymore

Am G
It's always the old to lead us to the war
C Em A
It's always the young to fall
C Em
Now look at all we've won with the sabre and the gun
Am C D
Tell me is it worth it all

Simultaneously, I got a message from James Barnett giving these chords:
G C D
Oh I marched to the battle of New Orleans
G C D
At the end of the early British war
G C Am
A young land started growing
F Em
The young blood started flowing
Am D
But I ain't marchin' anymore

C G
It's always the old to lead us to the war
C Em A
always the young to fall
C Bm Em
Now look at all we've won with the sabre and the gun
C Am D
Tell me was it worth it all


NOTE:

Most of the historical events referenced in this song are probably pretty obvious, with the possible exception of ``United Fruit.'' Further information can be found in the notes to the song United Fruit.

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.         

*In Honor Of The Late Rocker Chuck Berry Who Helped Make It All Possible-Coming Of Age, Period-The Rock Music Of The 1950s

In Honor Of The Late Rocker Chuck Berry Who Helped Make It All Possible-Coming Of Age, Period-The Rock Music Of The 1950s

CD Review

Oldies But Goodies, Volume One, Original Sound Record Co., 1987


I have been doing a series of commentaries elsewhere on another site on my coming of political age in the early 1960s, but now when I am writing about musical influences I am just speaking of my coming of age, period, which was not necessarily the same thing. No question those of us who came of age in the 1950s are truly children of rock and roll. We were there, whether we appreciated it or not at the time, when the first, sputtering, moves away from ballady show tunes, rhymey Tin Pan Alley tunes and, most importantly, any and all music that your parents might have approved of, even liked, or at least left you alone to play in peace up in your room hit post World War II America like, well, like an atomic bomb.

Now, not all of the material was good, nor was all of it destined to be playable fifty or sixty years later on some “greatest hits” compilation but some of them had enough chordal energy, lyrical sense, and sheer danceability to make any Jack or Jill jump then, or now. And, here is the good part, especially for painfully shy guys like me, or those who had two left feet on the dance floor. You didn’t need to dance toe to toe with that certain she (or he for shes). Ah, to be very young then was very heaven.

So what still sounds good on this CD compilation to a current AARPer and some of his fellows who comprise the demographic that such 1950s compilations “speak” to. “Earth Angel”, no question. Also, of course, Chuck Berry’s “Maybellene” but other things of his like “Roll Over Beethoven” and “Back In The U.S.A. are more rock anthem-worthy. Etta James still rocks. And the under-appreciated Lloyd Price on his version of the old standard, “Stagger Lee”. But for my money the best here musically are the great harmonics on “Eddy My Love” by the Teen Queens and the smooth sound of Sonny Knight on “Confidential”. Yes, I know, these are slow ones that you had to dance close on. And just hope, hope to high heaven that you didn’t destroy your partner's shoes and feet. But there you are.

Sonny Knight
Confidential lyrics

Confidential as a church at twilight
Sentimental as a rose in the moonlight
My love for you will always be
Confidential to me

Confidential as a mothers prayer
Too beautiful for other hearts to share
My love for you will always be
Confidential to me

CHORUS
Our loves our precious secret
A beautiful thing apart
There's no need for prying eyes
To look into my heart

Confidential as a babys cry
Sacred and holy as a lovers sigh
My love for you will always be
Confidential to me

Confidential as a babys cry
Sacred and holy as a lovers sigh
My love for you will always be
Confidential to me

*The 1960s Folk Fringe- The Rise And Fall And Rise Of The Holy Modal Rounder

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of the trailer for "The Holy Modal Rounders: Bound To Lose".

DVD Review

The Holy Modal Rounders: Bound To Lose, The Holy Modal Rounders, Bad Bird Productions, 2007



Okay, let’s go through the geography of this seemingly endless review of folk revival of the 1960’s tour that I have been conducting over the past year or so. I have gone down the byways and back alleys of Bleeker Street. I have tipped my hat to McDougall Street and its “mayor” (the late Dave Van Ronk an interviewee in this work). I have been positively 4th Street more times that I can shake a stick at (Bob Dylan’s old haunts). So now, once again, I am looking at a group, the Holy Modal Rounders, whose core musicians Peter Stampfel and Steve Weber, roamed those same few square blocks of lower Manhattan and made some off-hand (and off-the-wall) musical history in the early 1960’s. In this case, however, the DVD review of this film documentary poses a question, in the negative, mainly, about those who aspired to make their own niche in that world.

The name Holy Modal Rounder, exotic sounding as it was in my youthful novice days of late Sunday night listening to a local folk music show on the radio, was very familiar to me as an exemplar of what I would call “novelty” folk. Taking the standard Harry Smith (or John and Alan Lomax) American folk music songbook and placing their own twist on it, sometimes to fill out a missing aspect of a more traditional work, sometimes just working off their own humor or hubris. Later they would add a psychedelic rock-oriented embellishment to that basic musical approach. These adaptations has a long and honorable history in those genres, although I must admit that my own tastes did not run to that irreverent place, as far as folk music went. Thus, while I had heard of them and had a few laughs at some of their lyrics I was not particularly a fan. Thus, their subsequent fates, that form the substance of this documentary, were not known to me.

One of the things that I have tried to do in reviewing many of the more or less well known figures of the 1960s folk revival has been to ask a question about why others never dethroned the “king” and “queen” of the folk scene, Bob Dylan and Joan Baez. In some cases it was purely a question of being lesser talents. Everyone with a guitar and knew three chords, had some cash or friends with cash (it disn't take much) and some wanderlust tried to get to New York in those days. In others it some personal quirk or idiosyncrasy. A fear of failure or success, some psychological problems, family responsibilities and the like. Or, as in many cases in the rock 'n' roll milieu, took the downward spiral into drugs and alcohol dependence. All creative endeavors are, unfortunately, littered with such cases. A weird combination of those factors drove Stampfel and Weber down.

The best part of this film, however, describe that demise but also their reemergence as grey eminences as the part of the revival of the folk revival in more recent times out on the lesser known 'cult' musical venues. Some of this material presented here is gripping concerning the destructiveness of the drug problems, the ‘recovery’ and the aftermath. But also about the commitment to the music. So if you were part of the 1960s folk/rock scene, or want to know about that Greenwich Village part of it, or if you are just interested in a cautionary tale about the pitfalls, personal and otherwise, in the way of musical success this is a good view.

"Romping Through The Swamp"

Lyrics to Romping Through The Swamp :


Throw away your pomp
Romping through the swamp
Romping through the swamp in the month of May
Wading through the slimy ooze
You can drive away your blues
Romping through the swamp

Toking on your womp
Lying in the swamp
Looking at the ways glaze haze can raise
You can be a muddy satyr
Wrestling with an alligator
Romping through the swamp

You can spend your time
Covered up in slime
Saying I love you to the rot and goo
Lurching through the quagmire
Head aflame with swamp fire
Romping through the swamp

Lyrics to Low Down Dog :

Don't you take me for no low down dog
Low down dog!
Don't you know I got my pride
I just want to walk beside you, baby
But you say
But you say
I must walk behind?
Well, I ain't holding still for none of that stuff!

Who will keep your bed warm when I'm gone?
When I'm gone?
If you let the fire go out
Better know what you're about, my baby
But you say
But you say
My bed's warm enough?
Well I ain't holding still for none of that stuff!

Who will mind the children when I'm gone?
When I'm gone?
When you want to get away
Who will take them out to play, my baby?
But you say
But you say
Kids are my whole life!
Well I ain't holding still for none of that stuff!

Who will feed you peaches when I'm gone?
When I'm gone?
Your new lover may be cute
But will he bring home the fruit, my baby?
But you say
But you say
Peaches make me fat
Well I ain't holding still for none of that stuff!

Don't you treat me like no Viet Cong!
Viet Cong!
Don't you know I'm from Da Nang
I just want to let it hang my baby
But you say
But you say
We gonna drop the bomb!
Well I ain't holding still for none of that stuff!

Well, on a wagon traveling down your road!
Down the road!
Well, you say I'm just one more
That it really ain't a bore, my baby
But you say
But you say
Your road's worn and rough
Well I ain't holding still for none of that stuff!

Once More Into The Time Capsule, Part Three- The New York Folk Revival Scene in the Early 1960’s-Gordon Lightfoot

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Gordon Lightfoot performing his "Early Morning Rain".

CD Review

Washington Square Memoirs: The Great Urban Folk Revival Boom, 1950-1970, various artists, 3CD set, Rhino Records, 2001

Except for the reference to the origins of the talent brought to the city the same comments apply for this CD. Rather than repeat information that is readily available in the booklet and on the discs I’ll finish up here with some recommendations of songs that I believe that you should be sure to listen to:

Disc Three: Phil Ochs on “I Ain’t Marching Anymore”, Richard &Mimi Farina on “Pack Up Your Sorrows”, John Hammond on “Drop Down Mama”, Jim Kweskin & The Jug Band on “Rag Mama”, John Denver on “Bells Of Rhymney”, Gordon Lightfoot on "Early Morning Rain”, Eric Andersen on “Thirsty Boots”, Tim Hardin on “Reason To Believe”, Richie Havens on “Just Like A Woman”, Judy Collins on “Suzanne”, Tim Buckley on “Once I Was”, Tom Rush on “The Circle Game”, Taj Mahal on “Candy Man”, Loudon Wainwright III on “School Days”and Arlo Guthrie on “The Motorcycle Song”

Gordon Lightfoot on "Early Morning Rain”. This is another classic of the modern American folk songbook. It reflects the shift in technology by the way. Those old time songs didn’t have to contend with airplanes and other modern frills when speaking of love, longing and lost in that most human of endeavors.

"Early Mornin’ Rain"

In the early morning rain
With a dollar in my hand
With an achin in my heart
And my pockets full of sand
Im a long way from home
And I miss my loved ones so
In the early morning rain
With no place to go
Out on runway number nine
Big seven-o-seven set to go
But Im stuck here in the grass
Where the cold wind blows
Now the liquor tasted good
And the women all were fast
Well there she goes my friend
Well shes rollin down at last

Hear the mighty engines roar
See the silver bird on high
Shes away and westward bound
Far above the clouds shell fly
Where the mornin rain dont fall
And the sun always shines
Shell be flyin oer my home
In about three hours time

This old airports got me down
Its no earthly good to me
cause Im stuck here on the ground
As cold and drunk as I can be
You cant jump a jet plane
Like you can a freight train
So Id best be on my way
In the early morning rain
You cant jump a jet plane
Like you can a freight train
So Id best be on my way
In the early morning rain