*Stinging Electric Blues Guitar-Otis Rush Is In The Room

Click On Title To Link To The Otis Rush Website.

CD Review

All Your Love I Miss Loving: Live At The Wise Fool Club, Otis Rush, Delmark, 2005

Okay, okay I have been talking about doing a review of the legendary electric blues guitarist Otis Rush ever since I saw him on some DVDs in the “American Folk Blues “series from the 1960’s that I have reviewed earlier in this space. Arguably, the 1950’s and 1960’s were the heroic age of electric blues guitar with the likes of Muddy Waters, Hubert Sumlin (from Howlin’ Wolf’s band), Elmore James, the incredible T-Bone Walker and Brother Rush. What makes the case for his inclusion here is some very rippling solos where he runs the board.

Sometimes the quality of live performances especially in the days before better sound production technology was developed, as here at the famous blues club the “Wise Fool Club”, diminishes the quality of the sound. However, for a performer like Rush, having that live audience in front is the spark that takes them to flights of ....musical fancy. Put that together with Rush’s deep, powerful voice to match the intensity of the riffs and a self-selected back up band and you have the blues when they are dos.

You don’t believe me? Well, listen to a smoking “Sweet Little Angel” or the pathos of “Feel So Bad”. Or the pain of “You’re Breaking My Heart” or the frenetic longing of the title song “All Your Love I Miss Loving”. Case closed.


Sweet Little Angel - B.B. King

(B.B. King & Jules Taub)

I got a sweet little angel
I love the way she spread her wings
Yes, I got a sweet little angel
I love the way she spread her wings
Yes, when she spread her wings around me
I get joy in everything

You know I asked my baby for a nickel
And she gave me a twenty dollar bill
Oh, yes, I asked my baby for a nickel
And she gave me a twenty dollar bill
Whoa, you know I asked her for a little drink of liquor
And she gave me a whiskey still

Ah yes, asked my baby to quit me
Well, I do believe I will die
Yes, I asked my baby to quit me
Well, I do believe I will die
'Cause, if you don't love me little angel
Please, tell me the reason why

*Bob Feldman 68: `Free Leonard Peltier!'

Bob Feldman 68: `Free Leonard Peltier!'

*Folk Potpourri- Part Three-Mark Spoelstra

Click On Title To Link To Rhapsody's Presentation Of "Mark Spoelstra At Club 47". For Those Unfamiliar With 1960's Folk Revival History Club 47 (Now Club Passim) Was The "Mecca" Of The Boston/Cambridge Folk Scene With The Likes Of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Tom Rush And The Artist Under Review Holding Forth There. Those Were The Days. Sorry, I Could Not Find A YouTube Link For Mark Spoelstra.

CD REVIEW

Five & Twenty Questions, Mark Spoelstra, Collectors’ Choice Music, 2006

Over the past year or so I have been reviewing many of the male folksingers who proliferated in the early 1960’s folk revival and who threw their hats in the ring to be “king of the hill” of the burgeoning folk scene (the women singers of the period are to be looked at separately later). Names such as Tom Rush, Tom Paxton, Jesse Colin Young and Jesse Winchester have already been reviewed. These are performers, for the most part, who still work the small concert and coffee house circuit but whose names are probably very unfamiliar to today’s musical audience, folk or otherwise. I approached my theme initially under the sign of this question; what qualities, personal and musical, make some singers succeed and others fall by the wayside?

We know that Bob Dylan, without a doubt, wanted to win that contest for supremacy and did so. I think that Dylan answered the why of that question himself in one of the snippets of interviews in the Martin Scorsese documentary of his early career, “No Direction Home”. There he noted, when asked why audiences gravitated to his songs, that while there was plenty of talent around most singers sang their message over the audience (I think that he meant in the literal performing sense, as well as intellectually) but that it was necessary to “speak” to the audience. To our sense of longing for identity, for some knowledge of life’s mystery, and for that some one who could express in our own tribal youth language the words that we needed to push on with. Well, Dylan certainly did that to a generation, my generation, that saw “the answer blowing in the wind” and desperately hoped that “the times were a-changin’’’.

The folk artist under review, Mark Spoestra is one of the male singers that I have not mentioned previously, although he was certainly in the mix of things in the early 1960’s. In fact, his “resurrection” here is due to my having seen his “talking head” commentary on that “No Direction Home” Scorsese production. I do not know the particulars of his later story but the work here on this CD is a case in point about the Dylan comment. (I note that after this review was written I found out that Mark Spoelstra had died in 2007.)

Certainly his lyrics are strong and are right in the Woody Guthrie (and later, Dylan himself) troubadour tradition of spreading the news of the day. “Five & Twenty Questions” and, more so, the tragic story outlined in “Ballad Of 12th Avenue”, about the desperation of a used up man in the bowels of modern American society that has left him with no resources but the gun to work out his problems, are in that mode. “On The Road Again” and “The Leaves” speak to the need to ramble and find oneself or to find love or find something that we hungered for then (and not just then either). That said, this album still leaves me with the feeling that old Mark was speaking to himself and for himself and not to me. That is the difference. A big difference. Still, if you have time listen in to someone who was struggling to find the meaning of his times and, at least on “Ballad Of 12th Street”, hit pay dirt.

He Was A Friend of Mine (Just A Hand To Hold)

Lyrics: Mark Spoelstra

Music: Mark Spoelstra

This was played by the Grateful Dead in their early days, from 1966 to 1970. It is normally in setlists as "He Was A Friend Of Mine" but it is in fact a portion of a Mark Spoelstra song "Just A Hand To Hold"

Chorus
He was, he was a friend of mine
He was, he was a friend of mine
Now he's dead and gone

This morning my best friend
Was sleeping in his bed
His face like a jewel
And he was dead

[chorus]

He liked to play games
Mark, push me on a swing
Mark, push me on a merry-go-round
Going round and round

[chorus]

deadsongs.vue.90 : He Was A Friend Of Mine
permalink #5 of 18: Alex Allan (alexallan) Sat 17 Sep 05 01:20

Thanks to a tip from Russ Lipetzky, I've discovered that the song we
know as "He Was A Friend Of Mine" is in fact "Just A Hand To Hold" by
Mark Spoelstra. Spoelstra recorded it on his 1965 LP "5 & 20 Questions"
and it was covered in the same year by Kathy and Carol (Kathy Larisch
and Carol McComb). I've got a copy of the latter - lyrics below. The
Grateful Dead sang just the first few verses. Mark Spoelstra used to
perform with Bob Dylan, Dave Van Ronk et al in New York in the early
1960s, which may explain the loose connection with the song "He Was A
Friend Of Mine" that they performed.

Just A Hand To Hold

Mark Spoelstra

He was, he was a friend of mine
He was, he was a friend of mine
Now he's dead and gone

This morning, my best friend
Lay still on his bed
His face like a jewel
And he was dead

He was, he was only six years old
He was, he was only six years old
So I've been told

He like to play games
Mark, push me on the swing
Mark, push me on the merry-go-round
Go round and round

Swing me, oh swing me, swing me all up and down
Spin me, oh spin me, spin me around and round
Till my feet touch the ground

He never was afraid
For he was was brave and bold
And the only thing he ever asked for
Was a hand to hold

It makes no difference where he's from or where's he's bound
And it makes no difference if he's lost or been found
He's dead and gone

But there is no power
Anywhere in this land
Like the voice used to say
Will you hold my hand

There is a voice that rings loud throughout this land
There is a voice that speaks for the black and tan
And for all of man

It's young and it's old
It's brave and it's bold
It can't be bought or sold
Just a hand to hold

*Irish Author Of "Angela's Ashes" Frank McCourt Is Dead At 78

Click On Title To Link To NPR's Story On The Death Of Author Frank McCourt. Frank McCourt's story is my story about a generation later and a continent away. But it is still my story. I have reviewed that elsewhere in this space and have reposted it below.

*A Bit Of The Odd Manner- Irish Style- The Childhood Saga of Frank McCourt

Book Review

Angela’s Ashes: A Memoir Of Childhood, Frank McCourt, Flamingo, London, 1997

Frank McCourt’s “Angela’s Ashes” is probably the easiest review that I have had to write since I have been doing such reviews in this space. Why? Frank McCourt’s book of childhood memoirs is my story. No, not in the details of his life’s story, or mine. But rather in how being Irish, being poor and being uprooted affects your childhood, and later. And those traumas, for good or evil, cross generational lines. McCourt, we are told as his story unfolds, was born in America of immigrants of the Diaspora after Irish independence who, for one reason or another, returned to the old country in defeat in the 1930’s. As McCourt notes right at the beginning, that fact in itself provides a rather ironic twist if one is familiar with Irish history (at least until very recently). He is, in any case, thus a child of the Great Depression and World War II, the generation of my parents, as it was refracted through Ireland during that period. I, on the other hand, am a child of the 1960’s, the “Generation of ‘68” here in America born of the dreaded Irish Catholic-English Protestant combination- and raised in an Irish Catholic enclave. Nevertheless the pages of this memoir are filled to the brim with the results of the emotional (and sometimes physical scars) of being “shanty” Irish in this world that hit home to this reader.

That said, we did not share the terrible effect that “the drink” had on creating his dysfunctional family with his father’s, Malachy McCourt, crazed need for the alcohol cure to drown his sorrows and his bitterness and the fact that his great moment in life was his bit for “the cause” (of Irish independence). A familiar story in the Irish community here and in the old country but my father seldom drank, although he too was constantly out of work and shared with Frank’s father that same bitterness about his fate. He was uneducated, lacking in skills and prospects and as a “hillbilly” Protestant Southerner from coal country down in Kentucky. Thus, an ‘outsider’ like Frank’s father. That is the commonality that caught my eye (and sometimes my throat) as I read of Frank’s youthful trials, tribulations and adventures. McCourt’s ability to tap into that “mystical” something is what makes this a fine read, whether you are Irish or not.

Throughout the book McCourt’s woe begotten but fatally prideful father is constantly referred to in the Irishtown working class poor ghetto of Limerick (and elsewhere, as well, but the heart of the story is told from there) as having an odd manner. This reflects a certain clannishness against those from the North of Ireland (Dare I say it, the area then known as Ulster) and a sneaking suspicion amount that crowd of some alien (meaning English Protestant) heritage. As the book progresses that odd trait is transferred (by heredity?) to Frank in his various wanderings, enterprise and desires. What joins us together then is that odd manner that gets repeatedly invoked throughout the book. Frank survived to tell the tale. As did I. But in both cases it appears to have been a near thing.

There is more that unites us. The shame culture, not an exclusive Irish Catholic property but very strong nevertheless, drilled in by the clannishness, the closeness of neighbors, the Catholic religion and by the bloody outsiders- usually but not always Protestants of some sort (as least for blame purposes- you know, the eight hundred years of British tyranny although very real to be sure). All driven by not having nearly enough of this world’s goods. Every time I read a passage about the lack of food, the quality of the food, the conditions of the various tenements that the McCourt family lived in, the lack of adequate and clean clothing I cringed at the thoughts from my own childhood. Or the various times when the family was seriously down and out and his mother, the beloved Angela of the title, had to beg charity of one form or another from some institution that existed mainly to berate the poor. I can remember own my mother’s plaintive cry when my brothers and I misbehaved that the next step was the county poor farm.

And how about the false pride and skewed order of priorities? Frank’s father was a flat out drunk and was totally irresponsible. From a child's perspective, however, he is still your dad and must be given the respect accordingly, especially against the viciousness of the outside world. But life’s disappointments for the father also get reflected in the expectations for the son. The dreams are smaller. Here, the horizons are pretty small when a governmental job with its security just above the “dole” is the touchstone of respectability. Sean O’Casey was able to make enduring plays from the slums of Dublin out of this material. And Frank McCourt enduring literature. Thanks, brother.

Note: The movie version of “Angela’s Ashes” pretty fairly reflects the intentions of Frank McCourt in his childhood memoirs and follows the book accordingly, without the usual dramatic embellishments of that medium. The story line is so strong it needs no such “touch-ups”. Particularly compelling is the very visual sense of utter poverty down at the base of Irish society in Frank McCourt’s childhood.

These two songs below are constantly being sung by Frank McCourt's father when he is "on the drink"

"Roddy McCorly"

O see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn,
From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Ban;
They come with vengeance in their eyes. Too late! Too late are they,
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

Up the narrow street he stepped, so smiling, proud and young.
About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung;
There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, fearless and brave are they,
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

When last this narrow street he trod, his shining pike in hand
Behind him marched, in grim array, a earnest stalwart band.
To Antrim town! To Antrim town, he led them to the fray,
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

There's never a one of all your dead more bravely died in fray
Than he who marches to his fate in Toomebridge town today; ray
True to the last! True to the last, he treads the upwards way,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

"Kevin Barry"

In MOUNT JOY jail one Monday morning
High upon the gallows tree
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the 'cause of liberty
Just a lad of eighteen summers
Yet no true man can deny
As he walked to death that morning
He proudly held his head up high

Another martyr for old Erin
Another murder for the crown
The British laws may crush the Irish
But cannot keep their spirits down

Just before he faced the hangman
In his dreary prison cell
The British soldiers tortured Barry
Just because he would not tell
The name of all his brave companions
And other things they wished to know
Turn informer or we'll kill you
Kevin Barry answered no

Another martyr for old Erin
Another murder for the crown
Whose cruel laws may crush the Irish
But CANNOT KEEP their spirits down

***Once Again, A Blues Potpourri-John Lee Hooker And Furry Lewis

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Furry Lewis Doing "Kassie Jones" Wow!

DVD REVIEW

John Lee Hooker and Furry Lewis, John Lee Hooker, Furry Lewis, Yazoo Productions, 2002

I have recently reviewed a few of John Lee Hooker’s vast number of blues albums that lend credence to the title “Boogie Chillen” man. I also noted that unlike other old time electric blues artists such as Howlin’ Wolf and Lighting Hopkins that Hooker’s work, in general, leaves me cold. Although the small segment of his work presented here is good as he articulates his sense of what the blues mean, especially as it features one of his signature songs that I like, “Boom Boom”, I still am left with that same feeling. I finish by noting that this is a question of personal taste. Hooker is a blues legend, justifiably so. Case closed.

The other figure in this short Yazoo production is a different story. I have also reviewed Furry Lewis’s work elsewhere in this space and have praised his clean guitar picking style and vocals from his early career in the 1920’s when he was along with Blind Blake and Blind Lemon Jefferson one of the kings of the guitar pick. Furry does not fail here late in his career after reemerging during the folk revival of the 1960’s. His version of the famous “Kassie Jones” is worth the price of admission.

*Down With The Federal Defense Of Marriage Act (DOMA)- The Legal Fights Steps Up

Click ON Title To Link To National Public Radio Segment On The Legal Fight By The Massachusetts Attorney-General To Challenge The Federal Defense Of Marriage Act (DOMA). Needless to say, while we have a different strategic (and political) approach to this vital democratic question all avenues, state and local, legal and on the streets, to gain this right are supportable. Down With DOMA!

*Down With The "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" Anti-Gay And Lesbian Military Policy

Click ON Title To Link To National Public Radio's Segment On The Fight To Have The Obama Administration Overturn The Clinton-era Policy. This space is unequivocally opposed to every aspect of American militarism and the expanding American imperial presence in the world. That is a knock-down, drag-out fight to the finish. No question about that. Nevertheless, we uphold the democratic rights of those who are in the service. While in the military those who serve, whatever else, are entitled to the same benefits as anyone who serves. Down with this policy now.

*Carnival Of Socialism-Carnival Of Struggle

http://advant.blogspot.com/2009/07/carnival-of-socialism-40-is-here.html

Kudos to Renegade Eye.

*Once Again- The Slogan Is Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of U.S. Troops From Iraq- Get The Planes Revved Up Now

Click On Title To Link To National Public Radio Segment On The Status, The Real Status, Of Troop Withdrawal In Iraq. The Title Of This Entry Gives My Political Prescription. At This Late Date What More Can Be Said. Obama- Get 'Em Out.

**********************

*A Musical Change Of Pace- Tin Pan Alley-Cole Porter

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Cole Porter's "Anything Goes".

Night And Day, Indeed

CD Review

Night And Day: The Cole Porter Songbook, various artists, Polydor, 1990

Billie Holiday. That is the name, voice and magic that I conjure up when I hear the name Cole Porter and his tasty and tasteful lyrics that evoke a simpler time, a time of my parents’ generation rather than my own. The generation that went through the last depression, the Great Depression of the 1930’s and then fought World War II successfully. Billie, thus, is something a thread that carries these tunes to my generation, the generation of the 1960’s. In fact, I believe the first time I recognized Cole Porter songs (although I probably hear then as background music on the radio in the old days) was on Billie’s “Night And Day” album of Porter tunes.

Here though, other voices, perhaps more representative of Porter’s work such as his Broadway show tunes, are featured. Like the slyly salacious “Love For Sale”. Or the agitated longing of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”. How about the peppy “Anything Goes”. Or “It’s De-Lovely”. Or the very lyric-driven “Let’s Fall In Love”. And, of course, the dreamy title track “Night And Day”. So if you want to know what your parents (or grandparents) listened to while they were spoonin’ here is your stop.

"Love For Sale"

When the only sound on the empty street
is the heavy tread of the heavy feet
that belong to a lonesome cop
I open shop

The moon so long has been gazing down
on the warward ways of this wayward town
my smile becomes a smirk, I go to work

Love for sale
appetizing young love for sale
love thats fresh and still unspoiled
love thats only slightly soiled
love for sale

who will buy
who would like to sample my supply
who's prepared to pay the price
for a trip to paradise
love for sale

let the poets pipe of love
in their childish ways
I know every type of love
better far than they
if you want the thrill of love
I have been through the mill of love
old love
new love
every love but true love

love for sale
appetizing young love for sale
if you want to buy my wares follow me and clime the stairs
love for sale

*A Musical Change Of Pace- Tin Pan Alley-George Gershwin

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Billie Holiday Doing George Gershwin's "Summertime".

CD REVIEWS

The Great Songs Of George Gershwin, various artist, Columbia Legacy, 1998

George Gershwin's short but productive career has always been associated in my mind with the Broadway musical. Much more so than that another composer from that same period of the 1930's-1940's whom I recently reviewed in this space, Cole Porter. They both worked this milieu but I always think more of New York (or Paris) cabarets and cafés with Porter's work and the theater with Gershwin (and I will tag along his brother, Ira, here as well). Perhaps, it's because George Gershwin's name is most associated historically with the classic Broadway black musical "Porgy and Bess". In any case this little CD is filled with songs by many well-known singers who won their spurs in Broadway productions of his work, or wished they had.

So here we have Billie Holiday doing her trademark "Summertime" from that "Porgy and Bess" mentioned above. The virtuoso pianist Teddy Wilson doing "Embraceable You". The underrated Mildred Bailey on " They Can't Take That Away From You". The recently departed Mel Torme doing "Isn't It A Pity" and the still legendary Tony Bennett on "Fascinatin' Rhythm" (from Lady, Be Good). If your thing is Gershwin show tunes you have definitely come to the right address.

George Gershwin
Summertime lyrics

Summertime,
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high

Oh, Your daddy's rich
And your mamma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

But until that morning
There's a'nothing can harm you
With your daddy and mammy standing by

Summertime,
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high

Your daddy's rich
And your mamma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

*Free The San Francisco Eight- An Update From The Partisan Defense Committee

Click On Title To Link To Free The San Francisco Eight Web Site.

The following is passed on from the Partisan Defense Committee and needs no further comment from me except- Free The Eight!!

Drop the Charges Against the SF8 Now!

The following June 6 protest letter was sent by the Partisan Defense Committee—a class-struggle, non-sectarian legal and social defense organization associated with the Spartacist League—to California Attorney General Jerry Brown.

The Partisan Defense Committee demands an immediate end to the state’s vindictive prosecution of the San Francisco 8—Richard Brown, Francisco Torres, Ray Boudreaux, Henry “Hank” Jones, Harold Taylor, Herman Bell and Jalil Muntaqim (Anthony Bottom)—who were arrested in 2007 on frame-up charges of murder and conspiracy in relation to the 1971 death of San Francisco police officer John Young. In more than two years of court hearings, the prosecution has not produced a shred of evidence against these former Black Panthers. Now they face another three months of preliminary hearings, beginning on June 8, to determine if the case will go to trial. The relentless persecution of these men, all of them in their late 50s or older, is a continuation of the government’s decades-long vendetta against the Black Liberation Army and other former Panthers. We demand that all the charges against the SF8 be dropped now!

For close to 40 years, the police have tried to pin the killing of Young on these men. In 1973, two San Francisco police inspectors interrogated three Panther members including one of the current defendants, Harold Taylor, who had been arrested by the New Orleans cops. The three were tortured for several days—stripped naked, blindfolded and beaten, covered with blankets soaked in boiling water, shocked with electric cattle prods on their genitals and anus—until they “confessed.” In 1975, the charges were thrown out of court on the basis that their confessions had been coerced through torture. Thirty years later, the police and government prosecutors were still unsuccessful in obtaining indictments of any of these men despite convening California state and federal grand juries—first in 2003-2004 and later in May and August 2005. But this frame-up was revived again in 2007 when the SF8 were rounded up and arrested on orders from your office of California State Attorney General.

More than two years of court hearings have produced no evidence tying these men to Young’s killing. The “discovery” of a shotgun alleged to be the “missing murder weapon” was found not to match any weapons evidence in the case. Similarly, DNA swabs taken from the defendants in June 2006 did not match any evidence from the crime scene. The prosecution has refused to release fingerprint evidence that exonerates all of these men. The judge ruled against releasing FBI wiretap surveillance of Black Panther phone lines based on an FBI “taint team” affidavit asserting that there had been no wiretap surveillance of the SF8. One need only recall the case of another former Panther, Geronimo ji Jaga (Pratt) who spent 27 years behind bars for a murder that the FBI and California state officials knew he did not commit. The FBI claimed that it had “lost” wiretaps proving that Geronimo was at an Oakland Panther meeting, 400 miles away from L.A. where and when the murder was committed. Geronimo was released from prison in 1997 when an Orange County Superior Court Judge ruled that he had been denied a fair trial because the prosecution had withheld vital evidence from the defense.

The FBI’s murderous COINTELPRO program took the lives of 38 Panthers. Those they couldn’t kill were framed up and thrown in jail, including Mumia Abu-Jamal who remains on death row today on fabricated charges of killing a Philadelphia police officer in 1981. Mumia’s death sentence was secured by the prosecutor’s lying argument that his membership in the Panthers as a teenager “proved” that he had been planning to kill a cop. The prosecution of the SF8 is a continuation of the same COINTELPRO-style frame-up campaign. Together with other fighters against racist injustice, labor unions and federations like the S.F. Labor Council and others, the Partisan Defense Committee demands: Drop the charges now!

The Night Belongs To......, Vietnam (Oops!) Afghanistan Update At A Glance

Click On Title To Link To "Boston Globe" Article By Farrah Stockman, Dated July 14, 2009, Which Might Help Explain The "Oops" Of The Title Of This Entry.

Commentary

Now that the Obama Administration has waded knee-deep into "The Big Poppy", Afghanistan, and made that war its own, including a recent signature 4000 Marine excursion deep into Taliban territory we are starting to see the outlines of the problem that confronted the Kennedy Administration and its lead advocate, the late War Secretary Robert S. McNamara. As the posted article indicates the American military presence can be overwhelming and appear to be invincible.....during the day. The night, however, belongs to the Taliban. Sound familiar? I will not, as I tried not to do with Iraq as well, overdraw the analogies between the wars, objectives, goals of the opponents and other factors in this benighted region and the Vietnam War that consumed a good portion of my youth. I do, nevertheless, make this point early on in this escalating conflict. When the deal goes down the American forces will be in Afghanistan propping up the increasingly corrupt and inept Karzai government for a minute. Or a couple of minutes. What then? The Taliban after almost eight years, seemingly, has the capacity to wait that time out. Since I made the point I also make the proposal and, in the end, what appears to be the rational solution. Immediate Unconditional Withdrawal Of All U.S./Allied Troops From Afghanistan! And while this will be of no avail now that the American Commander-in-Chief has dug in his heels-Obama,remember the fate of one Robert Strange McNamara.

*If You Like Your T-Bone Rare This Is Your Stop- The Electric Blues Guitar Of T-Bone Walker

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of T-Bone Walker Doing "Don't Throw Your Love On Me So Strong"

CD REVIEW

Back On The Scene Texas 1966: T-Bone Walker, T-Bone Walker, Castle Music, 2003

Okay, ask around. Here is the question. Who was (and maybe still is) the most influential electric blues guitarist of the post- World War II period. From casual listeners you may get a variety of answers, all of them somewhat worthy of consideration like Muddy Waters and B.B. King or from a later period , perhaps Eric Clapton. But down at the soul of the electric blues you will find one name that all the other choices will gladly agree (if they are honest) is the max daddy of the electric blues guitar, T-Bone Walker. He owns the thing. It is part of his physical person and combined with that plaintive sweet but catlike menacing voice presents a strong case for his place in the blues pantheon. In short, if you hear someone today playing electric blues guitar that sound like they are gently running the piano keyboard and with a sense that the player has been through some kind of hell that person was influenced by Walker. No doubt.

That said, this is not his strongest work but is a better than average primer considering that it represents the latter part of T-Bone’s career. Still just listening to the way he introduces a sing and then goes through his paces will set the mood for you. Try the ironic “Good Boy” for starters. And the title track “Back On The Scene”. Close out with “ Afraid To Close My Eyes” and you will start looking for earlier T-Bone CDs right away.

alimony blues lyrics

It's a cold-blooded world when a man has to pawn his shoes
It's a cold-blooded world when a man has to pawn his shoes
That's the fix I'm in today, I swear I've been abused

Yes, the woman is a devil, she will trick you if she can
Yes, the woman is a devil, she will trick you if she can
She will tell you that she love you, an work out some other plan


"Call It Stormy Monday"

They call it stormy Monday, but Tuesday's just as bad
They call it stormy Monday, but Tuesday's just as bad
Wednesday's worse, and Thursday's also sad

Yes the eagle flies on Friday, and Saturday I go out to play
Eagle flies on Friday, and Saturday I go out to play
Sunday I go to church, then I kneel down and pray

Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy on me
Lord have mercy, my heart's in misery
Crazy about my baby, yes, send her back to me


Got those alimony blues an I sure got to pay some dues
Got those alimony blues an I sure got to pay some dues
And if I run short of cash, it's the road camp, I've got to choose


"Midnight Blues"

Well, the clock is strikin' twelve, somebody's got to go
Well, the clock is strikin' twelve, somebody's got to go
Gee, but I'm going to miss ya baby, this is one thing I'm sure you know

When it's twelve o'clock in Memphis, it's one o'clock in San Antone
When it's twelve o'clock in Memphis, it's one o'clock in San Antone
When it's midnight in California, I'll be so all alone

Midnight is an awful hour, why does it come so soon?
Midnight is a awful hour, why does it come so soon?
It never bring me happ'ness, it always leave me filled with gloom

Don't ever gamble buddy, unless you're sure that you can't lose
Don't ever gamble buddy, unless you're sure that you can't lose
You better take my advise, unless you want this midnight blues

"Put it away!"


"T-Bone Shuffle"

Let your hair down baby,
Let's have a natural ball.
Let your hair down baby,
Let's have a natural ball.
Cause when you're not happy,
It ain't no fun at all.

You can't take it with you,
That's one thing for sure.
You can't take it with you baby,
That's one thing for sure.
There's nothing wrong with ya baby,
That a good T-Bone shuffle can't cure.

Have fun while ya can,
Fate's an aweful thing.
Have fun while ya can,
Fate's an aweful thing.
You can't tell what might happen,
That's why I love to sing.

*A Different Guitar –The Jazz Guitar Of Wes Montgomery

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Wes Montgomery performing "'Round Midnight".

DVD Review

Wes Montgomery: Live in 65, Wes Montgomery and various sidemen, Reelin’ In The Years Productions. 2007

As I have mentioned on more than one other occasion in reviewing various musical genres, what goes around comes around. On the basis of doing a review of the legendary and ground-breaking Texas blues guitarist T-Bone Walker a friend sent me a this DVD of jazz guitarist Wes Montgomery. Well, although jazz is not my main area of interest (except where it intersects, as it does in many places, the blues) of course I knew the name, if not the specific work, of Wes Montgomery.

What we have here is very lovingly done tribute to Brother Montgomery, as part of a jazz icon series, by showcasing a set of three European performances in 1965 done during the prime of his jazz powers. Look, I know folk guitar and many of its virtuoso players backward and forward. I know rock guitar and many of its virtuoso performers as well. I know blues guitar and its virtuoso performers, like the above-mentioned T-Bone Walker, backward, forward and side way. I cannot same the same for the jazz guitar. I can say, though, off viewing this series of performances that Mr. Wes Montgomery fits very comfortably in that virtuoso category.

As The Burns-Novick Vietnam War Documentary Airs- No Black-Bordered Obituary For Defense Secretary Robert McNamara

As The Burns-Novick Vietnam War Documentary Airs- No Black-Bordered Obituary For Defense Secretary Robert McNamara 

A Link To "New York Times" July 6, 2009 Obituary For Robert McNamara. The Point Of This Link Is To Teach The Next Generation To Know The "Rational" Kind Of Monster We Have To Boot Out In Order To Get The Just World WE Desperately Need.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/07/us/07mcnamara.html?_r=2&hp=&pagewanted=all


Commentary (July 6, 2009)

The recent death, at 93, of Kennedy/Johnson Vietnam War-era War Secretary Robert McNamara has been met with a number of tributes in the bourgeois media about his role as architect of various Cold War military policies in defense of the American Imperial state. That is to be expected for those sources. There is, apparently, an unwritten rule that one does not speak ill of the dead in those circles. Including legitimate war criminals. And in the normal course of events that might be an appropriate response. But one Robert Strange McNamara is of a different stripe.

After a life time of public service to the bourgeois state Mr. McNamara, seemingly, late in life started to worry about his eternal soul and the harm that he had done to it by trying, as an example, to wipe the country of Vietnam, North and South at the time, off the face of the earth with his incessant strategic bombing policy. After exhibiting some qualms late in the Johnson presidency (and around the time of TET 1968) he was booted upstairs to become President of the American-dominated World Bank. Nice soft landing for a war criminal, right?

And who called him a war criminal? Well, of course, this writer did (and does). And so did many of the anti-war activists of the 1960’s. Those calls are to be expected (and might be considered to constitute a minimum response to his egregious policies). But, surprise, surprise late in life, after serious reflection, McNamara implied, haltingly to be sure, in his memoirs (a review of which is re-posted below) that that might have been the case. However, unlike some of his compadres at the Nuremberg War Crimes tribunals and other such venues, Mr. McNamara died quietly in his bed.

Not so fortunate were the millions of Vietnamese peasants and workers who bore the onslaught of the maximum fire-power the American military could lay down. No, there will be no final justice in this sorry old world until a future American Workers Republic pays real justice (and serious cash) to the people of Vietnam. As for Robert Strange McNamara, if the worst that happened to him was a “bad conscience” he got off easy.

******

Reposted below is a review of Robert Strange McNamara’s memoirs and of a documentary “Fog Of War” used by him in order to help “the second draft” of history of his legacy.

Reposted From April 30, 2009 Entry

The Fog Of War, Part II- War Secretary Robert McNamara’s View Of His Handiwork in Vietnam

Book Review

In Retrospect: The Tragedy And Lessons Of Vietnam, Robert Strange McNamara with Brain VanDeMark, Random House, 1995

Anyone who had caught the Friday March 27, 2009 headlines is aware that the Democratic Party-run Obama government has called for some 4,000 additional troops for Afghanistan and what they, euphemistically, call civilian support teams in order to bolster the sagging regime of “Mayor of Kabul” Karzai. Those numbers are in addition to the 17,000 extras already committed by the Obama regime in February. Does the word escalation seem appropriate here?

One of the problems of having gone through the Vietnam experience in my youth (including periods of lukewarm support for American policy under John F. Kennedy, a hands-off attitude in the early Lyndon B. Johnson years and then full-bore opposition under the late Johnson, Richard M. Nixon and Gerald Ford regimes) is a tendency to view today’s American imperial policy in the same by-the-numbers approach as I took as a result of observing the Vietnam War as it unfolded. There are differences, some of them hugely so, between Vietnam and Afghanistan. Just as, I have previously noted in this space, there are differences between Vietnam and the recently “completed” Iraq War. (Hey, I’m just going by what the media tells me is going on. They wouldn’t lead us astray, would they?)

But, I keep getting this eerie feeling in the back of my neck every time I hear, or see, anything concerning Afghanistan coming out of this new Obama administration. They appear clueless, yet are determined to forge ahead with this policy that can only lead to the same kind of quagmire than Vietnam and Iraq turned into. That is where the analogies to Vietnam do connect up. In this regard, I have recently been re-reading Kennedy/Johnson War Secretary Robert Strange (that’s his middle name, folk, I didn’t make it up and didn’t need to) McNamara’s memoirs, written in 1995, of his central role in the development of Vietnam policy, “In Retrospect: The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam”.

Obviously McNamara has put his own ‘spin’ on his personal role then in order to absolve himself (a little) before history. That is to be expected. What comes through crystal clear, however, because in the final analysis McNamara still doesn’t get it, is that when you’re the number one imperial power all the decisions you make are suppose to fall into place for your benefit because you represent the “good guys”. Regardless of what you do, or do not, know about the internal workings of the situation at hand. The Kennedy/Johnson administrations were almost totally ignorant of the internal working of Vietnamese society. That is why I have that eerie, very eerie, feeling about this Obama war policy.

In the normal course of events former high level bureaucrats in American presidential administrations usually save their attempts at self-justification for high ticket published memoirs or congenial `softball' speaking tours and conferences. In short, they prefer to preach to the choir at retail prices. Apparently, Cold Warrior extraordinaire Secretary of War Robert Strange McNamara felt that such efforts were very necessary in his case and hence he had to go to the prints in order to whitewash his role in the history of his times. Despite an apparent agreement with his “ghost writer” not to cover certain subjects and be allowed to present his story his way it is always good to catch a view of how the other side operates. It ain't pretty.

After a lifetime of relative public silence, at the age of 8o something, McNamara decided to give his take on events in which he was a central figure like dealing with the fact of American imperial military superiority in the post- World War II period, dealing with the Russians and the fight for American nuclear superiority during the Cold War, the ill-conceived Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba, the later Cuban Missile crisis and above all his role in the escalation of the wars in Southeast Asia, primarily Vietnam.

Very little here focuses on his time at the World Bank, a not unimportant omission that would highlight my point that he might have changed his clothing in the course of his career but not his mindset. While those of us interested in learning the lessons of history have long understood that to know the political enemy is the beginning of wisdom one will not find much here that was not infinitely better covered by the late journalist David Halberstam in his classic “The Best and The Brightest”.

McNamara has chosen to present his story in the form of parables, or rather, little vignettes about the “lessons” to be drawn from experiences (eleven in all by the way). Thus, we are asked to sit, embarrassingly, through McNamara's freshman course in revisionist history as he attempts to take himself from the cold-hearted Cold Warrior and legitimate “war criminal” to the teddy-bearish old man who has learned something in his life- after a lifetime of treachery. Yet, like that freshman course there are things to be learned despite the professor and more to learn, if only by reading between the lines, than he or she wanted to express.

McNamara presents his take by dividing the Vietnam War buildup, at least at the executive level, into periods; the early almost passive Kennedy days; the post Kennedy assassination period when Lyndon Johnson was trying to be all things to all men; the decisive post-1964 election period; and, various periods of fruitless and clueless escalation. It is this process that is, almost unwittingly, the most important to take from this world. Although McNamara, at the time of writing was an older and wiser man, when he had power he went along with ever step of the “hawks”, civilian and military. He led no internal opposition, and certainly not public one. This is the classic “good old boys” network where one falls on one’s sword when the policy turns wrong. And he is still scratching his head over why masses of anti-war protesters chanted “war criminal” when they confronted him with his deeds. And then listen to the latest screeds by current War Secretary Gates concerning Afghanistan. It will sound very familiar.

In the end, if one took his story at face value, one could only conclude that he was just trying to serve his bosses the best way he could and if things went wrong it was their fault. Nothing new there, though. Henry Kissinger has turned that little devise into an art form. Teary-eyed at the end McNamara might be as he acknowledges his role in the mass killings of his time, but beware of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Yet, you need to read this book if you want to understand how these guys (and gals) defended their state then, and now.

DVD REVIEW

The Fog of War, starring former Secretary of War Robert Strange McNamara, 2003

In the normal course of events former high level bureaucrats in American presidential administrations usually save their attempts at self-justification for high ticket published memoirs or congenial `softball' speaking tours and conferences. In short, they prefer to preach to the choir at retail prices. Apparently, former Kennedy and Johnson Administration Cold Warrior extraordinaire Secretary of War Robert Strange McNamara felt that such efforts were not enough and hence he had to go before the cameras in order to whitewash his role in the history of his times. Despite an apparent agreement with his interviewer not to cover certain subjects and be allowed to present his story his way it is always good to catch a view of how the other side operates. It ain't pretty.

After a lifetime of relative public silence, at the age of 85, McNamara decided to give his take on events in which he was a central figure like dealing with the fact of American imperial military superiority in the post- World War II period, dealing with the Russians and the fight for American nuclear superiority during the Cold War, the ill-conceived Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba, the later Cuban Missile crisis and above all his role in the escalation of the wars in Southeast Asia, primarily Vietnam.

Very little here focuses on his time at the World Bank, a not unimportant omission that would highlight my point that he might have changed his clothing in the course of his career but not his mindset. While those of us interested in learning the lessons of history have long understood that to know the political enemy is the beginning of wisdom one will not find much here that was not infinitely better covered by the late journalist David Halberstam in his classic The Best and The Brightest.

McNamara has chosen to present his story in the form of parables, or rather, little vignettes about the `lessons' to be drawn from experiences. Thus, we are asked to sit, embarrassingly, through McNamara's Freshman course in revisionist history as he attempts to take himself from the cold-hearted Cold Warrior and legitimate `war criminal' to the teddy-bearish old man who has learned something in his life- after a lifetime of treachery.

In the end, if one took his story at face value, one could only conclude that he was just trying to serve his bosses the best way he could and if things went wrong it was their fault. Nothing new there, though. Henry Kissinger has turned that little devise into an art form. Teary-eyed at the end McNamara might be as he acknowledges his role in the mass killings of his time, but beware of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Yet, you need to watch this film if you want to understand how these guys (and gals) defend their state.

*Oppose The Military Coup In Honduras, Ahora- A Guest Commentary

Click On Title To Link To Guest Commentary Concerning The Struggle Against The Recent Military Takeover In Honduras.

Markin Commentary

Some of the points I agree, some not. The situation there, especially from this distance, seems somewhat murky. Especially suspect are the leftist populist credentials of the deposed Zelaya and his actions to gain reelection (or at least run for reelection). But know this, we leftists (and here I mean socialists, anarchists and both branches of the communist movement (including the Communist International before its Stalinist degeneration), Stalinist And Trotskyist, have been sometimes too slow to oppose military takeovers of democratically-elected governments. And , on occasion too quick to support certain so-called leftist military one like in China and Bulgaria in the 1920's. Yes, we want our day but that does not mean that today we are indifferent to the norms of bourgeois democracy. In Honduras we oppose the military junta, if for no other reason than we can work better for our socialist goals and easier under bourgeois norms than the norms of military rule. I will have more to say on this later. For now though the immediate thread of our work (and slogans) should be to fight for the return of the democratic norms linked to the struggle for a workers republic-ahora.

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

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

CD REVIEW

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

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

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

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

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

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

The place where he was born and raised

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

He has no friends to help him now

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

Perhaps he'll die upon this train

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

While he is sleeping in his grave

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

He'll meet you on God's golden shore

Big Rock Candy Mountain

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

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

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

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

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

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


Ralph Stanley - O Death Lyrics

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

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

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

The Stanley Brothers - Angel Band Lyrics

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

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

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

DVD Review

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

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

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

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

John Prine, Paradise Lyrics

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

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

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

Repeat Chorus:

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

Repeat Chorus:

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

Repeat Chorus:


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

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

The place where he was born and raised

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

He has no friends to help him now

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

Perhaps he'll die upon this train

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

While he is sleeping in his grave

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

He'll meet you on God's golden shore

Big Rock Candy Mountain

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

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

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

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

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

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


Ralph Stanley - O Death Lyrics

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

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

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

The Stanley Brothers - Angel Band Lyrics

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

From The Archives (2009)-Capitalist America- Give Youth Work, Or Move On Over!

Click On To Title To Link To The Leon Trotsky Archives For 1938 Under The Transitional Program Concerning A Sliding Scale Of Wages (Popularly Known As "30 For 40")As An Example Of The Way To Address The Problem Di cussed Below.

Commentary

Make no mistake this site, as a general proposition, is fiercely and relentlessly dedicated to the propaganda struggle for a socialist future. But sometimes we have to agitate for some immediate and pressing needs. In this case the need to make sure the youth, and particularly minority youth, has meaningful work. In a society that goes on something of a principle of ‘last hired and first fired ‘(except when it is cheaper to keep the new labor) in its labor practices this latest capitalist recession is hitting the youth disproportionately.

That said, I recently heard an interesting, if disturbing, program on National Public Radio’s “Talk Of The Town” where the subject was PBS “Dateline’s” upcoming program, hosted by Judy Woodruff, concerning the various ways today’s 20-somethings are coping with (or not coping with) this, for them, first serious economic downturn. I heard plenty of anecdotal evidence for why this capitalist really has outlived its usefulness and must be replaced. But that is a subject for another day and one can go elsewhere in this space for various commentaries on the general socialist program. What I want to do is make a few points on the struggle of today’s youth for jobs.

Hey, when those of us who are not 20-something were young and carefree we all, or most of us anyhow, had our share of makeshift jobs in order to survive or to keep us off the streets. Some of us, including this writer, almost made a religion out of keeping just this side of “skid row”. Being footloose and fancy free is a youthful rite of passage, after all (and probably would be more so under a socialist regime). That, however, is not what the callers to this talk show were addressing as they related their stories. What they had to say about their survival skills reflects very well one their individual abilities to adjust to a world that they certainly have not made. They are making career changes, taking odd-ball jobs, retuning home to live in order to cut down on expenses and even that old chestnut, going back to school to ‘reinvent’ themselves.

Okay, that is the good part. But here is where I want to reflect on what the irrationality of the capitalist system has begot. From what I heard there is an incredible amount of social value stored up in today’s youth. Moreover, an incredible amount of social capital has been used to produce these very high priced future contributors to society. No rational society could, or would let this go to waste in the way that it seems to be doing in the current crisis. Wouldn’t a slogan like “30 For 40”, the old radical labor movement idea of redistributing the available work among those , employed and unemployed, hat need it with no loss in pay be just about right at this time. As for the future, to all those young callers-in I will tell you right now that a socialist society would certainly know how to use your skills- “to the max”. Join us in that fight.

****

From The Transistional Program

Sliding Scale of Wages
and Sliding Scale of Hours

Under the conditions of disintegrating capitalism, the masses continue to live the meagerized life of the oppressed, threatened now more than at any other time with the danger of being cast into the pit of pauperism. They must defend their mouthful of bread, if they cannot increase or better it. There is neither the need nor the opportunity to enumerate here those separate, partial demands which time and again arise on the basis of concrete circumstances – national, local, trade union. But two basic economic afflictions, in which is summarized the increasing absurdity of the capitalist system, that is, unemployment and high prices, demand generalized slogans and methods of struggle.

The Fourth International declares uncompromising war on the politics of the capitalists which, to a considerable degree, like the politics of their agents, the reformists, aims to place the whole burden of militarism, the crisis, the disorganization of the monetary system and all other scourges stemming from capitalism’s death agony upon the backs of the toilers. The Fourth International demands employment and decent living conditions for all.

Neither monetary inflation nor stabilization can serve as slogans for the proletariat because these are but two ends of the same stick. Against a bounding rise in prices, which with the approach of war will assume an ever more unbridled character, one can fight only under the slogan of a sliding scale of wages. This means that collective agreements should assure an automatic rise in wages in relation to the increase in price of consumer goods.

Under the menace of its own disintegration, the proletariat cannot permit the transformation of an increasing section of the workers into chronically unemployed paupers, living off the slops of a crumbling society. The right to employment is the only serious right left to the worker in a society based upon exploitation. This right today is left to the worker in a society based upon exploitation. This right today is being shorn from him at every step. Against unemployment, “structural” as well as “conjunctural,” the time is ripe to advance along with the slogan of public works, the slogan of a sliding scale of working hours. Trade unions and other mass organizations should bind the workers and the unemployed together in the solidarity of mutual responsibility. On this basis all the work on hand would then be divided among all existing workers in accordance with how the extent of the working week is defined. The average wage of every worker remains the same as it was under the old working week. Wages, under a strictly guaranteed minimum, would follow the movement of prices. It is impossible to accept any other program for the present catastrophic period.

Property owners and their lawyers will prove the “unrealizability” of these demands. Smaller, especially ruined capitalists, in addition will refer to their account ledgers. The workers categorically denounce such conclusions and references. The question is not one of a “normal” collision between opposing material interests. The question is one of guarding the proletariat from decay, demoralization and ruin. The question is one of life or death of the only creative and progressive class, and by that token of the future of mankind. If capitalism is incapable of satisfying the demands inevitably arising from the calamities generated by itself, then let it perish. “Realizability” or “unrealizability” is in the given instance a question of the relationship of forces, which can be decided only by the struggle. By means of this struggle, no matter what immediate practical successes may be, the workers will best come to understand the necessity of liquidating capitalist slavery.