Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Tom Waits Doing "You're Innocent When You Dream".
CD Review
"Nighthawks At The Diner”, Tom Waits, Electra/Asylum Records, 1975
The inner lives of the denizens of that late night diner in the famous painting by the American realist artist Edward Hopper, “Nighthawks” (1942). The scorching literary sketches of the rich and famous and the skid row bums provided by the late “Gonzo” journalist Doctor Hunter Thompson, accompanied by the renderings of the artist Ralph Steadman. The jingle-jangle high side lyrics of the legendary folk musician Bob Dylan of the “Blood On The Tracks” period. The reach into the far side of the part of the psyche exhibited by those down at the base of American society in an earlier period by the novelist Nelson Algren in “Walk On The Wild Side”. And that same reach later by the man of the “mean” Los Angeles streets, Charles Bukowski. Wrap them all up in a whiskey-soaked, cigarette-scarred, gravelly, rasping voice and you have the idiosyncratic musician Tom Waits. Placed in that same company as above? Yes, by all means. Not a bad place to be, right?
Although I have been listening to the music of one Tom Waits for decades, every since I heard Jerry Jeff Walker do a cover of his classic song of loneliness, longing and reaching for the elusive promise of Saturday night dreams in “Looking For The Heart Of Saturday Night”, I am not familiar with his biography. All I know is that aside from his own far-reaching musical endeavors, as expressed in numerous albums over the years, he has acted in some motion pictures, most notably as a skid row philosopher of sorts in the movie version of William Kennedy’s “Ironweed” (a natural, right?) and has provided the soundtrack music to many movies, most notably the Al Pacino-starring “Sea Of Love”. That Waits soundtrack version of the late 1950’s, early 1960’s classic teenage anthem to longing and love is just the right example of what Brother Waits means musically to this reviewer. Taking that simple song of teenage longing, Waits’ husky-voiced rendition reaches back and turns it into something almost primordial, something that goes back beyond time to our first understandings that we are ‘alone’ in the universe. Enough said.
But so much for all of that because what I really want to mention is the “Waits effect”. Every once in a while I ‘need’ to listen to words and sounds that express the dark, misbegotten side of the human experience. You know, sagas of Gun Street girls, guys talking “Spanish in the halls’, people lost out there on the edge of society and the like. Is there anyone today who can musically put it better? If you need to hear about hope, dope, the rope. Wine, women and song or no wine, no women or no song. About whiskey-caked barroom floors, floozies, boozies, flotsam, jetsam, stale motel rooms, cigarette-infested hotels, wrong gees, jokers, smokers and ten-cent croakers. Drifters, grifters, no good midnight sifters. Life on the fast lane, nowhere lane, some back street alley, perhaps, out in the valley. This, my friends is you address. Listen up. Professor Waits is at the lectern.
This CD is another early Waits album with some now classic material . Here there are some monologues interspersed into the material that give it a very West Coast back street night club kind of feel. “Emotional Weather Report”, “Nighthawk Postcards” and the long intricate “Big Joe and Phantom 309” stick out here.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
*"Small Change"- The Early Music Of Tom Waits
Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of Tom Waits Doing "Sea Of Love". Wow.
CD Review
Small Change, Tom Waits, Electra/Asylum Records, 1976
The inner lives of the denizens of that late night diner in the famous painting by the American realist artist Edward Hopper, “Nighthawks” (1942). The scorching literary sketches of the rich and famous and the skid row bums provided by the late “Gonzo” journalist Doctor Hunter Thompson, accompanied by the renderings of the artist Ralph Steadman. The jingle-jangle high side lyrics of the legendary folk musician Bob Dylan of the “Blood On The Tracks” period. The reach into the far side of the part of the psyche exhibited by those down at the base of American society in an earlier period by the novelist Nelson Algren in “Walk On The Wild Side”. And that same reach later by the man of the “mean” Los Angeles streets, Charles Bukowski. Wrap them all up in a whiskey-soaked, cigarette-scarred, gravelly, rasping voice and you have the idiosyncratic musician Tom Waits. Placed in that same company as above? Yes, by all means. Not a bad place to be, right?
Although I have been listening to the music of one Tom Waits for decades, every since I heard Jerry Jeff Walker do a cover of his classic song of loneliness, longing and reaching for the elusive promise of Saturday night dreams in “Looking For The Heart Of Saturday Night”, I am not familiar with his biography. All I know is that aside from his own far-reaching musical endeavors, as expressed in numerous albums over the years, he has acted in some motion pictures, most notably as a skid row philosopher of sorts in the movie version of William Kennedy’s “Ironweed” (a natural, right?) and has provided the soundtrack music to many movies, most notably the Al Pacino-starring “Sea Of Love”. That Waits soundtrack version of the late 1950’s, early 1960’s classic teenage anthem to longing and love is just the right example of what Brother Waits means musically to this reviewer. Taking that simple song of teenage longing, Waits’ husky-voiced rendition reaches back and turns it into something almost primordial, something that goes back beyond time to our first understandings that we are ‘alone’ in the universe. Enough said.
But so much for all of that because what I really want to mention is the “Waits effect”. Every once in a while I ‘need’ to listen to words and sounds that express the dark, misbegotten side of the human experience. You know, sagas of Gun Street girls, guys talking “Spanish in the halls’, people lost out there on the edge of society and the like. Is there anyone today who can musically put it better? If you need to hear about hope, dope, the rope. Wine, women and song or no wine, no women or no song. About whiskey-caked barroom floors, floozies, boozies, flotsam, jetsam, stale motel rooms, cigarette-infested hotels, wrong gees, jokers, smokers and ten-cent croakers. Drifters, grifters, no good midnight sifters. Life on the fast lane, nowhere lane, some back street alley, perhaps, out in the valley. This, my friends is you address. Listen up. Professor Waits is at the lectern.
This CD is another early Waits album with some now classic material . “Tom Traubert’s Blues, the now prophetic post- Hurricane Katrina “I Wish I Was in New Orleans (In The Ninth Ward) and the title track “Small Change” stick out here.
"I Wish I Was In New Orleans (In The Ninth Ward)"
Well, I wish I was in New Orleans, I can see it in my dreams,
Arm-in-arm down Burgundy, a bottle and my friends and me
Hoist up a few tall cool ones, play some pool and listen
To that tenor saxophone calling me home
And I can hear the band begin "When the Saints Go Marching In",
And by the whiskers on my chin, New Orleans, I'll be there
I'll drink you under the table, be red-nosed, go for walks,
The old haunts what I wants is red beans and rice
And wear the dress I like so well, and meet me at the old saloon,
Make sure that there's a Dixie moon, New Orleans, I'll be there
And deal the cards roll the dice, if it ain't that old Chuck E. Weiss,
And Claiborne Avenue, me and you Sam Jones and all
And I wish I was in New Orleans, 'cause I can see it in my dreams,
Arm-in-arm down Burgundy, a bottle and my friends and me
New Orleans, I'll be there
"Tom Traubert's Blues"
Wasted and wounded, it ain't what the moon did, I've got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow, hey Frank, can I borrow a couple of bucks from you
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
I'm an innocent victim of a blinded alley
And I'm tired of all these soldiers here
No one speaks English, and everything's broken, and my Stacys are soaking wet
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
Now the dogs are barking and the taxi cab's parking
A lot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open,
And I'm down on my knees tonight
Old Bushmill's I staggered, you'd bury the dagger
In your silhouette window light go
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
Now I lost my Saint Christopher now that I've kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinamen, and the cold-blooded signs,
And the girls down by the strip-tease shows, go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
No, I don't want your sympathy, the fugitives say
That the streets aren't for dreaming now
And manslaughter dragnets and the ghosts that sell memories,
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
And you can ask any sailor, and the keys from the jailor,
And the old men in wheelchairs know
And Mathilda's the defendant, she killed about a hundred,
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
And it's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace,
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on an
Old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen flame keepers
And goodnight to Mathilda, too
CD Review
Small Change, Tom Waits, Electra/Asylum Records, 1976
The inner lives of the denizens of that late night diner in the famous painting by the American realist artist Edward Hopper, “Nighthawks” (1942). The scorching literary sketches of the rich and famous and the skid row bums provided by the late “Gonzo” journalist Doctor Hunter Thompson, accompanied by the renderings of the artist Ralph Steadman. The jingle-jangle high side lyrics of the legendary folk musician Bob Dylan of the “Blood On The Tracks” period. The reach into the far side of the part of the psyche exhibited by those down at the base of American society in an earlier period by the novelist Nelson Algren in “Walk On The Wild Side”. And that same reach later by the man of the “mean” Los Angeles streets, Charles Bukowski. Wrap them all up in a whiskey-soaked, cigarette-scarred, gravelly, rasping voice and you have the idiosyncratic musician Tom Waits. Placed in that same company as above? Yes, by all means. Not a bad place to be, right?
Although I have been listening to the music of one Tom Waits for decades, every since I heard Jerry Jeff Walker do a cover of his classic song of loneliness, longing and reaching for the elusive promise of Saturday night dreams in “Looking For The Heart Of Saturday Night”, I am not familiar with his biography. All I know is that aside from his own far-reaching musical endeavors, as expressed in numerous albums over the years, he has acted in some motion pictures, most notably as a skid row philosopher of sorts in the movie version of William Kennedy’s “Ironweed” (a natural, right?) and has provided the soundtrack music to many movies, most notably the Al Pacino-starring “Sea Of Love”. That Waits soundtrack version of the late 1950’s, early 1960’s classic teenage anthem to longing and love is just the right example of what Brother Waits means musically to this reviewer. Taking that simple song of teenage longing, Waits’ husky-voiced rendition reaches back and turns it into something almost primordial, something that goes back beyond time to our first understandings that we are ‘alone’ in the universe. Enough said.
But so much for all of that because what I really want to mention is the “Waits effect”. Every once in a while I ‘need’ to listen to words and sounds that express the dark, misbegotten side of the human experience. You know, sagas of Gun Street girls, guys talking “Spanish in the halls’, people lost out there on the edge of society and the like. Is there anyone today who can musically put it better? If you need to hear about hope, dope, the rope. Wine, women and song or no wine, no women or no song. About whiskey-caked barroom floors, floozies, boozies, flotsam, jetsam, stale motel rooms, cigarette-infested hotels, wrong gees, jokers, smokers and ten-cent croakers. Drifters, grifters, no good midnight sifters. Life on the fast lane, nowhere lane, some back street alley, perhaps, out in the valley. This, my friends is you address. Listen up. Professor Waits is at the lectern.
This CD is another early Waits album with some now classic material . “Tom Traubert’s Blues, the now prophetic post- Hurricane Katrina “I Wish I Was in New Orleans (In The Ninth Ward) and the title track “Small Change” stick out here.
"I Wish I Was In New Orleans (In The Ninth Ward)"
Well, I wish I was in New Orleans, I can see it in my dreams,
Arm-in-arm down Burgundy, a bottle and my friends and me
Hoist up a few tall cool ones, play some pool and listen
To that tenor saxophone calling me home
And I can hear the band begin "When the Saints Go Marching In",
And by the whiskers on my chin, New Orleans, I'll be there
I'll drink you under the table, be red-nosed, go for walks,
The old haunts what I wants is red beans and rice
And wear the dress I like so well, and meet me at the old saloon,
Make sure that there's a Dixie moon, New Orleans, I'll be there
And deal the cards roll the dice, if it ain't that old Chuck E. Weiss,
And Claiborne Avenue, me and you Sam Jones and all
And I wish I was in New Orleans, 'cause I can see it in my dreams,
Arm-in-arm down Burgundy, a bottle and my friends and me
New Orleans, I'll be there
"Tom Traubert's Blues"
Wasted and wounded, it ain't what the moon did, I've got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow, hey Frank, can I borrow a couple of bucks from you
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
I'm an innocent victim of a blinded alley
And I'm tired of all these soldiers here
No one speaks English, and everything's broken, and my Stacys are soaking wet
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
Now the dogs are barking and the taxi cab's parking
A lot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open,
And I'm down on my knees tonight
Old Bushmill's I staggered, you'd bury the dagger
In your silhouette window light go
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
Now I lost my Saint Christopher now that I've kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinamen, and the cold-blooded signs,
And the girls down by the strip-tease shows, go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
No, I don't want your sympathy, the fugitives say
That the streets aren't for dreaming now
And manslaughter dragnets and the ghosts that sell memories,
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
And you can ask any sailor, and the keys from the jailor,
And the old men in wheelchairs know
And Mathilda's the defendant, she killed about a hundred,
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me
And it's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace,
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on an
Old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen flame keepers
And goodnight to Mathilda, too
Friday, August 14, 2009
*Lavern Is In The House-The Later Music Of Lavern Baker
Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Lavern Baker performing "Tommorrow Night".
CD Review
Woke Up This Morning, LaVern Baker, DRG Records, 1992
Whatever happened to….? Readers of my music reviews know that I have spent no little time going back to “the vaults” to dig out all kinds of music from the American songbook, including music from my youth in the 1950s. And no retrospective of that period is complete without at least tipping the hat to one of the great songs from that period, “Jim Dandy”, by the singer under review here, Ms. Lavern Baker. I have reviewed here early R&B and rock ‘n’ roll work elsewhere. Here we have a more mature selection of renditions, including many classics from that American songbook. All done in that thoughtful, full-bore style that Ms. Baker made her trademark in her youth. Some very nice renditions here of “Trouble In Mind”, the salacious “Rock Me Baby”, the Carol King classic of my youth about youthful temptation “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow”, and the one that Peggy made famous (with Benny Goodman) “What Don’t You Right, Like Some Other Men Do?”. Nice stuff here.
Why Don't You Do Right
You had plenty money, 1922
You let other women make a fool of you
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too
You're sittin' there and wonderin' what it's all about
You ain't got no money, they will put you out
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too
If you had prepared twenty years ago
You wouldn't be a-wanderin' from door to door
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too
I fell for your jivin' and I took you in
Now all you got to offer me's a drink of gin
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Like some other men do
CD Review
Woke Up This Morning, LaVern Baker, DRG Records, 1992
Whatever happened to….? Readers of my music reviews know that I have spent no little time going back to “the vaults” to dig out all kinds of music from the American songbook, including music from my youth in the 1950s. And no retrospective of that period is complete without at least tipping the hat to one of the great songs from that period, “Jim Dandy”, by the singer under review here, Ms. Lavern Baker. I have reviewed here early R&B and rock ‘n’ roll work elsewhere. Here we have a more mature selection of renditions, including many classics from that American songbook. All done in that thoughtful, full-bore style that Ms. Baker made her trademark in her youth. Some very nice renditions here of “Trouble In Mind”, the salacious “Rock Me Baby”, the Carol King classic of my youth about youthful temptation “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow”, and the one that Peggy made famous (with Benny Goodman) “What Don’t You Right, Like Some Other Men Do?”. Nice stuff here.
Why Don't You Do Right
You had plenty money, 1922
You let other women make a fool of you
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too
You're sittin' there and wonderin' what it's all about
You ain't got no money, they will put you out
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too
If you had prepared twenty years ago
You wouldn't be a-wanderin' from door to door
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too
I fell for your jivin' and I took you in
Now all you got to offer me's a drink of gin
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too
Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Like some other men do
Thursday, August 13, 2009
*It Takes A Worried Man To Sing The Worried Blues- More Woody Guthrie
Click on title to link to YouTube film clip of Woody Guthrie performing "Pastures Of Plenty".
It Takes A Worried Man To Sing The Worried Blues
CD Review
Worried Man Blues, Woody Guthrie, The Special Music Company, 1991
As I have mentioned in early reviews concerning the music of folklorist Woody Guthrie if any of the older generation, the “Generation of ‘68” needs an introduction to Woody Guthrie then I ask what planet have you been on. Woody’s “This Land Is Your Land” is practically a national anthem (and in some quarters is treated as just that). For those not familiar with Woody’s work and who do not know where to start this little ten song compilation is not a bad place to start in order to appreciate his musical style but more importantly the range of social concerns that animated his work.
Most of this compilation is made up of tradition folk tunes done in Woody’s nasal vocal style and plain guitar picking. From the familiar folk title track “Worried Man Blues” (originally done by The Carter Family, I believe) through “John Henry” to his own “Pretty Boy Floyd” one gets a short look at the subjects of folklore form an earlier age. Take a quick ride. For those who want a longer one go to the four volume set of Asch recording sessions produced by Smithsonian/Folkway in 1999.
"This Land Is Your Land"-Woody Guthrie
This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.
As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.
I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.
When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.
As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?
Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.
Deportee (Plane Wreck At Los Gatos)
The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
Words by Woody Guthrie and Music by Martin Hoffman
© 1961 (renewed) by TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc.
Hard Travelin'
I've been havin' some hard travelin', I thought you knowed
I've been havin' some hard travelin', way down the road
I've been havin' some hard travelin', hard ramblin', hard gamblin'
I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been ridin' them fast rattlers, I thought you knowed
I've been ridin' them flat wheelers, way down the road
I've been ridin' them blind passengers, dead-enders, kickin' up cinders
I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been hittin' some hard-rock minin', I thought you knowed
I've been leanin' on a pressure drill, way down the road
Hammer flyin', air-hose suckin', six foot of mud and I shore been a muckin'
And I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been hittin' some hard harvestin', I thought you knowed
North Dakota to Kansas City, way down the road
Cuttin' that wheat, stackin' that hay, and I'm tryin' make about a dollar a day
And I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been working that Pittsburgh steel, I thought you knowed
I've been a dumpin' that red-hot slag, way down the road
I've been a blasting, I've been a firin', I've been a pourin' red-hot iron
I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been layin' in a hard-rock jail, I thought you knowed
I've been a laying out 90 days, way down the road
Damned old judge, he said to me, "It's 90 days for vagrancy."
And I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been walking that Lincoln highway, I thought you knowed,
I've been hittin' that 66, way down the road
Heavy load and a worried mind, lookin' for a woman that's hard to find,
I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
Oklahoma Hills
Many a month has come and gone
Since I wandered from my home
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Many a page of life has turned,
Many a lesson I have learned;
Well, I feel like in those hills I still belong.
'Way down yonder in the Indian Nation
Ridin' my pony on the reservation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now, 'way down yonder in the Indian Nation,
A cowboy's life is my occupation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
But as I sit here today,
Many miles I am away
From a place I rode my pony through the draw,
While the oak and blackjack trees
Kiss the playful prairie breeze,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now as I turn life a page
To the land of the great Osage
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born,
While the black oil it rolls and flows
And the snow-white cotton grows
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie and Jack Guthrie
© Copyright 1945 (renewed) by Woody Guthrie Publications , Inc.
and Michael Goldsen Music Inc / Warner-Chappell Music
Pastures Of Plenty
It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold
I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind
California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Well its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win
It's always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if it be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free
Union Maid
There once was a union maid, she never was afraid
Of goons and ginks and company finks and the deputy sheriffs who made the raid.
She went to the union hall when a meeting it was called,
And when the Legion boys come 'round
She always stood her ground.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union, I'm sticking to the union.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union 'til the day I die.
This union maid was wise to the tricks of company spies,
She couldn't be fooled by a company stool, she'd always organize the guys.
She always got her way when she struck for better pay.
She'd show her card to the National Guard
And this is what she'd say
You gals who want to be free, just take a tip from me;
Get you a man who's a union man and join the ladies' auxiliary.
Married life ain't hard when you got a union card,
A union man has a happy life when he's got a union wife.
LAST THOUGHTS ON WOODY GUTHRIE
Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1973 Special Rider Music
When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm talking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve
But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills
"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache«
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AINÕT REAL"
No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in the Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown
It Takes A Worried Man To Sing The Worried Blues
CD Review
Worried Man Blues, Woody Guthrie, The Special Music Company, 1991
As I have mentioned in early reviews concerning the music of folklorist Woody Guthrie if any of the older generation, the “Generation of ‘68” needs an introduction to Woody Guthrie then I ask what planet have you been on. Woody’s “This Land Is Your Land” is practically a national anthem (and in some quarters is treated as just that). For those not familiar with Woody’s work and who do not know where to start this little ten song compilation is not a bad place to start in order to appreciate his musical style but more importantly the range of social concerns that animated his work.
Most of this compilation is made up of tradition folk tunes done in Woody’s nasal vocal style and plain guitar picking. From the familiar folk title track “Worried Man Blues” (originally done by The Carter Family, I believe) through “John Henry” to his own “Pretty Boy Floyd” one gets a short look at the subjects of folklore form an earlier age. Take a quick ride. For those who want a longer one go to the four volume set of Asch recording sessions produced by Smithsonian/Folkway in 1999.
"This Land Is Your Land"-Woody Guthrie
This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.
As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.
I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.
When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.
As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?
Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.
Deportee (Plane Wreck At Los Gatos)
The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
Words by Woody Guthrie and Music by Martin Hoffman
© 1961 (renewed) by TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc.
Hard Travelin'
I've been havin' some hard travelin', I thought you knowed
I've been havin' some hard travelin', way down the road
I've been havin' some hard travelin', hard ramblin', hard gamblin'
I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been ridin' them fast rattlers, I thought you knowed
I've been ridin' them flat wheelers, way down the road
I've been ridin' them blind passengers, dead-enders, kickin' up cinders
I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been hittin' some hard-rock minin', I thought you knowed
I've been leanin' on a pressure drill, way down the road
Hammer flyin', air-hose suckin', six foot of mud and I shore been a muckin'
And I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been hittin' some hard harvestin', I thought you knowed
North Dakota to Kansas City, way down the road
Cuttin' that wheat, stackin' that hay, and I'm tryin' make about a dollar a day
And I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been working that Pittsburgh steel, I thought you knowed
I've been a dumpin' that red-hot slag, way down the road
I've been a blasting, I've been a firin', I've been a pourin' red-hot iron
I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been layin' in a hard-rock jail, I thought you knowed
I've been a laying out 90 days, way down the road
Damned old judge, he said to me, "It's 90 days for vagrancy."
And I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been walking that Lincoln highway, I thought you knowed,
I've been hittin' that 66, way down the road
Heavy load and a worried mind, lookin' for a woman that's hard to find,
I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
Oklahoma Hills
Many a month has come and gone
Since I wandered from my home
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Many a page of life has turned,
Many a lesson I have learned;
Well, I feel like in those hills I still belong.
'Way down yonder in the Indian Nation
Ridin' my pony on the reservation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now, 'way down yonder in the Indian Nation,
A cowboy's life is my occupation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
But as I sit here today,
Many miles I am away
From a place I rode my pony through the draw,
While the oak and blackjack trees
Kiss the playful prairie breeze,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now as I turn life a page
To the land of the great Osage
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born,
While the black oil it rolls and flows
And the snow-white cotton grows
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie and Jack Guthrie
© Copyright 1945 (renewed) by Woody Guthrie Publications , Inc.
and Michael Goldsen Music Inc / Warner-Chappell Music
Pastures Of Plenty
It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold
I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind
California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Well its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win
It's always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if it be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free
Union Maid
There once was a union maid, she never was afraid
Of goons and ginks and company finks and the deputy sheriffs who made the raid.
She went to the union hall when a meeting it was called,
And when the Legion boys come 'round
She always stood her ground.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union, I'm sticking to the union.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union 'til the day I die.
This union maid was wise to the tricks of company spies,
She couldn't be fooled by a company stool, she'd always organize the guys.
She always got her way when she struck for better pay.
She'd show her card to the National Guard
And this is what she'd say
You gals who want to be free, just take a tip from me;
Get you a man who's a union man and join the ladies' auxiliary.
Married life ain't hard when you got a union card,
A union man has a happy life when he's got a union wife.
LAST THOUGHTS ON WOODY GUTHRIE
Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1973 Special Rider Music
When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm talking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve
But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills
"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache«
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AINÕT REAL"
No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in the Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown
*Hold The Presses- Another Woody Guthrie Update
Click on title to link to yet another story, from The Boston Globe", dated August 2, 2009, about some lost metal discs recordings (seemingly pre-Asch) of Woody Guthrie (and, apparently, some with his sidekick Cisco Houston) that will form the basis of yet another Woody Guthrie CD set (four discs this time). Egad! Woody I love ya, but get back in the bottle. Please!.
*The Dust Bowl Refugee- In Honor Of Woody Guthrie
CD REVIEW
The Soundtrack from the film: Woody Guthrie-Hard Travelin’, Arlo Guthrie, Woody Guthrie and various artists, Rising Sun International, 2000
This CD is a 2000 release of long missing tracks from soundtrack to the movie “Woody Guthrie- Hard Travelin’”. As of this date I have not been able to find the DVD to review along with the music.
As I have mentioned on early reviews concerning the music of folklorist Woody Guthrie if any of the older generation, the “Generation of ‘68” needs an introduction to Woody Guthrie then I ask what planet have you been on. Woody’s “This Land Is Your Land” is practically a national anthem (and in some quarters is treated as just that). This tribute has the further virtue of highlighting the considerable talents of Woody’s son ( from his second marriage), Arlo Guthrie, also a name that should be familiar as a folk artist in his own right if for nothing else then the classic 1960’s cult song “Alice’s Restaurant”. Add in a few fellow folkies as accompanists like Joan Baez, Ronnie Gilbert (most well known from The Weavers), the old cowboy (from Brooklyn) and Woody aficionado Ramblin’ Jack Elliot, the well-known folk traditionalist Pete Seeger and you have a virtual who’s who of the 1960’s folk revival on this one.
As mentioned above these are tracks from the soundtrack to “Hard Travelin’” and have the virtue (at least on this kind of album) of being done apparently from memory. So you have Woody’s songs here, warts and all. That seems about right for a folk album. Highlights here are Hoyt Axton and Arlo on “Deportee” the hard luck tragic story of an earlier group of Mexican immigrants who didn’t make it. Sound familiar? Pete Seeger and Arlo on “Hobo’s Lullaby is an excellent way to pay tribute to a man who has been seen by some, influenced by his autobiographic (and its film version) “Bound For Glory, as ‘king of the hobos’. Arlo (with The Oklahoma Swing Band) on “Oklahoma Hills” tips the hat to Woody’s long ago roots out in those then dusty prairies. A nice finish is an apparently transposed version of Woody’s voice along with Arlo’s on the above-mentioned super-classic “This Land Is Your Land”. Arlo, kudos on this on. You did well by your dad here.
It Takes A Worried Man To Sing The Worried Blues
CD Review
Worried Man Blues, Woody Guthrie, The Special Music Company, 1991
As I have mentioned in early reviews concerning the music of folklorist Woody Guthrie if any of the older generation, the “Generation of ‘68” needs an introduction to Woody Guthrie then I ask what planet have you been on. Woody’s “This Land Is Your Land” is practically a national anthem (and in some quarters is treated as just that). For those not familiar with Woody’s work and who do not know where to start this little ten song compilation is not a bad place to start in order to appreciate his musical style but more importantly the range of social concerns that animated his work.
Most of this compilation is made up of tradition folk tunes done in Woody’s nasal vocal style and plain guitar picking. From the familiar folk title track “Worried Man Blues” (originally done by The Carter Family, I believe) through “John Henry” to his own “Pretty Boy Floyd” one gets a short look at the subjects of folklore form an earlier age. Take a quick ride. For those who want a longer one go to the four volume set of Asch recording sessions produced by Smithsonian/Folkway in 1999.
"This Land Is Your Land"-Woody Guthrie
This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.
As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.
I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.
When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.
As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?
Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.
Deportee (Plane Wreck At Los Gatos)
The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
Words by Woody Guthrie and Music by Martin Hoffman
© 1961 (renewed) by TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc.
Hard Travelin'
I've been havin' some hard travelin', I thought you knowed
I've been havin' some hard travelin', way down the road
I've been havin' some hard travelin', hard ramblin', hard gamblin'
I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been ridin' them fast rattlers, I thought you knowed
I've been ridin' them flat wheelers, way down the road
I've been ridin' them blind passengers, dead-enders, kickin' up cinders
I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been hittin' some hard-rock minin', I thought you knowed
I've been leanin' on a pressure drill, way down the road
Hammer flyin', air-hose suckin', six foot of mud and I shore been a muckin'
And I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been hittin' some hard harvestin', I thought you knowed
North Dakota to Kansas City, way down the road
Cuttin' that wheat, stackin' that hay, and I'm tryin' make about a dollar a day
And I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been working that Pittsburgh steel, I thought you knowed
I've been a dumpin' that red-hot slag, way down the road
I've been a blasting, I've been a firin', I've been a pourin' red-hot iron
I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been layin' in a hard-rock jail, I thought you knowed
I've been a laying out 90 days, way down the road
Damned old judge, he said to me, "It's 90 days for vagrancy."
And I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been walking that Lincoln highway, I thought you knowed,
I've been hittin' that 66, way down the road
Heavy load and a worried mind, lookin' for a woman that's hard to find,
I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
Oklahoma Hills
Many a month has come and gone
Since I wandered from my home
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Many a page of life has turned,
Many a lesson I have learned;
Well, I feel like in those hills I still belong.
'Way down yonder in the Indian Nation
Ridin' my pony on the reservation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now, 'way down yonder in the Indian Nation,
A cowboy's life is my occupation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
But as I sit here today,
Many miles I am away
From a place I rode my pony through the draw,
While the oak and blackjack trees
Kiss the playful prairie breeze,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now as I turn life a page
To the land of the great Osage
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born,
While the black oil it rolls and flows
And the snow-white cotton grows
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie and Jack Guthrie
© Copyright 1945 (renewed) by Woody Guthrie Publications , Inc.
and Michael Goldsen Music Inc / Warner-Chappell Music
Pastures Of Plenty
It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold
I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind
California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Well its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win
It's always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if it be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free
Union Maid
There once was a union maid, she never was afraid
Of goons and ginks and company finks and the deputy sheriffs who made the raid.
She went to the union hall when a meeting it was called,
And when the Legion boys come 'round
She always stood her ground.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union, I'm sticking to the union.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union 'til the day I die.
This union maid was wise to the tricks of company spies,
She couldn't be fooled by a company stool, she'd always organize the guys.
She always got her way when she struck for better pay.
She'd show her card to the National Guard
And this is what she'd say
You gals who want to be free, just take a tip from me;
Get you a man who's a union man and join the ladies' auxiliary.
Married life ain't hard when you got a union card,
A union man has a happy life when he's got a union wife.
LAST THOUGHTS ON WOODY GUTHRIE
Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1973 Special Rider Music
When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm talking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve
But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills
"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache«
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AINÕT REAL"
No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in the Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown
The Soundtrack from the film: Woody Guthrie-Hard Travelin’, Arlo Guthrie, Woody Guthrie and various artists, Rising Sun International, 2000
This CD is a 2000 release of long missing tracks from soundtrack to the movie “Woody Guthrie- Hard Travelin’”. As of this date I have not been able to find the DVD to review along with the music.
As I have mentioned on early reviews concerning the music of folklorist Woody Guthrie if any of the older generation, the “Generation of ‘68” needs an introduction to Woody Guthrie then I ask what planet have you been on. Woody’s “This Land Is Your Land” is practically a national anthem (and in some quarters is treated as just that). This tribute has the further virtue of highlighting the considerable talents of Woody’s son ( from his second marriage), Arlo Guthrie, also a name that should be familiar as a folk artist in his own right if for nothing else then the classic 1960’s cult song “Alice’s Restaurant”. Add in a few fellow folkies as accompanists like Joan Baez, Ronnie Gilbert (most well known from The Weavers), the old cowboy (from Brooklyn) and Woody aficionado Ramblin’ Jack Elliot, the well-known folk traditionalist Pete Seeger and you have a virtual who’s who of the 1960’s folk revival on this one.
As mentioned above these are tracks from the soundtrack to “Hard Travelin’” and have the virtue (at least on this kind of album) of being done apparently from memory. So you have Woody’s songs here, warts and all. That seems about right for a folk album. Highlights here are Hoyt Axton and Arlo on “Deportee” the hard luck tragic story of an earlier group of Mexican immigrants who didn’t make it. Sound familiar? Pete Seeger and Arlo on “Hobo’s Lullaby is an excellent way to pay tribute to a man who has been seen by some, influenced by his autobiographic (and its film version) “Bound For Glory, as ‘king of the hobos’. Arlo (with The Oklahoma Swing Band) on “Oklahoma Hills” tips the hat to Woody’s long ago roots out in those then dusty prairies. A nice finish is an apparently transposed version of Woody’s voice along with Arlo’s on the above-mentioned super-classic “This Land Is Your Land”. Arlo, kudos on this on. You did well by your dad here.
It Takes A Worried Man To Sing The Worried Blues
CD Review
Worried Man Blues, Woody Guthrie, The Special Music Company, 1991
As I have mentioned in early reviews concerning the music of folklorist Woody Guthrie if any of the older generation, the “Generation of ‘68” needs an introduction to Woody Guthrie then I ask what planet have you been on. Woody’s “This Land Is Your Land” is practically a national anthem (and in some quarters is treated as just that). For those not familiar with Woody’s work and who do not know where to start this little ten song compilation is not a bad place to start in order to appreciate his musical style but more importantly the range of social concerns that animated his work.
Most of this compilation is made up of tradition folk tunes done in Woody’s nasal vocal style and plain guitar picking. From the familiar folk title track “Worried Man Blues” (originally done by The Carter Family, I believe) through “John Henry” to his own “Pretty Boy Floyd” one gets a short look at the subjects of folklore form an earlier age. Take a quick ride. For those who want a longer one go to the four volume set of Asch recording sessions produced by Smithsonian/Folkway in 1999.
"This Land Is Your Land"-Woody Guthrie
This land is your land This land is my land
From California to the New York island;
From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and Me.
As I was walking that ribbon of highway,
I saw above me that endless skyway:
I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.
I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;
And all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.
When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.
As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?
Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.
Deportee (Plane Wreck At Los Gatos)
The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
My father's own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are just deportees"
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
Words by Woody Guthrie and Music by Martin Hoffman
© 1961 (renewed) by TRO-Ludlow Music, Inc.
Hard Travelin'
I've been havin' some hard travelin', I thought you knowed
I've been havin' some hard travelin', way down the road
I've been havin' some hard travelin', hard ramblin', hard gamblin'
I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been ridin' them fast rattlers, I thought you knowed
I've been ridin' them flat wheelers, way down the road
I've been ridin' them blind passengers, dead-enders, kickin' up cinders
I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been hittin' some hard-rock minin', I thought you knowed
I've been leanin' on a pressure drill, way down the road
Hammer flyin', air-hose suckin', six foot of mud and I shore been a muckin'
And I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been hittin' some hard harvestin', I thought you knowed
North Dakota to Kansas City, way down the road
Cuttin' that wheat, stackin' that hay, and I'm tryin' make about a dollar a day
And I've been havin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been working that Pittsburgh steel, I thought you knowed
I've been a dumpin' that red-hot slag, way down the road
I've been a blasting, I've been a firin', I've been a pourin' red-hot iron
I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been layin' in a hard-rock jail, I thought you knowed
I've been a laying out 90 days, way down the road
Damned old judge, he said to me, "It's 90 days for vagrancy."
And I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
I've been walking that Lincoln highway, I thought you knowed,
I've been hittin' that 66, way down the road
Heavy load and a worried mind, lookin' for a woman that's hard to find,
I've been hittin' some hard travelin', lord
Oklahoma Hills
Many a month has come and gone
Since I wandered from my home
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Many a page of life has turned,
Many a lesson I have learned;
Well, I feel like in those hills I still belong.
'Way down yonder in the Indian Nation
Ridin' my pony on the reservation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now, 'way down yonder in the Indian Nation,
A cowboy's life is my occupation,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
But as I sit here today,
Many miles I am away
From a place I rode my pony through the draw,
While the oak and blackjack trees
Kiss the playful prairie breeze,
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Now as I turn life a page
To the land of the great Osage
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born,
While the black oil it rolls and flows
And the snow-white cotton grows
In those Oklahoma hills where I was born.
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie and Jack Guthrie
© Copyright 1945 (renewed) by Woody Guthrie Publications , Inc.
and Michael Goldsen Music Inc / Warner-Chappell Music
Pastures Of Plenty
It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold
I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind
California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Well its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win
It's always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if it be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free
Union Maid
There once was a union maid, she never was afraid
Of goons and ginks and company finks and the deputy sheriffs who made the raid.
She went to the union hall when a meeting it was called,
And when the Legion boys come 'round
She always stood her ground.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union, I'm sticking to the union.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union 'til the day I die.
This union maid was wise to the tricks of company spies,
She couldn't be fooled by a company stool, she'd always organize the guys.
She always got her way when she struck for better pay.
She'd show her card to the National Guard
And this is what she'd say
You gals who want to be free, just take a tip from me;
Get you a man who's a union man and join the ladies' auxiliary.
Married life ain't hard when you got a union card,
A union man has a happy life when he's got a union wife.
LAST THOUGHTS ON WOODY GUTHRIE
Words and Music by Bob Dylan
1973 Special Rider Music
When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm talking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve
But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills
"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache«
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AINÕT REAL"
No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in the Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
*Hold The Presses- On The 35th Anniversary Of Richard M. Nixon's Resignation- A Late "Tribute" Obituary By Hunter S.Thompson
Hold the presses, indeed. The more I google the more I find. Click on title to ink to "Counterpunch" February 21, 2005, posting of a Hunter S. Thompson 1994 "obituary" for one Richard M. Nixon, former United States President and common crook.
*In Search Of The Roots, One More Time- The Music Of Louis Jordan and His Tymphany Five
Click on title to link to Wikipedia's entry for Louis Jordan.
DVD REVIEW
Louis Jordan And His Tymphany Five: Films And Soundies, Louis Jordan, Honey Carter and others, 2003
Okay, okay I admit that I have gone on and on in this recent quest to ‘find’ the roots of rock ‘n’ roll, the music of my youth. Early Sun Record recording artists like Elvis and Carl Perkins, of course, figure in the mix. Big Joe Turner and his seminal “Shake, Rattle and Roll”, naturally. The work of Little Milton, Ike Turner and others who came firing out of the R&B world in the early 1950’s, again a “no-brainer”. Hell, even some work like the later Bob Wills and His Texas Playboy are contenders. Today, though I am going back even a little further. Let’s try right after World War II and one Louis Jordan and His Tymphany Five.
If, as I believe, the critical mass for the evolution of rock ‘n’ roll comes primarily out of R&B and the blues tradition then Mr. Jordan and his “scat” message delivered in his own style has got to be, even if only archaeologically, part of the mix. This DVD under review only adds fuel to the fire as it provides us with music from three black audience-oriented films that featured the work of Jordan and His Tymphany Five (as well as some very fetching black women dancers, especially the frequently featured Honey Carter). Add some additional material from other sources labeled “soundies” here and you have a fairly complete repertoire of 35 pieces to work from.
Clearly some of the material from the films is strictly novelty stuff like the cowboy get ups, the military uniforms and other props in the various clips. Moreover, the strong sexual undertone provided by the appearance of those very fetching dancers (and assorted other female hangers-on) plays to something sexual and racial that would (and should not) not go down well with today’s audiences. The exploitation of black entertainers back in the day (or now, for that matter) as well as some very conscious stereotyping (like the rolling eyes, dreamy smiles, the Step-n-Fetchit-like routines, etc.) mars the effect of the music on some of these clips. However, pay attention to Mr. Jordan’s sax, the work of his band and the “jump” of his music. That is HIS legacy to the world of music. If you are interested in “roots” music, an archival slice of black musical history, well or poorly done, on film or why Louis Jordan is considered a major musical influence in some quarters look here.
Louis Jordan
Beans And Corn Bread lyrics
Beans and Cornbread,
Beans and Cornbread had a fight.
Beans knocked Cornbread out of sight.
Cornbread said, "Now that's alright, meet me on the corner tomorrow
Night."
"I'll be ready, I'll be ready tomorrow night,"
That's what Beans said to Cornbread . "I'll be
Louis Jordan
Roamin' Blues lyrics
Left Chicago in the summer, New York in the fall,
Detroit in the winter didn't prove a thing at all
I got those roamin' blues
Yes I got those roamin' blues
Can't find no place to settle
Woo I got those roamin' blues
Joined a club in old Saint Louis, that G.I. free loot club
Stood in line so long man, wore my legs down to a nub
I hit the road again
Yes I hit the road again
Can't find no place to settle
So I hit the road again
I thought I'd made it Jack in good old Albuquerq'
I was on the wrong track, you know they tried to make me work
- ain't that a killer?
I hit the road right quick
Yes that judge was much too slick
Can't find no place to settle
Woo I hit the road right quick
Then Las Vegas was the next stop, that fast town left me weak
The dice man made twelve passes and I was up the well-known creek
Those gamblers put me down
Yes I had to walk right out of town
Mm-mm, that ain't no place to settle
Mmm, I had to walk right out of town
Ah but I hit the greatest town of all, Frantic Frisco
Got me a gal with plenty gold and she just won't let me go
I think I've found a place
Yes I got my boots all laced
Found me a home, don't have to roam, it's good news,
I've lost those roamin' blues
Louis Jordan
But I'll Be Back lyrics
I'm goin' ,
But I'll be back!
Look for me,
You'll see that I'll be back!
Gonna bring my mom and pop,
And I'm gonna bring a cop,
Gonna make you give me back my love
Before I blow my top!
I'll get ya
Before I stop
Baby, you can't take my love and let me drop!
I've decided you must know
That I can't let you go;
It's time for me to blow,
But I'll be back!
I'll get ya
Before I stop;
Babe, you can't take my love and let me drop!
I've decided you must know
That I can't let you go;
It's time for me to blow,
But I'll be back!
Louis Jordan
Away From You lyrics
It made me cry
To say good-bye,
I'm sad and blue;
Now that you've gone
I can't go on
Away from you.
I smile to hide
The tears inside,
It's hard to do;
My happiness,
My life's success
Depends on you.
The hours seem long,
The world goes wrong,
When we're apart;
My skies are gray,
What can I say
To soothe my heart?
It is the end;
I can't pretend
That I'm not blue;
Oh, can't you see
Life's misery
Away from you!
The hours are long,
The world goes wrong,
When we're apart;
My skies are gray,
What can I say
To soothe my heart?
It is the end;
I can't pretend
That I'm not blue;
Oh, can't you see
Life's misery
Away from you!
Away from you!
Louis Jordan
But I'll Be Back lyrics
I'm goin' ,
But I'll be back!
Look for me,
You'll see that I'll be back!
Gonna bring my mom and pop,
And I'm gonna bring a cop,
Gonna make you give me back my love
Before I blow my top!
I'll get ya
Before I stop
Baby, you can't take my love and let me drop!
I've decided you must know
That I can't let you go;
It's time for me to blow,
But I'll be back!
I'll get ya
Before I stop;
Babe, you can't take my love and let me drop!
I've decided you must know
That I can't let you go;
It's time for me to blow,
But I'll be back!
DVD REVIEW
Louis Jordan And His Tymphany Five: Films And Soundies, Louis Jordan, Honey Carter and others, 2003
Okay, okay I admit that I have gone on and on in this recent quest to ‘find’ the roots of rock ‘n’ roll, the music of my youth. Early Sun Record recording artists like Elvis and Carl Perkins, of course, figure in the mix. Big Joe Turner and his seminal “Shake, Rattle and Roll”, naturally. The work of Little Milton, Ike Turner and others who came firing out of the R&B world in the early 1950’s, again a “no-brainer”. Hell, even some work like the later Bob Wills and His Texas Playboy are contenders. Today, though I am going back even a little further. Let’s try right after World War II and one Louis Jordan and His Tymphany Five.
If, as I believe, the critical mass for the evolution of rock ‘n’ roll comes primarily out of R&B and the blues tradition then Mr. Jordan and his “scat” message delivered in his own style has got to be, even if only archaeologically, part of the mix. This DVD under review only adds fuel to the fire as it provides us with music from three black audience-oriented films that featured the work of Jordan and His Tymphany Five (as well as some very fetching black women dancers, especially the frequently featured Honey Carter). Add some additional material from other sources labeled “soundies” here and you have a fairly complete repertoire of 35 pieces to work from.
Clearly some of the material from the films is strictly novelty stuff like the cowboy get ups, the military uniforms and other props in the various clips. Moreover, the strong sexual undertone provided by the appearance of those very fetching dancers (and assorted other female hangers-on) plays to something sexual and racial that would (and should not) not go down well with today’s audiences. The exploitation of black entertainers back in the day (or now, for that matter) as well as some very conscious stereotyping (like the rolling eyes, dreamy smiles, the Step-n-Fetchit-like routines, etc.) mars the effect of the music on some of these clips. However, pay attention to Mr. Jordan’s sax, the work of his band and the “jump” of his music. That is HIS legacy to the world of music. If you are interested in “roots” music, an archival slice of black musical history, well or poorly done, on film or why Louis Jordan is considered a major musical influence in some quarters look here.
Louis Jordan
Beans And Corn Bread lyrics
Beans and Cornbread,
Beans and Cornbread had a fight.
Beans knocked Cornbread out of sight.
Cornbread said, "Now that's alright, meet me on the corner tomorrow
Night."
"I'll be ready, I'll be ready tomorrow night,"
That's what Beans said to Cornbread . "I'll be
Louis Jordan
Roamin' Blues lyrics
Left Chicago in the summer, New York in the fall,
Detroit in the winter didn't prove a thing at all
I got those roamin' blues
Yes I got those roamin' blues
Can't find no place to settle
Woo I got those roamin' blues
Joined a club in old Saint Louis, that G.I. free loot club
Stood in line so long man, wore my legs down to a nub
I hit the road again
Yes I hit the road again
Can't find no place to settle
So I hit the road again
I thought I'd made it Jack in good old Albuquerq'
I was on the wrong track, you know they tried to make me work
- ain't that a killer?
I hit the road right quick
Yes that judge was much too slick
Can't find no place to settle
Woo I hit the road right quick
Then Las Vegas was the next stop, that fast town left me weak
The dice man made twelve passes and I was up the well-known creek
Those gamblers put me down
Yes I had to walk right out of town
Mm-mm, that ain't no place to settle
Mmm, I had to walk right out of town
Ah but I hit the greatest town of all, Frantic Frisco
Got me a gal with plenty gold and she just won't let me go
I think I've found a place
Yes I got my boots all laced
Found me a home, don't have to roam, it's good news,
I've lost those roamin' blues
Louis Jordan
But I'll Be Back lyrics
I'm goin' ,
But I'll be back!
Look for me,
You'll see that I'll be back!
Gonna bring my mom and pop,
And I'm gonna bring a cop,
Gonna make you give me back my love
Before I blow my top!
I'll get ya
Before I stop
Baby, you can't take my love and let me drop!
I've decided you must know
That I can't let you go;
It's time for me to blow,
But I'll be back!
I'll get ya
Before I stop;
Babe, you can't take my love and let me drop!
I've decided you must know
That I can't let you go;
It's time for me to blow,
But I'll be back!
Louis Jordan
Away From You lyrics
It made me cry
To say good-bye,
I'm sad and blue;
Now that you've gone
I can't go on
Away from you.
I smile to hide
The tears inside,
It's hard to do;
My happiness,
My life's success
Depends on you.
The hours seem long,
The world goes wrong,
When we're apart;
My skies are gray,
What can I say
To soothe my heart?
It is the end;
I can't pretend
That I'm not blue;
Oh, can't you see
Life's misery
Away from you!
The hours are long,
The world goes wrong,
When we're apart;
My skies are gray,
What can I say
To soothe my heart?
It is the end;
I can't pretend
That I'm not blue;
Oh, can't you see
Life's misery
Away from you!
Away from you!
Louis Jordan
But I'll Be Back lyrics
I'm goin' ,
But I'll be back!
Look for me,
You'll see that I'll be back!
Gonna bring my mom and pop,
And I'm gonna bring a cop,
Gonna make you give me back my love
Before I blow my top!
I'll get ya
Before I stop
Baby, you can't take my love and let me drop!
I've decided you must know
That I can't let you go;
It's time for me to blow,
But I'll be back!
I'll get ya
Before I stop;
Babe, you can't take my love and let me drop!
I've decided you must know
That I can't let you go;
It's time for me to blow,
But I'll be back!
*On The Question Of Worker Defense Guards In Defense of Bourgeois Democracy
Click on title to link to blog entry that discusses the question of defending various democratic fora against the onslaught of right-wing harassment or threats.
Markin comment:
Hey, what are you guys, revisionists or something? We want to keep worker defense guards solely to defend our own working class institutions like union meetings and picket lines against cops and right-wing thugs. Let the bourgeoisie take care of defending their own institutions. Right?
Wrong! This was just a ‘got ya’ moment sponsored by Markin. Hell, of course we want defend town meetings and other forms of democratic debate against military, police and civilian right-wing threats and harassment. We just do it in our own way and with the proviso that we give no political support to left-wing, centrist or right wing bourgeois parliamentary cretins. Needless to say, under normal circumstances no bourgeois politician, except in extremis, would seek or accept workers defense guards to defend their meetings or other events. They will seek their cops, military etc. to guard them. That does not mean that we cannot make great propaganda for our side out of this, and be prepared to actually do some defending. Moreover, as history so graphically shows, when the deal goes down, all the pretensions and protestations of liberals aside, we leftist working class militants are the most consistent and devoted defenders of democratic rights, including our right to assemble. And that, my friends, ain’t no lie.
Markin comment:
Hey, what are you guys, revisionists or something? We want to keep worker defense guards solely to defend our own working class institutions like union meetings and picket lines against cops and right-wing thugs. Let the bourgeoisie take care of defending their own institutions. Right?
Wrong! This was just a ‘got ya’ moment sponsored by Markin. Hell, of course we want defend town meetings and other forms of democratic debate against military, police and civilian right-wing threats and harassment. We just do it in our own way and with the proviso that we give no political support to left-wing, centrist or right wing bourgeois parliamentary cretins. Needless to say, under normal circumstances no bourgeois politician, except in extremis, would seek or accept workers defense guards to defend their meetings or other events. They will seek their cops, military etc. to guard them. That does not mean that we cannot make great propaganda for our side out of this, and be prepared to actually do some defending. Moreover, as history so graphically shows, when the deal goes down, all the pretensions and protestations of liberals aside, we leftist working class militants are the most consistent and devoted defenders of democratic rights, including our right to assemble. And that, my friends, ain’t no lie.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
*A New Site To Check Out-"Allow Me To Explain"- A Look At The Seamy Side Of International Imperialism
Click on title to link to "Allow Me To Explain" site that contains some interesting commentary and historical notes on the international scene that I do not always get a chance to place on my site- but militant leftists need to know about.
Monday, August 10, 2009
*Honor The 66th Anniversary Of The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising- In Memory Of The Jewish Communists Who Fell In The Anti-Nazi Struggle There
Click on title to link to Wikipedia's entry for the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. All honor to all the Jewish fighters of the Warsaw Ghetto.
I have placed this entry after August 10, 2009 the date when I posted the “Warsaw Uprising of 1944” entry.
Markin comment:
I have committed a grievous error in not honoring the Jewish fighters of the Warsaw Ghetto on the 66th Anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising of 1943 at the same time I have honored the fighters of the . Warsaw Uprising of 1944. Frankly, I have gotten caught up in this five year, ten year thing that the media have fallen into as filler in the age of 24/7 coverage. You know what I am talking about. Celebrating things like the 35th Anniversary of some John Kerry’s speech or the 40th of Woodstock and so on. Hell, the overwhelmed fighters of the Warsaw Ghetto like their compatriots in 1944 deserve honor every year. Forgot that five and ten year interval stuff for these kinds of world historic struggles. I especially want to honor the Jewish communist fighters who helped lead this struggle. I believe, but I am not positive, that there is a memorial in Warsaw (or was) in their honor. (I could use some information on that question.) When the deal went down, Stalinist or not, they knew how to fight and die bravely. That is all I need to say at this far remove.
I have placed this entry after August 10, 2009 the date when I posted the “Warsaw Uprising of 1944” entry.
Markin comment:
I have committed a grievous error in not honoring the Jewish fighters of the Warsaw Ghetto on the 66th Anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising of 1943 at the same time I have honored the fighters of the . Warsaw Uprising of 1944. Frankly, I have gotten caught up in this five year, ten year thing that the media have fallen into as filler in the age of 24/7 coverage. You know what I am talking about. Celebrating things like the 35th Anniversary of some John Kerry’s speech or the 40th of Woodstock and so on. Hell, the overwhelmed fighters of the Warsaw Ghetto like their compatriots in 1944 deserve honor every year. Forgot that five and ten year interval stuff for these kinds of world historic struggles. I especially want to honor the Jewish communist fighters who helped lead this struggle. I believe, but I am not positive, that there is a memorial in Warsaw (or was) in their honor. (I could use some information on that question.) When the deal went down, Stalinist or not, they knew how to fight and die bravely. That is all I need to say at this far remove.
*Honor The 65th Anniversary Of The Warsaw Uprising
Click on title to link to Wikipedia's entry for the Warsaw Uprising on the 65th Anniversary year of that event. Additionally, this is the 66th anniversary of the heroic Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, another milestone in humankind's resistance to fascism.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
*The Struggle In Honduras- An Update
Click on title to link to Houduran resistance information.This site is linked becasue it contains valuable information about the struggles in Central America. The politcal perspective of the site is not necessarily my politcal perspective on revolution in Latin America.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
*Happier Blue- A Chris Smither Documentary-"One More Time"
Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of Chris Smither performing "Train Home".
DVD Review
Chris Smither, One More Time, Homolumus Productions, 2007
The last time I mentioned the name Chris Smither in this space was in a review of a few of his CDs that I have listened to over past fifteen years or so. Chris, although he has been on the folk scene in the Boston area since the 1960’s and has played all the venues associated with that folk revival and its current dwindling remnant, has become an acquired taste picked up almost accidentally by hearing him being interviewed on NPR in the early 1990’s. I will use the first paragraph of that CD review to start the DVD review of this present musical documentary because the same question asked there applies here.
“If I were to ask someone, in the year 2008, to name a male folk singer from the 1960's I would assume that if I were to get an answer to that question that the name would be Bob Dylan. And that would be a good and appropriate choice. One can endlessly dispute whether or not Dylan was (or wanted to be) the voice of the Generation of '68 but in terms of longevity and productivity he fits the bill as a known quality. However, there were a slew of other male folk singers who tried to find their niche in the folk milieu and who, like Dylan, today continue to produce work and to perform. The artist under review Chris Smither is one such singer/songwriter.”
I do not know if Chris Smither, like his contemporary Bob Dylan, started out wanting to be the 'king of the hill' among male folk singers but he certainly had some things going for him. From the very informative interview segments that are interspersed between songs in this film it is, however, hard though to read his appetite for success that one can easily read in Dylan, early on.
Chris was in close contact and around those who were influential in that folk revival, especially Dick Waterman who was crucial in getting the old Southern black blues players like Son House a moment of glory. Chris, moreover, plays that signature blue guitar (not used in the film) for all it is worth, as seen here on several songs including Blind Willie McTell’s "Statesboro Blues". Or "Love You Like A Man" (covered with certain flair by Bonnie Raitt and others)
Moreover he is as capable as a songwriter as any of writing of longing, lost love, thoughts of mortality and...being stupid in the world. Witness "Let It Go" on that last point. Then turn it up a notch with a bittersweet song like "Caveman" (males-haven't we all had our stories of love and lost like that). Yes, Chris had the tools to go out and slay the dragons of the folk world. This film is thus a very important piece of folk music history as a work in progress. That work may not be well known outside the precincts of the graying folk world, but it should be.
******
Here's the lyrics to Chris Smither's "Love Me Like A Man" that Bonnie covers so well. They go back to the old days in Boston at various venues and might have ahd the same manager early on. Chris tells the story that most of those who have had success covering this song are women. Touche, right?
Love Me Like A Man
The men that I've been seeing
They got their soul up on a shelf
You know they could never love me
When they can't even love themselves
And I want someone to love me
Someone who really understands
Who won't put himself above me
Who just love me like a man
I never seen such losers darling
Even though I tried
To find a man who can take me home instead of
Taking me for a ride
And I need someone to love me
Darling I know you can't
Don't you put yourself above me
You just love me like a man
They all want me to rock them
Like my back ain't got no bone
I want a man to rock me
Like my backbone was his own
Darling I know you can't
Believe it when I tell you
You can love me like a man
Came home sad and lonely
I feel like I wanna cry
Want a man to hold me
Not some fool who ask me why
And I need someone to love me
Baby you can't
Don't you put yourself above me
Just love me like a man
Here is a song that Chris covers from the older blues tradtion-"Dust My Broom", originally done by Robert Johnson and then creatively covered by Elmore James.
Dust My Broom
I'm gonna get up in the mornin',
I believe I'll dust my broom (2x)
Girlfriend, the black man you been lovin',
girlfriend, can get my room
I'm gon' write a letter,
Telephone every town I know (2x)
If I can't find her in West Helena,
She must be in East Monroe, I know
I don't want no woman,
Wants every downtown man she meet (2x)
She's a no good doney,
They shouldn't 'low her on the street
DVD Review
Chris Smither, One More Time, Homolumus Productions, 2007
The last time I mentioned the name Chris Smither in this space was in a review of a few of his CDs that I have listened to over past fifteen years or so. Chris, although he has been on the folk scene in the Boston area since the 1960’s and has played all the venues associated with that folk revival and its current dwindling remnant, has become an acquired taste picked up almost accidentally by hearing him being interviewed on NPR in the early 1990’s. I will use the first paragraph of that CD review to start the DVD review of this present musical documentary because the same question asked there applies here.
“If I were to ask someone, in the year 2008, to name a male folk singer from the 1960's I would assume that if I were to get an answer to that question that the name would be Bob Dylan. And that would be a good and appropriate choice. One can endlessly dispute whether or not Dylan was (or wanted to be) the voice of the Generation of '68 but in terms of longevity and productivity he fits the bill as a known quality. However, there were a slew of other male folk singers who tried to find their niche in the folk milieu and who, like Dylan, today continue to produce work and to perform. The artist under review Chris Smither is one such singer/songwriter.”
I do not know if Chris Smither, like his contemporary Bob Dylan, started out wanting to be the 'king of the hill' among male folk singers but he certainly had some things going for him. From the very informative interview segments that are interspersed between songs in this film it is, however, hard though to read his appetite for success that one can easily read in Dylan, early on.
Chris was in close contact and around those who were influential in that folk revival, especially Dick Waterman who was crucial in getting the old Southern black blues players like Son House a moment of glory. Chris, moreover, plays that signature blue guitar (not used in the film) for all it is worth, as seen here on several songs including Blind Willie McTell’s "Statesboro Blues". Or "Love You Like A Man" (covered with certain flair by Bonnie Raitt and others)
Moreover he is as capable as a songwriter as any of writing of longing, lost love, thoughts of mortality and...being stupid in the world. Witness "Let It Go" on that last point. Then turn it up a notch with a bittersweet song like "Caveman" (males-haven't we all had our stories of love and lost like that). Yes, Chris had the tools to go out and slay the dragons of the folk world. This film is thus a very important piece of folk music history as a work in progress. That work may not be well known outside the precincts of the graying folk world, but it should be.
******
Here's the lyrics to Chris Smither's "Love Me Like A Man" that Bonnie covers so well. They go back to the old days in Boston at various venues and might have ahd the same manager early on. Chris tells the story that most of those who have had success covering this song are women. Touche, right?
Love Me Like A Man
The men that I've been seeing
They got their soul up on a shelf
You know they could never love me
When they can't even love themselves
And I want someone to love me
Someone who really understands
Who won't put himself above me
Who just love me like a man
I never seen such losers darling
Even though I tried
To find a man who can take me home instead of
Taking me for a ride
And I need someone to love me
Darling I know you can't
Don't you put yourself above me
You just love me like a man
They all want me to rock them
Like my back ain't got no bone
I want a man to rock me
Like my backbone was his own
Darling I know you can't
Believe it when I tell you
You can love me like a man
Came home sad and lonely
I feel like I wanna cry
Want a man to hold me
Not some fool who ask me why
And I need someone to love me
Baby you can't
Don't you put yourself above me
Just love me like a man
Here is a song that Chris covers from the older blues tradtion-"Dust My Broom", originally done by Robert Johnson and then creatively covered by Elmore James.
Dust My Broom
I'm gonna get up in the mornin',
I believe I'll dust my broom (2x)
Girlfriend, the black man you been lovin',
girlfriend, can get my room
I'm gon' write a letter,
Telephone every town I know (2x)
If I can't find her in West Helena,
She must be in East Monroe, I know
I don't want no woman,
Wants every downtown man she meet (2x)
She's a no good doney,
They shouldn't 'low her on the street
*AP News Article- "U.S. Eyes Vietnam For Afghan Tips"- Anti-Imperialists Are Not The Only Ones Trying To Learn The Lessons Of History
Click on title to link to article on who else is interested in "learning" the lessons of Vietnam as we witness the deeper escalations of U.S. imperialism into the Afghan quagmire.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
*Humankind….Unplug Thyselves, Please!!
Click On Title To Link To Wikipedia's Entry For Luddites.
Social Commentary, Of Sorts
Let me set the following scenario that will help explain the title of this entry. Recently, in preparation for a vacation I had to do the following things. Make sure that my cell phone and charger plug-in were set, including my capacity to text message, etc. Make sure that my answering machine was set with an appropriate message. Make sure that I had my DVD player at the ready so that I could watch rented movies from NetFlix that I had ordered on my computer. Well, of course, the ubiquitous computer, complete with card (and separate charger unit to boot that baby up). Moreover, no one can leave home without an MP3 player (and another separate) charger, including in my case an additional CD player (old fogy stuff) in order to play CDs to find tracks I want on put on the MP3 player. I could go on but you get the drift. And all of this is even before I even got out of the house. Enough, right?
Now before I am accused of being something of a technological Luddite (click on title to see Wikipedia’s entry on this subject, for those who are unfamiliar with the term) I want one and all to know that I am more than happy, on most days, to use all that technology has to offer, including the capability necessary to post this little pearl of wisdom. I confess that in the old days I WAS something of a Luddite, at least in those days when I purposefully lived in a rooming house, hitchhiked (for the younger reader you may have to look up that old custom on Wikipedia, no link though-for that one you are on your own), lived off the land, lived out of a knapsack and didn’t seemingly have the burdens of leaving the house that one incurs today.
Moreover, in the bright socialist future that I keep spewing reams of propaganda about in this space technology and its innovations that will make humankind lazy (in the good sense of being able to pursue more important goals than struggling for the necessities for survival) we will have scores of scores of troops of technocrats working on every conceivable practical(and some impractical) ways to make the lot of the human race easier.
What worries me, and ultimately is the point of this screed, is that not all technologies are created equal. For every breakthrough in, say, complex surgical procedures and the like that allow people to recover the function of some lost body part that does all of society proud there is a seemingly parallel use of technology that has a socially isolating, anti-personal and, I believe, thwarting effect on the development of the human personality.
Am I the only one who shutters a bit to see the almost universal use of the cell phone (or among the young, text-messaging) rather than face-to-face or other more personal way to communicate. The strangest event may be the use of e-mail to communicate with someone in the next room at work or school. Let’s leave it at this- let technology create abundance for all, everywhere under socialism so we can all be lazy enough to sit down and talk together. Of course, for all that we need to get rid of the capitalists and their system for openers, and to do that we need a workers party. So we have plenty to talk about face-to-face before that bright day. I'm off.
Social Commentary, Of Sorts
Let me set the following scenario that will help explain the title of this entry. Recently, in preparation for a vacation I had to do the following things. Make sure that my cell phone and charger plug-in were set, including my capacity to text message, etc. Make sure that my answering machine was set with an appropriate message. Make sure that I had my DVD player at the ready so that I could watch rented movies from NetFlix that I had ordered on my computer. Well, of course, the ubiquitous computer, complete with card (and separate charger unit to boot that baby up). Moreover, no one can leave home without an MP3 player (and another separate) charger, including in my case an additional CD player (old fogy stuff) in order to play CDs to find tracks I want on put on the MP3 player. I could go on but you get the drift. And all of this is even before I even got out of the house. Enough, right?
Now before I am accused of being something of a technological Luddite (click on title to see Wikipedia’s entry on this subject, for those who are unfamiliar with the term) I want one and all to know that I am more than happy, on most days, to use all that technology has to offer, including the capability necessary to post this little pearl of wisdom. I confess that in the old days I WAS something of a Luddite, at least in those days when I purposefully lived in a rooming house, hitchhiked (for the younger reader you may have to look up that old custom on Wikipedia, no link though-for that one you are on your own), lived off the land, lived out of a knapsack and didn’t seemingly have the burdens of leaving the house that one incurs today.
Moreover, in the bright socialist future that I keep spewing reams of propaganda about in this space technology and its innovations that will make humankind lazy (in the good sense of being able to pursue more important goals than struggling for the necessities for survival) we will have scores of scores of troops of technocrats working on every conceivable practical(and some impractical) ways to make the lot of the human race easier.
What worries me, and ultimately is the point of this screed, is that not all technologies are created equal. For every breakthrough in, say, complex surgical procedures and the like that allow people to recover the function of some lost body part that does all of society proud there is a seemingly parallel use of technology that has a socially isolating, anti-personal and, I believe, thwarting effect on the development of the human personality.
Am I the only one who shutters a bit to see the almost universal use of the cell phone (or among the young, text-messaging) rather than face-to-face or other more personal way to communicate. The strangest event may be the use of e-mail to communicate with someone in the next room at work or school. Let’s leave it at this- let technology create abundance for all, everywhere under socialism so we can all be lazy enough to sit down and talk together. Of course, for all that we need to get rid of the capitalists and their system for openers, and to do that we need a workers party. So we have plenty to talk about face-to-face before that bright day. I'm off.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
* In Defense Of The Cuban Revolution-Free The Cuban Five- Latest (Bad) Legal News On Their Case
Click on title to link to Free The Cuban Five web site for latest legal news on their case. Defense of, and political and legal struggle for the freedom, of the Cuban Five is a concrete act of solidarity with and defense of the Cuban Revolution. Ahora.
Monday, August 03, 2009
*Update on Leonard Peltier From The Partisan Defense Committee
Click on title to link to Leonard Peltier Defense Committee web site for updates on this long and sordid case against a central leader of the Native American struggles (and ours as well). Free Leonard Peltier!!!
This information concerning Leonard Peltier is passed along from the Partisan Defense Committee.
Freedom Now for Leonard Peltier!
(Class-Struggle Defense Notes)
A parole hearing for class-war prisoner Leonard Peltier was held on July 28, with a decision still pending. We print below a June 29 letter by the Partisan Defense Committee sent to the United States Parole Commission.
The Partisan Defense Committee joins with those supporting the release of political prisoner Leonard Peltier. A prominent member of the American Indian Movement (AIM), Mr. Peltier is in prison only because of his courageous activism on behalf of Native Americans, the victims of centuries of genocidal terror.
Between 1973-1976, hated Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) agents and FBI-trained thugs terrorized Indian activists at the Pine Ridge Reservation, carrying out over 300 attacks and killing at least 69 people. In June 1975, 250 FBI and BIA agents, SWAT policemen and local vigilantes descended on the reservation and precipitated a shootout. Two FBI agents were killed. Mr. Peltier and three others were charged. All charges were dropped against one AIM activist, and two others were acquitted in a separate trial in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Jurors at that trial stated that they did not believe the government witnesses.
Mr. Peltier’s 1977 trial was moved to Fargo, North Dakota. The judge ruled out of order any evidence of the documented government violence against Native American activists at Pine Ridge. The prosecution concealed ballistics tests that showed that Peltier’s gun could not have been used in the shooting. As Mr. Peltier said at his sentencing, “I’m not the guilty one here; I’m not the one who should be called a criminal.”
One court proceeding after another has laid bare the evidence of his innocence and of massive prosecutorial misconduct. In a 1985 appeals hearing, the government’s lead attorney admitted, “We can’t prove who shot those agents.”
In 1986, the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that the trial jury could have acquitted Mr. Peltier if records improperly withheld from the defense had been made available.
In November 2003, the Tenth Circuit Court of Appeals stated, “Much of the government’s behavior at the Pine Ridge Reservation and in its prosecution of Mr. Peltier is to be condemned. The government withheld evidence. It intimidated witnesses. These facts are not disputed.”
In 2001, in response to requests under the Freedom of Information Act and lawsuits, the U.S. government admitted it had withheld a staggering 142,579 pages of evidence of its secret COINTELPRO efforts to persecute and convict Mr. Peltier.
The long trail of injustice against Leonard Peltier has been documented in the film Incident at Oglala, narrated by Robert Redford, and the book In the Spirit of Crazy Horse by Peter Matthiessen. He has been framed up for crimes the government knows he did not commit. Millions worldwide have demanded his freedom.
It is an injustice that Mr. Peltier was ever incarcerated at all. The more than 33 years of unjust imprisonment have not only robbed this honorable man of a majority of his lifetime. They have taken a devastating toll on his physical well-being as he suffers from diabetes, high blood pressure, partial blindness and a heart condition. We call for the immediate and unconditional release of Leonard Peltier.
This information concerning Leonard Peltier is passed along from the Partisan Defense Committee.
Freedom Now for Leonard Peltier!
(Class-Struggle Defense Notes)
A parole hearing for class-war prisoner Leonard Peltier was held on July 28, with a decision still pending. We print below a June 29 letter by the Partisan Defense Committee sent to the United States Parole Commission.
The Partisan Defense Committee joins with those supporting the release of political prisoner Leonard Peltier. A prominent member of the American Indian Movement (AIM), Mr. Peltier is in prison only because of his courageous activism on behalf of Native Americans, the victims of centuries of genocidal terror.
Between 1973-1976, hated Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) agents and FBI-trained thugs terrorized Indian activists at the Pine Ridge Reservation, carrying out over 300 attacks and killing at least 69 people. In June 1975, 250 FBI and BIA agents, SWAT policemen and local vigilantes descended on the reservation and precipitated a shootout. Two FBI agents were killed. Mr. Peltier and three others were charged. All charges were dropped against one AIM activist, and two others were acquitted in a separate trial in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Jurors at that trial stated that they did not believe the government witnesses.
Mr. Peltier’s 1977 trial was moved to Fargo, North Dakota. The judge ruled out of order any evidence of the documented government violence against Native American activists at Pine Ridge. The prosecution concealed ballistics tests that showed that Peltier’s gun could not have been used in the shooting. As Mr. Peltier said at his sentencing, “I’m not the guilty one here; I’m not the one who should be called a criminal.”
One court proceeding after another has laid bare the evidence of his innocence and of massive prosecutorial misconduct. In a 1985 appeals hearing, the government’s lead attorney admitted, “We can’t prove who shot those agents.”
In 1986, the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that the trial jury could have acquitted Mr. Peltier if records improperly withheld from the defense had been made available.
In November 2003, the Tenth Circuit Court of Appeals stated, “Much of the government’s behavior at the Pine Ridge Reservation and in its prosecution of Mr. Peltier is to be condemned. The government withheld evidence. It intimidated witnesses. These facts are not disputed.”
In 2001, in response to requests under the Freedom of Information Act and lawsuits, the U.S. government admitted it had withheld a staggering 142,579 pages of evidence of its secret COINTELPRO efforts to persecute and convict Mr. Peltier.
The long trail of injustice against Leonard Peltier has been documented in the film Incident at Oglala, narrated by Robert Redford, and the book In the Spirit of Crazy Horse by Peter Matthiessen. He has been framed up for crimes the government knows he did not commit. Millions worldwide have demanded his freedom.
It is an injustice that Mr. Peltier was ever incarcerated at all. The more than 33 years of unjust imprisonment have not only robbed this honorable man of a majority of his lifetime. They have taken a devastating toll on his physical well-being as he suffers from diabetes, high blood pressure, partial blindness and a heart condition. We call for the immediate and unconditional release of Leonard Peltier.
*Outsourcing For Fun And Profit- A Film Review Of "Outsourced"
Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of the trailer for "Outsourced".
DVD Review
Outsourced, starring Josh Hamilton, directed by John Jeffcoat, 2006
Okay, it was bound to happen, right? After all the gnashing of teeth about the lost of American jobs to other countries, after all the India-China bashing as the symbol of those loses and after all the strident, if fruitless, lambasting of those facts by every yahoo politician and cretin-like labor bureaucrat we were bound to get out of Hollywood (or Bollywood, for that matter) a comedic take on this phenomenon. And, given the political ethos of these times, a little ‘lesson’ in multi-culturalism to boot.
It may be unfair to lay the vagaries of the world labor market and the current phase of capitalist “globalization” on a simple film, and I won’t, at least not much because this was actually an entertaining film on its own terms, but its subtext (nice weasel word, right?) does fit in rather nicely about the state of the still fervent “outsourcing” strategy that virtually every large corporation in America (and elsewhere) has hit upon in order tot reduce (and reduce significantly) their wage bills, particularly administrative costs and the price of unskilled and semi-skilled labor.
A quick sketch of the plot is in order. An American telemarketing corporation in order to cut those high administrative costs fires it’s American–centered order-taking staff and out sources to the highly skilled but cheap wage Indian labor market. A middle level executive, the star of the film, Josh Hamilton, is called upon to bring the Indians up to speed and the twists and turns of the plot turn around the struggle to get the Indians to conform to the Taylor productivity speed up system well-known in American business circles. The faults and follies of this transformation drive the, sometimes understated, comedy of the film. Along the way, naturally, said executive gets an up close and personal lesson in multiculturalism from a very fetching Indian love interest.
But here is the point for our purposes-in the end, and I am really giving nothing away here, the Indian employees in their turn are fired so that the corporation can set up shop in the even cheaper Chinese labor market. In short, the race to the bottom continues on its merry way unabated. It is that unabated condition that I will finish up with. I’ve mentioned those cretin-like labor bureaucrats above who have “belly-ached” about the flight of jobs to other countries without lifting finger one to organize labor internationally to drive wages up and make the flight of jobs out much less attractive . Hell, they haven’t, at least since the great wave of industrial unionism led by the CIO drives of the 1930’s, done anything to organize labor in the cheap-labor American south or, and here is the real crime, Wal-mart. This is hardly the end of the discussion. Let’s leave it at this for now- organize globally and think locally. Thinking the other way around gets us no place- American, Indian or Chinese.
DVD Review
Outsourced, starring Josh Hamilton, directed by John Jeffcoat, 2006
Okay, it was bound to happen, right? After all the gnashing of teeth about the lost of American jobs to other countries, after all the India-China bashing as the symbol of those loses and after all the strident, if fruitless, lambasting of those facts by every yahoo politician and cretin-like labor bureaucrat we were bound to get out of Hollywood (or Bollywood, for that matter) a comedic take on this phenomenon. And, given the political ethos of these times, a little ‘lesson’ in multi-culturalism to boot.
It may be unfair to lay the vagaries of the world labor market and the current phase of capitalist “globalization” on a simple film, and I won’t, at least not much because this was actually an entertaining film on its own terms, but its subtext (nice weasel word, right?) does fit in rather nicely about the state of the still fervent “outsourcing” strategy that virtually every large corporation in America (and elsewhere) has hit upon in order tot reduce (and reduce significantly) their wage bills, particularly administrative costs and the price of unskilled and semi-skilled labor.
A quick sketch of the plot is in order. An American telemarketing corporation in order to cut those high administrative costs fires it’s American–centered order-taking staff and out sources to the highly skilled but cheap wage Indian labor market. A middle level executive, the star of the film, Josh Hamilton, is called upon to bring the Indians up to speed and the twists and turns of the plot turn around the struggle to get the Indians to conform to the Taylor productivity speed up system well-known in American business circles. The faults and follies of this transformation drive the, sometimes understated, comedy of the film. Along the way, naturally, said executive gets an up close and personal lesson in multiculturalism from a very fetching Indian love interest.
But here is the point for our purposes-in the end, and I am really giving nothing away here, the Indian employees in their turn are fired so that the corporation can set up shop in the even cheaper Chinese labor market. In short, the race to the bottom continues on its merry way unabated. It is that unabated condition that I will finish up with. I’ve mentioned those cretin-like labor bureaucrats above who have “belly-ached” about the flight of jobs to other countries without lifting finger one to organize labor internationally to drive wages up and make the flight of jobs out much less attractive . Hell, they haven’t, at least since the great wave of industrial unionism led by the CIO drives of the 1930’s, done anything to organize labor in the cheap-labor American south or, and here is the real crime, Wal-mart. This is hardly the end of the discussion. Let’s leave it at this for now- organize globally and think locally. Thinking the other way around gets us no place- American, Indian or Chinese.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
*Turning Swords Into Ploughshares, Oops! ….Iron Men
Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Trailer Of The Film "Iron Man"
DVD Review
Iron Man, starring Robert Downey, Jr, 2008
In the normal course of my work in this space I don’t generally review current commercial films, except when they provide some kind of political or social comment that is in line with those aims. Or when I am feeling a little whimsical or wicked after watching a “light” film that is just pure entertainment. That turns out to be the case here.
Let’s face it, how can one seriously knock a film that is based on a comic book character? Reading about or viewing such characters was virtually a rite of passage for any child, right? Here whiz kid (or elder kid) and mega-rich defense contractor Tony Stark, played very nicely by Robert Downey, Jr., just happens to have had a “conversion” experience in of all places, modern day Afghanistan (if one can accept that as a correct term in that benighted country) as a result of a very close call with the results of his own weaponry at the hands of a Taliban-like organization.
As a result, Brother Stark will not, however, ‘go gentle into that good night’ and begin to preach some form of pacifism but will turn the nature of modern nasty and brutish combat on its head and return, via high technology, to the good old medieval days of individual knightly combat. One on one, up close and personal. Needless to say, that knight will be none other than the whiz kid Stark. Throw in a little off-hand old-fashioned chaste romance with his fair damsel, oops, Girl Friday (played by Gwyneth Paltrow) and you have the makings of a very good…comic book story. Kudos for that part.
No kudos, however, for the little premise that was always behind these super-hero adventure stories. Wait on an individual ‘savior” to come by and save us from ourselves. If we wait for the “white knight” to come and save us from this wicked old world we are in serious trouble. Although this film was fun to watch and a nice spoof I’ll stick with the mass plebeian struggle to turn those swords into ploughshares. And by the way, individual knight or massed troops isn’t it about time to get out, way out, of Afghanistan now. The comic books, and their very appealing characters, are of no use for use on that proposition though.
DVD Review
Iron Man, starring Robert Downey, Jr, 2008
In the normal course of my work in this space I don’t generally review current commercial films, except when they provide some kind of political or social comment that is in line with those aims. Or when I am feeling a little whimsical or wicked after watching a “light” film that is just pure entertainment. That turns out to be the case here.
Let’s face it, how can one seriously knock a film that is based on a comic book character? Reading about or viewing such characters was virtually a rite of passage for any child, right? Here whiz kid (or elder kid) and mega-rich defense contractor Tony Stark, played very nicely by Robert Downey, Jr., just happens to have had a “conversion” experience in of all places, modern day Afghanistan (if one can accept that as a correct term in that benighted country) as a result of a very close call with the results of his own weaponry at the hands of a Taliban-like organization.
As a result, Brother Stark will not, however, ‘go gentle into that good night’ and begin to preach some form of pacifism but will turn the nature of modern nasty and brutish combat on its head and return, via high technology, to the good old medieval days of individual knightly combat. One on one, up close and personal. Needless to say, that knight will be none other than the whiz kid Stark. Throw in a little off-hand old-fashioned chaste romance with his fair damsel, oops, Girl Friday (played by Gwyneth Paltrow) and you have the makings of a very good…comic book story. Kudos for that part.
No kudos, however, for the little premise that was always behind these super-hero adventure stories. Wait on an individual ‘savior” to come by and save us from ourselves. If we wait for the “white knight” to come and save us from this wicked old world we are in serious trouble. Although this film was fun to watch and a nice spoof I’ll stick with the mass plebeian struggle to turn those swords into ploughshares. And by the way, individual knight or massed troops isn’t it about time to get out, way out, of Afghanistan now. The comic books, and their very appealing characters, are of no use for use on that proposition though.
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