***The "Max Daddy” Blues Shootout- Alan Lomax’s "Blues At Newport 1966"-Take Three

Above A YouTube Film Clip Of Skip James Doing "Devil Got My Woman" At The Newport Folk Festival In 1966. Wow!

Son House

Howlin'Wolf

Bukka White

Reverend Pearly Brown

DVD REVIEW

Devil Got My Woman: Blues At Newport 1966, Skip James, Son House, Howlin’ Wolf, Bukka White and the Reverend Pearly Brown, Vestapol Productions, 1996

I have spent some considerable effort in this space reviewing various trends in the blues tradition, including both the country blues and the later electrified urban sound most closely associated with places like Memphis and Chicago. As is fairly well known country blues got its start down in the South during the early part of the 20th century (if not earlier) as a way for blacks (mainly) to cope with the dreaded, deadly work on the plantations (picking that hard to pick cotton). The electric blues really came of age in the post- World War I period and later when there was a massive black migration out of the south in search of the, now disappearing, industrial jobs up north (and to get out from under old Mister Jim Crow racial segregation). In this volume (and similarly in a couple of other previously reviewed volumes in this series) Stefan Grossman, the renowned guitar teacher and performer in his own right, has taken old film clips and segments from an Alan Lomax experiment at the Newport Folk Festival of putting exemplars of both traditions together under one roof and has produced an hour of classic performances by some masters of the genre. Wow.

Let me set the stage on this one to give you a small, small sense of what an historic blues cultural occasion this was. Alan Lomax, the famous musicologist and folk performer, put the then recently "rediscovered" Skip James and Son House and the already well known and powerful voice of Howlin' Wolf together under one roof. Oh yes, and then added Bukka White and the Reverend Pearly Brown to the mix. The motif: an attempt to recreate an old fashioned "juke joint'" from back in the days on a Down South rural Saturday night complete with dancing and plenty of liquor. Watch out.

Needless to say anyone even vaguely familiar with the long and storied history of the early blues knows that this was indeed an historic, and fleeting, occasion. 1966 might have been one of the few years that such an event could have been put together as the old country blues singers were starting to past from the scene. But as fate would have it we got one last chance to look at these five performers going head to head, everyone one way or another a legend. With the partial exception of the Reverend Pearly Brown and his religiously- oriented country blues done in the shout and response style of the old Baptist churches reflecting the tradition made popular by the Reverend Blind Willie Johnson, all the other performers have rated plenty of ink in this space as members of one or another branch of the blues pantheon.

A few of the highlights. Skip James' rendition of his classic "I'd Rather Be The Devil That Be That Woman's Man" (also known by the title of this documentary "Devil Got My Woman"). I have gotten more mileage out of my use of that title in various political commentaries in this space than I deserve. Thanks, Skip. Son House brought out his classic "Death Letter Blues" that I always go crazy over. Howlin' Wolf is, well, Howlin' Wolf as he almost inhales the harmonica on "How Many More Years" and does an incredible cover of the old Robert Johnson/Elmore James song "Dust My Broom". Reverend Brown does a very soulful rendition of the tradtional religious blues classic "Keep Your Lamp Trimmed And Burning".

So who is left? Well Bukka White, of course. Bukka is a recent addition to my personal blues pantheon and I have spend some effort praising his work, especially his smoking guitar work on that old National Steel guitar that he makes hum. Hell, I would have walked to Mississippi to hear that. This documentary has a separate songs section so that one can replay any song that one wants to without having to replay the whole film (although I did that as well). So who got replayed? Yes Bukka on "100 Men" (with Howlin' Wolf doing the response and some unknown washboard player as backup). Yes indeed, this was the blues shootout to end all shootouts. If you want to know what it was like to see men play the blues for keeps look here.

*********


Devil Got My Woman lyrics

You know, I'd rather be the ol' devil
Well, I'd rather be the devil
Then to be that woman' man
You know, rather be the devil
Than to be that woman' man

You know, I'm so sorry
You know, so sorry
That I ever fell in love wit' you-ooo-hoo-oo
Because you know you don't treat me
Baby, like you used ta do-hoo

You know, I laid down last night
You know, I laid down last night
And I thought to take me some rest
But my mind got to rambling
Like a wild geese from the west

You know the woman that I love
The woman that I love
I stol't her from my best friend
But you know he done got lucky
An he done got her back, again

You know, I used to cut your kindleing
You know, I used to cut your kindleing
Baby, then I made you some fire
Then I would tote all your water
Way, way, way, from the bogy brier

You know, my baby she don't drink whiskey
My baby, she don't drink no whiskey
An I know she ain't crazy about wine
Now, it was nothin' but the ol' devil
He done changed my baby's mind

You know, I could be right
You know, I could be right
Then again, I could be wrong
But it was nothin' but the ol' devil
He done got my baby
Now he done gone.

I'm So Glad lyrics

Eee, an I'm so glad
Yes sir, I'm glad
Until I just don't know
What to do

An I am tired a-weeping
I'm so tired a-moanin'
I'm so tired of groanin' for you

(guitar)

Eee, an I am so -
Yes, I am mighty glad
Until I just don't know what -

Would you be my little darlin'?
Would you be my dear?
Would you be my darlin'
Be my dear?

Then I would be mighty -
I would be mighty glad
Then I just wouldn't know
What to do

When I say, 'Coo-coo-coo'
Just like a little baby, do
I would love to have
A lovely kiss from you

Then I would be mighty -
Then I would be so -
Until I just wouldn't know -

You know, I'm tired a-weeping
I'm so tired of a-moanin'
I'm so tired of groanin' for you

(guitar)

Eee, an I am so glad
Yes, I'm so glad
Until I just don't know
What to do-ooo-woo-ooo-ooo.

Cherry Ball Blues lyrics

I love my little cherry ball
Better than I love myself
I love my cherry ball
Better than I love myself
Then if she don't love me
She can't love nobody else

Cherry ball, she quit me
Quit me in a nice, good way
Cherry ball, she quit me
Quit me in a nice, good way
You know, what it take to get her back
I carries it ev'ryday

Now, I left cherry ball standin'
Standin' in the back do' cryin'
Now, I left cherry ball
Standin' in the back do' cryin'
Of course, I feel her condition
But her trouble ain't none a-mine

She's just like a spider
She's hangin' on the wall
She's like a spider
She's hangin' on the wall
You know, she done quit me
She quit me without a cause

Now, when she left me
She left tears in my eye
Now, when she left me
She left tears in my eye
You know, that I love her
But her disposition I do dispise

Now, you can take the Southern
I'm 'on take the Sante Fe
Now, you take the Southern
I'm 'on take the Sante Fe
I'm gon' ride an gon' ramble
'Till cherry ball come back to me

She got to come on back home to me-ee-ee.

Son House - Death Letter lyrics

Lyrics to Death Letter :

I got a letter this mornin, how do you reckon it read?
It said, "Hurry, hurry, yeah, your love is dead"
I got a letter this mornin, I say how do you reckon it read?
You know, it said, "Hurry, hurry, how come the gal you love is dead?"

So, I grabbed up my suitcase, and took off down the road
When I got there she was layin on a coolin' board
I grabbed up my suitcase, and I said and I took off down the road
I said, but when I got there she was already layin on a coolin' board

Well, I walked up right close, looked down in her face
Said, the good ol' gal got to lay here 'til the Judgment Day
I walked up right close, and I said I looked down in her face
I said the good ol' gal, she got to lay here 'til the Judgment Day

Looked like there was 10,000 people standin' round the buryin' ground
I didn't know I loved her 'til they laid her down
Looked like 10,000 were standin' round the buryin' ground
You know I didn't know I loved her 'til they damn laid her down

Lord, have mercy on my wicked soul
I wouldn't mistreat you baby, for my weight in gold
I said, Lord, have mercy on my wicked soul
You know I wouldn't mistreat nobody, baby, not for my weight in gold

Well, I folded up my arms and I slowly walked away
I said, "Farewell honey, I'll see you on Judgment Day"
Ah, yeah, oh, yes, I slowly walked away
I said, "Farewell, farewell, I'll see you on the Judgment Day"

You know I went in my room, I bowed down to pray
The blues came along and drove my spirit away
I went in my room, I said I bowed down to pray
I said the blues came along and drove my spirit away

You know I didn't feel so bad, 'til the good ol' sun went down
I didn't have a soul to throw my arms around
I didn't feel so bad, 'til the good ol' sun went down
You know, I didn't have nobody to throw my arms around

I loved you baby, like I love myself
You don't have me, you won't have nobody else
I loved you baby, better than I did myself
I said now if you don't have me, I didn't want you to have nobody else

You know, it's hard to love someone that don't love you
Ain't no satisfaction, don't care what in the world you do
Yeah, it's hard to love someone that don't love you
You know it don't look like satisfaction, don't care what in the world you do

Got up this mornin', just about the break of day
A-huggin' the pillow where she used to lay
Got up this mornin', just about the break of day
A-huggin' the pillow where my good gal used to lay

Got up this mornin', feelin' round for my shoes
You know, I must-a had them old walkin' blues
Got up this mornin', feelin' round for my shoes
Yeah, you know bout that, I must-a had them old walkin' blues

You know, I cried last night and all the night before
Gotta change my way a livin', so I don't have to cry no more
You know, I cried last night and all the night before
Gotta change my way a livin', you see, so I don't have to cry no more

Ah, hush, thought I heard her call my name
If it wasn't so loud and so nice and plain
Ah, yeah
Mmmmmm

Well, listen, whatever you do
This is one thing, honey, I tried to get along with you
Yes, no tellin' what you do
I done everything I could, just to try and get along with you

Well, the minutes seemed like hours, hours they seemed like days
It seemed like my good, old gal outta done stopped her low-down ways
Minutes seemed like hours, hours they seemed like days
Seems like my good, old gal outta done stopped her low-down ways

You know, love's a hard ol' fall, make you do things you don't wanna do
Love sometimes leaves you feeling sad and blue
You know, love's a hard ol' fall, make you do things you don't wanna do
Love sometimes make you feel sad and blue

Son House - Preachin' Blues lyrics
Lyrics to Preachin' Blues :

Oh, I'm gonna get me a religion, I'm gonna join the Baptist Church
Oh, I'm gonna get me a religion, I'm gonna join the Baptist Church
I'm gonna be a Baptist preacher, and I sure won't have to work

Oh, I'm a-preach these blues, and I, I want everybody to shout
I want everybody to shout
I'm gonna do like a prisoner, I'm gonna roll my time on out

Oh, I went in my room, I bowed down to pray
Oh, I went in my room, I bowed down to pray
Till the blues come along, and they blowed my spirit1 away

Oh, I'd-a had religion, Lord, this every day
Oh, I'd-a had religion, Lord, this every day
But the womens and whiskey, well, they would not set me free

Oh, I wish I had me a heaven of my own
Hey, a heaven of my own
Till I'd give all my women a long, long, happy home

hey, I love my baby, just like I love myself
Oh, just like I love myself
Well, if she don't have me, she won't have nobody else

Son House - Pony Blues lyrics
Lyrics to Pony Blues :

Why don't you catch my pony, now saddle up my black mare?
...my pony, saddle up, up my black mare?
You know, I'm gonna find my baby, well, in the world somewhere

You know, he's a travelin' horse, an' he's too black bad
He's a travelin' pony, I declare, he's too black bad
You know, he got a gait, now, no Shetlan' ain't never had

You know, I taken him by the rein an' I led him around and 'round
I say, I taken him by the reins an' I, I led him, him 'round and 'round
You know, he ain't the best in the world, but he's the best ever been in this town

You know, he's a travelin' horse and he don't deny his name
He's a travelin' pony and he don't deny his name
You know, the way he can travel is a low-down, old, dirty shame

Why don't you come up here, pony, now come on, please let's us go
I said, "Come up, get up now, please pony, now let's us go"
Let's we saddle on down on the Gulf of, of Mexico

You know, the horse that I'm ridin', he can fox-trot, he can lope and pace
I say, the pony I'm ridin', he can fox-trot, he can lope and pace
You know, a horse with them many gaits, you know, I'm bound to win the race

He's a travelin' horse an' he don't deny his name
He's a travelin' pony, he don't deny his name
the way he can travel is a low-down, old, dirty shame

Howlin' Wolf

All songs written by Willie Dixon (Arc Music Corp- BMI) except * by Chester Burnett (Arc Music Corp- BMI) and ** by James B. Oden (Arc Music Corp- BMI)

SHAKE FOR ME

Sure look good, but it don't mean a thing to me
Sure look good, but it don't mean a thing to me
I got a hip-shaking woman, shake like a willow tree

You better wait baby, you got back a little too late.
You better wait baby, you got back a little too late.
I got a cool-shaking baby, shake like jello on a plate

When my baby walk, you know she's fine and mellow
When my baby walk, you know she's fine and mellow
Every time she stops, her flesh it shake like jello

Shake it baby, shake it for me
Shake lil' baby, shake it for me
Oh, shake it little baby, shake like a willow tree


THE RED ROOSTER

I had a little red rooster too lazy to crow for day
I had a little red rooster too lazy to crow for day
Keep everything in the barnyard upset in every way

Oh, them dogs begin to bark, hounds begin to howl
Oh, them dogs begin to bark, hounds begin to howl
Oh, Watch out strange kin people, little red rooster's on the prowl

If you see my little red rooster, please drag him on home
If you see my little red rooster, please drag him on home
There ain't no peace in the barnyard since my little red rooster's been gone


YOU'LL BE MINE

You so sweet, you so fine
How I wish you were mine
Honey I'll be your love
You'll be mine
You'll be mine
You'll be mine

You so nice, you so true
I'm so glad I love you
Honey I'll be your love
You'll be mine
You'll be mine
You'll be mine

Tell me pretty baby is you gonna try
If you say it baby, hang on baby
till the day I die

It's so true I love you
I don't care what you do
Honey I'll be your love
You'll be mine
You'll be mine
You'll be mine

Tell me pretty baby is you gonna try
If you say it baby, hang on baby
till the day I die

That is true I love you
I don't care what you do
Honey I'll be your love
You'll be mine
You'll be mine
You'll be mine (fade out)


WHO'S BEEN TALKIN' *

My baby caught the train, left me all alone
My baby caught the train, left me all alone
She knows I love her, she doin' me wrong

My baby bought the ticket, long as her right arm
My baby bought the ticket, long as my right arm
She says she's gonna ride long as I been from home

Well who been talking, everything that I do
Well who been talking, everything that I do
Well you is my baby, I hate to lose

Well goodbye baby, hate to see you go.
Well goodbye baby, hate to see you go.
You know I love you I'm the causin of it all.
I'm the causin' of it all.
I'm the causin' of it all.
I'm the causin' of it all.


WANG DANG DOODLE

Tell Automatic Slim , tell Razor Totin' Jim
Tell Butcher Knife Totin' Annie, tell Fast Talking Fanny
A we gonna pitch a ball, a down to that union hall
We gonna romp and tromp till midnight
We gonna fuss and fight till daylight
We gonna pitch a wang dang doodle all night long
All night long
All night long
All night long

Tell Kudu-Crawlin' Red, tell Abyssinian Ned
Tell ol' Pistol Pete, everybody gonna meet
Tonight we need no rest, we really gonna throw a mess
We gonna to break out all of the windows, we gonna kick down all the doors
We gonna pitch a wang dang doodle all night long
All night long
All night long
All night long

Tell Fats and Washboard Sam, that everybody gonna to jam
Tell Shaky and Boxcar Joe, we got sawdust on the floor
Tell Peg and Caroline Dye, we gonna have a time.
When the fish scent fill the air, there'll be snuff juice everywhere
We gonna pitch a wang dang doodle all night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long

SPOONFUL

It could be a spoonsful of diamonds,
Could be a spoonful of gold,
Just a little spoon of your precious love,
Satisfies my soul.

Men lies about little,
Some of them cries about little,
Some of them dies about little,
Everything fight about little spoonful.

It could be a spoonful of coffee,
Could be a spoonful of tea,
But a little spoon of your precious love,
Good enough for me.

Men lies about that,
Some of them dies about that,
Some of them cries about that,
But everything fight about that spoonful.

That spoon, dat spoon, dat spoonful.

It could be a spoonsful of water,
Saved from the deserts sand,
But one spoon of them fortifies.
Save you from another man.

Men lies about that,
Some of them cries about that,
Some of them dies about that,
Everybody fightin' about that spoonful.

That spoon, dat spoon, dat spoonful.


BACK DOOR MAN

I am a back door man.
I am a back door man.
Well the men don't know, but the little girls understand.

When everybody's sound asleep,
I'm somewhere making my midnight creep.
Yes in the morning, the rooster crow.
Something tell me, I got to go.

I am a back door man.
I am a back door man.
Well the men don't know, but little girls understand.

They take me to the doctor. Shot full o' holes.
Nurse cried, please save the soul.
Killed him for murder, first degree.
Judge's wife cried. Let the man go free.

I am a back door man.
I am a back door man.
Well the men don't know, but little girls understand.

Stand out there. Cop's wife cried.
Don't take him down. Rather be dead.
Six feets in the ground.
When you come home you can eat pork and beans.
I eats mo' chicken any man seen

I am a back door man.
I am a back door man.
Well the men don't know, but the little girls understand.


HOWLIN' FOR MY BABY

Pretty baby. Come on home. I love you.
If you hear me howlin', calling on my darlin'.

She's hot like red pepper. Sweet like cherry wine.
I'm so glad she love me. Love me all the time.
She's my little baby, sweet as she can be.
All this love she's got, do belongs to me.
If you hear me howlin', calling on my darling.

My baby. Come on home. I love you. Come on home.
If you hear me howlin', calling on my darling.

Every time she kiss me, she makes the lights go out.
From early in the morning, she makes me jump and shout.
This bad love she got, makes me laugh and cry.
Makes me really know, that I'm too young to die.
If you hear me howlin', calling on my darling.

Come on. I love you. Pretty baby.

Reverend Pearly Brown doing Blind Willie Johnson - In My Time Of Dyin' lyrics

Lyrics to In My Time Of Dyin' :

Well, in my time of dyin', don't want nobody to moan
All I want for you to do is take my body home
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Well, well, well, well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus goin' make up
Jesus goin' make up
Jesus goin' make my dyin' bed

Well, meet me, Jesus, meet me, meet me in the middle of the air
If these wings should fail me, Lord, won't you meet me with another pair
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Well, well, well, well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus goin' make up
Jesus goin' make up
Jesus goin' make my dyin' bed

Lord, in my time of dyin', don't want nobody to cry
All I want you to do, is take me when I die
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Well, well, well, well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus goin' make up
Jesus goin' make up
Jesus goin' make my dyin' bed


Reverend Pearly Brown doing Blind Willie Johnson - It's Nobody's Fault But Mine Lyrics to It's Nobody's Fault But Mine :

Nobody's fault but mine,
nobody's fault but mine
If I don't read it my soul be lost

I have a bible in my home,
I have a bible in my home
If I don't read it my soul be lost

Mmm, father he taught me how to read,
father he taught me how to read
If I don't read it my soul be lost, nobody's fault but mine

Ah, Lord, Lord, nobody's fault but mine
If I don't read it my soul be lost

Ah, I have a bible of my own,
I have a bible of my own
If I don't read it my soul be lost

Oh, mother she taught me how to read,
mother she taught me how to read
If I don't read it my soul be lost, nobody's fault but mine

Ah, Lord, Lord, nobody's fault but mine
If I don't read it my soul be lost

And sister she taught me how to read,
sister she taught me how to read
If I don't read it my soul be lost, nobody's fault but mine

Ah, mmm, Lord, Lord, nobody's fault but mine
If I don't read it my soul'd be lost, mmm


Aberdeen Mississippi 2:33 Trk 9

Bukka White (Booker T. Washington White)
Bukka White - vocal & guitar
& Washboard Sam (Robert Brown) - wshbrd.
Recorded: March 7th & 8th 1940 Chicago, Illinois
Album: Parchman Farm Blues, Roots RTS 33055
Transcriber: Awcantor@aol.com


I was over in Aberdeen
On my way to New Orlean
I was over in Aberdeen
On my way to New Orlean
Them Aberdeen women told me
Will buy my gasoline

Hey, two little women
That I ain't ever seen
They has two little women
That I ain't never seen
These two little women
Just from New Orlean

Ooh, sittin' down in Aberdeen
With New Orlean on my mind
I'm sittin' down in Aberdeen
With New Orlean on my mind
Well, I believe them Aberdeen women
Gonna make me lose my mind, yeah

(slide guitar & washboard)

Aber-deen is my home
But the mens don't want me around
Aberdeen is my home
But the men don't want me around
They know I will take these women
An take them outta town

Listen, you Aberdeen women
You know I ain't got no dime
Oh-oh listen you women
You know'd I ain't got no dime
They been had the po' boy
All up and down.

(guitar & washboard to end)


Fixin' To Die Blues lyrics

I'm lookin' funny in my eyes
And I believe I'm fixin' to die
Believe I'm fixin' to die
I'm lookin' funny in my eyes
Now, I believe I'm fixin' to die, yeah
I know I was born to die
But I hate to leave my children around cryin'
Yeah

Just as sho' we live
It's a, sho' we's born to die
Sho' we's born to die
Just as sho's we live
Sho' we's born to die
Yeah
I know I was born to die
But I hate to leave my children around cryin'
Yeah

Yo mother treated me, children
Like I was her baby child
Was her baby child
Yo mother treated me
Like I was her baby child
That's why's I sighed
Sighed so hard
And come back home to die
Yeah

So many nights at the fireside
How my chillen's mother would cry
How my chillen's mother would cry
So many nights at the fireside
How my chillen's mother would cry
Yeah
'Cause I told the mother I had to say, goodbye

Look over yon-der
On the buryin' ground
On the buryin' ground
Look over yonder, on the burying ground
Yon' stand ten thousand
Standin' still to let me down
Yeah

(washboard & guitar)

Mother, take my chillen back
Before they let me down
Before they let me down
Mother, take my chillen back
'Fore they let me down
Ain't no need a-them screamin' an cryin'
On the graveyard ground.

(washboard & guitar to end)


Shake 'em On Down lyrics

Yes, you're a nice girl, mama
And little girl
Night before day
We gonna
Shake 'em on down

I need some time holler, now
Oh, must I shake 'em on down
I done shout hollerin', now
Must I shake 'em on down

Too much is debted to me
Through the week
Save these chili peppers
Some ol' rainy day, here

Best I'm hollerin', now
Ooh, must I shake 'em on down
I done shout hollerin', now
Must I shake 'em on down, now

Fix my supper
Let me go to bed
This white lightnin' done gone
To my head

Oh, must I holler now
Ooh, must I shake 'em on down
I done shout hollerin', now
Must I shake 'em on down

I ain't been in Georgia, babe
I been told
Georgia women got the best
Jellyroll

These nights time holler, now
Oh, must I shake 'em on down
I done shout hollerin', mama
Must I shake 'em on down

See See mama, heard
You, done-done
Made me love you, now I know
Man done coming

Best I'm hollerin', now
Oh, must I shake 'em on down
I done shout hollerin', mama
Must I shake 'em on down

Pretty girl's got
They don't know
What it is
Make me drunk at that old
Whiskey still

It's best I'm hollerin', now
Oh, must I shake 'em on down
I done shout hollerin'
Must I shake 'em on down.

Poor Boy Long Way From Home by Bukka White Lyrics

Poor boy a long way from home
Poor boy I'm a long way from home
Poor boy I'm a long way from home
I don't have no happy home to go home to

When I left my home my baby's in my arms
When I left my home my baby's in my arms
When I left my home my baby's in my arms
She wanna know, 'Daddy, when you comin' back home?'

(guitar)

They got me down here on the farm
Got me down here on old farm
I don't have no one to come and go my bail
Baby, I wanna come back home to you

(guitar)

Sorry, baby I can't call you over the phone
Sorry, I can't call you over the phone
'Cause they got me down here long distance phone
But I can't call you baby over the phone.

(guitar to end)

***From The Archives-Poet's Corner- Bertolt Brecht's "To Those Born After"-As The Torch Passes-In Honor Of Those Who Fight To "Seek A Newer World"

We Created The Wealth, Let's Take It Back! Labor And The Oppressed Must Rule!
********
To Those Born After

I

To the cities I came in a time of disorder
That was ruled by hunger.
I sheltered with the people in a time of uproar
And then I joined in their rebellion.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.

I ate my dinners between the battles,
I lay down to sleep among the murderers,
I didn't care for much for love
And for nature's beauties I had little patience.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.

The city streets all led to foul swamps in my time,
My speech betrayed me to the butchers.
I could do only little
But without me those that ruled could not sleep so easily:
That's what I hoped.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.

Our forces were slight and small,
Our goal lay in the far distance
Clearly in our sights,
If for me myself beyond my reaching.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.

II

You who will come to the surface
From the flood that's overwhelmed us and drowned us all
Must think, when you speak of our weakness in times of darkness
That you've not had to face:

Days when we were used to changing countries
More often than shoes,
Through the war of the classes despairing
That there was only injustice and no outrage.

Even so we realised
Hatred of oppression still distorts the features,
Anger at injustice still makes voices raised and ugly.
Oh we, who wished to lay for the foundations for peace and friendliness,
Could never be friendly ourselves.

And in the future when no longer
Do human beings still treat themselves as animals,
Look back on us with indulgence.
*******
Markin comment October 24, 2011:

Recently I have, as an old-time radical, a 1960s radical but don’t hold that against me, been commenting in this space about my favorable reaction to the creation of the Occupy Boston site (and the several hundred others set up here in America and world-wide in the wake of Occupy Wall Street). I have backed that favorable reaction with all kinds of support, including physical defense of the Occupy Boston site in the early hours of Tuesday October 11, 2011 when the Boston police raided and shut down the second site. During the course of various conversations over past couple of weeks, mainly with the young campers and their supporters, I have repeatedly made the statement that “the torch has been passed.” This statement has met with a certain amount of bewilderment and incomprehension on the part of some young listeners. All that the statement means, perhaps reflecting my own political origins as a left-liberal democrat who fiercely supported John F. Kennedy’s presidential victory in 1960 and was enthralled by his use of the term in his inaugural address in 1961, is that we older radicals now had young radicals to pass the lessons of the struggle on to. Unfortunately, until very recently, I and a fair number of other older radicals, were somewhat in despair because with a very un-radical “missing generation” (our sons and daughters, and today’s youth’s parents) the links to the past struggles might not get passed on. I breathe easier now knowing we have reinforcements, and plenty of them.

I breathe easier still knowing that like the narrator in Bertolt Brecht's poem above, To Those Born After, by my actions over a long political career, a career filled with its fair share of mistakes and wrong roads taken that I can post this poem in solidarity with the narrator. I have continued the fight for the “newer world” that I started out as a starry-eyed youth to fight for long ago in the early 1960s when I attended my first public demonstration in favor of nuclear disarmament. I, we, did not set the terms that we fought under, mostly the rich and powerful set the agenda and we reacted, fitfully, to their outrages in order to stop their wars, stop their violations of our civil liberties, and stop their hoarding of the common wealth. But mainly, well or poorly, I, we, fought. I, we, got up, stood up, stood up for my (our) rights as Bob Marley’s song of the same name would have it. So remember, as the last lines of the poem please-“And in the future when no longer, Do human beings still treat themselves as animals, Look back on us with indulgence.”

***From The Archives-Poet's Corner- Bertolt Brecht's "To Those Born After"-As The Torch Passes-In Honor Of Those Who Fight To "Seek A Newer World"

We Created The Wealth, Let's Take It Back! Labor And The Oppressed Must Rule!
********
To Those Born After

I

To the cities I came in a time of disorder
That was ruled by hunger.
I sheltered with the people in a time of uproar
And then I joined in their rebellion.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.

I ate my dinners between the battles,
I lay down to sleep among the murderers,
I didn't care for much for love
And for nature's beauties I had little patience.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.

The city streets all led to foul swamps in my time,
My speech betrayed me to the butchers.
I could do only little
But without me those that ruled could not sleep so easily:
That's what I hoped.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.

Our forces were slight and small,
Our goal lay in the far distance
Clearly in our sights,
If for me myself beyond my reaching.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.

II

You who will come to the surface
From the flood that's overwhelmed us and drowned us all
Must think, when you speak of our weakness in times of darkness
That you've not had to face:

Days when we were used to changing countries
More often than shoes,
Through the war of the classes despairing
That there was only injustice and no outrage.

Even so we realised
Hatred of oppression still distorts the features,
Anger at injustice still makes voices raised and ugly.
Oh we, who wished to lay for the foundations for peace and friendliness,
Could never be friendly ourselves.

And in the future when no longer
Do human beings still treat themselves as animals,
Look back on us with indulgence.
*******
Markin comment October 24, 2011:

Recently I have, as an old-time radical, a 1960s radical but don’t hold that against me, been commenting in this space about my favorable reaction to the creation of the Occupy Boston site (and the several hundred others set up here in America and world-wide in the wake of Occupy Wall Street). I have backed that favorable reaction with all kinds of support, including physical defense of the Occupy Boston site in the early hours of Tuesday October 11, 2011 when the Boston police raided and shut down the second site. During the course of various conversations over past couple of weeks, mainly with the young campers and their supporters, I have repeatedly made the statement that “the torch has been passed.” This statement has met with a certain amount of bewilderment and incomprehension on the part of some young listeners. All that the statement means, perhaps reflecting my own political origins as a left-liberal democrat who fiercely supported John F. Kennedy’s presidential victory in 1960 and was enthralled by his use of the term in his inaugural address in 1961, is that we older radicals now had young radicals to pass the lessons of the struggle on to. Unfortunately, until very recently, I and a fair number of other older radicals, were somewhat in despair because with a very un-radical “missing generation” (our sons and daughters, and today’s youth’s parents) the links to the past struggles might not get passed on. I breathe easier now knowing we have reinforcements, and plenty of them.

I breathe easier still knowing that like the narrator in Bertolt Brecht's poem above, To Those Who Come After, by my actions over a long political career, a career filled with its fair share of mistakes and wrong roads taken that I can post this poem in solidarity with the narrator. I have continued the fight for the “newer world” that I started out as a starry-eyed youth to fight for long ago in the early 1960s when I attended my first public demonstration in favor of nuclear disarmament. I, we, did not set the terms that we fought under, mostly the rich and powerful set the agenda and we reacted, fitfully, to their outrages in order to stop their wars, stop their violations of our civil liberties, and stop their hoarding of the common wealth. But mainly, well or poorly, I, we, fought. I, we, got up, stood up, stood up for my (our) rights as Bob Marley’s song of the same name would have it. So remember, as the last lines of the poem plead-“And in the future when no longer, Do human beings still treat themselves as animals, Look back on us with indulgence.”

***From The Archives -Poet's Corner- Bertolt Brecht's "To Those Born After"-In Honor Of Those Who Fought To "Seek A Newer World"

To Those Born After

I

To the cities I came in a time of disorder
That was ruled by hunger.
I sheltered with the people in a time of uproar
And then I joined in their rebellion.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.


I ate my dinners between the battles,
I lay down to sleep among the murderers,
I didn't care for much for love
And for nature's beauties I had little patience.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.


The city streets all led to foul swamps in my time,
My speech betrayed me to the butchers.
I could do only little
But without me those that ruled could not sleep so easily:
That's what I hoped.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.


Our forces were slight and small,
Our goal lay in the far distance
Clearly in our sights,
If for me myself beyond my reaching.
That's how I passed my time that was given to me on this Earth.

II


You who will come to the surface
From the flood that's overwhelmed us and drowned us all
Must think, when you speak of our weakness in times of darkness
That you've not had to face:


Days when we were used to changing countries
More often than shoes,
Through the war of the classes despairing
That there was only injustice and no outrage.


Even so we realised
Hatred of oppression still distorts the features,
Anger at injustice still makes voices raised and ugly.
Oh we, who wished to lay for the foundations for peace and friendliness,
Could never be friendly ourselves.


And in the future when no longer
Do human beings still treat themselves as animals,
Look back on us with indulgence.

*******
Markin comment:

To Those Who Come After

History in the conditional is always a funny tricky little thing. You can get wrapped up it in so bad that you begin to deny the hard reality of what really happened, what really bad happened usually. On the other hand you can do as most historians do and just plod along assuming because X, Y, or Z happened that was that. That’s the facts, jack and that’s it. Obviously to resolve this thing, or rather to get a real sense of the possibilities, some combination, some mix and matching needs to be placed in the maelstrom. And it is under that sign that I wish to understand Bertolt Brecht’s great poem, his great big tied-up with ribbons and bows valentine to future generations really, To Those Born After, that I have posted above.

Of course it is a matter of generations, no question. And what that generation could have, or could not have, done, and done differently to sway the funny little rhythms of history. For his, Bertolt’s generation, if they only could have held out against the imperialist imperative onslaught of World War I, or at least not gone along like sheep until almost the very end. More germane, if they could have carried out to completion one of those big-time revolutionary possibilities in Germany that they had in the early 1920s. Or ceased their, Communists and Social-Democrats alike, willfully myopic view that the Weimar regime would hold out against the bootjack of Hitler’s storm streets without having to unite for an all-out fight to the death against the Nazi menace.

Moving forward to my parent’s generation, the generation that scarecrow survived the Great Depression of the 1930s and went on to survive, or wait on the survivors, of the D-Day and Pacific bloodbaths of World War II. If only they could have seen clearly enough that that Roosevelt guise was sheer deception to save his class in power (even if he had to fight them, the economic royalists, the one percent of his time, tooth and nail to do it) and create their own party, a workers party, after the tremendous class battles of the mid to late 1930s when they had the bosses on the run, a little anyway. Or hadn’t bought, bought hard into that white picket fence post-war dream and let the red scare dark night wash away whatever big (or little, but I think big) spark got them through the dustbowl miseries and war shellshock.

Once again moving forward to my generation, my disposable income record store soda fountain be-bop high school confidential night with some undiagnosed teen angst mixed with teen alienation generation, the generation of ’68, who didn’t want, well, didn’t start out wanting to anyway, buy into that red scare night white picket fence dream. If we could have just, a big “could have just” I agree, not thrown everything out with the bathwater and read some history we could have realized that it wasn’t just about us. Well, one way or the other, the Vietnamese taught us that lesson, that lesson about perseverance, about a sense of history and about using every tool around to get free. Or, closer to home, if we could have remembered where we had come from, most of us anyway, and dug our working class heels in sooner we could have left some kind of social movement worthy of the name instead of leaving future generations to start from scratch.


And moving on to our children’s generation. Oh, well, history records many retrogressions in the uphill struggle.


And now on to the generation that I am really directing this little “history” lesson to, the real subject of my “to those who come after,” those who roughly are students today, and are moreover the heart and soul of the Occupy movement that has suddenly jumped up onto the historic stage giving them a chance to change the course of history- on their terms. And, by the way incidentally giving to me (and others) from the generation of ’68 a second chance to make things right. Each generation I am firmly convinced must (and will) find its own ways to fight the monster. But know this, know this from first-hand experience, there is a monster on the loose out there, and that monster has a name, the American imperial state just now being captained by one Barack Obama. Whoever the captain is though the monster remains and that is where the “to the death” fight is.


And this is where Brother Brecht and I can share the same sentiments about being ill-equipped in our times to face those hard realities, to worry over half-measures, to not stay the course we knew we had to stay. So forgive us for not doing better, not doing a lot better. But forgive, or not, go slay that damn dragon.

***Songs To While The Time By- The Roots Is The Toots- Lonnie Johnson's Tomorrow Night (Move over Elvis and everybody else who ever covered this song), move way over. 

 

A YouTube clip to give some flavor to this subject.

Over the past several years I have been running an occasional series in this space of songs, mainly political protest songs, you know The Internationale, Union Maid, Which Side Are You On, Viva La Quince Brigada, Universal Soldier, and such entitled Songs To While The Class Struggle By. This series which could include some protest songs as well is centered on roots music as it has come down the ages and formed the core of the American songbook. You will find the odd, the eccentric, the forebears of later musical trends, and the just plain amusing here. Listen up-Peter Paul Markin

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

Tomorrow night, will you remember what you said tonight?
Tomorrow night, will all the thrills be gone?

Tomorrow night, will it be just another memory?
Or just another lovely song thats in my heart to linger on?

Your lips are so tender, your heart is beating fast,
And you willingly surrender, tell me darling, will it last?

Tomorrow night, will you be with me when the moon is bright?
Tomorrow night, will you say those lovely things you said tonight?

Tomorrow night, will you remember what you said tonight?
Tomorrow night, will all the thrills be gone?

Tomorrow night, will it be just another memory?
Or just another lovely song that's in my heart to linger on?

Your lips are so tender, your heart is beating fast,
And you willingly surrender, tell me darling, will it last?

Tomorrow night, will you be with me when the moon is bright?
Tomorrow night, will you say those lovely things you said tonight?

Read more: http://artists.letssingit.com/lonnie-johnson-lyrics-tomorrow-night-1947-936kc69#ixzz2hvsfLuTe

***Songs To While The Time By- The Roots Is The Toots- Victoria Spivey's Dope Head Blues

A YouTube clip to give some flavor to this subject.

Over the past several years I have been running an occasional series in this space of songs, mainly political protest songs, you know The Internationale, Union Maid, Which Side Are You On, Viva La Quince Brigada, Universal Soldier, and such entitled Songs To While The Class Struggle By. This series which could include some protest songs as well is centered on roots music as it has come down the ages and formed the core of the American songbook. You will find the odd, the eccentric, the forebears of later musical trends, and the just plain amusing here. Listen up-Peter Paul Markin

**********

Drugs and music seem inextricably linked. It certainly shows up in some of the early recorded blues. The word dope came around during the 19th century opium craze. But by 1927, when Victoria Spivey recorded Dope Head Blues (with Lonnie Johnson on guitar and Porter Grainger on piano) the term could apply to all kinds of drugs. Dope Head Blues is about the difficulties of drug addiction and a drug-induced delusional fantasy about being rich, important and healthy:

Just give me one more sniff of, another sniff of that dope
Just give me one more sniff of, another sniff of that dope
I'll catch a cow like a cowboy, and throw a bull without a rope

Doggone, I've got more money than Henry Ford or John D. ever had
Doggone, got more money than Henry Ford or John D. ever had
I bit a dog last Monday and forty doggone dogs went mad

Feel like a fighting rooster, feel better than I ever felt
Feel like a fighting rooster, feel better than I ever felt
Got double pneumonia and still I think I got the best health

Say, Sam
Go get my airplane and drive it up to my door
Aw, Sam, go get my airplane and drive it to my door
I think I'll fly to London, these monkey men makes mama sore

The president sent for me, the Prince of Wales is on my trail
The president sent for me, the Prince of Wales is on my trail
They worry me so much, I'll take another sniff and put them both in jail

***Songs To While The Time By- The Roots Is The Toots- Victoria Spivey's Detroit Moan (1936 moan not the 2013 moan but it could have been )

 

A YouTube clip to give some flavor to this subject.

Over the past several years I have been running an occasional series in this space of songs, mainly political protest songs, you know The Internationale, Union Maid, Which Side Are You On, Viva La Quince Brigada, Universal Soldier, and such entitled Songs To While The Class Struggle By. This series which could include some protest songs as well is centered on roots music as it has come down the ages and formed the core of the American songbook. You will find the odd, the eccentric, the forebears of later musical trends, and the just plain amusing here. Listen up-Peter Paul Markin 

****
Detroit's a cold, cold place, and I ain't got a dime to my name
Detroit's a cold, hard place, and I ain't got a dime to my name
I would go the poorhouse, but Lord you know I'm ashamed

I been walkin' Hastings Street, nobody seems to treat me right
I've been walkin' Hastings Street, nobody seems to treat me right
I can make it in the daytime, but Lord these cold cold nights

Well I'm tired of eatin' chili, and I can't eat beans no more
Yes I'm tired of eatin' chili, and I can't eat beans no more
People'll hurt my feelings, Lord from door to door

I got to leave Detroit, if I have to flag number ninety-four
I'm gonna leave Detroit, if I have to flag number ninety-four
And if I ever get back home, I ain't never comin' to Detroit no more
    

On The 60^th Anniversary Year Of The First Production Of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting For Godot –Take Two

 

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

 

He spoke of the existential plight, he spoke of the absurdity of modern existence, or better of its absurd moments, he spoke of running that rock up the hill Prometheus-style and having it come crashing down, he spoke of dusting off those scabbed knees and starting over, he spoke of the despair, the quiet choking despair, of modern humankind (and maybe ancient, ancient Hibernian-kind too a reflex of John Bull’s tyranny), he spoke of ashes, ashes in the mouth taking  away all good,  he spoke of struggle, struggle against the night, against the night-bringers and their hangers-on, and he spoke of tragedy, the three great tragedies of human existence -hunger, sex and death.

He spoke too of whimsy, of foolery, of comedy (in the theatrical sense), of lusts and laughs, of stagecraft and mirror tricks, of symmetry, and symmetrical lives. Spoke often of paradox, of jugglers, clowns, con men, grifters, drifters, an occasional midnight shifter (not a night-bringer), all the refuse brought by humankind building, furiously building, a thing from which they had to run, or should.    

Mostly though he spoke of language, the curl of it, the rough of it, the perfidiousness of it, the sway of it, the airlessness of it, the sparseness of it, the vanity of it, and the preciousness of it. Spoke of it in an exile’s exile tongue, spoke of it in some cave tongue to fend off the night-bringers, the night-bringers of his Europe, all hard and sea-sprayed. Spoke of it like a departed lover, longed for, all red passion. Yeah, but in the end, in the end that mattered, his soul spoke loud and clear that language matters.

Hats off.  

 

 

 

***Songs To While The Time By- The Roots Is The Toots- Iris Dement's Pretty Saro

A YouTube clip to give some flavor to this subject.

Over the past several years I have been running an occasional series in this space of songs, mainly political protest songs, you know The Internationale, Union Maid, Which Side Are You On, Viva La Quince Brigada, Universal Soldier, and such entitled Songs To While The Class Struggle By. This series which could include some protest songs as well is centered on roots music as it has come down the ages and formed the core of the American songbook. You will find the odd, the eccentric, the forebears of later musical trends, and the just plain amusing here. Listen up-Peter Paul Markin

******

Songwriters: TRADITIONAL

Down in some lone valley
In a sad lonesome place
Where the wild birds do all
Their notes to increase

Farewell pretty Saro
I bid you Adieu
But I dream of pretty Saro
Wherever I go

Well my love she won't have me
So I understand
She wants a freeholder
Who owns a house and land

I cannot maintain her
With silver and gold
And all of the fine things
That a big house can hold

If I was a poet
And could write a fine hand
I'd write my love a letter
That she'd understand

And write it by the river
Where the waters overflow
But I dream of pretty Saro
Wherever I go

The Battle For Britain?-Alfred Hitchcock's Foreign Correspondent

DVD REVIEW

Foreign Correspondent, Alfred Hitchcock, 1939

This is an early black and white political suspense classic by the master of the genre, Alfred Hitchcock. What makes this film somewhat different from his other later classics like The Birds or Rear Window is its evocation of up front patriotism at a time when Europe was getting set for war in the late 1930s. The Foreign Correspondent Johnny Jones(for an American newspaper, of course) in this case (played by boy next door Joel McCrea) is sent to Europe to get the facts, and nothing but the facts, about what was happening there-namely was war really in the offing or was it merely a European-based imperial ploy.

Along the way he runs into people and organizations (the leader of one played by arch-British gentleman Herbert Marshall) whose sole purpose is to agitate for war -for the benefit of the other side(unnamed but we know, right?). As McCrea and later a British correspondent (played by George Sanders) dig deeper they figure out the real deal and try to each single-handedly try to crush it.

Of course, along the way there is a little off-hand romance involving McCrea (with Marshall's daughter- the girl next door- Larraine Day) but not to worry `justice' will out in the end. A rather interesting point is that the traitor Marshall in the end finishes up heroically. Well, I guess we have to remember this was still a time when the British Empire, at least formally, held sway in the world so that even scoundrels, as long as they were British scoundrels, had to keep a stiff upper lip and do the right thing for old John Bull. As a thriller this film is interesting. As a political statement it is much too ham-handed.

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin-Just Like Farley Granger- Strangers On A Train- A Film Review

DVD Review

Strangers On A Train, starring Farley Granger, Robert Walker, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, Warner Brothers, 1951
Hey, I always used to like to ride trains, passenger trains, the scenic way to travel through the hills and dale of the great American landscape. I even used to like to ride a freight car once in a while back in those old time hitchhike day when the feet got weary and a railroad track beckoned to put some miles between me and, whatever, in the search for the great American West night. But after watching the film under review, Alfred Hitchcock’s classic thriller, Strangers On A Train, I am re-thinking that position. Maybe the private passenger car, or those weary feet are a better bet.

Here is why. Guy (played by one Farley Granger), a tennis star with marital problems is, well, accosted on an East Coast train (not by chance), by Bruno (played by Robert Walker), a rich kid with a little problem. He is psycho (before Psycho); the kind of guy who would pull the wings off a butterfly as a kid just for kicks. Beyond that, surprise, surprise our Bruno has a bigger problem, he hates his father, murderously hates his father. To cut to the chase Bruno has an idea. Criss-Cross- murders. See Bruno will take care of Guy’s marital problems quickly, and finally. Guy, as a return favor will do away with Bruno’s father. No problem.

The plot revolves around the central problem here though. Bruno did his part, no problem. But Guy, see Guy has some scruples, and has no intention in hell of doing Bruno’s bidding. The problem is that Bruno does not, how to put it kindly, know how to take no for an answer. Guy definitely did the wrong thing- he tried to welsh on the deal. Bruno is not one to be crossed. No way. That little tic, and a fateful cigarette lighter get us through this classic Hitchcock thriller. So you see where I am a little wary of making reservations on Amtrak right this minute. And also am cautious about lighting somebody’s cigarette, just in case. Or riding merry-go-rounds for that matter.

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Handsome Johnnie’s Revenge –Alfred Hitchcock’s “Suspicion”

DVD Review

Suspicion, starring Cary Grant, Joan Fontaine, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, RKO Radio Pictures, 1941

Everybody knows, well, knows since Dorothy Parker uttered the words, that gentlemen don’t make passes at girls that wear glasses. Period. Well, period, except hard up ne’er-do- well besotted, benighted, be-, well, bedeviled and be done with it, handsome Johnnies gents who are slightly arrears on their rent or I.O.U. obligation to their bookmakers. The glasses, four-eyes, six-eyes, hell, three eyes are in play then especially if they are well brought up love-starved country gentry daughters with a little dowry, or hopes of one. And especially when that certain girl, woman, when she takes off said glasses is well, by the ugly duckling turning camera magic, fetching. And that in a nutshell is the lead-up to this early Alfred Hitchcock classic under review, Suspicion.

A few details will help to tell why there is suspense in Suspicion (although not as much as in say the later Psycho, etc. when Hitchcock went over the edge and started to scare the bejesus out of every brave pre-teen and teen boy and girl on the earth by NOT showing us what evil lurked in the hearts of men). Johnnie, well-mannered but broke Johnnie (played by Cary Grant, who else would fit as the downwardly mobile British gent), “courts” one plain jane (don’t be deceived like I was at first by the glasses) country house gentry (meaning in those days running after foxes, et. al) daughter Lina (played by Academy Award-winning Joan Fontaine), wins her over and they are married. He has no illusions in what he is doing (mainly male gold-digging in order to maintain a studious avoidance of anything that smacks of work and anything that doesn’t smack of making a sure thing bet on race day) she, intelligent enough although not really world-wary has more than a few.

Up until that point, and somewhat beyond that point, this film is basically a comedy of manners in the old fashion sense. But eventually Johnnie’s gambling debts and thefts start to crowd in on him, and her. And a whole series of events occur that make Lina, well, suspicious that dear old bean Johnnie boy might just get under from under his obligations by putting her under, under the ground. Murder, murder and nothing else is surly in the air. The problem, or really two problems, though are no way, no way in hell can one make playboy Johnnie out as a murder one guy, and problem number two no way, no way in hell, once you take the glasses off, is fetching Lina slated for an early visit to the morgue. Like the title says suspicion, nothing to it but suspicion as the lovers reconcile.

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin-The Merry Widow Murderer- Alfred Hitchcock’s “Shadow Of A Doubt”

DVD Review

Shadow Of A Doubt, starring Joseph Cotten, Teresa Wright, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, written by Thornton Wilder, Universal Pictures, 1943
Sometimes landing on your head or some other traumatic incident when young can have serious consequences later in life. Or at least that is the stated premise, or half premise, behind this Alfred Hitchcock thriller, Shadow Of A Doubt. The mental state angle may be a bit awry and a bit too pat as the draw to pull us in and suspend our disbelief that good old Uncle Charley (played by Joseph Cotton) is the villain of the piece and is the serial killer of rich widows but there are some interesting psychological moments as we see how this villainous man meets his inevitable just desserts. Of course the max daddy of all Hitchcock thrillers, Psycho, set the standard by scaring every pre-teen, teen, and maybe a few adults half to death by NOT showing us what happened when that serial killer was about his mad man work. This one doesn’t really come close but as I say it has a few interesting points.

Needless to say any screen play written by Thornton Wilder (Our Town) means that small town Americana with everybody normal going about their everyday normal business is sure to be in play. Certainly the town is not suspecting that a mad man has just descended on them an event that should have caused every widow in town to check her insurance coverage. And it late 1930s Santa Rosa (California) is here as the backdrop for Uncle Charlie’s timely visit (timely for him as he as just lammed it out of the East just in front of the law) to rekindle the old family relationships.

But see dear Charlie is not the boy of old small town ambitions but of master race certitudes and scorn of the small town rubes. And to cap that scorn he is not above offing a rich widow or two in the process. And that quirky tendency is what drives the film, drives the law men in pursuit and drives one devoted niece, Charlie (nee Charlotte played by Teresa Wright) half-crazy with suspicion and disbelief before she tumbles to the facts of dastardly Uncle Charlie ‘s life. Almost too late.

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin –Alfred Hitchcock’s “Dial M For Murder”-A Film Review

DVD Review

Dial M For Murder, starring Ray Milland, Grace Kelly. Robert Cummings, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, Warner Brothers, 1954
Hey, we are all adults here, right? So why would one ex-tennis bum, Tony (play be Ray Milland), who in the course of his professional tennis career probably had more love affairs at the courts with an off-hand wealthy matron or two than one can shake a stick at, take umbrage when his wealthy wife, Margot (played by Grace Kelly), had a little dalliance of her own. A dalliance with an off-hand smart crime novel writer a la Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler, Mark (played by Robert Cummings), to boot just in order to muddy up the waters.

Well that is the plot line here in the film under review, Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial M For Murder, as an ill-disposed hubby Tony finds out about the little illicit tryst and plots revenge, revenge big time. Oh no, not like some smart guy, tennis bum or not, would do by raking dear wifey through the 1950s divorce courts with good old boy Mark as correspondent. No he had to go for the big M, M as in murder. So naturally he needed to over-plan some nefarious plot by bringing a ne’er- do- well (English version, naturally) in to bungle the damn thing. Bungle it big time as Margot wound up killing said unjust assassin in self-defense.

But that little turn of events became our boy Tony’s opening as he framed said wifey big time, or almost. The line-up of circumstantial evidence he led the peelers to was just too perfect, almost. On the evidence even a half-baked lawyer should have been able to get Margot out of a murder one charge and a hard look at the gallows but it took old Mark and his dime- store crime investigative skills to set things right in the end.

Note: Forget all that stuff about evidence, about wifely adulterous affairs, about a cad named Tony, and a house-wreaker named Mark. As I have said before why on this good green earth would anyone in their right minds touch one hair on the head of one Grace Kelly. I was too young to appreciate her beauty when I was kid as I was strictly into women (oops, girls) with stick shapes and winsome toothy smiles but some women in this world are just not built to face the cruel executioner’s noose. I probably just balled all of this up so let me put it this way as I have on other occasions when dealing with Grace Kelly films. One story had it that her husband, Prince Rainer of Monaco, a man not known to show much public emotion, openly wept at her funeral. Now I know why.

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin –Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window”-A Film Review

DVD Review

Rear Window, starring Jimmy Stewart, Grace Kelly, Raymond Burr, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, Paramount Pictures, 1954
Most of us who live in the city, and maybe many who live in the suburbs as well, do so to be somewhat anonymous or to escape from the prying old childhood neighborhoods when everybody knew everybody else’s business, or wanted to know it. Especially when some mother’s Johnnie or Janie did something better than your mother’s Johnnie or Janie. Harmless stuff. City or suburb though most people who want to have their privacy can have it, if they determinedly fight for it. But let’s say one is stuck in one’s urban abode (New York City urban abode, Greenwich Village urban abode to boot), one has a set of binoculars, and a very vivid photo-journalist’s imagination (played by Jimmy Stewart) or the ability to put two and two together occasionally. Then you have the plot line for an Alfred Hitchcock suspense thriller like the one under review, Rear Window.

Oh, yes, throw in drop- dead beautiful model for a girlfriend (played by Grace Kelly) to help with the heavy lifting you are unable to do and you are off to the races. Oh yes, as well, throw in a nefarious evil-doer, a wife-murderer (played by Perry Mason, oops, Raymond Burr) seen across the court yard from the rear window of your confined abode and anything can happen, or almost anything. The trick is to use your strong sense of investigative powers, your Dick Tracey -taught ability to put clues together and an unforgivable, yes, unforgiveable habit of putting that fetching girlfriend in harm's way and you have an A-One film. Throw in some wit by a world-wise nurse (played by Thelma Ritter) and a skeptical police officer (played by Wendell Corey) and well that is that.

Note: Forget all that stuff about helpful girlfriends (okay, okay fiancés) being put in harm’s way by photo-op crazed journalists I have a small bone, no, a very large bone to pick with one Jimmy Stewart. Why on this good green earth would anyone in their right mind, much less a hubby-to-be, allow anyone to touch one hair on the head of one Grace Kelly. I was too young to appreciate her beauty when I was kid as I was strictly into women (oops, girls) with stick shapes and winsome toothy smiles but some women in this world are just not built for the rough stuff of city life (or suburban life for that matter). I probably just balled all of this up so let me put it this way as I have on other occasions when dealing with Grace Kelly films. One story had it that her husband, Prince Rainer of Monaco, a man not known to show much public emotion, openly wept at her funeral. Now I know why.  

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Before Jimmy Stewart Knew Too Much- Alfred Hitchcock’sOriginal 1934-“The Man Who Knew Too Much”-A Film Review

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/1/17/The_man_who_knew_too_much_1934_poster.jpg

Click above to link to a Wikipedia entry for the original 1934 version of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much.

DVD Review

The Man Who Knew Too Much, starring Peter Lorre, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, 1934

Yes, there were men who knew too much before actor Jimmy Stewart came on the scene in the1950s version of the film under review, Alfred Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much. While there are many differences between the versions (color versus black and white, known actors, known by me, in the latter, stiff upper American lip rather than British) the main idea is still there, nefarious people are afoot in the world trying to unseat the democratic ideals (1930s fascism, 1950s red scare cold war) and ordinary citizens had better be prepared to act when necessary to thwart such evil designs against the peace. Especially when given cryptic, very cryptic last words by professional spies who, in fact, do know too much and are subject to an off-hand assassination for their efforts.

And that thread is what this film hangs its hat on. Ordinary people (well, not really ordinary but rather from good families) can be made ready to do battle for king and country even in appeasement 1930s after the blood-letting ofWorld War I left many things still unresolved in Europe (and the, uh, colonies) when provoked. And provocation is very easily stirred when the bad guys (led by 1930s arch-villain Peter Lorre and his lumpen henchmen working under cover of some dockside London sun-king cult) decide to insure that quiet for their deeds by kidnapping that quintessential proper English family’s daughter. Yes, thems fighting words.

Of course after some arch posturing and so-called humorous aside moments the villains are unearthed and the proper authorities are called to provide a little off-hand firing power to subdue them. Daughter saved. From an archeological point the most interesting part of the film is when the bad guys decide to go boom-boom and the then gun-less on principle Bobbies have to round up guns and ammo from a gunsmith. By the 1950s Jimmy Stewart is able to call on half the armed forces of the world to prevent murder and mayhem from thundering down on Europe. That is progress, right?

 

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Alfred Hitchcock’s “I Confess”- A Film Review

DVD Review

I Confess, starring Montgomery Clift, Anne Baxter, Karl Malden, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, Warner Brothers, 1953

Apparently the late British thriller film director Alfred Hitchcock did not have a high regard for the capacities of the police to do more than cursory investigations of crimes, pick a suspect at random, a nearby suspect, frame him (or occasionally her), let the chips fall where they may and go out for coffee and crullers. Oh, yah, after giving that suspect, that nearby suspect, the third degree down at the station house just for chuckles. At least that is the way it seemed to this reviewer after having recently reviewed Hitchcock’s 1956 B-film thriller The Wrong Guy, oops The Wrong Man, where a totally innocent citizen of New York City, a second-rate musician named Manny, was framed, signed, sealed and delivered, for a series of armed robberies around the neighborhood and only got off, barely, because the real wrong-doer, the real wrong gee, was found out up to his old tricks. That same sloppy police work is at play here, except this time the nefarious police work is done up in La Belle Province, up in Quebec City.

Here is the lay of the land. A post-World War II German refugee (maybe Nazi, maybe not, but his demeanor and actions said that was at least a possibility) who landed up in Quebec working as a handyman at a church rectory with his housekeeper wife can’t live another day seeing her youth fading away doing hard labor so he plans to rob a sleazy lawyer about town who had some off-hand dough laying around using a priest’s cassock as disguise. Things went awry, as they sometimes do with amateurs in over their heads, especially those eaten up with rage about wifely faded beauty, and the lawyer winds up dead, very dead. Said handyman in remorse, maybe, decided to confess his sin to one of the parish priests, Father Logan (played by Montgomery Clift), in the privacy of the confessional. That act created the drama of the film since it is well known that such confessions cannot be divulged to anybody, not even the law, the cops, you know the priest-penitent rule.

That is where the nifty police work comes in, comes in the in person of one pug-nosed pugnacious (is that combination possible?) anglo detective, played by Karl Malden, who while investigating the murder came up with the bright idea that a priest did the deed, end of story. Well, not quite, because he had to figure out which priest in 1950s Gallic old-style Roman Catholic priest-ridden Quebec with a church on every block did the deed. And so he grabs onto the nearest priest, Father Logan of course. And the good father is made to order for the frame because, as we find out by a series of flash backs, it turned out that his pre-priesthood old flame, his married, very married old flame, Ruth (played by fetching Anne Baxter) confessed to the cops (in order to give Logan an alibi) she was being blackmailed by the sleaze lawyer (and that she was still in love with her good-looking priest friend), she had sought the good father’s help, and so his actions on her behalf took on a sinister note. And don’t forget that old confession rule.

So beat daddy cop Karl had a slam-dunk and could join the other guys down at Chez somebody’s for coffee and crullers. Father Logan took the heat like a man, went on trial for murder, and just barely avoided stepping off the big step by a jury (all men) who seemingly figured he was fooling around with the good madame the night of the murder. Not guilty he might be legally but not innocent according to the town’s mores as his alleged unpriestly actions were over the top and in reaction they threatened him as he came out of the courthouse.

The murderous handyman’s fading beauty housekeeper wife (who also knew of her man’s act but who would have pled the married exception against her husband in court I guess if it came to that) broke down and declared the good father’s innocence. The handyman, further unhinged, shoots her, runs away and then later dies in a shoot-out while still looking for the good father’s forgiveness as he dies in his arms. Here is the beauty of the tale though that lying handyman was the star witness against old Father Logan and so the cops took his word for everything right down the line, without a murmur. Yah, Alfred, your right about cops.

***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Alfred Hitchcock’s  “The Paradine Case”- A Film Review 

The 1947 Alfred Hitchcock film, The Paradine Case.

DVD Review

The Paradine Case, starring Gregory Peck, Anne Todd, Alida Valli, Louis Jourdan, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, Selznick International Pictures, 1947

Okay, okay I ‘ll back off a little on my remark that on the basis of two recently reviewed Alfred Hitchcock films, The Wrong Man and I Confess, apparently the late thriller director had less that total admiration for the cops, the New York City and Quebec City cops anyway. Yah, the cops, the London cops, got it right, got it right up to the big step off as they collared their man, oops woman, wrapped it up tight, and let the long arm of justice take its course. But see there was dame involved, a femme fatale to boot so you can hardly blame a guy like me (or Hitchcock’s London cops for that matter under other circumstances) for not seeing what was clear as day in front of us. But it was a close thing anyway before the end, and some pretty big time lawyers, oops, barristers got egg on their faces before it was all over.

I better explain (and explain fast before some irate cop gives me, poor me, the third degree for complaining about their police procedures). See this mysterious woman, this femme fatale there is no other way to call it discreetly, was married to a mucky-mucky blind (age and infirmity blind) English rich gentleman named Paradine who wound up very, very dead one night having ingested a poisoned drink. Naturally his ever-loving wife, Mrs. Paradine (played by Alida Valli), young, fetching, restless, of indeterminate background, and, oh yah, a femme fatale, if I didn’t mention that before was the easy choice to step off for the caper. Mrs. Paradine though was not without financial resources and could and did hire the best up and coming criminal defense lawyer around town, oops again, barrister, Tony Keane(played by Gregory Peck), a very, very married barrister by the way. Married to an upper crust woman (played by Anne Todd) who was perhaps just a bit too stiff upper lip and earnest when all is said and done.

Naturally when a femme is on the prowl every guy within ten miles is fair game and, of course, Tony forgets every law 101 thing that got him to where he was including taking a big fall for Mrs. Paradine once she got her hooks into him. Those hooks included Tony, against all reason and evidence, trying to set up Colonel Paradine’s valet, Andre, as the fall guy (played by Louis Jourdan).That proved to be Tony’s undoing as Mrs. Paradine, turning out to be a good femme, or my idea of a good femme, wouldn't  hear of letting Andre take the fall, especially after Tony has grilled Andre on the stand in court and as a result Andre commited suicide. That knowledge unraveled Mrs. Paradine who admits in open court, again against all reason since that all male jury was also swayable, that Andre was her lover and that she, and she alone, murdered her husband to run off with him.

Build those gallows high, very high indeed. Naturally the very earnest Mrs. Keane took her Tony back, or wanted to but you can see, see as clear as day, how even big- time lawyers, oops once more, barristers could have gotten thrown off course when a femme is in the room. So what do expect of a poor amateur like me who was secretly pulling for her just like I do for every femme, good or bad. But that too was a close thing.