An Exercise in Prejudice

When I was a kid, fresh tomatoes and fish repulsed me. Upon reaching my majority, I found I loved both. It seems some flavors grow upon a person with accumulated years. If so the taste buds, why not the ears? That's perhaps today's object lesson.

One has only to survey social accounts of the past century (such as advertisements in the backs of magazines) to see the guitar has become one of the more popular instruments taken up as an avocation, perhaps second only to the piano. When I was very young, ukulele ran a close third place; everyone knew what "my dog has fleas" meant then. But Don Ho ruined all that, despite Tiny Tim's valiant attempt to rescue the instrument from oblivion. By the way...true story...after Tiny Tim tiptoed to the Choir Eternal, he bequeathed his ukulele to Spiff Cool (or so the latter claimed), the guy who gave me my start in the glamorous world of show-biz.

In those less sophisticated days of boyhood, i.e., when every male over the age of 18 had Eisenhower haircuts (shorter if you were younger), it was strictly de rigueur that learning to play the guitar meant you were required to do so by way of folk songs. Anything on the radio? Off limits. Anything from theatrical musicals? Off limits. Blues? Off limits. Even pure scales or abstract chord constructions were off limits. No, the only permissible way to learn guitar was by suffering through Michael, Row the Boat Ashore, but if you caught the instructor in a particularly gay mood, you might get to cut loose with Red River Valley.

The whole time the radio was blaring Glad All Over, You Really Got Me, I Get Around and Louie, Louie, all on the Top Forty of 1964 when I took lessons;  all were songs I could have learned (especially the latter which requires nothing more than the delicate touch of a lumberjack). But no! In those days, the guitar was considered strictly a folk instrument for newcomers. What Chuck Berry had wrought was inconsequential.

I mean really. Chords are chords, scales are scales, technique is technique. The guitar is completely amoral to any reasoning person who wants to master it. Don't confuse the medium with the message.

Let me put that another way.  Rumor has long had it that Chet Atkins, who gained his reputation in country, filled in for Alice Cooper's band on their first album (because the musicians were too crappy) simply because he was good and knew what to play in ten minutes. Perhaps the greatest guitarist who's ever lived, music was music to him.

Or consider the countless styles the Wrecking Crew prosecuted on literally thousands of records in those days. No skin off their asses. It's music, so just play it! And in their case, read the chart once and execute it perfectly the very first take.

But my initial lessons were from a beatnik chick who very obviously wanted to be a body double for Joan Baez. She was determined that I learn by way of dreary and repetitious folk tunes.

The only highlight was picking up on Greensleeves, which caught my fancy at once. I'm certain she would have disallowed it had she cottoned to the fact it possesses in the main the same chord structure as Runaway by Del Shannon, Little Diane by Dion and countless other pop tunes. Oh yeah, In the Year 2525 by Zager and Evans. But I noticed. 

I suppose I should give my teacher credit for teaching me the open B7 chord, perhaps the loveliest you'll ever hear on an acoustic guitar.

Anyway, here's the deal. All this folk music drivel I was being roped into can be summarized in the following fashion: 

verse, chorus,
verse, chorus,
verse, chorus, 
verse, chorus,
verse, chorus,
and finally for a change of pace, verse, chorus,
before taking a bow.

That's if the listener was lucky. Some tunes dragged on even longer.

Lack of imagination is one explanation for this drivel. But the thing I sensed (and still do) is this. The performer in question has an attitude: "Everything I write or sing is important, right down to the final jot and tittle. Because I think so, you must listen." Sort of like a World War Two prisoner-of-war commandant.

These charlatans from the early days of beatnik folk expected obedience and attention. Never was a single thought given to the fact music is a two-way street and just perhaps the audience would appreciate some scripting, some surprises, some turns, some dramatic structure, some variety, some anything to make them wait with bated breath for what comes next. Listeners waited, all right, but not in joyful anticipation. For all they got was: verse, chorus, verse, chorus, verse, chorus, verse, chorus...

Here it is in a nutshell: folk music from those rotten days is completely self-centered. To my mind, there's more to being a musician than possessing earnestness. Maybe take a few lessons in stage deportment if nothing else. And toss the fucking capo away and learn how to play the goddamned guitar like a professional once and for all. I bet Glen Campbell could have played any song from any genre in any key without batting an eye.

While we're at it, flush the autoharp down the kybo. Now there's a confession of failure if ever there was one.

Another bit of advice I would have given in those days: if you're incapable of using your lungs and diaphragm like a genuine singer, throw in the towel and consider another profession. That alone would have saved us from virtually all abominations of the fifties and sixties.

But most of all, remember that music is supposed to somehow encourage us to listen, not make a colonoscopy seem welcome by contrast. Maybe that's it in a nutshell.

So anyway, for most of my life I avoided folk music like the plague. I had already suffered through a dozen years of enforced Sunday School; why would I want to replicate the same loathing in the pursuit of music? Thus, for a good three-quarters of my life, folk was always anathema.

Until a couple years ago. Seems I might have been wrong.

It began to dawn on me that there were a number of pieces which had lodged in my unconscious mind. In other words, while I didn't pay any attention to them at the time they were current, I discovered all these years later that they had somehow stuck with me, gestating as it were. And now I consciously love them. Will you allow me to list these exceptions for you?

These tunes have several things in common, by the way. First, all employ interesting theatrical structure. Intros, outros, bridges, key changes, dramatic surprises, changes in tempo, voices, instruments, and even meter, presume the listener possesses tastes other than lively Gregorian chants. Next, they all sport performers who really knew how to open up and sing. No whiny voices here, and they're on pitch! Lastly, these performers all convey something worthy without saying "This is worthy."

See what you think. I like 'em all now, but I'm going list them in reverse order of how they changed me, with a brief comment on how they embedded themselves in my noggin.

10. The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down

Can you believe it? Here I am touting a tune made popular by my first guitar instructor's role model!

Studying in the Student Union, just starting out in life, this was constantly emanating from the juke box, but I paid it no never-mind then. It wasn't until years later I realized that it somehow had become a part of me. One reason is that it so recalls to mind those sunny days of starting college, with oh so many new things to learn...the sky seemed the limit. But of course, the storm clouds of a possible vacation to Viet Nam always loomed.

This is the only piece performed by Joan Baez that I can listen to. (The Band performed it earlier, the song being their composition, but I tolerate them even less than Baez). She or her producer finally figured out that a little variety never hurt anyone. In particular, the large chorus is great for dramatic appeal. The bass and guitars are also excellent, not to mention the distinctly non-folk inclusion of percussion.

However, I still puke when I think of Baez winning over Steppenwolf for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. That was a couple months after Trump was voted in, so I guess it makes some sort of American sense, recalling H. L. Mencken's famous quote.

Here 'tis:

 

9. Sounds of Silence

These next three entries will perhaps surprise you. Assuming you and I have met before, you'll know that my idea of a crooner is Captain Beefheart, and Born to Be Wild a dainty lullaby. Still, for whatever reason Simon and Garfunkel represent to me folk musicians who understand it's not just enough to be earnest; one must entertain as well.

I suppose their allure for me comes from the venue in which I first heard the chaps: while busing tables at the Student Union, age 15 or so. My first job, and a killer it was, indeed. Want to know why? Then see: Working.

A simple song, yes. But the vocal harmonies were so different from anything else on the radio at that time. Moreover, the guitar part works very neatly with the uncomplicated but effective bass. Finally, drums--flee, all purists!

Hearing it again just now makes me want to return to the Student Union, punch out a few ceiling tiles and take my first pinch of Copenhagen all over again while watching Cuds sidle up to the dish machine.

8. Mrs. Robinson 

Ah me, every time I hear this one, I think how lucky I have been that mathematics found me. Here's your clue: The Shy Mind. My life would have been a waste with out the Queen of Sciences. By the way, did you know that Art Garfunkel was a mathematician?

The dreadnought guitar licks in this one rescue what could have become wearisome. And the crazy percussion throws in a welcome touch, too. Not that it matters all that much, other than my insatiable curiosity, is that an upright or an electric bass? Seems to have qualities of both.

Had this been performed solo, or accompanied by a lone instrument it would have been exceedingly dreary. Instead, with each verse building in complexity, it's a work of genius I think.

7. The Boxer

In a way, I have mixed feelings about this one. It certainly is the song that conjures up memories of that glorious summer at the Union, a time I'd to revisit. When I hear it, I think of my friend Ron studying his mathematics at an oaken table bearing countless graffiti.

But that dreadful bass harmonica in the second verse is so off-putting! It reminds me of Spiff Cool playing kazoo in Sea Cruise, I think it was.

On the other hand, the piccolo trumpet solo is pure ambrosia. So, I guess it all evens out.

What sort of amazes me is, here's a five minute folk tune I'll sit still for.

6. Edmund Fitzgerald 

This piece in the wrong hands could have been a disaster worse than a shipwreck. It has lots of things to say, just begging to lead to doldrums. Instead, Gordon Lightfoot had the smarts to break things up with a variety of non-traditional instruments at odd moments. His use of slide and distorted guitar licks is brilliant. Best of all: drums! I will never figure out why "traditional" folk singers are so opposed to percussion; it's been a part of Appalachian tunes since forever. For surely, clogging is a legit musical part.

 
At the time, 1975 or so, I really didn't pay any conscious attention to this entry. But it deeply embedded itself apparently. Part of the reason, of course, is that I was now a transplant in a new state with a new life, and this song is part of our lore. I will always praise the day I ended up here in Minnesota and a song like this reminds me of what that means.

5. Me and Bobby McGee 

Now here's a perfect example of what I rambled on about, above. In the hands of anyone else, this could have easily turned out monotonous. Not with Janis! There's never a dull moment while this implements the old theatrical pacing schtick of starting low, building, but then dropping in tension before the end, just to ensure one has a higher plateau to climb at the climax.

Be sure to note how she and the bass guitar track each other in harmony during the last verse. The arrangement is pure genius.

Disclaimer: I was and still am madly in love with Janis wherever she may be. I used to listen to this song on the jukebox in the basement of the Student Union while studying between classes, always dreaming of meeting a hippie chick like her, a new unread book who inspires page-turning.

4. I Feel Like I'm Fixin' to Die Rag 

Despite my apprehension at the time (1970-1972), I paid no never-mind to this tune, it not having fuzz guitars, booming bass or ear-splitting drums. I now realize this is one of the most important folk songs ever written. It probably had an unconscious impact on me, though. Damn, those were scary days. Dying I think I could handle, probably, but making someone else die in stupid allegiance to Amerika I would never abide.

Okay, am I being inconsistent? Here's a song with a single instrument as accompaniment (it was a borrowed cheap guitar, by the way, and didn't even have a strap; the stagehands had to string it up on a piece of makeshift rope; check the video). And he doesn't exactly have a Pavarotti voice.

But, Country Joe understood the strong connection between music, telling a story and entertainment. What could have been a dull Phil Ochs lament that tries your patience no matter how urgent the message, turned into a crowd engaging piece; note the audience rising in the final verse; they twigged to his innate theatrics and knew the denouement was coming. Brilliant.

This is one of the two selections here that still makes me cry genuine tears and lots of them.

I miss the Age of Aquarius so very much.

3. What Have They've Done to My Song, Ma?

If Joan Baez had done this, I would have been asleep by the third verse due to an overload of earnestness. Instead, Melanie wrote and performed a piece that keeps you on the edge of your seat wanting to know what comes next. It's a brilliant arrangement, in the classical tradition of theater: build, build, build, then drop, then really build for the climax.

Melanie does this several ways. First, her guitar work is impeccable. (She's one of the few performers I know of who thinks it important to add a high A on the first string, fifth fret, to an open D chord--on and off--for embellishment). I noticed that at once. She must be a Virgo.

Second, her voice is one of the truly unique ones in all music. Weird Appalachian vibrato without being whiny. In the link below, note how she really cuts loose in the ultimate verse.

Third, I think she is one of the most hellacious songwriters ever. This song in particular ranks right up there with Ginsberg's Howl which the theme so reminds me of. When I first heard it in high school, even though folk wasn't my bag, that's what grabbed. I mean, even the title tells one heck of a story.

As mentioned, the build is gripping. Doing a verse or two in French made so much sense to me back in 1970. Just starting life, questioning everything, so much to learn. And the very, very slight recitative toward the end is evocative. So here we go again: folk music doesn't have to be dull by definition if only the performer thinks about the audience every now and again.

Just to prove what a genius Melanie is, I'm going to break my rule and list another version from about the same time here for you to hear. Live, two guitars, no studio, no effects yet she still carries off an incredible build. And those German studio audiences are so goddamned polite!

I wish I had taken lessons from Melanie in 1964. I might actually have become a musician.

2. Those Were the Days

Now this one takes me right back to high school. Such memories! So, I guess I lied; I was actually listening to folk music back then and really liking it. This is probably the only one, though.

You're no doubt getting sick of my assessments, but once again the reason this song stood out to me was that Mary Hopkin (and please don't pluralize her cognomen like all the riff-raff on YouTube do) understood if you've only got a  verse and a chorus, you've just got to do something to break 'em up a bit, to add some show-biz appeal.

That she did, big time. A refrain of the chorus with la-la's, a key change, a clarinet transition, and a build with a children's chorus for the finale. This is the best of what folk music could be if only those performers dropped the egocentrism and considered the spectators.

Just as important, this song when first heard in 1968 encapsulated how I wanted to start my course. The lyrics were not lost on this teenager:

Those were the days my friend
We thought they'd never end
We'd sing and dance forever and a day
We'd live the life we choose
We'd fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way.

And Welsh girl Mary Hopkin just made what was waiting in life seem so alluring and mysterious, every bit as much as Mars Bonfire's Born to be Wild.

1. I'll Never Find Another You

And finally, we arrive at my top favorite folk song; if they all had what this one does, I probably wouldn't have spent fifty years loathing folk. Or writing this.

The funny thing is, I didn't hear it until just several years ago when my life took the most unexpected and ecstatic twist imaginable.

Of course, I remember the Seekers performing Georgy Girl back in the sixties. At that time, I didn't loathe that song by any means, but paid it scant attention as just some silly ditty on the radio.

And when I proposed that the East Side Pharaohs add Georgy Girl to our repertoire, it wasn't with the most honorable of intentions; my suggestion was based on the fact I was absolutely certain no other band would ever consider it, as being too geeky.

Instantly at its inaugural showing, it became my favorite song we ever played. On a gig night, I could hardly bear the anticipation! And then the dismay when it was all over. Which makes me think: I remember one night the audience demanded we play Hot Blooded three times! It brought bile to my lips to do so. Why couldn't the crowd instead have insisted upon Georgy Girl?

Anyway, fast forward five decades. This other song by the Seekers popped up at the same time I met perhaps the most remarkable person I could have ever imagined. The synchronicity of that event, of course, drew attention to the tune at once. But then repeated listenings revealed a depth to the arrangement that is so rare in any popular music.

It instantly became not only, hands-down, my favorite folk song of all time, but runs second only to Born to Be Wild in songs of all categories. We better hear it:

Damn! Just listened to it again; this is one of the few pieces of music that makes me simultaneously weep with a huge smile plastered on my face. If you're wondering, the only others apart from Country Joe's work mentioned earlier, are Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever, Offenbach's Orpheus in the Underworld, the Fugs' Burial Waltz, Bach's Air on a G String and Mozart's Sonata in C Major. Somehow Foreigner's Hot Blooded is missing from this list.

The Seekers truly understood dramatic build in their music, the importance of changes, pauses and gaps, but then topped it all off by really opening up the lungs. Truly glorious voices and they blend so perfectly, much like the Beach Boys. And be sure to note the bass singer's part in the bridge; it's a magnificent construction.

So, you now know the story of how I overcame a lifetime of prejudice only to discover there's still a lot of rotten folk music out there, but...not all!

Next essay: Lady of the Mountain