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January 1964
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FOLKBIZ FOREVER MORE
Through a veil of humor a modern
philosopher throws some barbs and bats some bits on the folk
business.
By Jean Shepherd
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If Joan Baez were a short fat girl, with blonde hair
in an up-sweep, I wonder if she would be accepted by the Folk
addicts as a True Folk? Or can you picture Bob Dylan wearing thick,
horn-rimmed glasses, and pimples? Would he be accepted as a
Messenger of the True Gospel?
Of course not. It’s all part of the scene, you see. You have to look
exactly like what you claim you are. As Theda Bara was THE Vamp, and
then a few years later Clara Row was THE Flapper, now Joan Baez is
THE Folk Singer. Definitive.
I wonder if you’ve ever seen a real folksinger? I’ll never forget
the time I’m doing this Remote down in Hazard, Kentucky. I’m working
for a Kentucky radio station, and I’m down near Hazard. They had
this big Hootenanny. They had all these real folk artists, genuine
folksingers. They come out of the bushes, dragging their jugs. The
real crowd.
The typical folksinger would come out. They’re all big and kind of
overweight. We have the idea that all folk singers are thin,
angry-looking guys. Let me tell you, most of them are kind of helfty
- looking guys, because they’ve been weaned on a diet of fatback,
fatback and salt pork, corn and chitlins. They’re weaned on fatback
cracklin’s. They’re raised on corn and chitlins, and they’re on good
solid White Lightnin’. Well, that’s all high-calorie, low-vitamin
stuff. So usually they’ve got no teeth but they’ve got plenty of
blubber.
Now I’m sure you all know the bit down at The Bitter End, where the
folksinger will come out on the stage. He can be one of several
types:
Tall and blonde, usually with crew cut; white shirt open at neck,
strong Bronx accent - CCNY division. This type often comes in
threes, and occasionally in fours. They are clean-limbed and sing in
a high, nasal, ecclesiastical whine. Often billed as brothers.
The Primitive. Wears blue work shirt, suitably faded, blue jeans,
suitably faded, and scraggly beard. Unmistakable aura of having
suffered. Also strong Bronx accent - CCNY division. Specializes in
work songs of late 19th Century. Often has comfortable private
income from father, who is a successful stockbroker.
Thin, intense, nervous-looking girl. Hair usually worn au naturel
Comes equipped with - and occasionally without - sandals. This is a
representative of the Sackcloth Ashes school. Strums guitar
meaningfully. Usually knows from three to four chords, learned at
great effort. Has strong Bronx accent. Specializes in Guilt songs.
Rollicking Jolly Boy division. This type often comes in gangs,
complete with banjos, jugs, kazoos, and an assortment of bawdy
songs, usually of Welsh origin. These young men, when out for a high
time on the town, have often been known to drink as many as two
malted milks. One once kissed a girl. Heavy Princeton ac-cent.
Scholarly Division. Usually comes in threes. Heavily de-greed, Most
often led by bespectacled man with PH. D. They specialize in College
Humor-type patter consisting mainly of snide remarks regarding the
Sociology Department. Very big on LP. Their singing is negligible
but their personalities exude the Eibald Academician. Strong Bronx
accent.
Rollicking Welsh-Irish-English-Scandinavian-(fill in nationality) -
Revolutionary Group. This group is usually fresh from a notably
unsuccessful career on the Continent. Specializes in twinkling eye
and high performances fees. Are considered thoroughly Authentic.
Lonesome Traveler. Male counterpart of "C". Thin, nervous, intense
young man. Skin pale. Specializes in long, pregnant, meaningful
pauses between songs, wrestling with great Emotion. Usually comes
from very wealthy family. Sings of Suffering and Grief. Also
specializes in Guilt songs. Brings out strong desire to play Mother
on part of female listeners. Accent usually Cultured Eastern with
slight touch of New Jersey. Forget it, girls. He has other fish to
fry.
Elderly Negro. Appears on midweek show for brief session between "C"
and "E". Ignored by audience.
Once in the spotlight, their technique varies some depending on
their Message. Obviously "C" does not Come On in the same style as
"D", but in all divisions one thing is fairly consistent - the
bearing of a Message, and, of course, Authenticity. No one quite
knows Authentic What, but Authenticity, like Sincerity, is
ubiquitous these days and is a commodity much like freshness in
bread and mildness in cigarettes. No bread is complete without
freshness; no cigarette would dare to be other than mild. So it is
with the simple college Folk Pilgrims of today.
For example, "E" might begin their program (after suitable winks of
recognition at the assembled audience) with:
"The first song that we’re going to sing is a simple little
Appalachian Mountain ballad, combining the Old English harmonic and
melodic line with the deep concern of these hardy mountain folk for
their right to live as individuals and lead their lives according to
the dictates of their own free and independent natures"
"C" doesn’t actually Come On in the accepted sense, but appears
wraithlike out of the smoky darkness, almost as a Madonna. This
division usually works seated and begins the act by the skillful use
of a long period of pregnant silence during which the performer
usually looks soulfully down at the guitar or at the cigar butt
laden floor. And then, as emotion wells up through her thin, frail
body, we hear a tiny voice singing of Struggle and Truth. Needless
to say, this division is highly successful and commands fantastic
fees. It is not easy to be a Messenger of Truth.
"B", on the other hand, strides onstage carrying his guitar as
though it were a hod of bricks; pauses for a brief moment in the
spotlight before the microphone, legs spread wide. The simple worker
of the field, after a short defiant glare at the audience, belts out
his first song of Simple Toil. He is particularly enjoyed by those
who once - in their sixteenth year - had a job delivering groceries
for the Food Fair and who remember well their days of sweat and
blood. This type is re-knowned for once having had an Actual Job.
This fact is made much of in all his album-cover notes. True he held
the job for less than two months since it was a Summer spent between
his Junior and Senior years at Swarthmore, but it has served him
well. Steelworkers find him incomprehensible, but he is a true
harbinger of the simple life to Coffee-House Toilers.
"G" uses technique quite similar to "C". However, has some trouble
with Madonna role, preferring a more Christlike en-trance. Usually
more popular with intense, angry girls than with their dates. His
sensitivity is staggering.
The others are self-explanatory, with the possible exception of "F".
These groups usually work in rumpled suits and sweaty white shirts,
quite often coming onstage under the feigned or actual influence of
alcohol to show clearly their folksy European earthiness. Belting
one another on the back with loud, Babbitt-like claps of bonhomie,
they usually begin their act by Insulting The English, thus
establishing the incontrovertible fact that they are True Rebels. Of
course the English are three thousand five hundred miles away and
the issue has long since been settled, and furthermore their
existence is totally unknown to those against whom they are
"rebelling". Nonetheless, this show of bravado particularly warms
the cockles of the Sophomore heart - who feels that he is also a
True Rebel against the tyranny of Mother and The Faculty. Not to
mention Rotten Society.
"H", it is sad to relate, has always had trouble Coming On, so
naturally fails to Establish His Identity with the truth seekers. He
has never been recorded.
There are several types which we have not mentioned due to space
limitations. Among them is the Sweet Country Girl, the Painter Folk
Singer, the Teaneck (NJ) Rider Of The Purple Sage, and the bearded
Obscenity Specialist. After these, there are numerous sub-types,
usually consisting of borrowings from one or the other of the major
divisions.
I hate to tell you this, but the REAL folksinger is a little bit
different. He arrives up on the stage, and you hear:
"Ptttttttttt. HAAAAAUUUU-UUUUGGGGHHHHH - PTUI!" He’s clearing the
pipes.
"Boing. Boing, boing. Bwaaan-nng." He tunes the guitar a little. And
then he says:
"HEY, WILL SOMEBODY TURN DOWN THET DAYUM RADIATUH! MAH STRINGS IS
ALL LOOSE! SONOVA-BIUTGH!"
I’ll tell you another thing about. the real folksingers, the real
folk-singers. Hardly any of them are Tortured. The only time they’re
Tortured is when somebody steals their jug. And as far as being
tortured about Relations, Integration, Building The Railroad,
Chopping Down Trees For The Union Pacific - forget it. They never
heard of it.
Now I can hear all the CCNY Folk Addicts hollering:
"That’s not Folk music, that’s Country music."
Well where the devil do you think the Folk «re? They’re in the
country!
And there’s not one sliver of Suffering in a carload.
He then leers for a good thirty seconds at all the nearest girls in
the audience, jaw hanging s’lackly. Behind him, his partner has
warmed up his electric guitar. He has been drinking. For real.
Big Cousin Ed spits again and begins in this fashion:
"Well, naow. Dayum. These pants is gittin’ tight. Guess ah been
stuffin’ it away too much."
Winks leeringly at aforementioned girls. Little Dickie begins with
loud electric G-Minor chord. He is getting restless.
At this point, Large, beefy, red-necked citizen wearing blue
over-alls and sitting near the door at the rear of the hall bellows:
"Hey Ed, you still payin’ ali-mony to Marcie Lou?" Big Ed, after
guffaws from audience have subsided, reposts:
"Not unless she ketches me, by God!"
This business goes on for several minutes; sometimes hours. At one
point Big Cousin Ed says:
"Well, ah got this old song mah old grandaddy use to sing when he
was fulla Ole Gran’ Dad.."
More guffaws, and they’re off.
Let me tell you, one of those cats shows up at The Bitter End and
within thirty seconds he is out sliding right down McDougal Street
on the back of his neck. |
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Copyright © 1964 Hootenanny Magazine
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