Tony Rice passes

Tony Rice, Innovative Bluegrass Guitarist, Dead at 69" Joseph Hudak 

Remembering Andy M. Stewart

Andy M. Stewart died on December 27, 2015.

Obituary: Andy M Stewart, singer and songwriter" David Pollack

"Andy M Stewart (1952-2015)" Jim Gilchrist

His most moving song:

"Land O' The Leal"

"It describes the grief of a dying mother whose daughter has died and who hopes to join her in the Land o’ the Leal – the land of the loyal, that is to say, Heaven." Bob Leslie

"I'm wearin' awa' Jean,

Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean,

I'm wearin' awa'

To the land o' the leal.

There's nae sorrow there, Jean

There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,

The day's aye fair

In the land o' the leal.

 

To me ye hae bee true Jean,

Your task's ended noo, Jean

For near kythes my view

O' the land o' the leal.

Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,

She was baith gude and fair, Jean,

And, oh! we grud'd her sair

To the land o' the leal.

 

But dry that tearfu' ee Jean,

Grieve na for her and me, Jean

Frae sin and sorrow free

I' the land o' the leal.

Now fare ye weel, may ain Jean!

This warld's cares are vain, Jean,

We'll meet and aye be fein

I' the land o' the leal"

Penguin Eggs ends its run

 "Edmonston-born folk magazine Penguin Eggs folds after 23-year run"  Tom Murray

Remembering Phil Ochs

"Phil Ochs Turns 80 Years Old Today" Ross Altman, December 19, 2020

Diving into Bruce Springsteen's "The River"

The River

Everyone has his or her Bruce Springsteen favorites and here's why "The River" strikes such a deep chord within me. 

For background, it's a deviation from Springsteen's earlier songwriting generally featuring fantastical figures and others cavorting amidst gritty cityscapes.

How he sets up/unfolds "The River" is also different than his earlier works -- a biographical extrapolation of sorts featuring early moments in the marriage between his sister and brother-in-law. It opens with the blossoming of a relationship buoyed with the typical hopes and dreams for the future. But reality soon intrudes:

"I got a job working construction for the Johnstown Company

But lately there ain't been much work on account of the economy

Now all them things that seemed so important

Well, mister, they vanished right into the air

Now I just act like I don't remember

And Mary acts like she don't care"

Those last two lines above are explosive while simultaneously matter-of-fact raw. Yet critically, no fingers are pointed or blame levied. The state of the pairing is what it is.

The following verse recalls what was once tenderly shared but now is achingly lost, or hopefully just misplaced: 

"But I remember us riding in my brother's car

Her body tan and wet down at the reservoir

At night on them banks I'd lie awake

And pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take

Now those memories come back to haunt me

They haunt me like a curse

Is a dream a lie if it don't come true

Or is it something worse?"

Overall, "The River" has a haunting effect even if the tale is not an experience familiar to the listener. It's painful to hear about the dormant bond between the couple.

It also makes us want to feel this special connection in our own lives, this primacy of living at its most connected, that they once enjoyed. 

"The Sound of One Hand Writing" a song minus music

The next three entries are from my song collection, minus music since I have no capability of providing such.

You know the saying that you can’t un-see certain things? The following words, once read, might fall into that category.

I’m still on my John Prine-ish (if that isn’t heresy) binge. 

Hopefully, this will be the end of my moving in this direction. If not, an intervention, followed by a 12 step group, might be required. Or a shunning.

---

I got a woodpecker in my pants

some mistake it for a fer-de-lance

it makes my legs sway to and fro

although both my feet flatly say no

 

I’m stuck with a pair of alligator arms

don’t worry, they’ll do ya no harm

And the eyes I own aren’t the same size

On the beauty way, I’ll win no prize

 

(Chorus) We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte

 

My disks are each fully fragmented

still in place, yes, but slightly dented

biting into moon pies makes me giggle

when I get up, my thighs they wiggle

 

I need to minimize my gluteus max

ain’t all diets a personal sin-tax?

lost count adding up my multiple chins

Let’s call it a maximizing of all my skin

 

We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte

 

My nose knows what’s fingerlickin’ good

food tasting should be my livelihood

In my boyhood I was just misunderstood

Not too many spark plugs under my hood

 

Some call me a friggin’ human hammerhead

poundin’ roofing nails are my butter and bread

my head is now just one huge cranial cavity

my biceps theys inverted but I think its gravity

 

We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte

 

You know my toes, they refuse to twinkle

when it come to snorin’ I’m Rip Van Winkle

my pecs been the victim of some kidnapping

I’m a piss poor candidate for chromosome mapping

 

The few muscles in me are the slow twitch kind

I’m disinclined to ever seek peace of mind

nobodys ever asked me to pee in a cup

cause my human algorithm has never added up

 

We have our bodies til death do us part

I think mine was assembled a la carte

"Johnny Spillane" a song minus music

 Got to have at least one olde Irish ditty in the repertoire.

Johnny Spillane be my name
I’m neither of fortune or fame
but with my able hardy back
I climbed out of the potato sack
and made a family and a living

Life was bleak in County Cork
me the twelfth coming of the stork
my family had neither land
nor any opportunity at hand
so I shipped off to Ameri-cay

Having no papers or money
oh, that land of milk and honey
she was mighty, mighty harsh
it being ‘no dogs and no Irish’
so I did what I had to do

Getting off that bottom rung
was no sweet sung song
the dollars and coins were sweated
as I obeyed and marionetted
biding my time all the while

Then I caught me a lucky break
an offer from a Mallow rake
to supply the needed muscle
enforcing his wayward hustle
and my pockets began to fill

Now, I sit behind a desk
others working at my behest
a society respected man
who started with nary a plan
blessed, if there be a God

My past, I keep it well hidden
when I was doing others’ bidding
for no one would ever believe
what I did so I could achieve
and drag myself out of the gutter

Now I’m acting like the Cromwell Brits
it gives my elderly parents fits
scorning the powerless once like me
though they’re not truly a threat as I see
all they want is their dreams to be

"Carrying the Poisin" a song minus music

 * Inspired by the Bruce Springsteen song “Highway Patrolman”

 

We was raised on a family farm way out of town

sharecroppin’ wasn’t easy but the lifeblood we found

two boys, me and Jed, our sister Rose died at eleven

buried past the barn when he was twelve and I ten

one day here, then gone, Mama said it was the fever

told me not to say a word and everyone believed her

 

Soon Jed turned dark, just ugly treating others

we was the same but so unlike blood brothers

he earned a reputation, it spread and soiled me

kids would quietly edge away, watching fearfully

Becky Cook took to likin’ me, be it luck or fate

with her I felt alive, liftin’ the heaviest of weight

 

Chorus

Life moves on but absence ain’t just not being seen

Dark holes in families, living in the shadows between

 

My parents said don’t you dare bring her around

When I’d ask why, they’d say you just calm down

Jed told me do it, with a look like he knew more

Then he’d smirk and continue with his chores

one day Becky called wanting to see me all alone

Daddy and Mama in town, Jed to parts unknown

 

She showed up and I told her I liked her smile

I went for a favorite book, floatin’ all the while

when I returned, she was gone less one shoe remaining

I called her name to no answer, cryin’ a silent prayer

then I heard a scream outside and tore into the yard

Jed was draggin’ Becky like an animal to discard

 

Chorus

Life moves on but absence ain’t just not being seen

Dark holes in families, living in the shadows between

 

Jed turned, let her go, then ran into the barn

Becky shaking, her dress dirty and blood adorned

Daddy’s truck appeared, he asked “why’s she here?”

“Jed hurt Becky” and Daddy’s eyes emitted fear

“Where’s Jed?” “He’s in the barn and I want at him”

Daddy had Mama take us inside, him pale and grim

 

A shot rang out and Daddy took two hours to return

sayin’ “there’ll be no more problems, nothing of concern”

one day later, he spoke again, “it’s time for the truth”

He said, “Emory, this is gonna taste like bitterroot

it was evil but family, what Jed did to our sweet Rose

but taking it outside us left me nothing but what I chose”

 

Chorus

Life moves on but absence ain’t just not being seen

Dark holes in families, living in the shadows between

 

A decade on, shivering under the strain of a demon seed

so why Jed and not me doing these dirty deeds?

Why his end while Becky blessed me with her grace?

Will my family legacy lure me to such an evil place?

My 2020 Holiday Ditty

Santa Claus is now consistently blitzed

The sleigh is perpetually on the fritz

and the elves are demanding to be called little people

St. Nick can no longer take the heat

moaning "Jeff Bezos just can't be beat"

noting the North Pole ain't exactly a commerce hub

Just what else could go wrong?

Jeez, is that Rudolph smoking a bong?

and now he and his fellow flyers want to join the Teamsters

Santa can't tell Dancer and Prancer apart

yep, it's long past due for a heart-to-heart

for Blitzen's kibitzing with Vixen and Cupid's flinging daggers

The working conditions are extremely tense

buoyed no more by free myrrh and frankincense

Wunorse Openslae and two other elves have filed for disability

It was way past time for an intervention

or maybe a simple circumvention

is there anyone up to fulfilling Father Christmas' challenge?

Shouting "Whoa, red went out with the Cold War"

arrived that mainstay heroine of feminist lore

The only being who could rectify this Kris Kringle disaster

She's a far distant niece of Santa, this Santee

as competent as only a woman can be

but can she alone turn the tide on Yule's unfinished business?

Full of fire and pure impropriety

proud bearer of her glamorous notoriety

Santee was a ninja before being a ninja was cool

"Get me the addresses and names"

"We'll haul my uncle's butt out of the flames"

"Me and my fierce lady warrior Amazonias will finish the job"

There was no time to dillydally

Aboard came Artemisia, Boudica and Grace O'Malley

Little Debbie was in if no ho-ho's were to be served or uttered

Logistics being the entire key

Undelivered gifts equal outright blasphemy

Santee needed her wizardly wizardesses to step up grande

So out went an air force of drones apace

enveloping the universe's deep dark space

the deliverance of offerings on their way to the deserving

All the children received their fervent wishes

alongside the ranks of the blessed moral militias

for it's the choice of deeds and not waste-of-oxygen speakers that matter

Santee later checked in with her uncle

Him now imbibing only the nectar of honeysuckle

she wanted to know if his holiday wishes came true

"They certainly did my fair niece"

"I'm now clad only in blue-tinged fleece"

"Might I call you now the one and only Christmas chaffeuse?"

"No, this was just a one-off event"

"I'm now seeking out other discontents"

"You can rest assured future December 25s are in many good hands"

"The Troubadour Chronicles" by Harvey Reid

 "History Matters: Harvey Reid pens troubadour history" J. Dennis Robinson

Reid has a new book out on his life in music.

Mike Regenstreif's Top 10 releases for 2020

 Mike Regenstreif has posted his Top 10 releases for 2020 choices.

The Folk Radio UK reviewers makes their choices

 "Best Folk Music Albums of 2020" Alex Gallacher 

Presenting David Rovics

"On the Streets, In Union Halls, On the Frontlines: Have Guitar, Will Travel"  Paul Header

Danny Schmidt adding excellent songs

Danny Schmidt has produced some new songs during the coronavirus pandemic and each ranks among his best work. His next release will be filed with stop-you-in-your-tracks-and just-listen cuts.

Here you go:

"A Prayer For The Sane" April 7, 2020

"2020 Vision" April 30, 2020

"Black and Blue" July 4, 2020

Eye-opening (and hopefully mind-opening) history

The FBI’s War on Folk Music" Alexander Billet

Arlo Guthrie looks back

 "Folk Singer Arlo Guthrie Reflects On A Life Spent Making Music" Lauren Daley

Digging into "Tangled Up In Blue"

"In Praise of Bob Dylan’s Narrative Strategies…and His Verbs  Tony Conniff Goes Deep on 'Tangled Up in Blue'"

Excellent piece on Welch and Rawlings

 "How Gillian Welch and David Rawlings Held On To Optimism"  Hanif Abdurraqib

Remembering Terence Martin who died in 2011

"Remembering Terence Martin, A Gifted Singer-Songwriter" Michael Kornfeld

Martin's official obituary.

One of his best creations: 

Remembering Eva Cassidy who died in 1996

 

EVA CASSIDY DIES AT 33

Claudia Levy, Washington Post, November 6, 1996

Eva Cassidy, 33, an award-winning jazz and blues singer and acoustic guitarist whose first solo recording, "Live at Blues Alley," was described by a newspaper critic as "an unqualified triumph" when it was released this year, died of cancer Nov. 2 at her home in Bowie.

Regarded as an up-and-coming young singer whose voice ranged from electrifyingly piercing to smokily intimate, Miss Cassidy performed at local clubs, toured nationally with the jazz group Pieces of a Dream and won five Washington Area Music Association awards (Wammies) for traditional jazz and rock singing. She recorded with Chuck Brown, the godfather of go-go music.

Joel Siegel, of the Washington City Paper, said her solo recording was one of the "most arresting vocal collections in years."

After Miss Cassidy's cancer was diagnosed this year, FM radio stations WPFW and WDCU devoted shows to her work, and benefits were staged to help her raise money for treatment. At a recent benefit and tribute held for her at the Bayou, at which a dozen musicians performed, she was given an honorary gold record from the Recording Industry Association of America.

Jazz saxophonist Ron Holloway described Miss Cassidy as having "an unusual amount of feeling and soulfulness in her voice, and that comes from inside her." Brown, her frequent musical partner, said that on first hearing her voice, he was impressed with its sweet, golden and mellow qualities.

Miss Cassidy, who was born in Washington and raised in Oxon Hill and Bowie, began singing and playing guitar as a child, appearing with family members at local functions. She began her professional career at the Black Pawn Recording Studio in Rockville, providing backup vocals for local and national artists.

Four years ago, she recorded her first CD, a collection of pop standards called "The Other Side," with Brown. Washington Post critic Mike Joyce said her appearance on a recording by Pieces of a Dream was welcome and heartfelt, providing the distinctive personality the band had lacked in the past.

Miss Cassidy was a graduate of Bowie High School and attended Prince George's Community College. She worked from 1981 until last year as a plant tender at the Behnke garden center in Beltsville. She also painted custom furniture as an artist for a company in Annapolis.

Survivors include her parents, Barbara Cassidy and Hugh Cassidy, both of Bowie; two sisters, Margret Cassidy of Bowie and Anette Kass of Charlottesville; and a brother, Daniel Cassidy of Iceland.

Cassidy's obituary

Her music

Remembering Al Grierson who died in 2000

Texas flood claims folk singer, but his music lives on

John North

CNN.com Writer

November 5, 2000

(CNN.com) -- A poet died in Texas the other night, swept away in a flash flood after his pickup truck stalled in high water a couple miles from home in the rolling, dusty Hill Country.

Around central Texas, Al Grierson, 52, was known as the "Poet Laureate of Luckenbach," a reference to that afterthought of a hamlet made famous by singer-songwriter Waylon Jennings.

But the Canadian-born Grierson's reputation loomed much larger than a fanciful title in a town of 25. He was internationally lauded among folk singers and songwriters, and he was a regular at the world-renowned Kerrville Folk Festival in nearby Kerrville, Texas.

Singer-songwriter Anne Feeney of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, is getting ready to record a couple of his songs next week. Feeney said Saturday the group Peter, Paul and Mary are currently performing a song she wrote. But she can think of five songs by her old friend Grierson that they should be playing today.

He was a man who could stare up at the ceiling and solve the mysteries of life, or write about 50-cent sneakers and $5 wine. He could play a thousand traditional songs, from work songs to British and Irish pub tunes, and compose a most romantic tribute to a woman he'd only just met.

While irked that Grierson chose Thursday to step out of his pickup and into the water -- "He knows better!" she fumed -- Feeney also sees poetic sense in the folk singer's death.

"I hope he had a moment to savor before it was over," she told CNN.com. "How many people get a chance to be swept away by the raw forces of nature? It's actually pretty astonishing."

Humble eloquence

Twice-divorced and a father of several children, Alan David Grierson was a lifelong wanderer who knew as much about philosophy, literature and history as many a college professor.

A former Buddhist monk, he lived in a red 1977 International Harvester school bus in a makeshift camp called Armadillo Farm outside Luckenbach, located about 80 miles west of Austin, Texas.

Except for his Guild guitar, possessions meant little to Grierson. But he was an inveterate e-mailer who ran his own Web site, Feeney said.

Clint Harding, who hosts the weekly "Blue Highways" radio and Web folk music program from St. Louis, Missouri, could see his old friend clearly Saturday as he described him for CNN.com. Grierson stood maybe 5 feet 8 inches, wore wire-rim glasses, sported a sweat-soaked hat on shoulder-length gray hair and had weather-worn skin that made him look older than his years.

"He looked like he'd just gotten off a train somewhere, but he was one of the most gentle people," Harding said. "As soon as you met him, you felt that he cared about you and he'd known you for a long time."

Among folk singers and writers, he inspired awe because he could write such perfect songs, Feeney said. He was a two-time finalist in the Napa Valley Music and Wine Festival's emerging songwriter showcase and a former guest on National Public Radio's "River City Folk" program.

In 1995, Grierson recorded his first album, "Things That Never Added Up to Me," followed last year by "A Candle for Durruti." Both frequent playlists on folk radio around the world.

Feeney said he referred to her as his "fairy godmother" because she often went around the nation touting his work. But Feeney said she was more than a friend. She admired his talent.

"He was such a truly humble man," she said. "He'd say, 'Oh, it's so great that you're singing my songs!' Can you imagine Cole Porter saying that? He really was just a deeply humble man with a tremendous vision."

He also was generous with his time. On the night the swirling waters carried him away, Grierson was headed home after performing at a school.

Rainy night, rushing water

The police reports from the Gillespie County, Texas, Sheriff's Department are quite simple.

About 5:45 p.m. Thursday, while on a rural road three miles from Luckenbach, Grierson's northbound pickup came to a section of high water. Heavy rains in central Texas have killed at least five people in recent days, and lingering showers are expected through Friday, said sheriff's Sgt. Jim Judd.

When Grierson tried to cross the water, the truck stalled. As Grierson stepped into the floods he was swept away.

Rescue teams searched without luck through the night, Judd said. Grierson's body was found at mid-morning Friday, about two miles from where he'd left the pickup.

A Gillespie County justice of the peace pronounced him dead at the scene.

Judd remembered seeing him around Gillespie County and knew he lived at the Armadillo Farm.

"We're small enough in population to where it doesn't take long for the deputies to know people," he said. "I recognized his vehicle and kinda knew who he was."

Judd also knew that Grierson was a singer. Matter of fact, he recalled that authorities found the man's guitar after Grierson disappeared. It was still in its case, sitting in the pickup.

Til the Circle is Complete

About that pickup -- Harding can't help but see the irony that Grierson died because of it. Friends helped him buy it after he very boldly sent out a computer message this year asking for their help when his old vehicle gave out in the spring.

It didn't cost much, but Grierson was proud of his wheels, Harding said.

"He was just starting to get some bookings, some opportunities where transportation would be necessary," he said.

Feeney last performed with Grierson a couple weeks ago in Austin. Even though he's gone, she said she takes comfort in knowing that he enjoyed every moment as if it were his last. Among friends and loved ones, he never left anything unsaid.

There's also the legacy of his music, Feeney said.

"Al will be around as long as people sing his songs," she said.

Grierson's memorial service will be put on by friends and fellow musicians this Wednesday at one of Al's favorite Austin hangouts, Artz Rib House, where mourners will be encouraged to sing songs, read poems, and tell stories.

Perhaps one of the songs sung at the service will be "Til the Circle is Complete," a favorite from Grierson's first album. Some like to play it at weddings, some like to play it at christenings and some like to play it at funerals.

To Harding and Feeney, it's as fitting a eulogy as any that could be written about the eclectic entertainer. In one section, Grierson sings of living and dying:

"May you set your shoes to dancing
in the hour of your death
and meet it with the courage it deserves.
May your shadow pass in pirouettes
of such amazing grace
that the tears of those who mourn you
disappear without a trace
In a smoke that shapes their sorrow
to the fading of your feet
In a ring around the rainbow
where the circle is complete."

More on Grierson's life

"Old Coyote" is one of Grierson's best and fully displays his lyrical talent.

"I've been reading all about it in the annals of some ancient lore,

How you were smuggled through the garden by the angel at the basement door,

And while the serpent in the branches held the mother of the world beguiled,

You were pissin' on the Tree of Knowledge while the Good Lord smiled.

Old coyote

Little brother of necessity and the seeker of the sacred clown,

Old Coyote,

You're the fire in the water and the diamonds in the cold cold ground.

On the mountain top with Moses and with Daniel in the lions den,

In the bedroom with Delilah -- in the hollow in the hearts of men,

On the hill on Friday Evening when the soldiers rolled them bones,

In the garden Sunday mornin' when they rolled away the stone.

Old Coyote,

On the edges of eternity dancin' through the crack of dawn,

Old Coyote,

With a pearly white Madonna and the devil with the blue dress on.

In the bed between the Travellin' Salesman and the Farmer's Daughter,

At the elbow of the preacher when the wine turned back to water,

In the cabin of a smokin' locomotive on a high speed train,

Between the Tower of Babel and the cities of the plain.

Old Coyote,

You're a 30-carat Buddha in a barrel full of old tin cans,

Old Coyote,

Just a loose screw messin' with the engine of our best laid plans.

Now there's an ancient city hidden deep beneath the waves,

It was founded on the principles of justice -- and the sweat of slaves,

And I heard a lot about it in a New Age gospel hymn,

But I ain't never gonna wade in any water where the fish won't swim.

Old Coyote,

In a verticle position while the world walks upside down,

Old Coyote,

At the center of the circle while the wheel goes 'round and 'round.

Now there's a big wind blowin' down the cities from the outlaw trail

You can even hear it whistle in the belly of the great white whale,

Hear it howlin' through the desert where Ezekial saw the wheel,

From the breath upon the water to the breaking of the seventh seal.

Is this the end of history or just a wagon full of roses standin' at the gates of Rome

The devil's army on the deep blue sea,

Or just the legions of the lonely only lookin' for the long way home.

'Cause there's an angel with a trumpet in the graveyard where the night wind groans,

Hear it echo from the brothel on the bayou where the black snake moans,

From the Playboy mansion to the penthouse to the pool,

From the palace of the kingdom to the alley where the mad dogs rule.

Waitin' for the holocaust--

waitin' for the fire that was promised at the end of time,

Waitin' for the Pentacost

Hidin' like a phoenix in the ashes and the ice cold lime.

Old Coyote,

At the center of the chaos waitin' since the Lord knows when,

Old Coyote,

Gonna wait a little longer 'till it all comes 'round again.

Little brother of necessity -- the seeker and the sacred clown,

You're the fire in the water and the diamonds in the cold cold ground,

A 30-carat Buddha in a barrel full o' old tin cans,

Just a loose screw messin' with the engine of our best laid plans,

Old Coyote,

In a vertical position while the world walks upside down,

Old Coyote,

At the center of the circle while the wheel goes 'round and 'round.

Old Coyote,

At the center of the circle while the wheel goes 'round and 'round."

Highlights from Jeff Emery's "Backroads" show, KZSC, Santa Cruz, CA

A few timely selections from Jeff Emery's Sunday, November 2 show:

Billy Joe Shaver passes

"Billy Joe Shaver, singer-songwriter and hero of 'outlaw' country, dies at 81"  Variety

Jerry Jeff Walker passes

 Jerry Jeff Walker, Country Music Legend and 'Mr. Bojangles' Songwriter, Dies at 78" Associated Press

Lehrer's music enters the public domain

Satirist Tom Lehrer 'publicizes' his music catalogue.

Here's just one sample.

Rosanne Cash's latest single

Rosanne Cash with a new offering covering past and present.

Examining Gregory Alan Isakov's music

"Gateways: Gregory Alan Isakov’s songs for October and a Folk Homecoming   How the South African-American artist's twangy debut helped me reckon with my American identity while abroad" Katherine Smith

New Martin Simpson release in November

"MARTIN SIMPSON ANNOUNCES NEW ALBUM & SHARES ‘OCTOBER SONG’" FRUK

Elizabeth Thomson with a Joan Baez biography

'"Joan Baez: The Last Leaf' Book Excerpt: How the Folk Icon Ended Up on Vanguard" Billboard

Steve Goodman, Kris Kristofferson and John Prine

As an unknown, John Prine led off with "Sam Stone," "Hello in There," "Paradise," "Donald and Lydia" and "Illegal Smile" in his first meeting with Kris Kristofferson.

Simply amazing. It might make a lesser artist decide he's in the wrong endeavor.

Diana Jones with a moving new CD

DIANA JONES: SONG TO A REFUGEE" Dave McNally

A new and different LW III offering

"LOUDON WAINWRIGHT III – I’D RATHER LEAD A BAND" Bob Fish

Darlingside with a new release

"The Unshakable Companionship Of Darlingside, Boston's Indie Folk Darlings" Charley Ruddell

Love this one from Darlingside in 2018: 

Dylan's "Rough and Rowdy Ways" gets a thumbs up

Bob Dylan 2020: Listen Twice, It's Alright" Mark Simmet

A review of Kris Delmhorst's new CD

"KRIS DELMHORST – LONG DAY IN THE MILKY WAY" Bob Fish 

Government, politics and music

"THE FBI, THE SECOND RED SCARE, AND THE FOLK SINGER WHO COOPERATED" Aaron J. Leonard

and

"Book review: Folk singers, the Communist Party, and the FBI, 1939-1956" Tony Pecinovsky 

Insert "western Maryland" for "West Virginia"?

Did W.Va. Inspire 'Country Roads'? 50 Years Later, Here's What We Know" Roxy Todd

Dylan with a no-no

 How Bob Dylan broke an unwritten rule of folk music by recording ‘House of the Rising Sun’" Jack Whatley

Finbar Furey looks back

"'WE HAD A BALL' Folk legend Finbar Furey reveals he never had bank account insisting ‘if there’s a few bob missing, I don’t give a f***’" Ken Sweeney 

A review of the new Daniel Rodriguez CD "Sojourn of a Burning Sun"

"Boulder Musician Daniel Rodriguez Releases Debut Solo Album After Band And Romantic Breakups" Xandra McMahon 

Bill Callahan's new CD "Gold Record"

"Bill Callahan: “I wanted to write about the entirety of human existence in one song”   The singer-songwriter's new album, 'Gold Record', is his lightest and most playful to date, bringing – as he always has – a deep romance to the everyday" Patrick Clarke

Digging into Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah"

 Grab a shovel: 

"Hidden Hallelujah: Cohen's classic keeps us guessing" Andrew Ford and Anni Heino

"The Many Lives of Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah'" Kenneth Partridge

"Without John Cale, Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’ would’ve been forgotten" Jack Whatley

"How Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’ Brilliantly Mingled Sex, Religion   Read story behind legendary artist’s most famous song, excerpted from Alan Light’s 2012 book ‘The Holy or the Broken’" Rolling Stone

"Leonard Cohen, Hallelujah: the meaning of the lyrics" Francesco Agrelli

Chris Smither keepin' on

 "Shutdown can’t keep folk legend Chris Smither from playing" Brett Milano 

Background on "Angel from Montgomery"

 "Behind the Song: “Angel from Montgomery” by John Prine" Paul Zollo

Background on "Me and Bobby McGee"

 "Behind the Song: “Me and Bobby McGee” by Kris Kristofferson & Fred Foster" Paul Zollo

Utah Phillips documentary on-line

"Folk music is the music of the people: Documentary about Utah Phillips available online this weekend" Rebecca O'Neill

A Fascinating Feature

 "The Bard   One man’s quest to save the music of the Holocaust." Makana Eyre

A Gordon Lightfoot documentary

"Gordon Lightfoot put Canada on the musical map" Brooks Robards

Reviewing Ben Bedford's new release

"BEN BEDFORD: PORTRAITS" Glenn Kimpton

Digging into "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down'

"The Troublesome Case of “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down”   Is the Band’s classic song really a requiem for the Lost Cause?" Jack Hamilton

New music on Victor Jara's Life and Death

"Víctor Jara: The folk singer murdered for his music" Dorian Lynskey

Love this article

"Learning to Write From Willie Nelson and One of the Greatest Albums of the 1970s   Odie Lindsey on POV Shifts and Moral Dilemmas on Red Headed Stranger" 

Michael P. Smith passes

"Michael P. Smith, much-recorded star of Chicago’s folk and club scene, dead at 78" Maureen O'Donnell

On Protest Songs

"How protest songs echo — and sometimes lead — the stories of our times    Neil Young's anti-war anthem "Ohio" was a form of activist journalism"  Dale Keiger

A review of Mary Chapin Carpenter's new release

"MARY CHAPIN CARPENTER: THE DIRT AND THE STARS" Mike Davies

A Gordon Lightfoot documentary

"‘Gordon Lightfoot: If You Could Read My Mind’ Review: A Troubadour Looks Back
The singer-songwriter, now 81, is frank about his own work and refreshingly open to today’s music." Glenn Kenny

Pete Morton with a 2020 release

"Interview with Pete Morton" Simon Jones

"Pete Morton – A Golden Thread: Album Review" Mike Ainscow

A roundup of January - June 2020 folk favorites

"The Folk Tree's Favorite Releases Of 2020 (So Far)" Karen Impola

Bill Morrissey died in 2011

Bill Morrissey's words and voice offered moments of joy, certainly elements of despair, touches of humor, hard-earned knowledge and oh so accessible human experiences. He left us on this day in 2011. The following are a handful of his many musical highlights:



The house burned down on a rainy night and I never did find out why
I just stood alone ‘neath the silver maple – trying to keep my cigarettes dry
Waiting for the fireman I couldn’t save a thing
And deep within my home above the roar of the flames – I thought I heard a telephone ring
The rain let up and we worked till dawn – just me and the fireman
And when they cut the power the line went dead and I never got called again
The house was gone by the break of dawn, the air was cold and grey
I just set off down the road alone – but it’s always gone that way

 So young, so long ago, I thought I heard that train
Calling out my name – well it sounded like my name
Just a boy with no direction – I left my home behind
And the sky changed colors once I crossed that town line
My good friends did the best they could to hold me down with them
But I took one look, I packed my bags and I slipped around the bend
The lessons came from left and right – the first night out I found
All the laws were not made to protect the man from out of town

There was a cold town on the seacoast I once tried to call home
And the church steeples rose up above that town like broken bones
Drinking whiskey with a catholic priest one night in the rectory hall
He just closed his eyes and said, ‘you never know when Jesus calls’
Then his eyes got wide and he looked around and he just could not explain
like he heard the sound of Jesus laugh, the way I heard that train

Now the years and the faces blurs till I can’t remember some
There were women washing windows, there were salesgirls chewing gum
There were curses in the shapes of old men kneeling in the pews
There are things in this life a man just does not get to choose
Finally I found a home in a tiny mountain town
A simple place to keep me dry when the rains came pouring down
A place to sleep, the rent was cheap, brick walls and a new slate roof
The landlord said, ‘You’ll be safe here, this house is fireproof


They sat at each end of the couch, watched as the fire burned down,
So quiet on this winter's night, not a house light on for miles around.
Then he said, "I think I'll fill the stove. it's getting time for bed."
She looked up, "I think I'll have some wine.
how 'bout you?" she asked and he declined.

"Warren," she said, "maybe just for tonight,
Let's fill the stove with birches
and watch as the fire burns bright.
How long has it been? I know it's quite a while.
Pour yourself half a glass.
Stay with me a little while."

And Warren, he shook his head,
as if she'd made some kind of joke.
"Birches on a winter night?
no, we'll fill the stove with oak.
Oak will burn as long and hot as a July afternoon,
And birch will burn itself out by the rising of the moon.

"And you hate a cold house, same as me.
Am I right or not?"
"All right, all right, that's true," she said.
"It was just a thought, 'Cause," she said,
"Cause, Warren, you do look tired.
Maybe you should go up to bed.
I'll look after the fire tonight."
"Oak," he told her. "Oak," she said.

She listened to his footsteps
as he climbed up the stairs,
And she pulled a sweater on her,
set her wineglass on a chair.
She walked down cellar to the wood box
it was as cold as an ice chest
And climbed back up with four logs,
each as white as a wedding dress.
And she filled the stove and poured the wine
and she sat down on the floor.
She curled her legs beneath her
as the fire sprang to life once more.

And it filled the room with a hungry light
and it cracked as it drew air,
And the shadows danced a jittery waltz
like no one else was there.
 And she stood up in the heat.
She twirled around the room.
And the shadows they saw nothing
but a young girl on her honeymoon.
And she knew the time it would be short;
soon the fire would start to fade.
She thought of heat.
She thought of time.
She called it an even trade.


They used to come to town from the naval base
Lookin' for a stiff drink and a pretty face
Hang around the whorehouses all night long
Some were drifters and some were bums
Some were just waiting for the war to come
Out behind the factory
With a bottle and a factory girl.

Well, that December, war broke out
Many a woman lost her man
Some wrote from overseas; some didn't
And their women didn't understand
And the whores left for the harbor towns
where the business was still good. T
he factory girls worked double shifts
put in as much time as they could.

 In that small town on the river
Small town on the river

Some men came home aces and some were carried home
But each one was a hero
No man was left alone.
Some took jobs, some went to school,
some found they'd fathered kids.
Most tried and could not forget,
Some wound up on the skids.

In that small town on the river
Small town on the river

Well forty years later the town remains the same.
One mill burnt down, another one was built
The paychecks now come from a different name.
And at the Eagles and the Legion Hall no one seems to age
With the same jokes told and the TV on
And the paper open to the Sports page.

In that small town on the river
Small town on the river

And I was talking with the bartender
last night at the PAC,
A Navy man from World War II,
Sharp dresser though he don't have to be.
And over a double Bourbon
He said "I'll tell you man to man,
This town died forty years ago.
Son, get out while you can.

It's just a small town on the river
Small town on the river

You can look into her eyes and live forever
She's as restless as the sea
She's as calm as a summer dawn
She's that kind of mystery

And you can write the song that wins her heart
A song will take you half the way
But you've known from the start
You'll never write the song that makes her stay

Love comes in a sound of a dream
In a whisper of a prayer
In a promise of a sigh
And love comes from the corner of a smile
But it isn't meant for you
She will only stay awhile

And she will fall asleep within your arms
And you will know the fear as lovers do
For in the night she'll pledge her heart
But she cannot feel what is not hers

Love comes in a sound of a dream
In a whisper of a prayer
In a promise of a sigh
And love comes from the corner of a smile
But it isn't meant for you
She will only stay awhile

You can look into her eyes and live forever
She's as restless as the sea
She's as calm as a summer dawn
She's that kind of mystery

Mama Cass has dropped some weight
and Charlie Parker’s clean
Django’s fingers have both gone straight
And they’ve got driving lessons for James Dean
Jimi’s playing faster and sometimes we jam all day
And old Abe Lincoln is a happy boy
’cause he finally got to see the end of the play
It’s a great life here in heaven
It’s better than the Bible said
It’s a great life here in heaven
It’s a great life when you’re dead

There ain’t no egos anywhere
and no one talks show biz
And Gabriel, he’s got a great big smile
He’s taking lessons from Miles and Diz
Bing Crosby’s on the green in one
and he’s singing when he putts
And Elvis really likes to visit earth
just to drive you people nuts
It’s a great life here in heaven
It’s better than the Bible said
It’s a great life here in heaven
It’s a great life when you’re dead

And me, I couldn’t be happier
The service here is fine
They’ve got dinner ready at half-past nine
And I’m going steady with Patsy Cline
And just last night in a bar room
I bought Robert Johnson a beer
Yeah, I know, everybody’s always surprised to find him here
It’s a great life here in heaven
It’s better than the Bible said
It’s a great life here in heaven
It’s a great life when you’re dead

Lori McKenna with her new release, "The Balladeer"

"Lori McKenna’s Storied Songs For The Middle Generation" Rianna Turner

Mary McCaslin needs the folk music world's assistance

"Folk Music & Beyond: Way Out West--Songs of Mary McCaslin" Joanne Mar

"Join us tomorrow (this Saturday) 3 pm (PDT) on KALW’s “Folk Music & Beyond” for a tribute to California-based singer-songwriter Mary McCaslin.  We’ll revisit musical highlights from her career and feature an interview with Mary discussing her music. Rolling Stone said about her music 'McCaslin's unorthodox guitar tunings create unusual, ethereal melodies of striking beauty. Combined with her clear, delicately affecting vocals, the effects are magical ….'"

Mary’s GoFundMe Campaign: Mary is suffering from progressive supranuclear palsy (very similar to Parkinson’s disease) and she’s no longer able to sing and perform. Thanks to a campaign started by her friend Ginny Mitchell, Mary is trying to raise funds to help cover her medical and caregiving expenses. Click here to contribute.

Listen to KALW from wherever you are:  If you’re in the Bay Area, listen at 91.7.  If you’re outside of San Francisco, listen to our live stream https://www.kalw.org/#stream/0  And if you can’t listen this Saturday, the program is available for on-demand listening for one week following the broadcast https://www.kalw.org/programs/folk-music-beyond

Dave Carter died on this day in 2002

The departure of some people leaves a gaping hole that cannot ever be fully filled. Dave Carter is certainly one of those.

Dave Carter Wikipedia

Dave Carter Legacy Project

(Re)Covered In Folk: Dave Carter, 1952 – 2002  The Legacy of a Buddhist Cowboy Poet

Dave Carter’s Final Class

Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer   Interviewed by Mike Devlin



come, lonely hunter, chieftain and king, I will fly like the falcon when I go
bear me my brother under your wing, I will strike fell like lightning when I go

I will bellow like the thunder drum, invoke the storm of war
a twisting pillar spun of dust and blood up from the prairie floor
I will sweep the foe before me like a gale out on the snow
and the wind will long recount the story, reverence and glory, when I go

spring, spirit dancer, nimble and thin, I will leap like coyote when I go
tireless entrancer, lend me your skin, I will run like the gray wolf when I go
I will climb the rise at daybreak, I will kiss the sky at noon
raise my yearning voice at midnight to my mother in the moon

I will make the lay of long defeat and draw the chorus slow
I'll send this message down the wire and hope that someone wise is listening when I go

and when the sun comes trumpets from his red house in the east
he will find a standing stone where long I chanted my release
he will send his morning messenger to strike the hammer blow
and I will crumble down uncountable in showers of crimson rubies when I go

sigh, mournful sister, whisper and turn, I will rattle like dry leaves when I go
stand in the mist where my fire used to burn, I will camp on the night breeze when I go
and should you glimpse my wandering form out on the borderline
between death and resurrection and the council of the pines
do not worry for my comfort, do not sorrow for me so

all your diamond tears will rise up and adorn the sky beside me when I go

Jeff Emery's KZSC "Backroads" show, July 12, 2020

Celebrating 25 years as a folk music DJ at KZSC 88.1 FM, Jeff Emery offered more of the songs that inspired him to become become a radio broadcaster.

Jeff Emery's KZSC "Backroads" show, June 28, 2020

Celebrating 25 years as a folk music DJ at KZSC 88.1 FM, Jeff Emery offered some of the songs that inspired him to become become a radio broadcaster.

More on Dylan and his latest release

"BOB DYLAN: ROUGH AND ROWDY WAYS" Bob Fish

"Tangled Up in Bob Stories: A Dylan Reading List" Aaron Gilbreath

Dylan's latest: "Rough and Rowdy Ways"

"Folk Music Icon Bob Dylan Comes Out with 39th Album" Howard Riell

"Review: Bob Dylan’s Rough and Rowdy Ways Is Powerfully Prescient" Michael Joshua Rowin

"What Bob Dylan Knows About This Moment" Spencer Kornhaber

The song "Murder Most Foul" starts strong with historical references and various mysteries but closes with a weak last third or so. Disappointing.

Derry's musical creations

"Londonderry: A city where music has been shaped by trauma" Sophia Deboick 

Remembering Doc Watson

"Doc Watson’s Long Journey" Paul Zollo

More un-taught history

"A Brief History of the Policing of Black Music    Harmony Holiday Dreams of a Black Sound Unfettered by White Desire" 

Gretchen Peters' latest release

"Gretchen Peters – The Night You Wrote That Song: The Songs of Mickey Newbury" Mike Davies

Some highlights from Jeff Emery's KZSC June 15 "Backroads" show

Below are some of the highlights from Jeff Emery's KZSC June 15 "Backroads" show: