The other day I was listening to an album by the great Irving Fields, the brilliant pianist who merged jazz, the sort of Jewish-American popular music I associate with Catskills resorts in the 1950s, and Latin music in the 1950s, making legendary albums like Bagels and Bongos and Champagne and Bongos, which are just flat out pleasant and fun albums to listen to. I knew Fields was still working even though he is very old. I did a little research and found out that he just turned 100 and still plays at an Italian restaurant in New York. I’ve actually known about that for awhile and have never gone when I’m in the city, which is a huge error, even when time is limited as it often is there. The video in the attached article plays him up a bit as a lovable and slightly silly very old man, unfortunately not uncommon in a society that infantilizes the very old. But he can still play. And if you haven’t heard Bagels and Bongos, do it. He also recorded some excellent albums for Tzadik, John Zorn’s label, and the one with the percussionist Roberto Rodriguez is really fantastic. Highly recommended.
A Friday evening link to one of my very favorite songs of 2015.
Above: ISIS founder and accordion terrorist Frank Yankovich.
When will the terrorists stop attacking us with their squeezeboxes?
More than two hours. More than 30 police, fire and rescue workers. And more than enough police cars and big trucks to widen the eyes of three dozen youngsters in day care, all to investigate a suspicious package that turned out to be … an accordion.
About 9 a.m. Friday, Howard County authorities were alerted to what appeared to be an abandoned suitcase in front of the Owen Brown Interfaith Center in Columbia, according to fire officials. The center, at 7246 Cradlerock Way, tucked behind a shopping center, is home to a day care center.
The area around the building was cordoned off with yellow police tape. Just outside the perimeter were police cars, an emergency services command truck, and fire and rescue trucks. “We send out equipment based on a worst-case scenario,” said Assistant Fire Chief Joe Dixon.
The day care center temporarily relocated to a room in Giant Foods nearby. The experts went to work opening the package.
Inside: the musical instrument.
Owner: Unknown, said police spokeswoman Sherry Llewellyn.
“I’m sure the police took it into custody,” she said.
Will the police arrest Flaco Jimenez for being too awesome on the accordion? Or will they string up Weird Al for the sins of his distant relative? As a real American, I hope for both.
Given the utter depression of the news in last two days, I thought a music thread would make people feel better. So here are the albums I listened to today:
1. Miles Davis Quintet, Live in Europe 1967, Disc 2
2. Patti Smith, Horses
3. St. Vincent, St. Vincent
4. Tinariwen, Aman Iman
5. LCD Soundsystem, Sound of Silver
6. Drive By Truckers, Go Go Boots
7. Neko Case, The Worse Things Get
8. Serge Gainsbourg, Histoire de Melody Nelson
9. Wussy, Funeral Dress II
10. Miles Davis, Porgy and Bess
On the death of Guy Carawan, I’ve been poking around various folk music sites and the like today and I thought this video of Pete Seeger explaining the development of We Shall Overcome was really interesting and I think a lot of you would find it worthy.
Guy Carawan, the folk singer who taught the civil rights movement “We Shall Overcome” has died at the age of 87. Carawan is a super interesting guy, someone who came out of California at the very beginning of the folk movement and ended up at the Highlander Research and Education Center in east Tennessee, famous for its role in left-wing southern organizing in the 20th century. Everyone thinks Rosa Parks was this woman who just decided not to move to the back of the bus one day, but she in fact had already trained at Highlander on civil rights issues. Martin Luther King was there too and the fact that a member of the Communist Party was there at the same time fed the whole King=communist equation of white supremacists of the time.
Anyway, here’s a good story from a couple of years ago about Carawan’s role in “We Shall Overcome” becoming the anthem of the civil rights movement. There were many architects of this, as one would expect, but there’s a good chance the song does not catch on without Carawan.
In Southern California in the early 1950s, the song reached Guy Carawan. He was finishing graduate work in sociology at UCLA and doing some singing himself. He also learned about the Highlander Center in Tennessee, and that’s where he ended up. Candi Carawan and her husband have been teaching together at Highlander for many years now. They met as the center’s focus was shifting to civil rights, and “We Shall Overcome” was about to become an inspiring force.
“I first heard this song from a friend of mine, Frank Hamilton. He taught me this song, and he also had put some chords to it [on guitar],” Guy Carawan says. “When I came to Highlander in 1959, Zilphia Horton had died, and I had some singing and musical skills and they needed somebody there. So by the time I came to Highlander, I was playing it with the guitar like that.”
Candi Carawan, too, remembers the first time she heard the song. A California transplant like Guy, she’d gotten involved with sit-ins in Nashville in 1960 and visited Highlander for a weekend event for students from various cities who’d been carrying on similar demonstrations.
“Guy was there trying to find out what songs we were using as part of our demonstrations — and mostly we didn’t have a lot of songs,” Candi says. “He taught us a number of songs that weekend, and one of them was ‘We Shall Overcome.’ And I can remember this electrifying feeling when we heard it, that that song just said exactly what we were doing and what we were feeling.”
In the weeks that followed, Guy Carawan met other student leaders who were convening their own gatherings.
“And then at a certain point,” he says, “the young singers, who knew a lot of a cappella styles, they said, ‘Lay that guitar down, boy. We can do the song better.’ And they put that sort of triplet [rhythm] to it and sang it a cappella with all those harmonies. [It became] a style that some very powerful young singers got behind and spread.”
Organized in Albany, Ga., by the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee, The Freedom Singers were Cordell Reagon, Charles Neblett, Rutha Harris and Bernice Johnson-Reagon (then just Bernice Johnson — she was later married to Cordell Reagon for several years).
Johnson-Reagon was a preacher’s daughter and knew the song as “I Will Overcome.” She recalls the change to “We Shall Overcome” as a concession that helped bring whites and blacks closer in the civil rights struggle.
“The left, dominated by whites, believed that in order to express the group, you should say ‘we,’ ” explains Johnson-Reagon. “In the black community, if you want to express the group, you have to say ‘I,’ because if you say ‘we,’ I have no idea who’s gonna be there. Have you ever been in a meeting, people say, ‘We’re gonna bring some food tomorrow to feed the people.’ And you sit there on the bench and say, ‘Hmm. I have no idea.’ It is when I say, ‘I’m gonna bring cake,’ and somebody else says, ‘I’ll bring chicken,’ that you actually know you’re gonna get a dinner. So there are many black traditional collective-expression songs where it’s ‘I,’ because in order for you to get a group, you have to have I’s.”
Johnson-Reagon says she was still singing “I Will Overcome” when the civil rights organizers came to Albany. It was Cordell Reagon who persuaded her to make the switch to “we” — a lesson, she says, he’d picked up from Highlander.
“And, you know, we’d been singing the song all our lives, and here’s this guy who just learned the song and he’s telling us how to sing it,” Johnson-Reagon says. “And you know what I said to myself? ‘If you need it, you got it.’ What that statement does for me is document the presence of black and white people in this country, fighting against injustice. And you have black people accepting that need because they were also accepting that support and that help.”
I once met Carawan at Highlander. This is when I was organizing in east Tennessee, maybe 1999 or 2000. It was a really eye-opening experience and not necessarily for good reasons. I can’t quite remember precisely why I was up there but there were a lot of other young activists I knew, as well as a few older people. Already knowing a lot of that history, it was incredibly inspiring just to be in that place and around those people. The Carawans played a set of music for us. It was great, hearing them play those old songs. But for them, music was about the shared aspect of singing, with power coming from the multitude of voices. They were leading the singing, but it wasn’t supposed to be a concert. Yet nearly all the young people, myself included, were really very much not into the shared singing. Some people were really rather annoyed by the whole thing. That irritated me–after all Guy and Candie Carawan had done a hell of a lot more than they had to change the world using those very methods. But it’s not like I was singing either! After all, I am as much a product of the ironic pose as anyone else (plus I had grown up mumbling words in the Lutheran church to songs no one wanted to sing). And that really bothered me. The power of collective song can be very real. But is that even possible today? Even if new generations got over the irony (and I don’t know maybe they kind of are. After all, Arcade Fire is a band that basically got over on the basis of unrestrained sincerity. And I like that band so I don’t say that with any negative connotations, what would the basis for that shared music be? What style? Who would it reach out too in this era of a million demographics?
Anyway, Guy Carawan isn’t well known today but was a really important player in the civil rights movement of the early 1960s. He later released a bunch of albums, a couple of which I own on vinyl, including one when he went to China during the Cultural Revolution that includes a bunch of songs played on the hammered dulcimer. It’s pretty good. Sounds a good bit like this performance from 1982, where you see Carawan wasn’t just some political folksinger, but a pretty compelling performer.
Last night, I was lucky enough to see the legendary Richard Thompson at the Met in America’s cultural capital of Pawtucket, Rhode Island. I’ve listened to RT for a solid 20 years now but oddly this is only the 3rd time I’ve seen him. And it was just fantastic. He’s in his mid-60s now, but he hasn’t lost a single bit of either his rapier wit or his amazing guitar playing ability. Just an outstanding show.
This is a pretty intense story about how Phil Ochs was caught up in the repression of artists and leftists in Latin America in the early 1970s and how closely he came to being disappeared in Bolivia like many other leftists of the time.