What is, will be, was?

I’ve been thinking about what is, was, will be folk music.  It brings back memories of my family gathered around the piano singing songs . . . badly but with gusto.  I remember my father singing songs in the car.  He had favorites, some of them folk songs like “The Frozen Logger”, or “The Old Settler’s Song”.  For some reason he had a fascination with the American Civil War and had learned some of what would have been popular songs during that time period.  He used to sing, “Just Before the Battle Mother” (not sure of the real title), “I’m a Good Old Rebel Soldier”, and other songs.  Maybe it’s because he was born in Morgantown, West Virginia.  His family was from Illinois though.

Personally, out of the family songs my favorites were stories maybe with a twist of humor in them.  The lyrics were what was important, and nobody in my family was a particularly good singer.  My mother played the piano although not with any virtuosity and the only time she played it was when she was feeling a little down.  She would go down in the basement where the piano was and play old hymns.  We never bothered her when she would do this, and I suspect that a bit of that banging away on her mother’s old upright piano made her feel a bit better about her role as a woman in the 1950's and 1960's. 

My parents were both conservatives and I’ll never understand why they loved the Weavers, but they did.  Mom also liked the occasional country and western song.  My father was most enamored of classical music, and mom seemed to feel like she had to make a little fun of herself when she put on Tennessee Ernie Ford, or started singing Ray Charles “Born to Lose”.  Radio in those days (I’m sure I’ve already dated myself), and where I am from was a variety.  The radio might play “Jack to a King”, “Ring of Fire”, then switch to “Maybelline”, or “Johnny B Good” just before they played a Perry Como, or a Frank Sinatra hit.

My sister became a Peter, Paul, and Mary fan, bought one of their records and although I don’t think that most of my family were hard core fans of the likes of “The Kingston Trio”, or “The Brothers Four” I took to them readily, and memorized Smothers Brothers songs and bits of their comedy routines.  Someone brought a hootenanny to town and I remember attending it in the high school gymnasium.  I think that’s where I first heard Hoyt Axton’s “Green, Green” and was fascinated with the idea of going away where the “grass is greener still”.

Through all of this musical culture seeping into my bones I never did think of myself as a singer, or musician, didn’t play an instrument, didn’t join the school choir, or band.  I just liked what I liked, and that included a healthy dose of rock 'n roll.  I did apparently like to sing to myself.  I don’t really remember.  I had my first taste of musical performance when I joined the army and started singing a capella with another soldier who sang harmony with me.  I don’t know why, or even how we managed it now but I had memorized some songs and he sang along with me.  I think I was like my mother, singing because it felt good, made me feel better and believe me, as a young man in Army basic training, I needed something to make me feel better.

Singing was, and still is what music is all about to me.  I just like it, like to do it, and the better I do it, the better it feels.  I like to be telling a story, or detailing a feeling.  I don’t pick out, or write virtuoso material.  Truthfully, I’m not certain what constitutes “folk” music.  I think I remember Woody Guthrie defining it as music for the folks.

I’m telling a bit of “my” story.  We are safely in Pocatello, ID where we are visiting friends.  I won’t go into detail, but Kristi has known Becky Hardy for a long time now, and they immediately fall into intimate conversation. 

Becky with her snow shovel

                                                         Kristi tells a funny story.

It was an easy drive here.  There is snow along side the road between La Grande, Oregon, and Pocatello, Idaho but the road was mostly bare and dry except for a few places.  We have been listening to an audio book while we drive.  I take a few pictures, but road pictures fade into more road pictures with minute differences.  I want to have my camera capture the colors, textures, and shapes that occupy my mind as we drive along.  It doesn’t happen easily enough.

Tomorrow we are playing in Utah.  That will be interesting.  Then it is on to Albuquerque, NM.  I am thinking about International Folk Alliance daily.  I get email from different arms of the conference, and we are looking forward to seeing, and hearing the many fine acts that we have booked in our PGS room.
From Kristi: The drive was acutely windy.  At many moments in my movements in life, song lyrics involuntarily visit my subconscious.  Here's a folk song name-this-tune test for you from the song that haunted me on this drive:

'Way out on the windswept desert where nature favors no man
The buffalo found his brother at rest on the sun-baked sand
He said, my brother, what ails you? Has sickness got you this way?
But his brother never said, for his brother was dead
Been dead since way last May

(yodel) Oh-de-lay-ee, ah-ee. oh-ay-ee."

Sadly, I cannot deliver this song as I am hopelessly yodel impaired.  I consider it a disability.  And BTW, can you name the songwriter?