Trump maybe regrets that taunting of Biden. There’s no accounting for stupidity.
Getting ill is one thing. Deliberately making yourself ill is something else.
Twat.
Thanks John Peachey.
Rock Archeology – Greenwich Village – visiting the relics of the Folk Culture of the 60s.
At the end of the 60s I visited Greenwich Village, walked down Bleecker and McDougal, ate knishes in the square and looked in on the clubs.
I was too late even then. It had long gone. The days of catching Bob Dylan, Phil Ochs or John Lee Hooker were long gone. The Folk Scene was already history.
Then in 2010 I went back and spent a pleasant day walking around and reminiscing. I was nostalgic for somewhere I hadn’t even been. My experience was of listening to the bootlegs of Dylan playing the Gaslight in 61, of reading about those days of ragged glory where hats were passed around, floors were slept on and scruffy troubadours sang songs of fire and mixed with the old folkies and black bluesmen.
There was little to be seen and certainly nothing of the Beat Poets before that with their fiery sermons. There was a signed first edition Richard Brautigan in one shop priced at $12000. Times sure had changed.
We’re all fossils still walking around.
Phil Ochs – I Ain’t Marching Anymore – Great anti-war song lyrics.
This is just one of his great songs. If we want to put an end to war then maybe we have to stop being violent?
Phil Ochs – Opher’s World pays tribute to a genius.
I thought that it was good to put out a few tributes to some of my heroes.
Mimi and Richard Farina – House Un-American Blues Activity Dream – A McCarthy
In the fifties there was a scare about communism. They thought the communists were infiltrating America and that equality and freedom were un-American.
The communists had to be rooted out of music, film and TV and there was a big purge. Many important people, including Pete Seeger were blacklisted.
Certainly all the new Greenwich Village ‘Protest’ singers would have been. Being different was un-American. You had to be a conforming, jingoistic patriot or you were the enemy.
Cuba was a communist bastion. Richard just happened to be Cuban.
House Unamerican Blues Activity Dream
I was standing on the sidewalk, had a noise in my head
There were loudspeakers babbling, but nothing was said
There were twenty-seven companies of female Marines
There were presidential candidates in new Levi jeans
It was the red, white and blue planning how to endure
The fife, drum and bugle marching down on the poor
God bless America, without any doubt
And I figured it was time to get out
Well, I have to b’lieve that in-between scenes, good people
Went and got ’em done in the sun, good people
Tourist information said to get on the stick
You ain’t moving ’til you’re grooving with a Cubana chick
So I hopped on a plane, I took a pill for my brain
And I discovered I was feeling all right
When I strolled down the Prado, people looked at me weird
Who’s that hippy, hoppy character without any beard?
Drinking juice from papayas, singing songs to the trees
Dancing mambo on the beaches, spreading social disease
Now the Castro convertible was changing the style
A whole lot of action on a blockaded isle
When along come a summons in the middle of night
Saying, “Buddy, we’re about to indict”
When I went up on the stand with my hand, good people
You’ve got to tell the truth in the booth, good people
Started out with information kind of remote
When a patriotic mother dragged me down by the throat
“When they ask you a question, they expect a reply!”
Doesn’t matter if you’re fixin’ to die
Well, I was lying there unconscious, feeling kind of exempt
When the judge said that silence was a sign of contempt
He took out his gavel, banged me hard on the head
He fined me ten years in prison and a whole lot of bread
It was the red, white and blue making war on the poor
Blind mother Justice on a pile of manure
Say your prayers and the Pledge of Allegiance every night
And tomorrow you’ll be feeling all right
Uh-huh-huh
Mimi and Richard Farina – Sell-Out Agitation Waltz –
Richard Farina was killed in a motorbike accident. He was the one most tipped to give Dylan a run for his money. I loved him. Mimi was Joan Baez’s sister. Together they were formidable rebels.
This song was written in the sixties when it was considered hip to drop out.
We were suspicious of society. We did not think they were making good decisions. We did not like conforming. We did not like the idea of wearing a suit, working all your life in a career, getting married and having kids and suddenly realising that you were old, hadn’t done anything and your life had passed you by.
We saw the older generation as already dead and did not want to be like them.
We wanted to have interesting, vital lives, to do things, think things, fun, travel, meet people, wonder, experience, find meaning, oppose madness and live.
We were not content to be cogs in the machine, neither did we want to be big wheels.
Yet the pressure was to sell-out, drop back in and take the money.
Mimi & Richard Fariña:Sell-Out Agitation Waltz Lyrics
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Well…
you know the reason that nobody’s pleasin’
the one who’s been freezing him out
you know the reason that nobody’s pleasin’
the one who’s been freezing him out
The times are unsteady
And nobody’s ready
To sleep in a bed full of doubt
But if you wanna fool around
And run around
All over town
There’s no telling where it will end
The teachers say you gotta stay
In school just another day
And study the logical trend
So cut your hair
And never stare
At people who ain’t aware
That every morning they wake up dead
Take off your boots
And find your roots
And join the ranks of the young recruits
Who have a collective idea
Well you’ve been a-gassin’
And you been harrassing
The one who’s been passing you by
The right time for groovin’
Is always improvin’
Provided you learn to comply
Society is never geared
To people who grow a beard
Or little girls with holes in their ears
They’re liable to hunt you down
And dress you in a wedding gown
And offer substantial careers
They’ll buy you a suit of clothes
And pay to get another nose
So no one will turn you away
You’ll wear a tie
And hope to die
If any more you try to buy
From people with nothing to say
So find a loose alternative
If that’s the way you wanna live
And give up unusual friends
There’s still time to straighten out
And learn how to beat about
And make your great plan of amends
So cut your hair
And never stare
At people who ain’t aware
That every morning they wake up dead
Take off your boots
And find your roots
And join the ranks of the young recruits
who have a collective idea…
Phil Ochs – When I’m Gone – Lyrics about speaking your truth now.
‘There’s no time like the present’, my Mum used to say. She was right. We live in a world that is full of problems and things that need addressing. While there is poverty, environmental catastrophe, cruelty, inequality, war, fundamentalism, creationism, ISIS and exploitation there are things worth shouting about.
We have to open our mouths and speak our minds in the hope that someone will listen and we can make things better.
I am a great believer that we build the zeitgeist that we all swim in. We can make the world a better place. All the problems are solvable. We need to force them into being a priority. They can then be addressed and improved.
It is not futile.
Phil felt that his songs, words and life was meaningless. He thought no one was listening or valuing his ideas. He was wrong. He helped change thing even though he did not know it.
We all make a difference.
I’ve been speaking my truth for many decades. I hope I will for ever. I do know the right from the wrong. Nobody else can speak my thoughts for me. I have to do it myself.
When I’m Gone – Phil Ochs
There’s no place in this world where I’ll belong when I’m gone
And I won’t know the right from the wrong when I’m gone
And you won’t find me singin’ on this song when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
And I won’t feel the flowing of the time when I’m gone
All the pleasures of love will not be mine when I’m gone
My pen won’t pour a lyric line when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
And I won’t breathe the bracing air when I’m gone
And I can’t even worry ’bout my cares when I’m gone
Won’t be asked to do my share when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
And I won’t be running from the rain when I’m gone
And I can’t even suffer from the pain when I’m gone
Can’t say who’s to praise and who’s to blame when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
Won’t see the golden of the sun when I’m gone
And the evenings and the mornings will be one when I’m gone
Can’t be singing louder than the guns when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
All my days won’t be dances of delight when I’m gone
And the sands will be shifting from my sight when I’m gone
Can’t add my name into the fight while I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
And I won’t be laughing at the lies when I’m gone
And I can’t question how or when or why when I’m gone
Can’t live proud enough to die when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
There’s no place in this world where I’ll belong when I’m gone
And I won’t know the right from the wrong when I’m gone
And you won’t find me singin’ on this song when I’m gone
So I guess I’ll have to do it, I guess I’ll have to do it
Guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here
Sandy & Jeanie Darlington – Early Greenwich Village – Bob Dylan’s time – sounding very much like Richard and Mimi Farina.
This is a bit rough round the edges but takes me back to those early days.
Phil Ochs – Death of A Rebel – A book that is a tragic tale.
I am reading ‘Death of a Rebel’ by Marc Eliot.
Phil is a hero of mine and this book is a sad reflection on the things that should have been. I don’t know how accurate description this is of that man but I’m taking it at face value. Phil was, like all of us, a flawed individual. That voice of protest should, and could have done so much more if it wasn’t for those same traps that snare so many great people.
Phil was caught by a series of them.
Trap number one was his ambition. He desperately wanted to be successful and famous.
Trap number two was Bob Dylan. It ate him up to see Bob’s huge success while he languished behind.
Trap number three was alcohol. He drank to cope with his nerves and he drank to cope with his failure. The drink made him depressed and the depression made him drink.
Trap number four was success. The degree of success he attained created problems; the major one of which was that he could not possibly live up to the expectations. How could he produce a song as good as the one before; they had loved that one. The only answer was to do things totally different or give up altogether. Neither paid of for Phil.
Trap number five was the double edged sword of his own naiveté. It led him into ambitious enterprises, like the Yippies, which could not possibly have success on a grand scale, yet when they inevitably failed he could not cope.
Phil committed suicide in the mid-seventies. He could not cope with what had become of the possibilities he once possessed.
It was all so easy at the beginning when he did not have a monkey on his back. The songs poured out of him. He had nothing to live up to; nothing to lose. He had a cause. He was obsessed and passionate. The creative muse was unleashed.
Then the five traps began to set it. Psychologically it messed with his head. They were in conflict with each other. How could you be rich and famous and stay true to your ideals? Yet Dylan seemed to do it effortlessly. The alcohol, and to a lesser extent the antidepressants, was a prop that would ultimately destroy him.
The truth of the matter was that Phil was a very nervous man, unsure of himself, yet buoyed up with self-belief and bravado. Going on stage was an agony. He was shy. Yet he revelled in it. He was, like everyone, a cocktail of psychological motives and failings that vacillated causing him to be pitched between arrogance and dejection. One minute he believed he could single-handedly safe the world, the next he was worthless. He was not very handsome, did not have a lot of sex appeal and seemed to have a low sex drive and a inability with women that created an almost misogynistic attitude.
To be human is a terrible thing.
If he had only got through that terrible time in the seventies he might have rediscovered his sustaining passion.
Peter Lafarge – As Long as the Grass Shall Grow – Protest lyrics about the plight of the Native American Indians.
Through lies, cheating, small-pox, measles, murder, war and deception the Native American Indians were displaced, killed and side-lined so that the European settlers could have their land.
Treaties promised the earth – As Long as the Grass Shall Grow – and were reneged on whenever the need arose. They were treated like subhuman vermin. Tribes were wiped out by giving them blankets infested with smallpox and measles. The buffalo were deliberately wiped out in order to starve them of their livelihood. Even in the 20th century their children were forcibly removed and taken in to care so that they did not learn tribal ways. The Native Americans were corralled into reservations in terrible impoverished places. They were starved and deceived. Their dignity, tribal lands and rights were stolen.
Peter Lafarge was a full-blooded Native American Indian. He sang about the lie of the treaties and genocide practiced by the American government.
It is shameful.
Johnny Cash recorded this and other songs about the American Indians.
As Long as the Grass Shall Grow
As long as the moon shall rise
As long as the rivers flow
As long as the sun will shine
As long as the grass shall grow
The Senecas are an Indian tribe of the Iroquios nation
Down on the New York Pennsylvania Line you’ll find their reservation
After the US revolution, Cornplanter was a chief
He told the tribe these men they could trust, that was his true
belief
He went down to Independence Hall and there a treaty signed
That promised peace with the USA and Indian rights combined
George Washington gave his signature, the Government gave its hand
They said that now and forever more that this was Indian land
As long as the moon shall rise
As long as the rivers flow
As long as the sun will shine
As long as the grass shall grow
On the Seneca reservation there is much sadness now
Washington’s treaty has been broken and there is no hope, no how
Across the Allegheny River they’re throwing up a dam
It will flood the Indian country, a proud day for Uncle Sam
It has broke the ancient treaty with a politician’s grin
It will drown the Indian graveyards, Cornplanter can you swim
The earth is mother to the the Senecas, they’re trampling sacred
ground
Change the mint green earth to black mud flats as honour hobbles
down
As long as the moon shall rise
As long as the rivers flow
As long as the sun will shine
As long as the grass shall grow
The Iroquios Indians used to rule from Canada way south
But no one fears the Indians now and smiles the liar’s mouth
The Senecas hired an expert to figure another site
But the great good army engineers said that he had no right
Although he showed them another plan and showed them another way
They laughed in his face and said no deal, Kinzua dam is here to
stay
Congress turned the Indians down, brushed off the Indians plea
So the Senecas have renamed the dam, they call it Lake Perfidy
As long as the moon shall rise
As long as the rivers flow
As long as the sun will shine
As long as the grass shall grow
Washington, Adams and Kennedy now hear their pledges ring
The treaties are safe, we’ll keep our word, but what is that
gurgling
It’s the back water from Perfidy Lake it’s rising all the time
Over the homes and over the fields and over the promises fine
No boats will sail on Lake Perfidy, in winter it will fill
In summer it will be a swamp and all the fish will kill
But the Government of the USA has corrected George’s vow
The Father of our Country must be wrong, what’s an Indian anyhow
As long as the moon shall rise, look up
As long as the rivers flow, are you thirsty
As long as the sun will shine, my brother are you warm
As long as the grass shall grow