In early 1961, a 19-year-old Bob Dylan, having dropped out of college at the end of his freshman year, traveled to New York City, ostensibly to visit his idol Woody Guthrie, hospitalized with Huntingdon's Disease. This 2-disc set represents the scene he discovered, the sounds he found 'Blowin' In The Wind' and the artists who were already playing the clubs and bars of the Village upon his arrival. From old timers like Pete Seeger and the Reverend Gary Davis, to the bright young stars of the new wave like Joan Baez, and Phil Ochs.
Disc 1
1. New York City (Pete Seeger)
2. Pretty Boy Floyd (Woody Guthrie)
3. Ramblin' Gamblin' Man (Cisco Houston)
4. When First Unto This Country (New Lost City Ramblers)
5. Little Maggie (Barbara Dane)
6. Crawling King Snake (John Lee Hooker)
7. Howl (Allen Ginsberg)
8. Step It Up and Go (Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee)
9. Pallet On The Floor (Brownie McGhee)
10. Oh Babe It Ain't No Lie (Elizabeth Cotten)
11. Darling Corey (The Weavers)
12. The Bannana Boat Song (the Tarriars)
13. Pretty Polly (Erik Darling)
14. No More Cane On The Brazos (Odetta)
15. Red Wing (Oscar Brand)
16. Jack of Diamonds (Brother John Sellers)
17. Barbara Allen (Ed Mcurdy)
18. Duncan and Brady (Dave Van Ronk)
19. Rio Grande (The Focscle Singers)
20. Who's Gonna Buy You Ribbons (Paul Clayton)
21. The Steve Allen Show (Lenny Bruce)
22. The Flight Of The Bumble Bee (Jose Feliciano)
23. I Ain't Marching Anymore (Phil Ochs)
24. Turn, Turn, Turn (Judy Collins)
25. The Sound of Silence (Art Garfunkel)
Disc 2
1. New York City (Lead Belly)
2. Cocaine (Ramblin Jack Elliott)
3. Buffalo Boy (Theodore Bickel)
4. The Parting Glass (Clancy Brothers)
5. State Of The Nation (Kenneth Patchen)
6. Fixin' To Die (Bukka White)
7. Baby Please Don't Go (Big Joe Williams)
8. You Will Need Me (Lonnie Johnson)
9. The Wagoner's Lad (Kossoy Sisters)
10. Go' Way from My Window (John Jacob Niles)
11. Driving Wheel (Rosevelt Sykes)
12. On The Road (Jack Kerouac)
13. Silver Dagger (Joan Baez)
14. A Wayfaring Stranger (Bob Gibson)
15. Nottamun Town (Jean Ritchie)
16. Death Don't Have No Mercy (Reverend Gary Davis)
17. In My Time Of Dying (Josh White)
18. Uncloudy Day (Staple Singers)
19. Rocks and Gravel (Harry Belafonte)
20. Mojo Hand (Lightnin Hopkins)
21. New York Girls (Kingston Trio)
22. Little Wheel Spin And Spin (Buffy Sainte-Marie)
23. Ramblin' Boy (Tom Paxton)
24. Roll On Buddy (The Greenbriar Boys)
25. If I Had A Hammer (Peter Paul and Mary)
Showing posts with label woody guthrie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label woody guthrie. Show all posts
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Monday, 20 June 2011
Thursday, 23 December 2010
The Woody Guthrie Wake
October 10, 1967
". . . I shall not murder the mankind of her going with a grave truth . . ." -- Dylan Thomas. "A Refusal To Mourn the Death, By Fire, of a Child in London"
By WILLIAM J. ALLOWAY
According to Webster, a wake is "a watch kept at night, or a vigil, as for some ritual purpose; especially, an all-night vigil over a corpse before burial . . ." Among my Celtic forebearers, the wake was such, with the hag-women keening the caoine, the lament for the dead, while the other women would do their private weeping in some back room of the house which allowed the men of the clan to dance to the fiddle and the bagpipe about the coryse with drink, food, and tobacco.
But Woody Guthrie was a folk-singer, a balladeer, and a writer of songs and an American, though his fathers' fathers wore the kilt and knew well the taste of the claymore.
His clan in Columbus gathered in a corner of Tuttle Field on Saturday's grey grim afternoon on the green grass amongst the smells of rain to come and the autumn forest of the park. Of the few that came, some were bearded and some were not; some wore the psychedelic uniform and some did not. They came in cars, on bicycles, on foot, and one on a motorcycle. With the prodding of two guitars and an African drum, a few sang those songs of his that they knew. They did not know all the words to some of the songs that sang of life sometimes bitterly, sometimes sadly, and sometimes joyously.
It was not a sad time, for their clan is not much on sadness, which is a very human trait. They smoked and laughed and ate apples while they sang. It was a gentle thing, not boisterous, not bawdy, but comfortable feeling. They talked of other things like the march on Washington, the possibilities of establishing a Digger community in Columbus, and private things, each to each.
As they had gathered, they departed, like leaves blown across the field by the fall wind in some natural, instinctual pattern. As do all clans, they exorcised the dreaded spirit of their dead with their own gentle, loving rites to pick up the string of life again with only a burr of a knot in its length.
It was the way that Woody, if it was possible for him to have any say in the matter, would have liked it to be.
". . . I shall not murder the mankind of her going with a grave truth . . ." -- Dylan Thomas. "A Refusal To Mourn the Death, By Fire, of a Child in London"
By WILLIAM J. ALLOWAY
According to Webster, a wake is "a watch kept at night, or a vigil, as for some ritual purpose; especially, an all-night vigil over a corpse before burial . . ." Among my Celtic forebearers, the wake was such, with the hag-women keening the caoine, the lament for the dead, while the other women would do their private weeping in some back room of the house which allowed the men of the clan to dance to the fiddle and the bagpipe about the coryse with drink, food, and tobacco.
But Woody Guthrie was a folk-singer, a balladeer, and a writer of songs and an American, though his fathers' fathers wore the kilt and knew well the taste of the claymore.
His clan in Columbus gathered in a corner of Tuttle Field on Saturday's grey grim afternoon on the green grass amongst the smells of rain to come and the autumn forest of the park. Of the few that came, some were bearded and some were not; some wore the psychedelic uniform and some did not. They came in cars, on bicycles, on foot, and one on a motorcycle. With the prodding of two guitars and an African drum, a few sang those songs of his that they knew. They did not know all the words to some of the songs that sang of life sometimes bitterly, sometimes sadly, and sometimes joyously.
It was not a sad time, for their clan is not much on sadness, which is a very human trait. They smoked and laughed and ate apples while they sang. It was a gentle thing, not boisterous, not bawdy, but comfortable feeling. They talked of other things like the march on Washington, the possibilities of establishing a Digger community in Columbus, and private things, each to each.
As they had gathered, they departed, like leaves blown across the field by the fall wind in some natural, instinctual pattern. As do all clans, they exorcised the dreaded spirit of their dead with their own gentle, loving rites to pick up the string of life again with only a burr of a knot in its length.
It was the way that Woody, if it was possible for him to have any say in the matter, would have liked it to be.
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
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