'Timberbound'

“A timberbound tree is a curved one. They look reconciled to the shape they’re in, but cut into one and you’ll find they are under a great deal of stress half a century after they were first warped.”

 - Timberbound Songbook

When a timberbound log is run through a sawmill, it can create deadly situations as massive tension is suddenly released. Round about 1973, a musician and sawmill-worker by the name of John Cunnick wrote a song with his wife, Kim, called ‘Timberbound’. You can hear the song and read its lyrics below.

I. The Bards of Keasey Route

    John and Kim Cunnick lived together in the woods of Northwest Oregon in a place called Keasey. Keasey is a few miles outside the town of Vernonia, Oregon, and was once the site of the main sawmill of the Oregon American Lumber Company. By the time John and Kim lived there the mill was gone, all that was left was the old mill pond, second growth timber, and a few of the logger’s cabins and sheds. John and Kim lived in one of the cabins together for roughly five years, from 1970 – 1975. They had no running water, and thus they got water the old-fashioned way from Rock Creek, which ran just a few dozen yards from the house. By 1974 they had electricity, but they only used it for two overhead lightbulbs. All cooking and heating was done with a wood burning stove, John gathered most of the firewood. John worked in a sawmill part time, Kim worked in a cafeteria one day per week, and the two managed to live just the kind of life they desired, playing music together and writing songs.

    Tragedy struck on the fourth day of January, 1976. On Highway 47, between the towns of Clatskanie and Mist, John Cunnick’s old panel truck slid off of the road, went right between the guardrail and a giant fir tree, and dropped into the steep ravine below. It took five days for his friends to find him. They buried him in a meadow near the cabin at Keasey.

            “There’s an apple in the meadow

            Where the lupine it does grow,

            And down there lies a poet

            Buried six feet below.

            And if you should eat an apple

            Which that Gravenstein supply,

            Won’t you stop and take a rest boys,

            And think on one who died.”

            - “Trees”, by Hobe Kytr

II. Timberbound (the band)

    Kim and John had many musical friends, and soon after John died three of those friends formed a band with Kim. They called themselves Timberbound. The other three members of the band were Hobe Kytr (banjo and guitar), Dave Berge (guitar and autoharp), and Mark Loring (mandolin and harmonica). Everybody in the band sang. They performed many of John and Kim’s songs, which Kim published in 1976 in the Timberbound Songbook. Timberbound also performed a mix of traditional and gospel songs, as well as originals by Hobe Kytr (pronounced Hoe-Bee, ‘Kytr’ rhymes with ‘lighter’).

    Timberbound opened for national touring acts such as Mike Seeger, but the only recordings of them are live amateur recordings that were made by their friends. Due to their lo-fi quality, these recordings sound much older than they are. When you hear them, it is easy to imagine that you are listening to a long lost field recording made in a timber camp in the early 20th century. Besides the strength of the songs that they performed, Timberbound’s main asset was their sublime combination of voices. Kim Cunnick sang high harmonies that were downright haunting, while Dave Berge deployed his rich baritone/bass voice to great effect. Mark Loring mostly played mandolin, but he also sang with a clear tenor voice. Hobe Kytr sang baritone, and he told me recently that Kim always wanted him to sing at the upper end of his range.

Click here to read the whole pose about Timberbound.

III. The Songs

    Many of the Timberbound songs were collaborative efforts between John and Kim: he wrote the lyrics and she wrote the melodies. John captured this compositional arrangement in one of the finest Timberbound songs, “Vine Maple Valley Waltz”, which contains this refrain: “If you lend me a tune, love, I’ll give you my word.” This line begins to demonstrate John’s elegant and playful lyrical style. The Timberbound Songbook also contains an essay John wrote on various instruments used in folk music. The essay contains many insightful little nuggets of observation, and also gives us a sense of John’s brilliant sense of humor.

    John dropped out of high school at the age of 15, but he was a voracious reader, and educated himself to great effect. One of the strongest literary influences evinced by the lyrics of the Timberbound songs is that of 19th-century poetry. Part of the delight of John’s lyrics is their range. He could be playfully hilarious in a song like “Boys of Columbia County”, for instance:

“When the Chinook rains come down on the Nehalem

It’ll take a hydroplane to get their kids to school.”

Or he could be astoundly delicate and sensitive, as in his song “Same Old Wind”:

            “If today could be dried like a flower,

            Tell me what secret place would it keep?

            Where it would not ashame us by morning,

            and by night would not trouble our sleep.”

John’s love of his home–and of the wild logger-characters he befriended in the area–shines throughout the Timberbound songs. Kim’s melodies frame John’s lyrics perfectly, and almost always lend themselves to multiple vocal harmony parts. The Timberbound songs are a remarkable collection, not only for their vivid depiction of life out at Keasey, but also for the range of emotions they express.

    Timberbound disbanded after Kim remarried and moved away, but the Timberbound songs were never given up. According to Hobe:  “I sang them, people in Vernonia sang them, and people in Portland and around the Northwest sang them… They were cherished and brought out at special events. Geno Leach, the cult hero of the Fisher Poets Gathering, specifically requested “Boys of Columbia County”, and any [other songs] I’d be willing to play from the Timberbound songbook specifically for the Fisher Poets Gathering. He had some of his old logger buddies in the audience.”

    Kim included Hobe’s song, ”The Ballad of John Cunnick” in the Timberbound Songbook, noting in the book’s introduction, “The last song in the book is the only one not written by John, but I included it because it is a good song written about him, by his song writing buddy Hobe Kytr (who, by the way, has got a bunch of good ones up his sleeve).” In 1986, Hobe amply demonstrated that he had “a bunch of good ones up his sleeve” when he recorded an album with Dave Berge called “Dog Salmon and Rutabagas.” The album contains a song written by Dave, a dozen of Hobe’s original songs, and one song from the Timberbound Songbook, “Old Hollow School”.

IV. The Next Generation

    As it turned out, Hobe wanted a bunch of his friends to sing on the chorus on the title track of “Dog Salmon & Rutabagas”, and my mother, Dee, was one of the bunch (she was also friends with Kim back in the mid-70′s). I was two years old at the time, and mom couldn’t find anyone to tend to me while she sang, and so she held me in her arms as she joined the chorus. That is why, if you listen close to the song, you can hear a little baby wailing between the song’s phrases. That’s me, in my first recorded appearance.

    When I turned 18 or so, I started to get wise, and recognize that I didn’t just love “Dog Salmon & Rutabagas” for purely nostalgic reasons. This was powerful, lucid, enduring folk music that vividly depicted the place where I came from. With Hobe as my guide, I began to cover some of his songs, as well as the song “Timberbound”. Dave also gave me his blessing to perform and record “Fisherman’s Life”, and I am honored to say that both men have become my friends. Hobe gave me one of the rare remaining copies of the Timberbound Songbook, and I proceeded to learn more of the Timberbound songs.

    In the summer of 2010, another descendant of the Keasey community, Michael Laird, had the bright idea of getting Timberbound back together and recording songs from the songbook. This was only the second time that the group had reunited since it split back in (roughly) 1977. Those amateur live recordings made in the 70′s have never been released. So, Kim came up from Costa Rica with her husband, daughter, and grandchildren, and everybody got together for a weekend party out at Keasey. Despite the fact that Hobe was the only member of the group that had been practicing the Timberbound songs on anything approaching a regular basis during the intervening years, the four old friends pulled together eight performances seated in front of Michael Laird’s camera and boom mic.

    So now, thanks to Michael, we have 8 of the Timberbound songs preserved on the internet, where everybody can share them and learn them.

    I was lucky enough to be in the room when these recordings were made, and it was a powerful experience. Here’s hoping that the Timberbound reunion becomes an annual event. Please give a listen to Timberbound’s recording of their namesake.

- Joe Seamons, 2010

[Every Thing Is Free Now]

All art should be pondered and plundered freely. If you're generous, you'll credit me when appropriating my words or songs (and it seems appropriate). But our system's set up faultily, so artists believe that they have control over their work. 

Truth is this: once you made it, it ain't yours no more: it's ever'body's. You can copyright, trademark, insure, outsource, underwrite, ghostwrite, rewrite, or otherwise fence off your creations all you please, but you won't control 'em. They are free already, born that way in fact.

I want each person's creation to stay as free of restrictions as they wish it to be. Mine's all free. Below is a new song I been workin on and off, now like the man said take it easy, but take it.

'How It's Done'

2010

Raise your glass, n take that sip. As we listen t the trees drip.
Cool as your lover in the timber lets  her suspenders slip.
Home microbrew at the BBQ -- wild salmon on the fire.
Still porchin it at 3:30 in the mornin -- at parties we don't tire.

Independent minds -- skyscapes second to none.

This is Oregon, son, that's how it's done.

Love all kinds of rain --it keeps us so fresh, each mind like the canopy's intricate mesh,

Doug Fir, Hemlock, Cedar and Spruce -- each grow fierce as the downpours sluice.

Sun stays precious cause it shows so rare til the springtime come n the bitties go bare.

Have smoke out on the stoop in the wet fresh air -- revelry in reverence is all my care.

Chorus

We love to float the river with a drink or three, and our lines all out for trout.

You'd think everyone's from New Orleans -- the way we love to wile out.
Cross Columbia's Bar in winds quite brisk, knowin how t savor the bliss of a risk.

Already got what you need -- we show you how to use it,

                                                        with this old time, good time Northwest music.

Chorus

#   #   #

You may try to look for me in each voice I unfurl.

Remember these are masks I take on only to cast off. 

Step Up (Rambler's Blues #73)

Who's singin bout the troubles facing me now?
Who's talkin bout how far we feel from the land?
And who is questioning
     the ways we've settled into?


Who feels the urgency we need
     to stride again toward greater freedoms?
Who is there when all you feel's despair?
     No one but the sources
     that you've stored up in your head.


And who could bear 
     the trips all laid upon you
     without the aid of chemical repair?
Too few, too few--
      I'm strivin to be be one
      how 'bout you?


Where does all this striving lead
     without clear dreams in mind?
Where will I go next when this job
     dries up like all the rest?
I fear it's nowhere
     but my fear don't make me blind/.


I aim to rise by lifting others
     as befits a man possessed.




When your soul's inertia's had
     a chokehold for too long,
and the stillness in the streets
     don't fit the world's upheaval,
I hope you'll speak to me
     of what has blurred your dreams,
And work with me
     on how we gotta combat so much evil.


Now the roiling in me has no mirror
     in the placid land,
the river's wrinkled glass is far
     far off as the wars that we export.
There just ain't a righteous place
     left here to take a stand,
upon the screen the gleeful futurists
     cavort.


Who's crafting words to speak to
     all these swirling times?
Who's writing songs that
     quiver your whole spine?
Who's the fiercest forger
     of a gripping, worthy line?


I'll show you my hand friend,
    just know: What's mine ain't mine.

I aim to give all ways all the time.

#     #     #

Tactical Advantage for the song scrawler.

Write. re
write re
write
Rewrite.

Get it?
Write.

Trio Recordings

Currently, our band is recording a batch of tunes in our acoustic trio format (guitar, bass, mandolin, harmony vocals, dashes of harmonica). These are tunes we've played for many months, and yet the strategy we've settled on is this:

1. Rethink our arrangements by repeatedly overdubbing each part to try out different textures and rhythms on each section of the tune.

2. Settle upon an arrangement, get a very strong track recorded for each instrument on each song.

3. Re-record all the songs live to utilize the enhanced energy that is only possible in such a setting.

4. Compare the final products for the live versus the overdubbed performances--choose which version will be released.

The beauty of self-recording is that it gives you the financial freedom to try a method like this--when we recorded Frontier Blues tracks in the studio, we did everything live in the course of three nights with just one day of minor overdubs afterwards. That was all we could afford, since a decent studio engineer runs you at least $30/hour. With our self-recording method, our final product will not be as polished (none of us are whizzes with recording technology yet) but it will sound thoroughly decent from a production standpoint--and the performances and arrangements will be stronger as a result.

We will release the first of these recordings some time in the late Springtime, so keep your ears here to hear when we've settled on a date.

What's to Come

Below are a few aspects of song lyrics that I plan to delve into more deeply in the coming weeks:

- Colloquial Poetry: Paul Simon, Tom Waits, Randy Newman, and Joni Mitchell are each brilliant at crafting lyrics that sound like someone talking with just a little spice of poetic explosiveness here and there. (See the previous post for an example of this). Of course, many folk and blues lyrics do this, too.

- Allusions: lyrical love & theft--conscious and unconsciously done.

- Storytelling: We'll examine some of the most inventive and compelling ways a story can be told in song.

- Playful Language and Whimsical Wordplay: We'll take look at songs that are the inverse of coherent storytelling--lyrics that are more about the sound than the sense.

- Songs with a Message: Sometimes they're called "Protest" songs, other times "Topical Songs" but I'm really just interested in any sort of song where the songwriter takes a stand on a particular issue and tries to get us to share that stance. This can be done subtly and convincingly or in an all too heavy handed manner.

I'll surely be adding to this list in the near future.

# # #

Lyric of the Week: 'Boy in the Bubble' by Paul Simon

Paul Simon's Graceland is a mighty miracle among those very, very few albums that teeter atop the mountain that straddles the worlds of Pop and Art. This week we'll break down the album's opening track, with a focus on a lyrical feat that is all too rare. Paul Simon achieves sublime effects lyrically by crafting lines that slither effortlessly between vernacular speech and image-laden poetry.

Witness the first verse:

It was a slow day,
and the sun was beating
on the soldiers on the side of the road.
There was a bright light
a shattering of shop windows,
the bomb in the baby carriage
was wired to a radio.

This is a beautiful balance between everyday speech and poetic effects. He uses things like alliteration (slow... sun... soldiers... side... shattering of shop...) but this alliteration is spread out just the right amount--we don't know that it's working on us while listening, we probably don't notice it until we look at the lyrics. The whole verse is so straight forward--the first half sets the scene, the second half transforms that scene completely. Never mind that the story told was written around 1985, you can hear veterans of America's current wars tell this story anywhere you go. The key is that it's almost how that veteran would describe it--just not quite. Simon tweaks the language enough that it's just a little more poetic than you would expect to hear from a soldier (though lord knows there's plenty of articulate and literary minded soldiers).

Then we hear the chorus for the first time, no pause, we slide right into it as Simon changes just one chord (the root) so that it's a slick little modulation downward by a whole step. We've just heard a bomb go off, and now we hear:

Chorus:
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is a long distance call.
The way the camera follows us in slow-mo,
the way we look to us all.
The way we look to a distant constellation
that is dying in the corner of the sky...
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
and don't cry baby, don't cry, don't cry.

This is quite cinematic--he starts with an abstraction, telling us what kind of days we're live in, then getting a little more specific with "this is a long distance call", but then we get literal and cinematic with "the camera follows us in slow-mo".

And here I'd like to step back for a moment and observe the shift that's taken place. The narrator started out by telling his story in the third person, and then he changes his role slightly beginning with the chorus: now he's telling us how to think of our times, and suggests the technological wonder of "a long distance call." Then he shifts, and speaks inclusively by saying that the camera follows us--we're all in it together now, "we look to us all." This form of address continues through the rest of the chorus until he hits the refrain: "These are the days..." The rest of the song continues this pattern of address: the verses telling a story from a removed third person perspective that smoothly pivots to an inclusive "we" with each successive chorus.

The important thing to point out about the song as a whole is that it is as clear an embodiment of the feeling of wonder as one could possibly achieve without being cheesy or campy.

There's a lot to mine in the rest of this song, for now I'm going to leave it at that, and ask you what grabs you about this particular masterpiece. Here's the whole thing:

'The Boy in the Bubble'
by Paul Simon, 1986.

It was a slow day,
and the sun was beating
on the soldiers on the side of the road.
There was a bright light
a shattering of shop windows,
the bomb in the baby carriage
was wired to a radio.

Chorus:
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is a long distance call.
The way the camera follows us in slow-mo,
the way we look to us all.
The way we look to a distant constellation
that is dying in the corner of the sky...
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
and don't cry baby, don't cry, don't cry.

It was a dry wind
and it swept across the desert
and curled into the circle of gloom.
And the dead sand
falling on the children,
the mothers and the fathers,
and the automatic earth.

Chorus

It's a turn-around jumpshot
it's everybody jumpstart,
it's every generation throws a hero up the pop charts.
Medicine is magical and magical is art
there go the boy in the bubble
and the baby with a baboon heart, and I believe--

These are the days of lasers in jungle,
lasers in the jungle somewhere.
Staccato signals of constant information,
A loose affiliation of millionaires and billionaires and baby,
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is a long distance call.
The way the camera follows us in slow-mo,
the way we look to us all.
The way we look to a distant constellation
that is dying in the corner of the sky...
These are the days of miracle and wonder,
and don't cry baby, don't cry, don't cry.

# # #

Lyric of the Week: 'As' by Stevie Wonder

Stevie Wonder's song "As" is not one of his best known works. It appeared on the album Songs in the Key of Life in 1976, and has been covered by few artists. In fact, it's safe to say that Mr. Wonder's songs are rarely covered at all (excepting instrumental versions) because he's such a great vocalist--who can match or better him?

Musically, "As" certainly merits scrutiny, but I am concerned with lyrics. So, let me just say that the song does an interesting thing by shifting from the major mode during the verse and bridge to a minor mode on the chorus. The verse and bridge use a lot of Major 7th chords, which is surely one of the smoothest sounding jazz chords in existence. Therefore, its contrast with the driving minor tonality of the chorus is even more effective. (At this point, feel free to refer to the lyrics of the song, which are at the bottom of this post.)

In the verses we are given a lot of broad and general tautologies in the form of similes that begin with the word "as" and all build up to the refrain: "I'll be lovin' you always." These lyrics aren't all that arresting to my mind, but the idea is an interesting one--just jump right in with the comparisons, no preamble, and let the whole verse form be a one-sentence build up of truths to make the truth of "I'll be lovin' you" more forceful. So, great idea, Stevie, but I could have used some more inventiveness as regards the build-up sentences. However, I do like the final verse:

As today I know I’m living but tomorrow

could make me that past but that I mustn’t fear—

For I’ll know deep in my mind

the love of me I’ve left behind,

Cause I’ll be loving you always.

It is also in Stevie's favor that he only sings two verses before sticking to the chorus' chords for the rest of the song--this guy knows how long he can ride on the material he comes up with. After the first two minutes of this seven minute opus we don't hear the major tonality any more, we ride a loop of four chords all the way out. Those four chords are that good.
Now, again--I'm not ecstatic about the lyrics that the heavenly choir sings during the chorus. Lines like the following are colorful, but they're too easy--they feel like he's just trying to rhyme to fill out the form:

Until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea...

Until the day is night and night becomes the day.

Until the trees and sea just up and fly away.

Until the day that eight times eight times eight is four...


On the other hand, the simplicity of these lines lends them a righteous power:

Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream...

Until the day that is the day that are no more...

Until dear Mother Nature says her work is through.

Until the day that you are me and I am you.

That works for me--but the part I really love is what I'll call the Preacher Rap--this takes place after the choir sings for a few minutes over those four immortal chords while Stevie improvises to great effect. The choir starts humming, the organ is vamping, and Stevie lays this down:

We all know—sometimes life’s hate and troubles

Can make you wish you were born in another time and space.

But you can bet your life times that and twice its double

That God knew exactly where He wanted you to be placed.

So make sure when you say you’re in it but not of it

You’re not helping to make this Earth a place sometimes called Hell.

Change your words into truths and then change that truth into love

And maybe our children’s grandchildren

And their great-great-grandchildren will tell…

I’ll be loving you . . .

Now surely the brilliant, fierce delivery of these lyrics colors my judgment to some degree on the subject of the Preacher Rap, but these are great lyrics. The rest of the song contains functional lyrics, but these are on another level. I don't mean a religious level--I am not of a religious persuasion, but I can recognize spiritual power when I hear it. What we hear here is an extension of what's going on in the verses--the singer asserts truths that are meant to make the phrase "I'll be loving you" more convincing. But there is an important difference here--in the opening verses the singer is speaking directly to the loved one. In the Preacher Rap, the singer is not just addressing his loved one. He could be saying this to anybody--to you or me or a congregation or the voices in his head.

So, when he turns back to the refrain of "I'll be lovin' you," it has changed. Now, he could still be addressing the lover, but his gaze has expanded, it now encompasses more. This subtle shift in perspective has drawn us in so that we are now also being addressed. This brilliant shift not only allows the song to go on for another couple minutes with the same four chords--it also moves us from outside to inside the song. So there's another reason Stevie Wonder is a genius--he writes great lyrics.



"As"

Words and Music by Stevie Wonder, 1976. From Songs in the Key of Life.


Verses 1 - 2:

As around the sun the earth knows she’s revolving,
and the rosebuds know to bloom in early May.
Just as hate knows love’s the cure—
you can rest your mind assured
That I’ll be loving you always.

As now can’t reveal the mystery of tomorrow—
but in passing will grow older every day.
Just as all that's born is new,
do know what I say is true—
That I’ll be loving you always.


Chorus:

Until the rainbow burns the stars out in the sky.
Until the ocean covers every mountain high.
Until the dolphin flies and parrots live at sea.
Until we dream of life and life becomes a dream.


Bridge:

Did you know that true love asks for nothing?
Her acceptance is the way we came.
Did you know that life has given love a guarantee
To last through forever and another day?


Verses 3 - 4:

Just as time knew to move on since the beginning,
and the seasons know exactly when to change.
Just as kindness knows no shame—
know through all your joy and pain
That I’ll be loving you always.

As today I know I’m living but tomorrow
could make me that past but that I mustn’t fear—
For I’ll know deep in my mind
the love of me I’ve left behind,
Cause I’ll be loving you always.

Chorus

Until the day is night and night becomes the day.
Until the trees and sea just up and fly away.
Until the day that eight times eight times eight is four.
Until the day that is the day that are no more.
Until the day the earth starts turning right to left.
Until the earth just for the sun denies itself.
Until dear Mother Nature says her work is through.
Until the day that you are me and I am you.

Humming Choir, vamping organ...

Preacher-Rap Section over Chorus' chords:

We all know—sometimes life’s hate and troubles
Can make you wish you were born in another time and space.
But you can bet your life times that and twice its double
That God knew exactly where He wanted you to be placed.
So make sure when you say you’re in it but not of it
You’re not helping to make this Earth a place sometimes called Hell.
Change your words into truths and then change that truth into love
And maybe our children’s grandchildren
And their great-great-grandchildren will tell…
I’ll be loving you . . .


Chorus continues with more Preacher-like incantations.


# # #

Song Lyrics & Negative Capability

In Shakespeare's Antony & Cleopatra, the Egyptian queen wonders what her absent lover is thinking:

... He's speaking now,
Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?'
For so he calls me: now I feed myself
With most delicious poison. Think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time? ...

I love this last phrase, even though I don't fully comprehend just what she means. Actually, what I really think is that I love the phrase "wrinkled deep in time" even more for how persistently suggestive and mysterious it is. Wallace Stevens said "Poetry should resist the intelligence almost successfully." And you could easily argue that the phrase above resists my intelligence a little too successfully. I am arguing something else:

An intractably mysterious phrase or image is a crucial, potent element in diverse modes of great poetry and lyricism.

I feel that folks today are too accustomed to being able to wrap their heads around something--if I can't understand it--I dismiss it; I reject it. This tendency is a blight upon contemporary imagination, and I aim to write songs and promote songs that combat it.

There's probably a whole long essay or book out there that focuses on Cleopatra's relationship to time as it relates to the statement above, and if you find such a piece of writing, I'd love to give it a look. But for now, let's just savor that phrase, and look at comparable examples of potent Negative Capability in American song lyrics.

Negative Capability is a term coined by John Keats in 1817, he described it this way:

I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.

Wikipedia paraphrases the term as "a state of intentional open-mindedness", and that's pretty close to how I understand it. Keats said that Shakespeare possessed this Capability "enormously" and I have no quibbles with that. What I wonder at is the fact that the term is not heard enough in discussions of what makes folk songs so powerful.

Blues is a central form of American folk music, and the seminal blues musician Robert Johnson once sang these immortal lines:

When the train--it left the station--there was two lights on behind.
When the train--it left the station--with two lights on behind.
Well the blue light was my blues, and the red light was my mind...
All my love's in vain.

In the third line here I hear a choice example of Negative Capability. I feel a strong, almost visceral sense of what the singer means with this line, but I don't know how I'd explain that feeling to anyone. We could explore the fact that the blue and red lights are receding, and then discuss other prominent uses of the colors blue and red in other song lyrics from that time period, and break down this line in a thousand ways, and it still would not manage to explain the greatness of the line. It possesses a mysterious, wrenching power over the sensitive listener--and Johnson's stellar delivery can only partly explain that power. This is a brilliantly crafted line not because of what it contains, but because of all that it suggests.

There are no shortage of examples of Negative Capability in the more traditional folk side of the American musical spectrum. Take this verse from Bascom Lamar Lunsford's "I Wish I Was a Mole In the Ground"

Tempe wants a nine dollar shawl.
Tempe wants a nine dollar shawl.
When I come over the hill with a forty dollar bill,
Baby where you been so long?

Or this, from Jody Stecher's performance of "Snake Baked a Hoecake"

Snake baked a hoecake, and set the frog to watchin'
Frog went a courtin', a lizard came and took him.

What do these verses mean? I have no idea--it is more playful language than the Shakespeare or Johnson lines quoted above, but to me it contains the same rich suggestiveness. I can savor it without being certain of its meaning.

Surely the lyrics of John Prine or Tom Waits could also provide us with numerous instances of Negative Capability--and both are songwriters that I will certainly explore here in the future. But let us start with the most prolific lyricist of the 20th century who frequently imbues his work with this quality:

You see this one eyed midget
Shouting the word, "Now."
And you say, "For what reason?"
And he says, "How?"
And you say, "Oh my God what does that mean?"
He screams back, "You're a cow--
Give me some milk, or else go home."

And you know something is happening
But you don't know what it is,
Do you, Mister Jones?

Interview footage shows a reporter's exchange with Bob Dylan, where the musician is asked something to the effect of, "Do you think your audience knows what's going on in your lyrics?" And Dylan replies that he doesn't think there's anything unclear about what he writes--that he can see everything he writes, that he would never write something (or sing something) that he couldn't see. Of course, if you think back on his lyrics, however arcane they may seem, they certainly paint vivid pictures--you're just rarely able to find a unifying thread, or an underlying message.

In another interview Dylan expresses certainty that his audience knows what's going on in his songs--he emphatically states "They know. They Know." This demonstrates a simple and wonderful irony--the most influential lyricist of the last hundred years knows in his heart that it's not all about the lyrics.

Music is a feeling first, and everything else flows from that feeling. This is true from the perspective of the creator, the performer and the listener. When Bob Dylan, Bascom Lamar Lunsford, Billie Holiday, Joni Mitchell, or whoever hits you at the right moment, it isn't because of a particular melody or lyric. It's something larger than that--the performer has created a feeling using these and other elements, and that feeling resonates with you.

So, you find out more. You become a fan, or a musician, or a songwriter, or you research the origins of the song, or add it to your iPod, and so forth. But after the song has drawn you in and resonated with something in you, it may not always pack the same punch forever. There's got to be more to it. For me, the Beatles are a great illustration of this.

Like untold billions of others, the Beatles music was an indescribably exciting discovery when it first sunk in. I listened to everything they recorded, I read biographies, I learned to sing and strum the songs. But it reached a saturation point--I no longer intentionally listen to the Beatles any more than once or twice a year. I get it. It will always be amazing music. But as I dug deeper, their music only went so deep. It doesn't continually prompt me to discover new things. It doesn't compel me to keep coming back to it, like Robert Johnson or John & Alan Lomax's prison recordings or Joni Mitchell's album Blue.

The music that endures is that which is layered on multiple levels--the rhythm, melody, and lyrics combine to forge an infinite and variable space for my imagination to roam. I can pluck out any of these elements, look at them up down backwards and forwards, and draw inspiration from the new understandings they reveal to me.

The music that endures is that which sounds fragrant with possibilities when heard in the light of new circumstance. It sets off mysterious feelings that compel you to make a change, to get up and get to where you want to be, to reach out to others, to create and follow your own vision.


This brings me to the main reasons I'm maintaining this blog:

1. To discuss, analyze, and discover new and old lyrical genius with other interested folks.

2. To explore ways to incorporate the lessons learned here into original songs.

3. To propagate the appreciation of great lyricism.


Please tell me about a song you love that is ripe with Negative Capability.

Exploring Exposure

I've encountered and interesting quandry, I hope you'll help me hash it out.

I read someone's opinion somewhere on the internet some time ago that musicians are wise to post things about their band's nitty gritty goings-on. If I were to put up a post each week after our rehearsal that recounted what we did and why, and how it'll impact our music in the future, would that interest you?

Battling with my distaste for such self-involvement is my sneaking suspicion that that sorta thing would be interesting to some folks, and perhaps draw in more folks to our performances.

Even deeper than my leeriness at rampant self-documentation is another deeply held belief. There is much to be said for productive ambiguity. Shakespeare is better than it at anyone--suggesting things in a way that compels your imagination to create more than is actually there. Bob Dylan is good at this as a songwriter and as a self-promoter--he's constantly presenting himself in ways that makes you think there is so much more going on on unseen levels than is probably the case.

If I start telling you all about the earnest grappling with the songs that our band does in practice sessions, that detracts from the beautiful mystery of music. At the moment, I'm inclined to do otherwise--to give you a window into what goes into crafting the arrangement and creation of a song and set. What do you say--do I risk over exposure and deflate productive ambiguity, or do I put us out there in a new and (at least somewhat) unique way, but revealing the creative issues that are now behind the curtain up on these pixels of a stage?

Lyrical Dissections to Come

Starting next week, expect to read in depth analysis of a new song each week here on the Ramble-logue.

American "Blues" & "Folk" Music Are One

This is most excellent:

Randy Newman's Newest Album

My favorite line from "Harps and Angels" comes from the album's title track:

"God bless the potholes
Down on memory lane..."

That old fella has still got it--never mind the crunch orchestral arrangement on "Korean Parents For Sale". Another choice Newman verse from earlier in his career:

"They say money can't buy love in this world
It'll getcha a half pound 'o cocaine,
A nineteen-year-old girl
Big long limousine
in the hot September night,
Now that may not be love but--
it's all right."

# # #

Concert

Goin' to see the man tonight. No telling if it'll be moving, alienating, or anything in between, since it all depends on the vocal delivery and the quality of the sound system.
However, his band is always ultra-tight, so it will be unassailably rockin.

I Got a Story to Tell

Hobe Kytr is a folklorist, songwriter, guitar picker, story teller, salmon defender, and knowledgeable fella of the first order. Mike Seeger said that Hobe should never change his banjo picking style, cause Hobe plays the instrument like no one else. Mike was totally right. Hobe is a human metronome who creates wonderful rhythmic momentum with the banjo.

When I was two, Hobe Kytr made an album, Dog Salmon and Rutabegas. My parents were (and are) friends with Hobe. While recording the album, he needed a bunch of people to sing on the chorus of the title track. My parents, who are not musicians by trade but can carry a tune, were among the friends he asked to sing along. They sang,

You'd better like Dog Salmon and rutabagas,
Boiled spuds, n' green tomatas,
Venison's a standard bill of fare--
And if ya can't live on that you'll have to live on air.

It's a great song, and for some reason my mom brought me along to the recording session, so after that third line the singin falls away for a few beats, at which time (on the cassette version they first released) you can hear me wailing.

My first recording session was entirely accidental, but it worked out rather beautifully. I grew up hearing that album like you do when you're a little kid--it's what yer parents put on during trips in the car. We lived more than 15 minutes from town, so there were daily trips in the car. While I don't recall the recording session itself, some of my earliest memories are of getting very tired at big ol parties with bonfires and sheep on the spit and apples getting squeezed into juice and night settin in while dozens of people are singing all around the place. That's when music is a physical force pressing in around you and yer spirit. That's when I'd hear Hobe's music live.

Really though, those days faded away and I didn't give Dog Salmon and Rutabagas much of a thought until I was three years in to learning to be a two bit, one-thumbed guitar picker. And soon as I got to realizing how mighty folk song is, I got to seein just how fine and forceful a folk musician and balladeer Hobe Kytr is. So I learned a bunch of his songs. Still play 'em. Last time we got together I asked him if he planned to record more of his songs (there's plenty) and he's intent on it, just doesn't say when.

I was touched and honored earlier this year when Hobe asked me to join him on stage at the Fisher Poet's annual gathering out in Astoria, Oregon. He had just released Dog Salmon and Rutabagas in the form of a CD (and about time, too). So we got up on stage and we played and sang the title track and another song off the album, Almost Walk from Shore to Shore. It's great to have such a fine performer and musician, and authentic folklorist, there for inspiration--it's even better to have the guy be your friend.

One thing that really gets me goin when I think about Hobe's next album is that he's kicking around the idea of having some barrel house piano playing on it. Man oh man would that be great to hear.

# # #

Stage Patter

Of course, the first thing you should judge a band by is if you like their sound. But if you stumble upon some live musicians playing in the town square or a street fair, or get dragged to a show by your friends, this just won't be true. Your first set of judgments gets made on the basis of how they look. Then, if you're like me, you'll try to give them a few minutes to make an impression before you get to critical of their sound.

But lots of musicians these days sound fairly decent, so you can better tell a professional outfit by their stage patter. For far too long, I've put off honing in on this aspect of my show, and I'm finally making up for it by developing this part of stage craft. You don't need gags, you don't need scripts, you just need to be able to sincerely tell a story.

What a craft That is.

'The Music Blogging Hive Mind'

I think I might like what's goin on here.

'Oregon or Bust'

Here's a sample of the type of images you'll encounter when I publish the first version of the Woody Guthrie Travelogue website. These images were culled from the public domain photos included in the Library of Congress' online digital archives. They have reams of stuff on there, I just wish more of it was as high definition as this beautiful photograph, which depicts a fella in Montana circa 1940.

Travelogue: Woody Guthrie Along the Columbia River

In 1941 Woody Guthrie was hired by the Bonneville Power Administration to write songs for a documentary designed to promote the BPA's dam-building projects. This turned out to be a very great thing for both the BPA and Guthrie's productivity. He wrote 26 songs in that one month (at least, he wrote as much multiple times, I can't quite find 'em all). A few of them you have probably heard somewheres. The more famous ones are "Roll On, Columbia," "Pastures of Plenty," and "Hard Travelin'". In my humble opinion, one of the three talking blues he wrote at the time, "Columbia Talkin' Blues", is one of the finest examples of the talking blues ever written (You can hear echoes of it in multiple talkin' blues by Dylan).

I grew up on homegrown Northwest folk music, and this drew me to the story of the spiritual dynamo that was Woody Guthrie spending one of the most productive months of his life in the very town where I was born.

So, I made a grant proposal to the Woody Guthrie Foundation back in 2007. They accepted my proposal, which was that I would research this month of Guthrie's life at the Woody Guthrie Archives in NYC, and then create a travelogue website documenting the facts and story of that fertile month along the Columbia. Luckily, the fella who put together the one and only songbook devoted to Guthrie's NW creations is a jovial man named Bill Murlin, who I'm proud to now call a friend. Bill and my friend Hobe Kytr (who also contributed a short essay and transciptions of melodies to The Columbia River Collection) both helped me out by editing and writing formal recommendations for my proposal.

Last year I got a letter tellin' me they were actually taking me up on my offer, I received a Woody Guthrie Fellowship from what is technically the BMI Foundation. It amounted to a $500 grant to "defray travel expenses" to NYC, and even better, the honest ability to tell people that I'm "A Woody Guthrie Fellow."

I flew there and spent 2 weeks flipping over thousands of manuscript pages in the Archives, an exhilarating, exhausting, exhaustive, exuberant experience. Woody left over 3000 pages of song lyrics--and that's just the ones that survived. Then there's the letters, newspaper columns, and various other random manuscripts and drawings he produced. Somewhere I read him write something to the effect that "blank paper ain't safe around me"--it all got eatin up by his hungry typewriter.

Anyways, there's no way to describe how amazing it is to read the breadth and depth of the man's work--I was on a mission. I sifted and sorted and made notes and requested a whole stack 'o papers related to Woody's Northwest Stint. Months later I received photocopies of these requests in the mail, which are currently strewn all around me for the hundredth time since that lovely package arrived.

So I'm working to synthesize the letters and NW song manuscripts into a coherent story told in travelogue website form. I aim for it to be the end all and be all info repository of facts and myth-bustings detailing the real deal regarding Woody's time in Portland town and the region in general. When finished, I will post a link to the site on this site. You should scope it out at that time. I aim to have a Beta version up and running by the day before Halloween.

The Travelogue website will eventually contain a Calendar that lists all events taking place in the NW that are relevant to Woody's legacy in the region. It will tell you where we know he went, and the few instances of when we knew where he was when. It's a helluva story, and you're going to dig it, I just know it.

# # #

Bill Murlin is part of a folk duo called The Wanderers (this link will play music on yer computer). On their site you'll hear multiple examples of Woody's NW creations. Check 'em out.

Hobe Kytr doesn't currently have a web presence. I intend to pester him about this.

Improvisation

This fine article in the New Yorker is exciting, and a relief to read, because classical music needs to rediscover improvisation of every sort. I like this:

[pianist Robert] Levin, the Harvard-based musician who for decades has been the chief guru of classical improvisation, believes that performances need to cultivate risk and surprise. Otherwise, he says, music becomes “gymnastics with the affectation of emotional content”—a phrase that sums up uncomfortably large tracts of modern music-making.

I hear a lot of popular music--from instrumental jazz to all manner of pop groups--as being “gymnastics with the affectation of emotional content”. That's a very poignant phrase.

If music is to be more than a person's accessory, more than just what you listen to in order to demonstrate to people who you are, it has got to cultivate risk and surprise. I want to craft a style of music that takes risks in the content of its rhythm, harmony, and lyrics--all at the same time. I want those risks to pay off by invigorating the listener, and compelling them to make a change for the better in their own life.

Improvisation should be just as central to the education of any musician as ear training or a firm sense of rhythm. One reason classical music can sound stale is that you're hearing a lot of musicians (probably not all of em, I'm not quite saying that) who have barely ever tried to improvise.

Just so you know that I'm willing to take my own medicine, I'll tell you that these days I'm starting to scat sing.

Renegade Minstrels Ramble Forum, Part II

In Monday night's band meeting, the happiest moment for me was when Jon, our stalwart and funky fresh trombone maestro, announced that he wanted to take more of an active roll in shaping the sound and direction of the group. He opined that we should take the band in the direction of a whole lot more Um-Chicka Um-chick uptempo shoulder boppin type rhythms (I'm paraphrasing here, believe it er not) crossed with Squirrel Nut Zippers-type slinky tunes in the mode of our song "Drill Sergeant's Ditty." One word that I remember Jon used repeatedly was "sultry," and I dug that deeply.

In fact, I was wholly delighted, not just because I'm always seeking new ways to engage my bandmates in our pursuits, but because Jon's vision lined up quite finely with mine. I had written down in my notes for the meeting that we needed to go toward "rump shakin blues stomps and swing." So what he said was right up that same red light district alley.

Fear not, folky fans, for folk songs such as Hobe Kytr's Tillamook Burn will still have a place in this music--that song's easy to swing.

Luke's contribution to the discussion was this: "We always play from chord charts--why don't we do more with Line (all of us playing a riff in unison-type grooves)." I thought that was a wise idea as well, so expect to hear more of that sorta thing in future compositions and arrangements.

Jon's other suggestion, which I was also immediately onboard with--but hadn't thought too much of before--was that I play up the lead singer / harmonica player role more and just play guitar when necessary. I like this a whole lot cause it allows me to focus on shaping the delivery of the lyrics and the dynamics of the performance.

After this lovely little Minstrel symposium, we played a few tunes to try the new ideas out, and Lo, the feeling was grand.

Now if we can only get plenty More rehearsal time to make all these ideas happen...