H I LL INO I UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN

PRODUCTION NOTE

University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library Large-scale Digitization Project, 2007.

4.- ATA I II

lolume 4, Number 1 (whole issue 16) kI_- October 7, 1963

HOBART SMITH AT U. OF I.

Hobart Smith, a traditional fiddler, tions of us Smiths kindly took to music. )anjo-picker, guitarist, and singer Always picking on some instrument or from Saltville, Virgina, will appear in singing some ditty, that was the Smith Altgeld Hall, October 11, 8 PM, in the way. If we managed to marry somebody 3lub's first membership concert of the who didn't care for it, why pretty soon new school year. they'd dive up and get a divorce and leave, and then we'd marry somebody else Smith's repertoire, some of which is who did love music. That way it just available on the Atlantic "Southern kept a-runnin' through our family." Folk Heritage Series" recorded by Alan Lomax, includes dazzling fiddle hoe- "In the first generations of my family owns and breakdowns, guitar blues, the men were all fiddlers and the girls gospel songs, old ballads and rippling, all good singers. Drop on down and you rhythmic banjo pieces that sound equal- begin to get a banjo player or two in the Ly good as lyric songs or as dance crowd. Then they was mostly banjo pick- iccompaniment. ers, like my daddy, King Smith who learnt me to play. I took to it so natural Among his famous pieces are "John that when I come to the house, Mama would Brown", a lively dance tune for fiddle tell old King to put by his banjo and Ln modal tuning, "Bangin' Breakdown", let somebody handle it who could." a strangely beautiful rhythm exercise ln Afro-American banjo music, and "See Many Club members will remember Fhat My Grave Is Kept Clean", .a moving Hobart's appearance earlier this year at and powerful song that flows directly the University of Chicago Folk Festival. Dut of Negro tradition. His virtuosity astonished the crowd as he moved with no difficulty from one in- Actually, Hobart Smith is as much a strument to the other, from one song study in American history as he is in style to another, all the time enjoying rusic. His repertoire spans the com- his work as much as the audience en- plete distance from the original Scots- joyed listening to it. Irish immigration to the Negro plantation culture. His home in the western reaches The Club plans at least four member- )f Virginia has been for over a century ship concerts during the school year: an area of intense cross-pollination Hobart Smith, Emmanuel Dunn, Mississippi )etween Negro and white culture, and the delta bluesman; and two others yet to music of the region expresses this fact be selected. Admission to these Club nore than any aspect of everyday life concerts is by membership card only. ,an. However, membership is open. Dues are $2.00 a year. Hobart himself comes from a musical family. In his words, "All the genera- See you at the concert ^ Cz, ^ 4% V-.- ^ L44 I I ^ I~m ^ 5 $ ^ w 0ad

~mmm.4 EDITORIAL

You went to the first folksing, you parted with two dollars and

became a member. You joined because you were hip on folk music, or because

your friend joined, or because you werepersuaded to join. At any rate, you are now a part of the largest organization on campus--the Campus Folksong Club. To what does this entitle you besides a little green membership card to carry with you always?

Aside from the regular Friday night folksings (at which all members

are free to air their lungs and show off their instrumental prowess), the Club

offers a few special concerts free to you members only. Friday, October 11, the

Club will feature Hobart Smith, old time fiddle and banjo player from Virginia,

and on Friday, November 1, Emmanual Dunn, Hississippi blues singer, will perform.

While folksings and concerts provide pleasurable listening to folk music, seminars and lectures will give you insight into the background of the

songs and the lore of the "folk" with whom they originated; these discussions

reveal the folksong to be not merely a form of entertainment, but also an impor-

tant cultural expression of the people. The noted folklorist, Ben Botkin, will

speak to you on iNovember 12 at the Club's first lecture of this year.

Coffee klatches and informal socials after concerts and lectures afford you a chance to meet the performer or scholar and to get together with other Club members. Finally, as a member, you receive several issues of the Club's publi-

cation--Autoharp. Writers, artists and volunteers are invited to contribute, and to assemble and mail Autoharp.

The Campus Folksong Club operates under the assumption that you like

folk music, but recognizes the fact that each individual expresses his interest in a different way. As has been pointed out in this editorial, the Club has tried to adapt itself to your various interests with an aim to please. You may prefer to listen to folk music or perform it yourself, study it, write about it, or even talk about it. Whatever your interests, you are among friends here. Thanks for joining. Benette Rottman, Editor

THE SCEIIE IN ALABAMA

Last year it was my pleasure at this season to report on the results of a trip made by me and my friends to the Southern Appalachians in search of native fiddlers. This year I again made my annual trip south, but with a difference: Instead of heading for what Archie Green calls "the seemingly more romantic southern highlands" I set out instead for the town of Clanton (pop. 6000) in the heart of the red-clay country of Alabama.

The reason was a practical one. The Plouses, it appears, now have relatives (or kinfolk, to use the proper term) in Alabama, and my brother and I realized that by staying with kinfolk we could stretch our finances considerably and spend more of our money doing those unnecessary but much-desired things that make a trip a vacation. We did set aside a couple of days for the Smokey Mountains, but, after leaving Champaign we pointed the Rambler's nose directly at Clanton and arrived there at 2:00 a.m., after a l4-hour trip.

My aunt, knowing that I am a fiddle-chaser, had already notified me that Clanton boasted of considerable native talent. As evidence she cited a local dentist and his wife, both of whom pick guitar and sing. The man to see, she assured me, was Doctor Parker, and his office was right downtown, just across from the Rexall Drug Store. I set off on foot and soon found the doctor's shingle beckoning me off the street and into the old, two-storey walkup that graced the main street of downtown Clanton. I climbed the stairs, entered the office, and asked the receptionist: "Is Doctor Parker the man that picks the guitar?"

"Yes he is," she replied, grinning, and looking at me strangely. (It is very unusual in Clanton to walk into a dentist's office when your head needs to be examined more than your teeth.) "Sit down a while, and he'll see you when he's through with his patient."

The wait lasted about an hour, and during that time I fancied to myself what kind of man this "Doc" Parker must be. Probably some old gent in a plug hat-- maybe even chin whiskers. Must have been in this same office since laughing gas was discovered.

I must confess that I was shocked when the "doctor" finally appeared. What greeted me was a trim, crew-cut young man who showed no evidence of having left his twenties. We shook hands. I introduced myself, and, while recovering from the shock explained to the doctor that I was just a visitor in town--a sort of migrant worker, casually attached to a northern institution of higher learning and interested in turning up some good examples of country music.

The doctor immediately shocked me again by using the term "folk music" to describe his own interests. I questioned him on his background, and he revealed that he was actually from western Kentucky and had first become interested in traditional music while at St. Louis University. This happened about four years ago he explained.

The truth was then that Doctor Parker's career as a country music fan pre- dated mine by only about one year. I felt a little more comfortable.

"Let me show you my latest project," Parker asked, and he led me back into the office and extracted something from behind the dentist's chair. It was a long neck for a banjo, and the doctor himself had carved it. I sighted along it and felt the finish. Evidently, the doctor, for all his youth, was a skilled craftsman. There were plenty of people in Champaign-Urbana who would have given good money for a piece of equipment like that. I asked the doctor if he was a guitar-picker or a banjo picker. His main interest was the banjo, he confided, though he did play both instruments.

We made an appointment for that evening. Doctor Parker would make the arrange- ments, and if they were successful I would get to meet the winner of the Chilton County Fair Fiddler's contest. I thanked the doctor and left, running all the way back to my aunt's house for lunch.

II

There was a man visible in front of the old white house, so I pulled the car off the darkened road and got out and went up to him.

"Do you know where Temple Road's at?" I asked.

"Temple Road--now, I'd have to study on that some."

Hle went in and talked to his son. I was twenty minutes behind schedule and still hadn't found the doctor's house.

"Go over to the highway and turn right--south, and right after you come to Lawrence's store--the grocery--you turn left. 'At's Temple Road."

I finally found the house. It was a modern home set 300 yards off the high- way in a grove of pine trees. Bare red dirt glared up out of the semi-darkness.

"We're going to see Fonza Smith," said the doctor. "He's eighty years old and still plows his own land. He's about the best fiddler around here--I've had him down to Montgomery on television, and he won the first prize at the county fair this year. He knows all the old tunes."

It was about eight miles to Fonza's house. The scene was familiar to all buyers of Folkways albums--an unpainted house, a grove of tall trees, a pair of dogs curled up in the drive and in the distance--more dogs, howling at the moon, or each other, or at strange sounds. We entered the house. Fonza (pronounced fon-zee) sat on a chair by the fire place with one foot in a pan of warm water, preparatory to undergoing a small operation for a bothersome corn on his toe. Mrs. Smith, a large woman of the standard rural type, came bustling out of the kitchen brandishing a Super Blue-Blade and sat down to attack the corn on her consort's foot. With the stoicism of a monk Fonza joined in the conversation as his wife picked, pried and pared at his ailing tootsie. Only when she had pro- nounced him fit did he rise, go for his fiddle and begin the concert.

Doctor Parker started off on the banjo with "Cripple Creek". Then Fonza asked me if I knew it on the fiddle. I picked up my own fiddle and played the tune, as best as I could. But Fonza put me to shame. His own "Cripple Creek" was almost a jig. Distinct pieces of old Irish and Scottish fiddling floated through the tune; there were no slurred notes, little of the double-stopping and sliding with which I was familiar. Instead, each note rang out separately from the rest and each string was played singly. He used his little finger copiously, and the little trills and runs filled the room so that all our feet began tapping as if of their own accord. For this sound and setting people come hundreds of miles. This is what the recording engineers cannot pick up. The old family farmhouse, the baying of the hounds, the faded photographs hanging from the wall, the bare floor, the sound of the crickets and the smell of the wild honeysuckle. Fonza Smith was fiddling well, and we all knew it. "Uncle Joe", "Sally Goodin", "Billy in the Lowground", "Stoney Point"--all were fiddled that night, and all of them in the same controlled and delicate style. The polished loving cup on the table testified that Fonza was the champion fiddler of Chilton county, but it was his music that proved it. The man had been practicing for 70 years.

A farmer gets up early in the morning, so we left at a respectable hour. As we pulled away there rang out from the door not "Good-byel." or "So long ." but "Y'all come back ." the salutation universal south of the Mason-Dixon Line. We vowed to do so.

Fonza's fiddling may soon be available in Champaign-Urbana. Doctor Parker and I have agreed to exchange tapes, and as a token of thanks I left with him a copy of "Green Fields of Illinois". This exchange will enable us to discover if there are any radical differences between the music of Clanton, Alabama--the extreme southern end of the Appalachian musical area--and Southern Illinois, a northwestern outpost of the same strain. Perhaps Fonza's work will be known through some other means; a New York collector-writer had already come to see and hear Fonza, and the visitor was just as impressed as the doctor and I were.

III

Little remains to be told of the remainder of our trip, for we did not actively seek any more musicians. While in the Smokeys,-however, we did have a small adventure which will be of interest to those who followed the predecessor of this narrative last fall. As will be recalled, we scored a coup of sorts last year by bringing back a jug of Tennessee nerve tonic, a beverage much prized by connoisseurs. This time we headed south with two jugs, ready to bring back a gallon and a half to ward off the vicious Champaign-Urbana winter, which, as everyone knows, is a horrible thing indeed and not at all to be trifled with. We got in touch with our source immediately and asked him if he could get our supply replenished. lie scratched his head.

"Waal--that fella--the one makes the stuff--he ain't in business any more. They had an election here last fall--and he just ended up on the wrong side when it was all over."

So much for home-made whiskey. Me and mine will have to face the winter unprotected.

F. K. Plous, Jr.

GREEN FIELDS OF ILLINOIS -- CFC 201

This long playing record produced by the Campus Folksong Club features traditional performers in central Illinois.

$3.50 to members -- $h.00 to non-members

BOTKIN COMING IN NOVEMBER

The Campus Folksong Club is pleased to announce continuation of last year's stimulating and scholarly lecture-seminar series, which included evening lectures by Roger Abrahams, Ray Browne, Archie Green, and Doyle Moore, and afternoon seminars with Harry Oster, Jean Redpath, and Mayne Smith. This year the series will also include at least one evening of films on various aspects of folklore.

For the first lecture this fall, the English Department and the Campus Folksong Club are presenting Dr. Ben A. Botkin, who will speak on November 12, 8:00 p.m., in 180 Bevier Hall on "The Folklore Revival: Cult or Culture." Dr. Botkin is a particularly appropriate speaker to bring to this campus, since he is one of the few widely-known and respected scholars to examine both crit- ically and sympathetically the current folklore revival. As a contributing editor to the New York Folklore Quarterly, he comments regularly on the New York scene.

To his study of the current revival Dr. Botkin brings his long experience as a writer, folklorist, and field worker. After receiving degrees in English from Harvard, Columbia, and the University of Nebraska, he taught English for many years at the University of Oklahoma, and later served as Folklore Editor for the Federal Writers Project, Resident Fellow in Folklore at the Library of Congress, and Chief of the Archive of American Folk Song at the Library of Congress. He is a member of the American Folklore Society, of which he served as President in 194hh-h, and is an Honorary Vice-President of the New York Folklore Society. He is the author of The American Play-Party Song, and has edited innumerable volumes, including Folk-Say, A Regional Miscellany; A Treasury of American Folklore; Lay My Burden Down: A Folk History of Slavery; A Treasury of New England Folklore; A Treasury of Southern Folklore; A Treasury of Western Folklore; Sidewalks of America; and A Civil War Treasury of Tales, Legends and Folklore. He is presently working on a volume about people at play, and a new and enlarged edition of The American Play-Party Song.

Dr. Botkin has proven a constant friend and teacher to all interested in folklore, and is certain to stimulate our interests and activities here.

Fan Mail From The Far Corners

Prof. Doyle Moore Art Department University of Illinois

Dear Doyle,

Just want to let you know that part of your record was played out here on the radio. Was up working last night and listening to the country music station, KFOX, when at four o'clock the announcer said something to the effect that "I've just received a good record of old-timey music from a group that calls itself the Philo Glee and Mandolin Society, This is a group that goes way back." He then read out the three of your names and said you were from the U. of I. Then he talked about the dacys when he lived in Tenn. and whenever they had company, the overflow was bedded down on the floor. So after about three or four min., he played "Make Me A Bed Down On The Floor." Sounded good. Congrats. Dean Bloodpood (118 S. Virgil, Los Angeles) CALLIIG ALL DETECTIVES: INVITATION TO A MANHUNT

During the summer of 1961, my brother and I started patronizing a small instrument store and folknik haven in Hyde Park, near the University of Chicago. Readers from Chicago will know it: the Fret Shop, which recently moved a few blocks to 15h7 E. 53rd St. The new store is much like the old one--I think they still have some of the instruments that were around in 1961--but there have been some changes. First, Pete Leibundguth seems to be doing more instrument making than formerly (rumor has it that he makes a mean banjo neck), and second, Paul Durst is gone.

The second of these changes came as a shock to me. Since my last visit to the Fret Shop, I had spent successive winters in Baltimore and Korea, at the request of President Kennedy had a committee of my neighbors. When I returned from the Far East and started rummaging through my scattered civilian effects, I came upon the text that appears below, and was reminded of the man who had given it to me. His name is Paul Durst. Veteran Fret Shop patrons will remember that he sat in an enor- mous carved chair, next to a table full of fiddles in various stages of decay. He was a wild-looking old bird, with a long white beard and a pair of huge, compelling eyes. He seldom spoke. When he did, though, you did well to listen.

Fellow Worker Durst was one of the last of the old-time Wobblies--a proud, card-carrying member of the Industrial Workers of the World. Given half a chance (for instance, "How are you tonight, Mr. Durst?"), he would breathe hard, get up steam, and take off on a condemnation of Management, a eulogy for Joe Hill, and a plea for One Big Union. Between political addresses, he sold fiddles. My brother and I got pretty friendly with him when Dan bought one. We asked him if he had ever played the violin professionally: a tacktful question, since arthritis had severely damaged his ability. "Oh hell yes, I used to play coast to coast," he said. We were all ears. Was he an old-time radio performer perhaps? Had he traveled with a show?

Well, not exactly. He had followed the grain and fruit harvests as a young man, cashing in on the inevitable Saturday-night festivities as he went. In short, he was a hobo; not just a bum, but a hobo in the grand old manner. Further dis- cussion is unnecessary; see the text of "Buffalo Bill the Hobo Entertainer" below.

Like most of the people who, for one reason or another, take up the vagabond life, Paul Durst had neither chick nor child--at least none he ever mentioned. But he did have a passionate involvement--with an idea. This was the primitive labor movement, as embodied in the IWH. Beyond his labor ideology, Paul Durst used to get quite violent on the subject of religion; if his statements can be taken liter- ally, he hated all organized faiths impartially, and God very personally, and reserved his belief for the prophets of the I~W. That song about "Pie in the Sky" was a hymn to Mr. Durst.

I wish I could give a fine set of notes to his song text, including sources, date and place of composition, and above all, authorship; all I can say for sure is that Paul Durst gave it to me in the summer of 1961, and that I do not believe he wrote it. First, his command of English was probably not equal to it. He was born of Swiss parents in Wisconsin, and his early background was isolated enough so that his speech in old age is heavily accented and his English occasionally odd. Secondly, he made no claim to authorship. Where he picked it up I do. not know, but Someone had been kind enough to mimeograph it; the song was even done on an electric typewriter with a fancy typeface. I would ask him the appropriate scholarly ques- tions if he still had the fiddle concession at the Fret Shop, but, as hinted earlier in this piece, I cannot find him. I asked Pete Leibundguth what became of the old man. He did not know. Some months ago, the old guy gathered up most of his gear and moved on--just disappeared, leaving behind a fascinating collection of trash and no forwarding address.

Here the plot thickens, and all the Junior G-Men among you may get busy. Several weeks ago, a picture appeared in the Chicago Sun-Times, of an old man with a white beard who was living under Wacker Drive in Chicago. It looked like Paul Durst. Subsequent search was fruitless. Who among you is curious enough to poke around on weekends and try to unearth the mysterious Mr. Durst? Possible leads are the Z'TI,the photographer at the Sun-Times, the cops near Wacker Drive. Object: to find out who wrote the piece below, and when, and what is the "right" tune to the song of "Buffalo Bill." Also, Pete Leibundguth would like to know what to do with all the junk Paul left behind. For instance: hundreds of winding strips from coffee cans. Even more bizarre, when you remember Paul Durst's flowing white beard, dozens of safety razors, all in the original wrappers.

Two last notes: although I cannot give an "authentic" tune to "Buffalo Bill," scansion indicates that "The Wabash Cannonball" is an acceptable melody. And if you see a shadowy figure in a trenchcoat under Wacker Drive, stop and say hello--I am getting lonesome.

Paul J. Sampson

BUFFALO BILL THE HOBO ENTERTAINER

I know an old time friend of mine, who traveled the hobo way From coast to coast through Canada, now this I heard him say; He rode the rods, climbed high on top, caught many on the fly And cooked his meals in jungle style while watching trains go by.

Those jungles were quite plentiful along most railroad tracks Where many 'boes were camping, some with bundles on their backs While coffee pots and kettles made of old tomato cans Were strung along a cooking place with many frying pans.

The reason for his roaming I will try hard to explain You see those jobs were far apart and seasonal in the main For when the wheat was harvested, the apples needed men This forced him in the hobo life with many of his kin.

Never underrate a hobo for he has skill and wisdom too As the one I'm writing this about always knows just what to do When times get tough you'll see him busy entertaining men With popular brands of music played on a violin.

This is the early history of one who went through the mill He's nicknamed in all cities by the name of Buffalo Bill You can see him now on Skid Row with a violin in his hand Traveling up and down Madison Street, this happy smiling man.

So come and see the double of old-time circus Bill Drop in some nearby tavern where you'll surely get a thrill I know he will amuse while fiddling on a string But don't forget some silver, just enough to make it ring. CHICAGO'S RADIO SCENE

Unlike many of my more fortunate contemporaries, who spent their summers touring the various folk festivals around the country, I spent my vacation in Chicago. Faced with the prospect of remaining in the big city for twelve weeks, I decided to review folk music on the "home front." Every night I crept into my small abode with my radio, and after carefully closing the door, (my parents are out of it when it comes to folk music) I spent a few hours tediously switching the radio dial from AM station to E4 station to AM station and back in search of the perfect program. Needless to day, it was an interesting but rather dis- appointing pastime. I listened to about fifteen hours of folk music a week. I discovered that most of what Chicago radio has to offer in the so-called field of "folk music" is unbelievably bad.

From 9 to 11 p.m., Monday through Friday, on DXRT-FM Jerry Woods entertained listeners (or bored them) with the latest new groups. His feature albums of the evening were the usual Kingston Trio, Chad Mitchell Trio, New Christy Minstrels, Wayfarers, and so on, albums. Anything half-way traditional was rare. As a matter of fact, I would have to delve deep into my memory to recall an off beat record (this is the name I began to tag traditional records with--they were so uncommon).

"Well," I muttered to myself, clenching my fists and gritting my teeth as I prepared to sit through the Kingston Trio's quivering version of "The Thresher" for the zillionth time, "patience and tolerance, kiddo, patience and tolerance." But one night my tolerance cracked. I tuned in just in time to hear Bobby Darin sing the "Erie Canal." I let out a little shriek, jumped up, and jerked the dial to WIXFM-FM's Night Time Folksing, which was on Mondays and Fridays at about the same time as the Woods program. This was a fair program. The ratio of legitimate folk music to "the other stuff" was about 1 to 3. Comparatively speaking this is pretty good. An occasional Jean Ritchie was thrown in amongst the Highwaymen and the Modern Folk Quartet (which is to folk music what the Modern Jazz Quartet is to jazz--bad news).

If I tired of this program I might switch to WSBC's Monday night Meetin House. I was particularly interested in this program because it originated a few years back during the beginning of the folk music revival when people were just begin- ning to learn how to pronounce Joan Baez's name. The Chad Mitchell Trio, and all the rest of the trios and Little Tin men were virtually non-existant. The program was run by a high school mate of mine and it was run with discrimination. I teethed on the Meetin House and became "all hung up," as A.G. would say, on folk music. Thus when I chanced to tune in one night this summer, I listened with mingled feelings of nostalgia and curiosity, I had apparently tuned in at the right time. It was request night and someone had requested a song by Pete Seeger. I shall quote the disc jockey word for word.

"It doesn't have enough of a commercial sound to be played on this program," quoth he, "Seeger is fine with the Weavers. By himself he is a very fine guitarist (Seeger happens to be a banjoist, but we'll let that go) but he is too ethnic to be played on this program."

1Well, so much for the Meetin House. It is really questionable whether Seeger is ethnic--he is a borderline case; but if Seeger is too ethnic for this program, the search for a traditional or "ethnic" record on Meetin House is futile. On Saturday nights WCFL-AM radio ran a show from 8 to 11 p.m. Naturally in 5 hours, you have got to run out of The Highwaymen. They even managed to play Marais and Miranda one night. But they ran the show like a rock and roll station with a commercial after every record. To employ a bad pun, the program was too commercial.

Lest this article be too sad and woeful, I shall provide our readers with a happy ending. There are two worthwhile programs on Chicago radio. One is WFMT's Midnight Special which plays everything: Oscar Brown, Jr., Lotte Lenya, Elsa Lanchester, Chad IMitchell, Leadbelly, The Carter Family. The Special is always enjoyable and devotes an admirable amount of time to traditional music. This summer they featured the blues.

Finally, Professor Bob Cosbey of Roosevelt University conducted Folksong, Saturday nights at 9 p.m. My heart beat fast and I broke out in a cold sweat as I tuned in to VIBBM on Saturday nights. I listened to the theme song and breathed a sigh of relief. I was afraid each Saturday night would be Cosbey's last. You know, good things never last, the good always die, etc. I am pleased to report, however, that when I left Chicago, the Professor was still going strong.

When I first heard Cosbey, I ran to get a notebook and pencil to take notes. The program became an informal lecture series--a fascinating course in the study of folk music. Cosbey's main theme was commercial vs. traditional material. He spent many evenings comparing the two and pointing out their respective merits in an unbiased, purely objective manner.

One night he played the Kingston Trio's version of "Tom Dooley," followed by Frank Proffittts traditional version. He explained that as the KT sings it, "Tom Dooley" is an amusing, happy, bouncy, gay little song. It is a good song. "Poor boy you're bound to die" has absolutely no meaning, however. Proffitt's grandmother knew the girl Dooley murdered. It is a real event to Proffitt, a human situation. Here Cosbey makes his point. Folksong is more than just song; it grows out of human experience and it has meaning.

In one memorable program, Cosbey invited George and Gerry Armstrong to tell of their trip to Ht. View, Arkansas, for the Arkansas Folk Festival. The Armstrongs described the event and played recordings of people who performed. Perhaps the only criticism of Cosbey's program is that he is still unaware of the existence of many traditional singers, and often winds up playing the same ones again and again. However, he is eager to add to his knowledge.

Well, having begun on a pessimistic note, I shall try to conclude optimisti- cally. A disturbing abundance of poor grade material is being played on programs which claim to be devoted to folk music. But don't you fret--there is still hope. Keep dialing.

Benette Rottman BLUES FROM A TO Z

MISSISSIPPI JOHN HURT. John Hurt (vocals, guitar and harmonica). Avalon Blues. Richland Women Blues. Spike Driver Blues. Salty Dog. Cow Hooking Blues. Spanish Fandang. Casey Jones. Louis Collins. Candy Man Blues. My Creole Belle. Liza Jane-God's Unchanging Hand. Joe Turner Blues. Piedmont 13157.

The "discovery" last March of John Hurt, known to cognoscente of vintage 78's through a dozen numbers released by Okeh in 1928, and his reappearance on Dick Spottswood's new label, Piedmont, are events of incalculable significance as materials for illuming the reaches of folk music practiced in the early decades of this century continue to reach the public.

At 69, Hurt has maintained a command of technique and vigor of voice which yield striking evidence of a still transcendent artistry. Through the songs now record- ed for Piedmont trace the unmistakable gifts of a pre-eminent balladeer: wit, an understanding of the individuality of each musical experience, a flair for the dramatic, simplicity, an impeccable sense of rhythm and phrasing. His guitar work, in the finger-picking style which won him early acclaim, is inventive and arrest- ing; his treatment of melodic line and bass figures continues fluid and bell-clear.

The new recording is a revelation. Mention here may be made of several selections without beginning to report the range of Hurt's accomplishments. Candy Man Blues sparkles with a sly hint, never reinforced by any vocal cue, that a candy stick may be a candy stick may be a candy stick. Cow Hooking Blues is compounded of an insistent bass figure, a use of silence substantially abandoned among contemporary blues singers, a measured, unhurried alternation of voice and guitar: the effect is stunning. Salty Dog is what jazz was about: Hurt's scat singing, spontaneity, and infectious good spirit are basic to that understanding.

With little question, MISSISSIPPI JOHN HURT will be one of the outstanding releases of this decade.

LONG STEEL RAIL. Bill Jackson (vocals, 12-string guitar). Old Rounder Blues. Long Steel Rail. Last Go-Round. Careless Love. Titanic Blues. Freight Train Runs So Slow. Blues in the Morning. You Ain't No Woman. Freight Train Blues. Moaning Guitar Blues. Goin' Back South. Blood Red River. Don't Put Your Hands On Me. Testament Records T-201.

The first release on Peter J. Welding's new label affords an introduction to the wistful balladry of Bill Jackson, sometime work hand on the B. & 0. Railroad and a gifted guitarist who auditioned for Victor in 1928 only to have an expected debut scuttled by a disagreement over recording terms. Now 57, Jackson has focused his skills on a baker's dozen blues and ballads recalled from his youth and Maryland heritage. Delicacy, precision, and economy characterize Jackson's guitar technique, agree- ably complementing his rather low-pitched and reflective voice. There is a relaxed urgency about Old Rounder Blues (Oh, babe, it's wake up, old rounder, it's almost break of day/Don't let my man catch you here). Jackson is jaunty on Goin' Back South, lends a sense of irrevocable tragedy to Titanic Blues, and sparks the mood of party-fun suggested by Don't You Put Your Hands On Me.

LONG STEEL RAIL is a refreshing reminder that the province of folk music numbers many varieties of and attitudes toward song-making. Jackson's art deserves the documentation given it by Peter Welding, whose notes are comprehensive and infor- mative, if overmuch at pains to ready the listener for the performances of a singer well without the Mississippi Delta, both geographically and stylistically. A three-page excerpt from Welding's taped interview of Jackson is provided with the album.

N;;-w;- -- * L. .-

JOHN HAMMOND. John Hammond (vocals, guitar and harmonica). Two Trains Running. Give me A 32-20. Maybelline. Louise. This Train. East St. Louis Blues. Goin' Back To Florida. Mean Old Frisco. I Got A Letter This Morning. Alabama Woman Blues. The Hoochie Coochie Man. Crossroad Blues. See That My Grave Is Kept Clean. Vanguard VRS-9132.

Twenty-year-old John Hammond, III (son of John Hammond, Jr., Executive Producer for Columbia Records), makes his recording debut with a program of staples and yet-to-be staples ranging from Blind Lemon Jefferson's See That My Grave Is Kept Clean to Chuck Berry's Maybelline. Additionally, his sources are McKinley Morganfield, Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup, Robert Pete Williams, Big Bill Broonzy, Furry Lewis, Lightning Hopkins, Eugene "Son" House, Leroy Carr, and Robert Johnson.

Generally, Hammond's approach to interpreting numbers for the most part identified with a galaxy of distinctive musical styles falls victim to the range of models against which he is shaping his still-maturing artistic personality. His con- siderable talents, unfortunately, are swathed in a Jacob's coat of many ornamental niceties.

Without the slurs, whoops, and affected rasps which color his voice much of the time, Hammond is persuasive in East St. Louis Blues, for which his articulated, crystalline guitar work is quietly superb. And it is to his formidable instru- mental technique and assertive statements on the harmonica that credit must be given for the gritty bite and rhythmic thrust of Maybelline, This Train, and Mean Old Frisco, whose excitement is maintained at a high pitch.

Hammond's debut, in sum, is a provocative one. It raises, for continuing (or new) discussion questions of genre, models, and reissues, all of which loom sign- ificantly as one considers Hammond's role in contemporary culture, the merits- across-time of the performers' art whose songs he has honored, and the persisting scarcity of the means of access to hear the performances out of which a tradition and standards governing judgments about quality must, or ought to, come.

Reviews by Ronald C. Foreman, Jr. FIRST FOLKS ING--REVIEW

An overflow crowd filled Smith Music Hall on Friday, the 20th of September, as the Campus Folksong Club presented its first folksing of the new semester.

Based on the capacity of Smith Recital Hall as compared to other rooms used in the past, Friday's sing was attended by three times as many people as any sing held since the Club's founding nearly three years ago. More important than the size of the audience, however, was its composition and its background. If this reviewer may be permitted to roam the corridors of modern history for a moment--there was a time, not long ago, when folksong on this campus was strictly for the beard-and-sandals set. Even in that recherche group, discrimination with regard to material was often minimal; the throng listened to everything from a Kingston Trio atrocity to an Elizabethan ballad under the impression that it was all "folk" and therefore A Good Thing--to be nurtured and protected and roped off from the assaults of the barbarians.

Friday night demonstrated how far this campus has come: The audience was a mixed bag. Old U of I regulars and professional undergraduates mingled with new freshmen, faculty and townsfolk, and an uncommonly large number gave evidence of understanding and appreciating what they heard. About half of the credit for this enviable state of affairs must go to the Campus Folksong Club and its policy of entertainment plus education--a policy cultivated assiduously since the Club's founding. I believe it is easily demonstrated that the level of appreciation has risen considerably among the folk fans at Illinois.

The other half of the credit mu-t go to the folksong "revival" in general, for much of the audience was not native to the campus, and must certainly have received a good deal of education on the outside. The new freshmen showed evi- dence of having done their homework--probably at such haunts as the Old Town School of Folk Music and the University of Chicago Folk Festival. Despite the large numbers of new students on campus the Club probably has a smaller edu- cational demand to meet this year than in any year previous. The new crop of students has considerable background in traditional music and showed it by its judicious use of applause and by the attentiveness with which it observed the campus performers.

A number of different strains were observed in the folksing: John Munday surprised everyone by forsaking his guitar for an autoharp and playing the latter beautifully. Sue Levin surprised no one (and thus delighted everyone) by stick- ing with her low-down bluesey sound and belting out her lyrics with perfect style and control. Tony Hough must be commended for the consistently high level of artistry he reached; his "Abilene" was a pleasure to hear.

As far as audience reception is concerned, Larry Crowley probably had the most success; his rendition of "Take a Whiff on Me" was both traditional and a crowd pleaser. Bob Knott, a graduate student new to our campus, showed his skill as an instrumentalist and singer as well as his Tennessee background. He has collected folk songs near his native Memphis and in the hills of Arkansas.

Folksong's new function was demonstrated in the numbers presented by Art Frankel's trio. Here is something for the student to ponder on for a moment: Frankel had just returned from the Freedom March in Washington and set his im- pressions and feelings to music as he tried to express the spirit that is involving not only college people, but Americans of all types. No traditionalist could possibly be heartened by the musical content of Frankel's work; even some of the greatest protest songs of the past lack a great deal from a musico-artistic standpoint. What is important in his work is the fact that his (and his colleagues') identification with personal singing provides him with a perfect vehicle for participation in the events that are moving the country today. One might consider for a moment whether a large part of our college protesters would be in the various movements today if they did not have this small but strong heritage of singing while petitioning for a redress of grievances. Even if we cannot call his style "folksong" we must still admit that it is becoming part of an ever-widening American political tradition, however short that tradition may be in time. The polish, speed, and "commercial" arrange- ments of the songs Frankel presented would be odious if passed off as traditional folksong; they are not traditional folksong, however, but a predetermined aesthetic response to what is essentially a 1963-model, urban phenomenon--the civil rights movement. It might even be anomalous to present this phenomenon in any other musical idiom. And who knows? The success of the civil rights struggle may even- tually carry this particular form of music on its coattails and establish it in some sort of tradition of its own. Prediction is not my game, however, so I will merely commend Frankel and his partners for their spirited and sincere performance. Freedom sounds as good on a guitar as it does in the Constitution.

A problem in analysis is presented by the act put on by the Boneyard Buckle- busters--Jarvis Rich, Vic Lukas, and Simon Stanfield. Beyond doubt it was the most visually interesting of the evening's presentation; literally, it had color: Jarvis wore his new straw hat, Vic wore his new green shirt, and Simon wore his old red beard. Unfortunately the musical portion of the act was bewildering and showed an appalling lack of practice. As for the alleged humor in the act- well, this reviewer has already made known his feelings on the subject of city boys taking over country comedy. For the benefit of those who have forgotten my caveat--or for those who contemplate this addition of humor to a traditional per- formance, let me repeat it: Humor is probably the most difficult part of a culture to reproduce. It demands oceans of prac-fce, and even then good results are not guaranteed. Combine all this with the difficulties of the music itself, and you have a recipe for disaster. It is no wonder that so much of Friday night's audience was baffled and bewildered by the antics offered them. If the Boneyard Bucklebusters could tell the difference between a hearty guffaw and a nervous titter they would soon abandon their excursion into the country corn and sub- stitute practice. Having done this they would soon be in a position to do what the Philo Glee and Mandolin Society did so well two years ago; that is, success- fully acquaint northern, urban college students with the beauties of Appalachian music and humor, not by provoking cackles of derision and embarrassment, but by proving that they have first mastered the difficulties and the discipline of old-timey presentation.

The importance of such acts as the above is even larger when viewed in the context of the fall semester, 1963. A throng of students has thrust itself upon the Campus Folksong Club, demanding sustenance for its appetite for traditional music. Everyone who goes onstage at a folksing this year has an increased obli- gation to promote the cause of traditional music, and must realize that very often first impressions are lasting impressions; new freshmen, face-to-face for the first time with traditional American music, can hardly be expected to listen with respect and admiration for its tonal and textual loveliness, when those who should already know such things are burlesquing the music with the heavy hand of a practical joker. But the Club and its devotees, even the new ones, will survive the pitfalls that wait for it, and the performers will be observed to change their methods of presentation as well. It has always been so in our past. The Club, audience and performers alike, is searching--for its mission and image. The coming year will probably see both mission and image take on a firm tangible form, and if the striving for quality in the last few years continues, then this Club will not only grow in size, but will firm up into the best college folksong club in the country.

F. K. Pious, Jr.

ANNIHILATION !

t /

SYM B1OLI C EF131 T-?H

or THE / fr/A T!r- SUBVERSIVE SOMGS? Sure, HlieSays in a Sly Speech

A resolution of the Fire and Police Research Association of Los

Angeles, calling for Congressional investigation of possible subversive influences in folk music, drew a swift, tongue-in-cheek rebuttal on the floor of Congress last week.

Sen. Kenneth B. Keating, New York Republican whose constituents include the folksingers of Greenwich Village, told the Senate he, too, had found evidence of subversion. In "Darlin' Corey" and "Copper Kettle," the senator found appeals to resist revenue agents ("Wake up, wake up, Darlin'

Corey. Why do you sleep so sound? The revenue officers are comin'; they're gonna tear your still house down") and tax collectors ("We ain't paid no whisky tax since 1792").

The Los Angeles organization charged the "certain of the hooten- annies (folk songfests) have been used to brainwash and subvert, in a seemingly innocuous but actually covert and deceptive manner, vast segments of young peoplest groups."

Said the Senator: "Of course, I realize that folk music tradition is grounded in movements of politicial, economic, and social unrest, and I did not expect to find--in music which orginated among sharecroppers, miners, union organizers, factory workers, cowboys, hill folk, wanderers, and de- pressed Negroes--a pattern of tribute and praise to such symbols of orthodoxy as the gold standard, the oil depletion allowance, and the standing rules of the United States Senate."

National Observer September 29, 1963 16TH OZARK FOLK FESTIVAL Eureka Springs, Arkansas October 2h, 25, 26, 1963

Jimmy Driftwood does things in a big way I Last April he promoted the first Mountain View, Arkansas, Folk Festival, featuring his friends and neighbors from the Stone County hills. His show was so successful that he now has been selected by the Eureka Springs Festival Board to produce their 16th Ozark Folk Festival.

And what a show he is producing....

Jimmy will act as master of ceremonies and perform at all of the three to five performances depending on the crowds. The list of non-professional artists is headed by Absie Morrison, an 87-year old fourth-generation hill fiddler and Almeda Riddle, a singer of traditional British ballads, who was featured at the University of Chicago Folk Festival this year.

The performances will feature ballads, old-time revival singing, Sacred Harp, Christian Harmony, Fiddling, banjo frailers, pickers and thumpers, and the jaw- bones of the wild jackass. Old play-party games and tale-tellings will be revived. Street square dances and Barefoot Ball will be open to all visitors.

Emphasis is placed on folk crafts at Eureka Springs, and for the Festival the main street will become a showplace for local crafts. Experts will show visitors how to spin, weave, make sorghum, quilt and whittle.

A tribe of local Indians will perform ceremonial dances and marksmanship competitions will be held with rifle, long bow, pistol and cross bow. The fishing is supposed to be pretty good in fishing holes fed by one of 62 local springs.

If you would like more information try writing to:

Louise Berry, Business Manager 16th Ozark Folk Festival, Dox No. 1 Eureka Springs, Arkansas or if you are curious about Ozark hospitality ask Doyle Moore or Lyle Mayfield, both recent guests of the Driftwoods.

Larry Klingman TIE GALAX OLD FIDDLER'S COVEINTION

The Galax Old Fiddler's Convention is held in Galax, Virginia, between Grayson and Carroll counties just over the state line from North Carolina. The town, with a population of 5,254, is set in a mountainous area of small villages with a predominately agricultural economy. In some respects, the isolation of the folk community has disappeared. There are adequate roads, electricity, and mass media (some of the people are surprisingly articulate in speaking of world affairs), but the interest in the old music remains.

The Old Fiddler's Convention is sponsored by the Moose Lodge and is held on the second Saturday in August. This year's Convention was the 28th annual show.

The Convention is held out of doors on the fairgrounds. An audience of several thousand sits in the baseball bleachers while the contestants perform on a temporary stage. Immediately behind the stage is a tent where the con- testants line up to perform. In back of the tent is an area where the contestants can warm up, usually surrounded by small groups of spectators.

Prizes are offered in numerous categories: folksinging, guitar picking, fiddling, banjo picking (divided into oldtime clawhammer and modern bluegrass styles), band competition, and dancing. First prize in all the categories except the band competition is ten dollars, with a second prize of five dollars. The band prizes are higher. First prize in the band competition is $150; second prize is $75. There are also smaller third and fourth prizes in the band com- petition.

Rules given to the judges and contestants include these: contestants can participate in the band contest and one other category only; each person can play with only one band; contestants in the folksinging contest can have one accompanist, but only the singing is to be judged; singing is allowed in the instrumental contests but is not to be judged; no amplified instruments are allowed; oldtime tunes are to be given preference by the judges to keep the oldtime flavor of the Convention; all contestants are supposed to register a few days beforehand (although sometimes they can be entered late, as write-in contestants); contestants must perform both nights to be eligible for prizes.

Such an analytical description of a fiddler's convention cannot convey the flavor and excitement that a show of this type generates. To get the full impact, I recommend that everyone see one for himself.

City people have been making the pilgrimage to the convention circuit in recent years. They are easily identified by their beards, long hair, style of make-up, and clothing. The genuine country people wear a dress shirt, with perhaps a string tie. If dressed more casually, they often wear overalls. Any- way, there is no difficulty distinguishing between the city and country people.

At this year's Convention, two people from New York City took second prizes in the banjo contests. I should note here that they conformed pretty well to the folk esthetic. Another contestant who performed well was an urban girl who did a good job on "Turn Around," accompanying herself on a nylon- stringed guitar. However, her music was characteristic of a city interpreter of folksong, and the audience did not like it very well. Everyone has a good time. There was very little of the factionalism that tends to mar the urban folkscene, although there is almost as great a difference between the old and new styles in the mountains as there is between "commercial" and "authentic" folk music in the city. In the moun- tains, the old and new are not even separated. A band, for example, may use both clawhammer and bluegrass banjo in the same song. The oldtimers are appreciated for their musical maturity and charm as much as the younger musicians are liked for their mastery of complicated styles.

A visitor from the North should not expect to see such big name bands as Flatt and Scruggs or Bill Monroe. These groups generally do not compete because the prizes are not big enough to make it worth their while. Other considerations also enter. A big name group would almost certainly be favored to win, thus discouraging other contestants from entering. And if by some chance a big name group should lose, it would be quite embarrassing to all concerned.

At such a convention, however, you may well see people known to the urban folkscene. Among such performers this year were Clarence Ashley, Wade Ward, George Peagram, and the Mountain Ramblers. There were many other con- testants who were just as good or better.

One of the hits of the Convention was a washboard player who played with the Brushy Mountain Boys. He sat in a chair with the washboard held on a board in his lap. He used finger picks on all his fingers, and he stomped both feet as he played. He also used bicycle horns mounted on top of the washboard, and whenever he squeezed them the audience would stomp and holler and whistle. When the contest was over and the judges were tallying their scores, the audience was yelling, "The washboard. Bring back the washboard "

The good will that pervades the Convention reflects the nature of the people in the Galax area. They are very helpful and hospitable to strangers. (We were even allowed by the Convention committee to camp out under the score- board on the fairgrounds).

Anyone who visits a fiddler's convention ought to try his best to make good friends with some of the people in the area. Not only will he have friends to correspond with and learn from, but he will also make it easier for the next city fellow who passes through town. I Jarvis Rich

~' \

I DOWN HOME BLUES * SEA CHANTIES * BRITISH BALLADS * LOGGING SONGS * FOLKSONGS OF PROTEST* BROADSIDES SPIRITUALS * MEXICAN BORDER SONGS COWBOY BALLADS * SQUARE DANCE AND PLAY PARTIES * SONGS OF THE OUTLAW * HILLBILLY MUSIC LYRICS & LEGENDS

*NET NATIONAL EDUCATIONAL TELEVISION

"LYRIC AND LEGENDS" ON WILL-TV

71. Wednesday, October 9, WILL-TV, Channel 12, will present the first ogram series "Lyrics and Legends," which will deal with the major as of folk material in this country. Appearing on these programs, -known folklore authorities, are many of the nation's finest folk ng Tom Ashley, Bonnie Dobson, Harry Jackson, Ed McCurdy, Jean and ete Seeger, Victoria Spivey, Ellen Stekert, and Frank Warner.

prepared by National Educational Television is guided by Dr. Tristam ersity of Pennsylvania ballad scholar and secretary-treasurer of the re Society. From New England seaports to the Rio Grande, host Dr. "Lyrics and Legends" crew roamed the country to bring viewers fifteen hentic and informative programs on folk songs ever seen on television. the program on sea songs, chanties are accompanied by the creak of ships in the restored seaport of Hystic, Connecticut. The program a typical day of a seaman aboard a Yankee schooner. On the other i and around Brownsville, Texas, show how some of our Western songs cattle drives rustled strains from the songs of Mexican cowboys. 1 of each program in the series--to recreate a particular way of life, ongs, then talk to the people who first sang them. rts on lumbering songs were brought into a bunkhouse in the studios old lumberjacks and lumbering techniques that are fast disappearing. shows how a pattern of idealizing outlaws recurs in folk songs. down through Jesse James and Billy the Kid the theme is traced-- yle Chessman. Whenever possible, present day examples are used to n types of so9gs survive, The series eads wit)h a program on protest , many of which originated in the bitter industrial warfare of the Ludes a visit to a coffeehouse near Bryn Mawr College where the a who may have been the target of some of those complaints, sing the lyrics protesting conditions today. LY!IICS AND LIIDS SCHEDULE

(All shows on WILL-TV at 7:30 p.m.)

SINGING STYLES--October 9--features Jean Ritchie, John Lee Hooker, Harry and Jeannie West, Tossi Aaron, and the New World Singers in an analysis of the various kinds of folk songs now sung in the United States.

FRANKIE AND JOHNNY--October 16--features Terry Callier and Ellen Stekert. It demonstrates how a particular event is picked up and woven into a folk song.

COLLECTING FOLK SONGS--October 23--features Hiram Cranmer, resident of central Pennsylvania. This program shows how collectors go about gathering material.

THE BLUES--October 30--features Willie B. Thomas, violinist James "Butch" Cage, and Victoria Spivey.

SEA SONGS--November 6--features Frank Warner, Sam Eskin and E. G. Huntington singing sea chanties.

LUMBERING SONGS--November 13--featuring Bonnie Dobson, Sam Eskin, and Garret and Jeff Warner.

TRADITIONAL BALLAD--November 20--features Jean and Edna Ritchie singing British ballads.

BROADSIDE BALLAD--November 27--features Ed McCurdy and Bonnie Dobson. This program was filmed in Mystic, Connecticut.

NEGRO RELIGIOUS MUSIC--December 4--features Katie Bell Nubin.

MEXICAN-AMERICAN BORDER SONGS--December 11--features Mexican singers of the "corrido" and an interview with a 100-year old man.

COWBOY SONGS--December 18--features Harry Jackson, folk singer, working cowboy, and a noted painter and sculptor.

OUTLAW BALLADS--January 8--features Oscar Brand, Ellen Stekert and Shell Kagan.

SQUARE DANCE PLAY PARTY--January 15--features the Ritchie family.

THE ROOTS OF HILLBILLY MUSIC--January 22--features Maybelle Carter, Clarence and Tom Ashley and Mose Ranger.

LABOR AND 11ODERN--January 29--features Huddie Ledbetter, Pete Seeger, and members of the Philadelphia Chapter of CORE. Officers and Committee Chairmen Fall 1963 - 296k

Officers

President: Dave Huehner, 419 W. Main, U., 365-2991

Vice-President: Mike Holloway, 904 S. Locust, C., 352-8880

Treasurer: Jont Allen, 507 E. John, C., 344-9565

Recording Secretary: Marcy Sayers, 102 LAR, 332-4929

Corresponding Secretary:

Committee Chairmen

Archives: Carol Goodwin, 426 Busey Hall, 332-0957

Autoharp: Benette Rottman, 227 Van Doren Hall, 332-4838

Concert: Jerry Sullivan, 106 E. Armory, C., 359-3195

Extension Affairs: Vic Lukas, 108 N. Goodwin, U., 344-0024

Folksing: Larry Crowley, 904 S. Locust, C., 352-8880

House Management: Art Frankel, 1620 Chevey Chase, C., 352-1442 or 356-7606

Membership: Bob Koenig, 400 Forbes Hall, 332-0487

Publicity: Fritz Plous, 305 W. Green, U., 367-0159

Radio and Television: Dick Adams, 1109 S. Second, C., 352-1668

Record Production: Preston Martin, 904 W. Illinois, U., 344-2336

Seminar: Dave Martin, 430 Garner Hall, 332-1347

Social: Sue Caldwell, 300 S. Goodwin, U., 344-0618

Tape, P.A. and Photo: John Schmidt, 1109 S. Second, C., 352-1668 or 333-2417

Workshop: Bill Becker, 106 E. John, C., 359-1060 or 333-0924