LISTENING TO THE LOMAX ARCHIVE: THE SONIC RHETORICS OF AMERICAN VERNACULAR MUSIC IN THE 1930s BY JONATHAN W. STONE DISSERTATION Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in English in the Graduate College of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 2015 Urbana, Illinois Doctoral Committee: Associate Professor Peter Mortensen, Co-Chair Associate Professor Spencer Schaffner, Co-Chair Associate Professor Cara Finnegan Associate Professor Ned O’Gorman ii Abstract This dissertation brings to rhetoric a study of vernacular music that amplifies what is known about rhythmic practice in the rhetorical tradition. Responding to emergent conversations at the intersection of rhetorical and sound studies, this work engages with questions about sound and music’s rhetorical roles in myth making, racial formation, cultural eloquence, progressive thought, and historiography. While recent scholarship has identified the sonic elements of rhetoric’s classical roots, I argue that vernacular, folk, or “roots” music can be a key element—a sonic rhetoric—for interpreting the ebb and flow of cultural ideals within more contemporary historical moments, particularly during times of crisis. In 1933, folklorists John A. Lomax and his son Alan set out as emissaries for the Library of Congress to record the “folksong of the American Negro” in several Southern African-American prisons. As this dissertation demonstrates, the music they gathered for the Library’s Folklife Archive contributed to a new mythology of “authentic” Americana for a people in financial, social, and identity crisis. During the 1930s, this music had paradoxical effects: even as the songs reified long-held conservative orthodoxies, they also performed as agents for social change and reconstitution. The recordings the Lomaxes made in the prisons, for example, were produced under the coercive auspices of white privilege, yet also provided incarcerated African-American men rhetorical agency they would not otherwise have enjoyed. Similarly, pianist and composer Jelly Roll Morton enjoined Alan Lomax and the Library of Congress in his desire to insert and authenticate himself within the early history of jazz. He did so through deftly articulated sonic rhetorics—virtuosic performances and oral histories—but the recorded sessions brought more fortune and fame to Lomax than Morton, who died soon after. By 1939, Lomax was hosting a national radio program titled Folk Songs of America (one of many programs on CBS’s American School of the Air) where, with a particularly authentic American irony, songs recorded in the prison yard were silently repurposed by professional musicians and broadcast to the country’s white suburban classrooms. iii Dedication For Tina, Seth, Maryn, Jonas, and Asher. And my folks. iv Acknowledgements This dissertation probably began in the aisles of Zia Record Exchange in Tucson, Arizona. It was there, in the mid-nineties and while in my mid-teens, that I first experienced the excitement and anticipation of finding and listening to new music. Well, old music that was new to me. I found solace in the old cassettes, vinyl, and CDs that littered my room and spent time reading liner notes, old issues of Rolling Stone, and the occasional rock biography trying to crack the code, to discover the strange alchemy that gave music its power. My ragtag high school band, Only Anything, was an attempt to imitate what sonic knowledge my friends and I could glean from these sources. John Heidenreich, Jon Thwaits, Mat and Joe Richins, and I spent summers and holiday breaks in a house in East Tucson we called “Sauna Studios” playing old Cure tunes and writing songs of our own with titles like “Footsteps to a Castle,” “Starmaster,” and “Danger Boy.” I miss my childhood friends and the music we made. It occurs to me that as those original songs we wrote became album projects I learned something about collaboration, creativity, and seeing a project through to its end. We sold those albums to gracious friends for a $5 a cassette. One day, this manuscript may become something that will sell for something similar, and likely to a group of similarly gracious friends and colleagues. The dissertation project, as well as my wider graduate study, has been supported by a host of individuals in the Center for Writing Studies at the University of Illinois, across the U of I campus, and elsewhere across the country. My co-chairs, Professors Peter Mortensen and Spencer Schaffner are paramount figures within this network of support. I wish to thank them both for their guidance during the process. Peter’s keen (but always kind) critical eye and deep knowledge of rhetoric, writing studies, and their histories have guided me from this project’s earliest iterations. His patience, care, and mentorship were precisely what I needed during both v calm and stormy moments along the way. I asked Spencer to join as a co-chair mid-stream, but his generosity, friendship, and guidance began on (literally) my first night in Champaign-Urbana. During that first visit to town, Spencer didn’t just offer me a room—he gave me full run of his home. In a similar way, he has given my ideas both shelter and freedom throughout this project’s progress. Like any good mix, as stereo signals Spencer and Peter always complimented each other. This work is a product of and a testament to their generosity, intellect, and grace. During my coursework at Illinois, I spent almost equal time next door from the English building in the historic Lincoln Hall. My colleagues in the Communication department there had a profound impact on my education and enculturation to the field and practice of rhetoric. Professors Cara Finnegan and Ned O’Gorman were particularly influential. As part of my dissertation Committee, Cara was a model as a rhetorical historian. Her work with visual histories in the 1930s inspired my decision to pursue a project focused on rhetoric and historical sound during that same decade. Similarly, Ned’s expertise in rhetorical theory and history provided an important grounding to my work. He had an uncanny way of knowing precisely the question, book, or article needed to aid my next step. Also, Debra Hawhee, who had a dual appointment in English and Communication at Illinois for a time, was a key influence and mentor. Debbie recruited me to join CWS, was my first advisor, and her early confidence in my potential gave me the courage to reimagine myself as a scholar after several years wandering. Many others in the Center for Writing Studies guided and supported my endeavors. Gail Hawisher, Paul Prior, Catherine Prendergast, and Kelly Ritter each gave me opportunities for growth and service at crucial moments that would provide important experiences toward my professional and scholarly development. Additionally, Thomas Conley in Communication and Thomas Turino in Ethnomusicology reintroduced me to Burke and banjos (respectively). Both vi subjects have been important, if not always central, to my work. Fellow grad students—Kim Hensley Owens, Christa Olson, Patrick Berry, Amber Buck, Cory Holding, and Sarah Alexander Tsai—served as early mentors and also became treasured friends. Additionally, Julia Smith and Heather Vorhies were, as the well-known song intones, pals and confidants. Graduate school is made tolerable only because some of your colleagues become life- long friends. Somewhere during the many long drives, shared conference lodgings, new-city explorations, late-night conversations, Chicago or St. Louis concerts (and crystalized forever in an ad-hoc Christmas carol band), Maggie Shelledy, Pamela Saunders, Kaia Simon, and Tom McNamara came to mean more to me than I can adequately express here. The same can be said about another special cohort. Late in my graduate career, Alexandra Cavallaro, Eileen Lagman, and Yu-Kyung Kang became fellow travellers during a grueling job search year. Our shared experience made an impossibly vulnerable time one of strength, support, and care. There were many other great friends at Illinois who offered crucial support at key moments along the way: Teresa Bertram, Lauri Harden, Leslie Crowell, Cody Caudill, Melissa Forbes, Lauren Marshall Bowen, Andrea Olinger, Ben Bascom, Silas Moon Cassinelli, Ian Hill, Paul McKean, Donovan Bisbee, Matt Pitchford, George Boone, Jermaine Martinez, Rohini Singh, Katie Irwin, Anita Mixon, and many others. It takes a village (and the occasional power ballad sung on Pam’s porch). Opportunities to collaborate with scholars at different institutions are also knitted into the fabric of this document. Kyle Stedman, Steph Ceraso, Harley Ferris, Steven Hammer, and Kati Fargo Ahern were among the first people I connected with in what is a now growing community of sonic rhetoricians and composers. Kyle and I bonded during a Pearl Jam show at Wrigley Field (and turned our experience into a publication!). On a research trip to Washington D.C., vii Steph gave me a place to stay, fed me, and took me to a concert at the 9:30 Club. Thanks to each of these folks for their sharp scholarship and their warm friendship. Several more friends acted as sounding boards along the way: Jared Colten, Abraham Romney, Steven Hopkins, Casey Boyle, and especially William Reger, Spencer Snow, Jason Christensen, Gentzy Franz, and Cory Funk. A generous grant from the Illinois Graduate College sponsored the above-mentioned trip to D.C. where I was assisted by the archivists at the American Folklife Archive at the Library of Congress. Todd Harvey, in particular, guided me through John and Alan Lomax’s papers and recordings with care and great skill. Todd gave me access and insight over and beyond his duties. He has continued to be a friend and counselor to this project. Another important, if unexpected, D.C. mentor was Stephen Wade. Stephen is mentioned as a source early in the upcoming pages, but was kind enough to meet with me and give me advice on two separate occasions.