Album Liner Notes
I aint a
record note writer - I never was, never will be an never wanna be -
but that's ok
tho cause the New World Singers ain't record note writer's subjects either -
they're
everybody's subject - they're everybody's assignment -
they're for
everybody to look into -
they're
everybody's textbook an' travel guide -
they're
everybody's fortune teller an' fact finder -
there ain't
no one that can't use what they do as a windmill or roadmap -
they ain't
just a rich man's encyclopedia or a poor boy's dream -
they're
real and they're here -
they're in
front of yer eyes an' ears in all shapes an' sizes an' lines,
angles an'
directions -
thery're
everybody's newspaper -
thery're
everybody's radio -
thery're
everybody's ol' time feelings an new found heartaches -
thery're
everybody's ol' fangled generator, modern day telephone an'
thery're
everybody's new world.
I know the New World Singers - I know all
three of 'em as good as I know anybody -
the first
time I met "Gil Turner" it was in Mill's Bar in Bleecker Street
about two
years back - we talked an' preached at each other there across the
table an'
thru the air all about the
crazy
one-sided triangles caused by the loose tempers an' mad tongues that
was suckin'
us up outside on the street -
an'we both
agreed at top speed that what we was lookin' for, was some kind of
new world
.....
I met
"Happy Traum" an' his wife about the same time I guess an'
I can
remember when their baby girl Merry was born an' now she's over a year old -
an' with
one laugh out a beautiful Merry you'd know why Happy wants a new an'
better
world -
just look
some time at long haired little Merry an' you'd know why anybody'd
want a new
world -
but Happy's
got the reason right there in his eyeview ... closer to it than
a lot of us
are .....
"Bob
Cohen"'s quiet - I first seen him at a City College folksong hall
an' thought
he was some sort of a Spanish gypsy by the way he wore his
sideburns
an' moustache an' eyebrows -
but he
didn't talk so I couldn't tell - I must a sat an hour next to
him waitin'
to hear some gypsy language -
he never
said a word -
he laughed
a few times but all folks no matter what race laughs
in the same
tongue -
I seen him
sing later that night an' it didn't bother my thoughts no more
as to if he
was gypsy or gigolo -
he tol' me
more about my new world in that ten minutes time
than the
pop radio station did all that week -
Listen to the New World Singers - listen
to 'm with a clear head an' open mind -
let your
girl friend or boy friend hear 'm -
let your
mother an' yer father hear 'm -
let yer
kids hear 'm -
they ain't
no tin pan alley put together group -
they ain't
been sucked in or swallowed down or drawn under by the money eaters -
their kind
a music ain't the brainstorm of the halfwit hit office boys -
they ain't
singin' to sell soap suds -
their kind
a songs ain't worked over an' layed out by no music factory an'
their
singin' ain't spat out a any IBM machine -
they ain't
wearin' no song they sing as their own private expensive suit -
they ain't
changin' no songs cause Mr. Sense a
Style tells 'm to ....
they sing
like they are -
They sing
like they know who they are
They sing
like the Ol' Almanacs used to sing
They sing
like the Memphis Jug Band used to sing
They don'
have to prove nothin' to nobody
They don'
have no row to hoe
They got a
new world to win
I got a new
world to win
You got a new
world to win
BOB DYLAN
with a brain
full of hard rains
an' hunger pains
[Source: Album
liner notes from The New World Singers' 1963 self-titled album]
[TOP]
Snow was
piled up the stairs an onto the street that first
winter when
I laid around New York City
it was a
different street then -
it was a
different village -
Nobody had
nothin -
There was nothin
t get -
Instead a
bein drawn for money you were drawn for for other people
Everybody
used t hang around a heat pipe poundin subterranean coffee
house
called the Gaslight -
it was at
that time buried beneath the middle a MacDougal Street -
It was a strange
place an not out a any schoolbook -
More'n
seven nites a week the cops a n firemen'd storm down the steps
handin out
summons for trumped up reasons -
More'n five
nites a week out a town bullies'd start trouble an everybody
from John the
owner t Dave the cook t Rod the cash register ringer t
Adele the
waitress t anybody who was on the stage t just plain friends
who were
hangin around would have t come up swingin dishes an handles
an brooms
an chairs an sometimes even swords at hung on the wall in
order t
match the bullies' weight an the bullies was always big bullies -
Everybody
that hung out at the Gaslight was close -
Yuh had t
be -
In order t
keep from going insane an in order t survive -
an it can't
be denied -
It was a
hangout -
But not
like the street corner -
Down there
we weren't standin lookin out at the world watchin girls - an
findin out
how they walk -
We was
lookin at each other ... an findin out about ourselves -
It is 'f
these times that I remember most sadly -
For they're
gone -
an they'll
not never come again -
It is 'f
these times I think about now -
I think
back t one a them nites when the doors was locked an maybe
thirty or
forty people sat as close t the stage as they could -
It was
another nite past one o'clock an that meant that the tourists on
the street
couldn't get in -
At these
hours there was no tellin what was bound t happen -
Never never
could the greatest prophesizor ever guess it -
There was
not such a thing as an audience -
There was not
such a thing as performers -
Everybody
did something -
An had
somethin t say about somethin -
I remember
Hugh who wore different kinda clothes then but still shouted
an tongue
twisted flowin lines a poetry that anybody who could be
struck by
the sounds 'f a rock hittin a brick wall could understand -
I remember
Luke playin his banjo an singin "East Virginia" with a tone
as soft as
the snow outside an "Mr. Garfield" with a bitin touch as hard
as the
stovepipe on the inside -
An Dave
singin "House a the Risin Sun" with his back leaned against the
bricks an
words runnin out in a lonesome hungry growlin whisper that
any girl
with her face hid in the dark could understand -
Paul then
was a guitar playin singer comedian -
But not the
funny ha ha kind -
His funnyness
could only be defined an described by the word "hip" or
"hyp" -
A
combination a Charlie Chaplin Jonathan Winters an Peter Lorre -
Maybe it
was that nite that somebody flicked a piece a card-
board in
front a the tiny spotlight an he made quick jerky movements on
the stage
an everybody's eyes was seein first hand a silent movie for real -
The bearded
villain 'f an out a print picture -
There aint
room enuff on the paper t tell about everybody that was there
an exactly
what they did -
Every nite
was a tree high degree novel -
Anyway it
was one a these nites when Paul said
"Yuh
gotta now hear me an Peter an Mary sing"
Mary's hair
was down almost t her waist then -
An Peter's
beard was only about half grown -
An the
Gaslight stage was smaller
an the song
they sang was younger -
But the
walls shook
An
everybody smiled -
An
everybody felt good -
An down
there approval didn't come with the clappin a hands at the end 'f the song -
It came
burstin out anytime any way it felt like burstin out -
An they were
approved -
By the
people watchin'm and by 'mselves -
Which
really was one -
An that's
where the beginning was at -
Inside them
walls 'f a subterranean world -
But it's a
concrete kind a beginnin -
It's
concrete cause it's close -
An it's
close cause it's gotta be close -
An that
feelin aint be forgotten
Yuh carry
it with yuh -
It's a
feelin that's born an not bought
An it cant
be taught -
An by livin
with it yuh learn t see and know it in other people -
T sing an
speak as one yuh gotta think as one -
An yuh
gotta believe as one -
An yuh
gotta feel as one -
An Peter an
Paul an Mary're now carryin the feelin that was inside them
walls up
the steps t the whole outside world -
The rooster
never crowed on MacDougal Street -
There was
no dew on the grass an the sun never came shinin over the
mountain -
There was
nothin t tell yuh it was mornin cept the pins and needles feelin
in yer arms
an legs from stayin up all nite -
But all 'f
us find our way a knowin when it's mornin -
an once yuh
know the feelin it dont change -
It can only
grow
For Peter's
grown
An Paul's
grown
An Mary's
grown
An the times've grown
Bob Dylan, 1963
[Source: Album
liner notes from Peter, Paul & Mary's 1963 "In The Wind" album]
[TOP]
Eric Von
Schmidt Of course, we had heard about
Eric
Von Schmidt
for many years. The name itself had become
a password.
Eventually, after standing in line to meet him, there
it was --
his doorstep, a rainy day, and he grated his visitors,
inviting
them in. He was told how much they liked Grizzly Bear and he then
invited the
whole bunch to the club, where he was about to perform the
thing live.
"C'mon down to the club" he said -- "I'm about to perform it
live".
We accepted
the invitation. And that is what his record is. An
invitation.
An invitation to the glad, mad, sad, biting, exciting, frightening,
crabby,
happy, enlightening, hugging, chugging world of Eric Von
Schmidt. For
here is a man who can sing the bird off the wire
and the
rubbber off the tire. He can separate the men from the boys and
the note
from the noise. The bridle from the saddle and the cow from
the cattle.
He can play the tune of the moon. The why
of the sky
and the commotion from the ocean. Yes he can.
Bob
Dylan
[Source: Album
liner notes from Eric Von Schmidt's 1969 album]
[TOP]
Back to the
Starting
Point! The kickoff,
Hebrew
letters on the
wall, Victor Hugo's
house in Paris, NYC
in early
autumn, leaves
flying in the park, the
clock strikes
Eight, Bong \(em I dropped a
double brandy &
tried to recall the events ...
beer halls &
pin balls, polka bands, barbwire
& thrashing
clowns, objects, headwinds, &
snowstorms, family
outings with strangers \(em
Furious gals with
garters & smeared lips
on bar stools that
stank from sweating
pussy \(em doing
the Hula \(em perfect,
priests in
overhauls, glassy eyed,
Insomnia! Space
guys off duty with
big dicks & duck
tails, all wire up &
voting for
Eisenhower, waving flags &
jumping off of fire
engines, getting
killed on
motorcycles whatever \(em
We sensed each
other beneath
the mask, pitched a
tent in the
street & joined
the traveling circus,
love at first sight!
History
became a lie! the
sideshow took
over \(em what a
sight ... the tresh-
hold of the Modern
Bomb,
temples of the
Pawnee, the
cowboy saint, the
Arapshop,
snapshots of
\(em Apache poets
searching thru the
ruins for a
glimpse of Buddah
\(em I let out
for parts unknown,
found Jacob's
ladder up against
an adobe wall &
bought a serpent
from a passing angel \(em
Yeah the ole days
are gone
forever and the new
ones aint far behind, the
laughter is fading
away, echoes of a star
of energy Vampires
in the gone world going
Wild! Drinking the
blood of innocent people,
Innocent lambs! The
wretched of the Earth,
my brothers of the
flood, cities of the flesh \(em
Milwaukee, Ann
Arbor, Chicago, Bismarck, South
Dakota, Duluth!
Duluth \(em where Baudelaire lived
& Goya cashed
in his chips, where Joshua brought
the house down!
From there it was straight up \(em a little
jolt of Mexico and
some good LUCK, a
little power over
the Grave, some
more brandy &
the teeth of
a lion & a
compass
[TOP]
I first
heard Woody Guthrie over at a house party. I was over at somebody's
house who
was a lawyer and also a folk singer. He had Woody Guthrie and Cisco
Houston
records. Folkways records. "Grand Coulee Dam", "Pastures of
Plenty",
"Pretty
Boy Floyd", "Tom Joad", "Vigilante Man." And what was
different
about it -
you know, it's hard to say. There are so many reasons why he was
different,
you could fill a book. He had a sound. Well, everybody had a
sound, but
he had a particular sound, more or less a Carter family-type
sound. And
he had something that needed to be said. And that was highly
unusual to
my ears. Usually you would have one or the other, you know,
but he
always had something to say.
I had a lot
of lost time to make up. I mean, I really had to find out who
this guy
was and everything I could about him. I started learning his
songs. I
mean, there was a time when I did nothing *but* his songs. And
I read this
book. I read "Bound for Glory," which a folk music professor at
the
University of Minnesota loaned to me to read - because it was not the
kind of
book they sold in a bookstore. I thought "Bound for Glory" was the
first
"On the Road," and of course it changed my life like it changed
everyone
else's.
By this time
I was completely taken over by him. By his spirit, or whatever.
You could
listen to his songs and actually learn how to live, or how to feel.
He was like
a guide. I couldn't believe that I'd never heard of this man - I
didn't know
if he was dead or alive, but by now I was trying to find out
where he
was.
When I
finally met him, he wasn't functioning very well, but I was there
more or
less as a servant - I mean, I went there to sing him his songs. That's
all I went
to do, and that's all I did. I never really talked too much to him.
He couldn't
talk anyway. He was very jittery. He always liked the songs, and
he would
ask for certain ones. I knew them all! I was like a Woody Guthrie
jukebox.
If Woody
Guthrie was around today, I think he'd be very disillusioned. But
everything
happens in its own time. Woody Guthrie was who he was because he
came along
in the time he came along in. For me he was like a link in a
chain. Like
I am for other people, and we all are for somebody. We're all
just links
in a chain. There was an innocence to Woody Guthrie. There was a
certain
type of innocence that I never regained - I know that's what I was
looking
for. Whether it was real, or whether it was a dream, who's to say?
But it was
kind of lost innocence. And after him it was over.
[TOP]
ABOUT THE
SONGS (what they're about)
BROKE DOWN
ENGINE is a Blind Willie McTell masterpiece. it's about trains, mystery on the rails-the
trains of love, the train that carried my girl from town-The Southern Pacific,
Baltmore & Ohio whatever-it's about variations of human longing-the low hum
in meters & syllables. it's about dupes of commerce & politics
colliding on tracks, not being pushed around by ordinary standards. it's about
revival, getting a new lease on life, not just posing there-paint chipped &
flaked, mattress bare, single bulb swinging above the bed. it's about
Ambiguity, the fortunes of the priviliged elite, flood control-watching the red
dawn not bothering to dress.
LOVE HENRY
is a "traditionalist" ballad. Tom Paley used to do it, a perverse
tale. Henry-modern corporate man off some foreign boat, unable to handle his
"psychosis" responsible for organizing the Intelligentsia, disarming
the people, an infantile sensualist-white teeth, wide smile, lotza money,
kowtows to fairy queen exploiters & corrupt religious establishments,
career-minded, limousine double parked, imposing his will & dishonest
garbage in popular magazines. he lays his head on a pillow of down & falls
asleep. he shoulda known better, he must've had a hearing problem.
STACK-A-LEE
is Frank Hutchinson's version. what does the song say exactly? it says no man
gains immortality thru public acclaim. truth is shadowy. in the
pre-postindustrial age, victims of violence were allowed (in fact it was their
duty) to be judges over their offenders-parents were punished for their
children's crimes (we've come a long way since then) the song says that a man's
hat is his crown. futurologists would insist it's a matter of tatse. they say
"let's sleep on it" but they're already living in the sanatirium. No
Rights Without Duty is the name of the game & fame is a trick. playing for
time is only horsing around. Stack's in a cell, no wall phone. he's not some
egotistical degraded existentialist dionysian idiot. neither does he represent
any alternative lifestyle scam (give me a thousand acres of tractable land
& all the gang members that exist and you'll see the Authentic alternative
lifestyle, the Agrarian one) Billy didn't have an insurance plan, didn't get
airsick yet his ghost is more real and genuine than all the dead souls on the
boob tube - a monumental epic of blunder and misunderstanding, a romance tale
without the cupidity.
BLOOD IN MY
EYES is one of two songs done by the Mississippi Sheiks, a little known de
facto group whom in their former glory must've been something to behold.
rebellion against routine seems to be their strong theme. all their songs are
raw in the bone & are faultlessly made for these modern times (the New Dark
Ages) nothing effete about the Mississippi Sheiks.
WORLD GONE
WRONG is also by them & goes against cultural policy. "strange things
are happening like never before." Strange things alright-strange things
like courage becoming befuddled & nonfundamental. evil charlatans
masquerading in pullover vests & tuxedos talking gobbledyook, monstrous
pompous superficial pageantry parading down lonely streets on limited access
highways. strange things indeed - irrationalist bimbos & bozos, the stuff
of legend, coming in from left field-infamy on the landscape-"pray to the
Good Lord" hit the light switch!
JACK-A-ROE
is another Tom Paley ballad (Tom, one of the New Lost City Ramblers) the young
virgin follows her heart (which cant be confined) & in it the secrets of
the universe. "there was a wealthy merchant" wealthy &
philosophically
influential
perhaps with an odd penchant for young folk. the song cannot be categorized-is
worlds away from reality but "gets inside" reality anyway &
strips it of its steel and concrete. inverted symmetry, legally stateless,
travelling under a false passport. "before you step on board, sir..."
are you any good at what you do? Submerge your personality.
DELIA is
one sad tale-two or more versions mixed into one. the song has no middle range,
comes whipping around the corner, seems to be about counterfeit loyalty. Delia
herself, no Queen Gertrude, Elizabeth 1 or even Evita Peron, doesnt ride a
Harley Davidson across the desert highway, doesnt need a blood change &
would never go on a shopping spree. the guy in the courthouse sounds like a
pimp in primary colors. he's not interested in mosques on the temple mount,
armageddon or world war III, doesnt put his face in his knees & weep &
wears no dunce hat, makes no apology & is doomed to obscurity. does this
song have rectitude? you bet. toleration of the unacceptable leads to the last
round-up. the singer's not talking from a head of booze. Jerry Garcia showed me
TWO
SOLDIERS (Hazel & Alice do it pretty similar) a battle song extraordinaire,
some dragoon officer's epaulettes laying liquid in the mud, physical plunge
into Limitationville, war dominated by finance (lending money for interest
being a nauseating & revolting thing) love is not collateral. hittin' them
where they aint (in the imperect state that they're in) America when Mother was
the the queen of Her heart, before Charlie Chapin, before the Wild One, before
the children of the Sun-before the celestial grunge, before the insane world of
entertainment exploded in our faces-before all the ancient & honorable
artillery had been taken out of the city, learning to go forward by turning
back the clock, stopping the mind from thinking in hours, firing a few random
shots at the face of time.
RAGGED
& DIRTY one of the Willy Browns did this - schmaltz & pickled herring,
stuffed cabbage, heavy moral vocabulary - sweetness & sentiment, house
rocking, superior beauty, not just standing there-the seductive magic of the
thumbs up salute, carefully thought out overtones & stepping sideways, the
idols of human worship paying thru the nose, lords of the illogical in smoking
jackets, sufferers from a weak education, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle-taking
stupid chances-being mistreated just so far.
LONE
PILGRIM is from an old Doc Watson record. what attracts me to the song is how
the lunacy of trying to fool the self is set aside at some given point.
salvation and the needs of mankind are prominent & hegemony takes a
breathing spell. "my soul flew to mansions on high" what's
essentially true is virtual reality. technology to wipe out the truth is now
available. not everybody can afford it but it's available. when the cost comes
down look out! there wont be songs like this anymore. factually there aren't
any now. by the way, don't be bewildered by the Never Ending Tour chatter.
there was a Never Ending Tour but it ended in '91 with the departure of
guitarist G.E. Smith. that one's long gone but there have been many others
since then. The Money Never Runs Out Tour (fall of '91) Southern Sympathizer
Tour (early '92) Why Do You Look At Me So Strangely
Tour
(European '92) The One Sad Cry Of Pity Tour (Australia & West Coast
American '92) Principles Of Action Tour (Mexico-South American '92) Outburst Of
Consciousness Tour ('92) Don't Let Your Deal Go Down Tour ('93) & others
too many to mention. each with their own character and design. to know which
was which consult the playlists.
[TOP]
This page last
updated 15 August 2001.