the beautiful music all around us: field recordings and the american experience, by stephen wade

The Beautiful Music All Around Us presents the extraordinarily rich backstories of thirteen performances captured on Library of Congress field recordings between 1934 and 1942 in locations reaching from Southern Appalachia to the Mississippi Delta and the Great Plains. Including the children’s play song “Shortenin’ Bread,” the fiddle tune “Bonaparte’s Retreat,” the blues “Another Man Done Gone,” and the spiritual “Ain’t No Grave Can Hold My Body Down,” these performances were recorded in kitchens and churches, on porches and in prisons, in hotel rooms and school auditoriums. Documented during the golden age of the Library of Congress recordings, they capture not only the words and tunes of traditional songs but also the sounds of life in which the performances were embedded: children laugh, neighbors comment, trucks pass by.

Musician and researcher Stephen Wade sought out the performers on these recordings, their families, fellow musicians, and others who remembered them. He reconstructs the sights and sounds of the recording sessions themselves and how the music worked in all their lives. Some of these performers developed musical reputations beyond these field recordings, but for many, these tracks represent their only appearances on record: prisoners at the Arkansas State Penitentiary jumping on “the Library’s recording machine” in a rendering of “Rock Island Line”; Ora Dell Graham being called away from the schoolyard to sing the jump-rope rhyme “Pullin’ the Skiff”; Luther Strong shaking off a hungover night in jail and borrowing a fiddle to rip into “Glory in the Meetinghouse.”

Reflecting decades of research and detective work, the profiles and abundant photos in The Beautiful Music All Around Us bring to life largely unheralded individuals–domestics, farm laborers, state prisoners, schoolchildren, cowboys, housewives and mothers, loggers and miners–whose music has become part of the wider American musical soundscape. The book also includes an accompanying CD that presents these thirteen performances, songs and sounds of America in the 1930s and ’40s. By exploring how these singers and instrumentalists exerted their own creativity on inherited forms, “amplifying tradition’s gifts,” Wade shows how a single artist can make a difference within a democracy.

Musician, recording artist, and writer Stephen Wade is best known for his long-running stage performances of Banjo Dancing and On the Way Home. He also produced and annotated the Rounder CD collection that gave rise to this book, A Treasury of Library of Congress Field Recordings. Since 1996 his occasional commentaries on folksongs and traditional tunes have appeared on National Public Radio’s All Things Considered.

For more information, go to http://www.go.illinois.edu/StephenWade

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Video Produced by The Prairie Production Group
509 S. Country Fair Drive
Champaign, IL 61820
http://www.prairie-production.com

Videography and Editing by Sam Ambler

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vbi – chameleon girl (2009)

Chameleon girl,
you switch,
with each serial
killer moment,

A freckle-face, brown eyes soft
with endless promise,
Heels and stockings
in the glare of
the brake lights,

A sexy sneer on a culpable homicide,
Swallow my car-crash
under a blue cross,
soft skin plays over mine
in the morning.

Smells like the garden
of earthly delights,
a chorus of angels;
and demon-spurred riots.

I want to hold you in my arms,
but all it seems I can do is
write you songs.

I will collaborate on the mysteries,
with you take part in their downfall,
With you I am afraid
anything is possible.

I am a dangerous man,
I vanish like mist
in the face of
commitment.

But long after good and evil
and far beyond death do us part,
You’ll look around
and find that I’m still around

Track 3 from the album Severance by VBI. Music by Graeme Feltham. Words and Vocals by Martin Jacklin.  More HERE.

jun togawa – suki suki daisuki (1985)

Without subtitles:

Translated lyrics (probably a bad translation):

My love is increasing and transcends common sense
The love in rose broke out like a mutation
Pure as to be able to call it violence
‘Je t’aime’ with great force that carved into Showa history

Kiss me like thumping, as blood clots on my lips
Hold me, as my ribs are breaking
I love you so much
I love you so much
I love you so much
Say you love me or I’ll kill you!

‘Eros’ breaks the daily life and is crystallizing
Repeating the affairs instinctively in the Avici hell
The intuitive cognition with anti-nihilism is a trigger for latent infant violence

Kiss me like thumping, as blood clots on my lips
Hold me, as my ribs are breaking
I love you so much
I love you so much
I love you so much
Say you love me or I’ll kill you!

With subtitles (they’re kinda distracting):

annie ross – twisted (1959)

In 1952, Ross met Prestige Records owner Bob Weinstock, who asked her to write lyrics to a jazz solo, in a similar way to King Pleasure, a practice which would later be known as vocalese. The next day, she presented him with “Twisted”, a treatment of saxophonist Wardell Gray‘s 1949 composition of the same name, a classic example of the genre. She later said of the inspiration for the song:

“The title was infinite possibilities. You could marry anything to it and it was the name signified, “Twisted.” And it just occurred to me that it would be good as a kind of song about an analyst.”

x-ray spex – i am a cliché

The next installment of the cliché is: poetry then sorrow and then art, im riding it hard, living it, and dont care. I toss care out of the window, taboos next, if you pour me another drink it will make the tossing easier…

Taken from the album Germfree Adolescents (1978)

cherry bomb – gouttes mécaniques (mechanical teardrops) – 2008

“We’re all Frankie…”

A détournement: Fernand Léger – ‘Ballet Mécanique‘ (1924) versus Ordo Ecclesiae Mortis – ‘Frankie Teardrop‘ (cover of original by Martin Rev & Alan Vega’s Suicide in 1977).

Read more about détournement HERE. Watch the original  Ballet Mécanique HERE.

lyrics by alan moore

(performed by David J, lyrics by Alan Moore)

They say that there’s a broken light for every heart on Broadway.
They say that life’s a game, then they take the board away.
They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story
Then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret…

In no-longer-pretty cities there are fingers in kitties.
There are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot on the stair.
Sex and death and human grime, in monochrome for one thin dime,
But at least the trains all run on time but they don’t go anywhere.
Facing their Responsibilities either on their backs or on their knees
There are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away
And the widows who refuse to cry will be dressed in garter and bow-tie
And be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The ballet on the burning stage.
The documentary see
Upon the fractured screen
The dreadful poem scrawled upon the crumpled page…

There’s a policeman with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole
And he grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease.
But he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains
And endeavours to ignore the chins that he walks in to his knees.
while his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands, with a brutal eye,
That have never brushed a lover’s thigh but have squeezed a nation’s threat.
But he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines
But his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The Situation Tragedy
Grand Opera slick with soap
Cliffhangers with no hope
The water-colour in the flooded gallery…

There’s a girl who’ll push but not shove and is desperate for her father’s love
She believes the hand beneath the glove maybe one she needs to hold.
Though she doubts her hosts moralities she decides she is more at ease
In the Land Of Doing What You Please than outside in the cold.
But the backdrop’s peel and the sets give way and the cast gets eaten by the play
There’s a murderer at the Matinee, there are dead men in the aisles
And the patrons and actors too are uncertain if the show is through
And with side-long looks await their cue but the frozen mask just smiles.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The torch-song no one ever sings
The curfew chorus line
The comedy divine
The bulging eyes of puppets strangled by their strings

There’s thrills and chills and girls galore, sing-songs and surprises
There’s something hear for everyone (reserve your seat today)
There’s mischief and malarkies but no queers or yids or darkies
Within this bastard’s carnival, this vicious cabaret.

Read more about Alan Moore on record here

kahlil gibran to mary haskell (1908)

October 2, 1908
14 Avenue du Maine
Paris

My dear Mary – I had a long rest in the country with Syrian friends, a rich man with a great heart and a woman with both a beautiful soul and face. They both love poetry and poets. The town in which they live is like a large garden divided into little gardens by narrow paths. From a distance the houses with red roofs look like a handful of corals scattered on a piece of green velvet.

I am painting, or I am learning how to paint. It will take me a long time to paint as I want to, but it is beautiful to feel the growth of one’s own vision of things. There are times when I leave work with the feelings of a child who is put to bed early. Do you not remember, dear Mary, my telling you that I understand people and things through my sense of hearing, and that *sound* comes first to my soul? Now, dear Mary, I am beginning to understand things and people through my eyes. My memory seems to keep the shapes and colours of personalities and objects…

… It is almost midnight. The woman with the sweet voice, in the opposite studio, is no longer singing her sad Russian songs. The silence is profound. Good night, dear Mary. A thousand good nights from
Kahlil

November 8, 1908
Paris

When I am unhappy, dear Mary, I read your letters. When the mist overwhelms the “I” in me, I take two or three letters out of the little box and reread them. They remind me of my true self. They make me overlook all that is not high and beautiful in life. Each and every one of us must have a resting place somewhere. The resting place of my soul is a beautiful grove where my knowledge of you lives.

And now, I am wrestling with colour: The strife is terrible, one of us must triumph! I can almost hear you saying, “And what about drawing, Kahlil?” and Kahlil, with a thirst in his voice says, “Let me, O let me bathe my soul in colours; let me swallow the sunset and drink the rainbow.”

The professors in the academy say, “Do not make the model more beautiful than she is,” and my soul whispers, “O if you could only paint the model as beautiful as she really is.” Now what shall I do, dear Mary? Shall I please the professors or my soul? The dear old men know a great deal, but the soul is much nearer.

It is rather late, and I shall go to bed now, with many thoughts in my heart. Good night, dear Mary. God bless you always.
Kahlil

From Beloved Prophet – the love letters of Kahlil Gibran & Mary Haskell (1972)

on friedrich hölderlin’s “hyperion”

Hölderlin’s work, like Celan’s after him, is a practice of creating the universality of music out of the treacherous medium of words. The frisson of this practice is an impossible, and irresistible, place to live and die. Like Orpheus, Hyperion keeps looking back. And like Orpheus, Hölderlin the poet relives the moment of his lost love in a melodious, maddening loop.

~ Elizabeth Bachner, on Hyperion by Friedrich Hölderlin. Read her whole review HERE.

noir désir with manu chao – le vent nous portera (2001)

I’m not scared of the road
We’ll have to see, have to taste
The weakness in our loins
And everything will be ok
The wind will carry us

Your message to Ursa Major
And the trajectory of your course
An instant of valour
Even if it’s for nothing
The wind will take it away
Everything will disappear but
The wind will carry us

The caress and the gunshot
That wound that tears us apart
The palace of the everyday
From yesterday and tomorrow
The wind will carry them

Genetics carried on the back
Chromosomes in the atmosphere
Taxis for the galaxies
And my flying carpet says
The wind will carry it off
Everything will disappear but
The wind will carry us

This perfume of our dead years
That can knock at your door
Infinity of destinies
We put some down but what do we retain?
The wind will take it away

While the tide comes in
And everyone is doing their accounts
I bring to the hollow of my shadow
A few bits of your dust
The wind will carry them
Everything will disappear but
The wind will carry us

joan baez – be not too hard

Live 1972 cover of the Donovan song, based on a poem  by Christopher Logue.

Be not too hard for life is short
And nothing is given to man
Be not too hard when he is sold or bought
For he must manage as best he can
Be not too hard when he blindly dies
Fighting for things he does not own
Be not too hard when he tells lies
Or if his heart is sometimes like a stone
Be not too hard for soon he’ll die
Often no wiser than he began
Be not too hard for life is short
And nothing is given to man

charlotte gainsbourg featuring beck – heaven can wait (director’s cut)

Director: Keith Schofield, 2010

She’s sliding, she’s sliding down to the dregs of the world
She’s fighting, she’s fighting the urge to make sand of pearls

Heaven can wait
And hell’s too far to go
Somewhere between
What you need and what you know
And they’re trying to drive the escalator into the ground

She’s hiding, she’s hiding on a battleship of baggage and bones
There’s thunder, there’s lightning and an avalanche of faces you know

Heaven can wait
And hell’s too far to go
Somewhere between
What you need and what you know
And they’re trying to drive that escalator into the ground

You left your credentials in a greyhound station
With a first aid kit and a flashlight
Going to a desert unknown

Heaven can wait
And hell’s too far to go
Somewhere between
What you need and what you know
And they’re trying to drive that escalator into the ground