As you will remember from my last post, I was assigned the task of listing my top ten folk/roots albums of all time by Penguin Eggs Magazine. So far, I've got six on my list, and I will carry on here by telling you about the last four to make my top ten list.

My first six albums all represented music that I had absorbed pretty early in life. So for my last four choices, I thought I would pick some albums that I have come to know and love more recently. I stayed away from anything too new-- for me an album can't become a keeper until I've had the experience of listening to it intensely for a while, putting it away, and then digging it out again because I love it so much.

• Linda Morrison: Line by Line

Linda Morrison is one of my favourite singers of all time. She doesn't perform too much outside her hometown of Montreal. Her album "Line By Line" lived in our car for many years and got played on every car trip. And I mean EVERY car trip. Her music is jazzy, bluesy, her voice is heavenly, and her writing is beautiful.

• Eliza Gilkyson: Paradise Hotel

Every once in a while you hear an artist who redefines everything. Eliza Gilkyson is one of those artists for me. When I first listened to this album, I had to stop and repeat most of the songs because I couldn't believe what she was doing in the space of a few minutes. Her songs are tiny masterpieces.

• Penny Lang: Stone+Sand+Sea+Sky
  

Penny is one of my musical heroes -- she can sing the blues, she can sing old Scottish songs, heck she could sing the phone book and I'd sit at her feet and lap it up. This album, produced by Roma Baran, is a gem.

• Oliver Schroer: Hymns and Hers

I miss Oliver, but I am grateful to have basked even a little bit in the glow of his incredible spirit and creativity. It was hard to choose one of his albums, but this one, recorded during the time he was ill, certainly stands among his best.

And that friends, was the end of my list. After I finished my painstaking process, I held onto the list for a few days, and returned to it a bunch of times to see if I wanted to reconsider any choices. And surprisingly, the list held up (at least for those few days). Without meaning to, I created a list that was exactly split down the middle in terms of American and Canadian albums, which seemed poetic and right (as someone who was born in the U.S., but has lived in Canada for many years). There are some artists that will be familiar to lots of people, and a few that will be complete unknowns, and I liked that. Lots of powerful women in the list, and I liked that. There's old stuff, and (fairly) new stuff. There are many genres and traditions represented. All in all, it seemed like a nice mix. So I held my breath, and sent it off to Penguin Eggs.

And that's the story of my top ten folk/roots albums of all time.

I already wish I could do it all over again, but so be it. I hope that it inspires you to check out some of this music. Here's the list all in one go:

• Jim Kweskin and the Jug Band-See Reverse Side for Title-Vanguard
• Various-Harry Smith Anthology of American Folk Music-Smithsonian/Folkways
• Oliver Schroer-Hymns and Hers-Big Dog Music/Borealis
• Penny Lang-Stone + Sand + Sea + Sky-Borealis
• Stan Rogers-Between the Breaks…Live!-Fogarty’s Cove
• Kate &Anna McGarrigle-Kate &Anna McGarrigle-WEA International
• Eliza Gilkyson-Paradise Hotel-Red House Records
• Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard-Hazel and Alice-Rounder
• Sweet Honey in the Rock-Good News-Flying Fish
• Linda Morrison-Line By Line-Heartstrung Music

Labels: Canadian folk music, music history, musical heroes, songwriting

A few weeks ago, I posted the article I wrote for Penguin Eggs Magazine about Pete Seeger. When I submitted my article, the editor also asked me to send them a list of my top ten folk/roots albums of all time for inclusion in the front of the magazine. (Each issue of Penguin Eggs includes a top ten list from someone who is featured in that issue.)

My first reaction? You've got to be kidding! How would I boil it down to ten? And are we talking about my current favourites? The albums that influenced me most? The ones that I think are the most important? The ones that everyone else will think are cool? Each of those lists would be completely different. And, as someone with pretty broad taste, the thought of trying to represent that taste in a tiny list of ten CDs seemed completely impossible.

Not only that, but you don't get to write any explanation. They just print the list -- no context, nothing! At least if I could explain why I made my choices, I might be able to live with it. But noooo, I had to just send them the list in alphabetical order.

Of course, that's what blogs are for. So without further ado, here is the story of my top ten list, split in two parts for easier digestion.

After I foolishly said yes to Penguin Eggs, I began a week of feverish list-making. I started, off the top of my head, listing artists and albums who might be included on the list. The lists went on and on-- forty, fifty artists with no end in sight. I despaired at ever being able to boil it down.

So I started strategizing. First, I realized that I could kill many birds with one stone by including the Harry Smith Anthology of American Folk Music. It's kind of cheating because it's a three-CD boxed set. But it's an amazing collection of recordings and musicians that have remained touchstones through the years: The Carter Family, Mississippi John Hurt, Gus Cannon's Jug Stompers, Charlie Poole. So onto the list it went.

• Various: Harry Smith Anthology of American Folk Music

One down, nine to go.

I started thinking about albums that have stuck with me over time. Albums that I first listened to as a kid or a teenager and that I still love when I hear them now. That quickly generated a long list of albums. I looked at that list and thought about the different things they represented. Some were songwriters, some were singers and interpreters who left an indelible mark, some represented a particular style of music. So out of that list I picked five representative albums:

• Jim Kweskin and the Jug Band: See Reverse Side for Title

We listened to this album so much when I was growing up that I feel like it's in my genes. The band included a young Maria Muldaur (then Maria D'Amato), and her partner Geoff Muldaur, two musicians who are still amongst my absolute favourites.

• Stan Rogers: Between the Breaks...Live!

Unfortunately I never got to hear Stan Rogers sing before he was tragically killed in 1983. Since then I've heard his songs sung by many, many other people, but for my money there's nothing like hearing him straight up, in a live situation, which is what you hear on this album.

• Kate & Anna McGarrigle: Kate & Anna McGarrigle

I remember hearing Kate and Anna McGarrigle for the first time and being entranced by their mixing of musical styles, their unique harmonies, and their incredible way with words. This album still sounds completely fresh to me every time I listen to it.

• Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard: Hazel and Alice

My mom had several Hazel and Alice albums in our house, and it's probably because of them that I learned to love old-time music. It's not always "pretty" music. But their voices are haunting, and the music gets you right in the gut.

• Sweet Honey in the Rock: Good News

Sweet Honey in the Rock taught me the transcendent power of human voices raised in song. Although I believe the best way to appreciate them is in a live concert situation, the next best thing is their live concert album, "Good News."

That ended my list of albums that I've listened to since I was young. Six down, four to go.

Tune into my next post to see how the list ends...

Labels: Canadian folk music, music history, musical heroes, songwriting

Hello friends,

I've been in blogger hibernation for a long time, but I haven't forgotten you! Sometimes it gets hard to pick up the pen and be creative on schedule, and sometimes life just takes us to other places for a while. But I've decided to plunge in again. I thought I would start by sharing an article I wrote for the latest issue of Penguin Eggs Magazine, a reflection about going to Pete Seeger's 90th birthday concert this past May. (By the way, if you are a fan of Canadian folk music, you should subscribe to Penguin Eggs.)

I can be pretty cynical about hero worship. I don’t have much patience with the impulse to elevate human beings to saint-like proportions. But a few months ago, I excitedly jumped in my car and drove to New York City for the weekend. My motivation: a chance to be in the audience for Pete Seeger’s 90th birthday concert at Madison Square Gardens.

So what it is about Pete Seeger that overcomes my jaded cynicism? I guess I can’t imagine another musician who has influenced me more, or had more impact on folk music. I honestly believe I wouldn’t be performing and teaching all over Canada—indeed I wonder how many festivals, camps, concert series, and house concerts would even be here—if it weren’t for Pete Seeger.

Regardless of whether you are a fan of Pete Seeger, there is no denying his profound influence on all of us involved in folk music. There’s no way to sum up that influence in a short article, but here are some things that come to mind when I think of Pete Seeger:


I think of the many concerts I attended as a kid, where an older lanky guy with twinkly blue eyes—dressed in a flannel shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers—enthusiastically coaxed thousands of us to sing together in beautiful harmony. Sometimes he told stories, or played whistle, or sang in foreign languages. He had a casual, friendly way of speaking that made you feel like you were sitting in his living room. And he talked and sang about ordinary people from all over—people from the mountains of Appalachia, the mines of South Africa, the river valleys of New York State, or the cities of India and Northern Ireland.

He always had news to share, about striking farm workers, the struggle against apartheid, or the river that ran by his house in Beacon, New York. There were people to remember—Woody Guthrie, Jose Marti, Victor Jara. There was celebration, of simple things like maple syrup, or important things like the end of segregation in the south. And there was always more work to be done. So why not sing as we work?



I think of songs. Thousands of songs. Songs like “Guantanamera,” “Turn, Turn, Turn,” “Wimoweh,” and “We Shall Overcome” that Pete helped spread around the world. I think of all the songs I learned from my mom, a red diaper baby from the Bronx who grew up singing folk music. I think of the songs I’ve learned from other musicians, or recordings, or Sing Out! Magazine—a magazine that Pete helped usher into being. And I think of informal gatherings across Canada and the US where people get together to sing, purely for fun.

I think of banjos. Lots of them. And all the people who were inspired by his book “How to Play the 5-String Banjo.” I think of his banjo, inscribed with the words, “This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.”

I think of Pete, appearing before the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1955, refusing to discuss any people or organizations he had sung for, and insisting on his right to sing where and for whomever he pleased. And if he could just sing them a few songs, surely they would comprehend his love for his country.

I think of the college campuses and church basements and summer camps where Pete sang during the blacklist years. How he managed to survive those lean times and foster a new audience for folk music, creating a grassroots performing circuit in the process.

I think of the Hudson River, which used to be so polluted that you couldn’t swim or fish in it. And I think of the organization Pete founded in 1969 to save that river: Hudson River Sloop Clearwater. His idea: build a replica of an old river sloop, and sail it up and down the river, educating people about the river. Forty years later, the Hudson River is clean enough to swim in, largely due to the efforts of Clearwater.

Most of all, when I think of Pete Seeger, I think of an unflagging optimism that permeates everything he does—a belief that if we can somehow pull ourselves together, if each of us can do our part, we just might be able to save the planet and live together in peace.

It’s an optimism I find hard to maintain sometimes. And yet, here he was on May 3rd, at 90 years old, playing his banjo in Madison Square Gardens and leading 18,000 people in singing “Amazing Grace.” In the middle of the song, he paused, and told the story of John Newton, the slaveship operator who had a change of heart, found god, and became an anti-slavery activist. Newton eventually wrote dozens of hymns, among them “Amazing Grace.” If a man like John Newton can change, Pete seemed to be saying, surely there is hope for all of us. And if 18,000 people can sing together in harmony, surely we can overcome our differences and find peaceful solutions to our problems.

Amazing Grace, indeed. Thanks, Pete. Here’s to you and your 90 years.

Published in Penguin Eggs Magazine, Autumn 2009 issue

Labels: music history, musical heroes, politics

There's a campaign in progress to get Pete Seeger nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. Find out more and sign the petition here.

Pete's been in the news a lot recently. As I mentioned recently, he won the Best Traditional Folk Album at the Grammys for his album "At 89."

He got a whole jaded New York TV audience singing along on Late Night with David Letterman a little while ago. And he performed at the 2009 Inauguration Concert at the Lincoln Memorial with Bruce Springsteen.



It's hard to imagine a living musician today who's had more influence on the social movements of our times. If anyone deserves a Nobel Peace Prize, it's Pete Seeger. Go sign the petition.

Labels: music history, musical heroes, politics

Ron Olesko's blog alerted me to a PBS TV program that might interest folk music fans. It's about Josh White's guitar. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to determine when it will be on in my area. Here's the description:

JOSH WHITE GUITAR
AIRING: Season 6, Episode 11
THE DETECTIVE: Elyse Luray
THE PLACE: New York City and New Jersey
THE CASE: A Michigan man owns a Guild brand acoustic guitar that he says once belonged to legendary African-American folksinger Josh White, who is credited with introducing black folk, gospel and blues music to a world audience in the 1940s.

Our contributor met White after a concert when he was a kid, and the guitar reminds him of a confidence White had shared with him: the Guild Company was talking to White about making a signature guitar built to his specifications and to be marketed under his name.

If this is the guitar White had spoken of, it would be the first signature guitar ever created for an African American musician in the United States.

History Detectives explores the crossover appeal of Josh White’s music and his ability to win over a racially polarized music industry.

And actually, there's more. It looks like this episode of the show also has some other interesting folk music-related stories:

Special Edition: Slave Songbook; Josh White Guitar; Birthplace of Hip Hop

An 1867 book titled "Slave Songs of the United States" that may be the first published collection of black spirituals; a possible prototype for a Josh White signature guitar made by the Guild Company in the 1940s; the birthplace of hip-hop.

Now if I could just figure out when to turn my TV on...

Labels: music history, musical heroes

A while ago I said I would tell you more about my friend Ken Whiteley, who was recently inducted into the Mariposa Folk Festival Hall of Fame.



For those who don't know Ken, he is one of the most talented musicians and performers you will ever come across. He's also an award-winning producer, children's music pioneer, and some-time side-man to many other wonderful musicians. He plays dozens of instruments, and he's a walking encyclopedia of blues, gospel, r&b, folk, swing, and other roots music. He basically oozes music from every pore. He's been performing professionally since he was a teenager, in many different configurations, and along the way he has been an integral part of the roots music scene in Canada and beyond.

I met Ken shortly after moving to Toronto, at the tender age of fourteen. Ken came to my high school to teach a music class. And what a class! In no time, he had about twenty of us organized into a very large and unwieldy band that played songs by musicians like the Coasters and Sam Cooke. It was a pretty unorthodox music class, but we ate it up. My friends and I became Ken Whiteley groupies, showing up everywhere and anywhere that Ken and/or his equally talented brother Chris were performing around Toronto. It was a musical education that has had a huge influence on me.

Over the years, I stayed in touch with Ken. When I was in Grade 13, I asked him if he might be able to help me with a project I was doing on African American music history. He invited me over, suggested some books to read, and lent me a treasure trove of record albums. A few years later, I called Ken because I was doing a similar project on Women's Blues for a university class, and again, he invited me over, generously suggested people to talk to and, true to form, lent me some albums that changed my musical life forever.

As I got into performing, Ken was a natural person for me to work with. He has produced a few of my albums, we've written songs together, and we have shared the stage many times since he first backed me up at the Eaglewood Folk Festival in the 1990's. Whenever we work together, I'm grateful to bask in the reflected glow of his musical talent. Even more though, I appreciate the spirit of generosity, community, and support that he brings to the table each and every time. And I know I'm not alone in that. Ken has been a friend and mentor to many of us in the roots music scene. He may be a musical monster, but I think it is this spirit of generosity that is really the hallmark of Ken's contribution to the music community over the years.

So, thank you, Ken, and congratulations on being inducted into Mariposa's Hall of Fame.

Labels: Canadian folk music, community, Friends, musical heroes

Last night I was part of a wonderful evening at Hugh's Room celebrating two of my musical heroes and friends-- Ken Whiteley and Estelle Klein-- as they were inducted into the Mariposa Folk Festival Hall of Fame.

Estelle was the visionary programmer of the Mariposa Festival for many years, during it's "golden era." She is widely credited with developing the idea of the folk festival workshop to it's apex, and she's had a huge influence on folk festivals across North America. Ken Whiteley has been a driving force in the Canadian folk and roots music scene since the late 1960's, as a multi-talented musician, producer, children's performer, mentor, and organizer. I will write more about Ken in a future post, but today I want to focus on Estelle.



I moved to Toronto after the heyday of Mariposa, but I was fortunate to get to know Estelle a little bit in the few years before she passed away. My friend Dave Barnard and I were the honoured people who got to interview her on stage at the Ontario Council of Folk Festivals when the Estelle Klein Award was established and she became the first recipient. We spent many hours in conversation leading up to that interview. We talked about her early life and introduction to folk music, how she thought about programming the festival, and her work after leaving Mariposa. In truth, we barely scratched the surface, but those conversations opened my mind to the many possibilities in programming an event like Mariposa.

What came through to me was about more than workshop titles or who she put on a stage together. It was about a whole way of looking at culture, not just as entertainment, but as a vital, living expression of people's lives and experiences. She was genuinely curious about the connections between music, art, crafts, language, food, dance, history, and politics. When she brought performers, crafters, and dancers to the festival, she wasn't just interested in the final product they were presenting (the song, the dance, the craftwork). She was interested in the context of their artistic expression-- where their sensibility came from, the community that they lived in or were raised in, how they learned to sing/play/write/paint/dance etc., what historical or personal events influenced their art, and how all of that might be connected to someone else's life experience or artistic expression-- and to the life experience of her audience. Her choices about workshop programming grew out of that curiousity and that impulse to connect different threads of people's music, art, and dance.

She thought about themes that could carry through the programming and connect different elements. She was as interested in craft, dance, and storytelling as she was in music, and she worked hard to integrate each of those elements into the festival in a way that was respectful and joyful. She helped develop an extensive First Nations area at the festival that was far ahead of its time. Similarly, she brought "world music" to the folk festival long before the term had even been invented. And as Ken Whiteley noted last night, her commitment to equity carried through every aspect of the festival-- from the standard amount that all performers were paid (regardless of stature) to the respectful treatment given to everyone involved with the festival, whether they were performers, crafters, or volunteers.

The result of her vision and her creativity was an absolutely incredible event that had a profound influence on all of the people who participated - artists, volunteers, and audience members. When I speak to people who attended Mariposa during those years, there's an almost universal sense that it changed their lives in some way or another. Some talk about seeing musical influences like Mississippi John Hurt or John Prine. Others talk about making lifelong friendships and becoming part of the folk community. Still others listened and learned from the ideas at Mariposa and went on to produce festivals and events of their own.

It's hard to overestimate the influence of someone like Estelle. There is much more that could and should be said. I'm just grateful I got to know her a little bit, and happy to have been part of last night's moving tribute to her lasting legacy. Thank you, Estelle Klein.

Labels: Canadian folk music, community, Friends, music history, musical heroes

I love nicknames. I've never had a nickname, and I'm thinking if I could find the right nickname, I could ratchet up my "cool" factor. Think about it. Having a nickname gives you a mysterious quality. A musician with a nickname obviously has friends, because who else gives you a nickname? But more importantly, it means you have some unmistakable quality that deserves to immortalized -- think Duke Ellington, or Screamin' Jay Hawkins.

Some nicknames describe a physical attribute -- like Fats Waller, or Blind Lemon Jefferson. Sometimes it has to do with where the person is from (Mississippi John Hurt), or the fact they aren't really from anywhere (Ramblin' Jack Elliott). Maybe some habit or style they have (Ringo Starr).

Even some of my folkie friends and heroes have nicknames: Curly Boy Stubbs (Paul Mills), Utah Phillips, Libba Cotten.

Then there are the honorific titles that people are given -- Queen of the Blues (Dinah Washington), Queen of Country Music (Kitty Wells), or Little Miss Dynamite (Brenda Lee). I could live with something like that.

But I think the best nicknames are the ones that are just completely unexplainable, like Satchmo (Louis Armstrong). You can't tell exactly where that came from (actually, here's the story), but it just sounds very cool.

That's the kind of nickname I'd like.

Labels: Fun, music history, musical heroes

Recently there was an animated discussion on Maplepost about the fact that many performers today only sing their own songs, which raises questions about what will happen to all the songs that we used to sing, the old songs, the songs by other writers. And what about the current crop of songs? If no one other than the songwriter sings them, will they survive?

I'm a performer who has gone from mostly singing other people's songs and traditional material to mostly singing my own songs. When I first began performing, I didn't write songs at all. I had grown up in a folkie household, exposed to lots of traditional music, and lots of singing in groups at song circles and jams. At the time, I thought I just didn't have anything to say that hadn't already been said by someone far better than I ever could.

The songs I chose to sing were songs that meant something to me. I spent a lot of time learning songs, getting inside them, and making them my own. I also spent a lot of time making music with other people, and through that I learned about listening, making space for other voices and instruments, and creating something spontaneously that is larger than the sum of its parts.

I firmly believe that if I'm any good at writing songs, it's because I spent so much time inhabiting other people's songs, and making music in groups. Without realizing it, I was absorbing the essential elements that make a song work.

When I write songs, I am absolutely writing from my personal experience - like it or not, I am the centre of my own universe, so it's impossible for me to do anything else. But my aim is to use my personal experience as a springboard to say something about that personal experience, hopefully something that will resonate with other people. There are certain things that all human beings go through: We are all born, we all grow and change, we experience joy, love, pain, loss, triumph and so on, we work and struggle, we try to improve our lives and the world around us, we mark important moments, we fall in love, we fall out of love, and then eventually, we die. In my experience most songs with any staying power somehow touch on those universal human experiences.

Recently I've been thinking about the fact that I mostly sing my own songs now. In a way, I wish it weren't so. There is a vast body of brilliant, beautiful, and compelling music out there that deserves to be sung and played. But there are many factors that discourage working musicians from playing or recording anything other than their own songs -- a few people already mentioned royalty income, but there is also the structure of many granting programs in Canada, which subtly, and not-so-subtly encourages musicians to write and record their own songs in order to get the maximum funds possible.

I love writing songs, but I also fear that by singing more and more of my own songs, I'm losing touch with my musical bedrock. And on a larger scale, I wonder if that's happening to us as a musical community. It's exciting that so many great new songs are being written, but I hope we aren't losing the old chestnuts and bits of gold from days gone by.

Labels: Canadian folk music, community, musical heroes, singing, songwriting

A few months ago, my partner and I decided to buy tickets to see Kate and Anna McGarrigle in concert at Hugh's Room. The tickets were very expensive, but we decided to make a date out of it and not worry about the cost. We even made reservations for dinner to underscore the "date" idea.

The night of the concert, we arrive and take our seats. The club is filling up-- the McGarrigles are playing two nights in a row, but even so, we hear both shows were sold out. As we eat, I looked around at the audience. I'm surprised that I hardly recognize anyone. "Who are all these people," I wonder? "Why do I never see them at other folk music events?" Most of them seem like boomers who live in the suburbs, perhaps, and I wonder whether they come to Hugh's Room because of the dinner theatre atmosphere (a little classier than your average folk music concert series church basement) and the nostalgia factor (reliving their rebellious folk-singing young adulthood of the 1960's).

We finish our dinners, complete with dessert. I'm feeling incredibly full, a little bit sleepy, and looking forward to just relaxing and enjoying a concert by two of my musical heroes. I head towards the back of the club for a visit to the washroom, and I see the owner of the club, along with the person who books concerts, and the floor manager. So I walk over to say "hi," since I know them all.

"Hi Eve," they all chime, and then one of them says, "Do you want to open for Kate and Anna McGarrigle?"

I assume they're joking, but after a few seconds of kibbutzing, I realize they are absolutely serious. It turns out that Kate and Anna are planning to do one long set, and the Hugh's Room staff wants to have a break partway through the evening. So they need someone to perform an opening set.

At first I think of all the reasons I can't do it -- I don't have my guitar, picks, or capo. I wasn't prepared to perform -- no fancy outfit or anything. I walk back to my seat and tell E. what just happened.

"Are you crazy?" she practically shouts, "You HAVE to do this. You go back there and tell them you will open for Kate and Anna McGarrigle. Right now!"

Ever the obedient partner, I go back and let them know that if they are still looking for someone, I could do it, but I would need to borrow a guitar. We quickly arrange for me to borrow Kate's guitar and Anna's capo. I even borrow a pick from Chaim Tannenbaum, one of their longtime accompanists.

And I play a half-hour opening set. I have no CDs to sell, no mailing list, and I am wearing a t-shirt with a logo for "Mama Clucker's," a famous chicken eatery in New Orleans. "Best Legs in Town!" says the slogan across my chest. It is definitely a moment to remember.

And I'm so glad that I did it. The place was packed full of people who had never heard me before, and I got a very enthusiastic response (although of course I wasn't able to sell any CDs or get anyone on my mailing list). Thankfully, I did know about five people in the audience, and one was my friend Collette, who took this picture with her cellphone. It's not great quality, but it is proof.



The moral of the story: Be Prepared! You never know when you will be asked to sing.

Labels: Canadian folk music, community, music biz, musical heroes, the artist's life

On Thursday, we lost one of the bright lights in the Canadian music firmament, Oliver Schroer. Oliver was one of the most creative and innovative musicians I've ever known. He was also the tallest fiddle player ever on the planet.

With just his fiddle and bow, he could evoke whole worlds in a few minutes, as he coaxed beautiful and unearthly sounds seemingly out of nowhere. His tunes were by turns whimsical, nostalgic, funny, fantastical, unbelievably joyful, but sometimes also very dark and brooding. He was not afraid of the uncomfortable, the disturbing, or the dissonant.

When I was around Oliver I always had a sense of a person so infused with life that he couldn't wait for the next adventure-- even the next moment-- to be taken in and experienced (And then sometimes magically turned into a tune!). If you could say someone lived life to the fullest, that was Oliver.

And so it was when he learned that he had cancer. Oliver somehow was able to take in the whole experience full on, and, rather than let it slow him down, he used it as a catalyst to continue composing and recording, right up until the night before he died. And in a remarkable act of love, he brought his whole music community along with him on his journey, participating in several "Olifiddle" tribute concerts, and finally, performing his "last show ever on this earth" before a sold out crowd in Toronto.

Oliver kept a blog of his experiences of the last few months, and in it he reflects on his life and his impending death. There are many, many very wise words in that blog, but I'll just leave you with one of the last things he wrote:

Sometimes I think of dying as taking a trip, a trip far away to a place from which I cannot come back. We all know people who do that...move to Tasmania. (great place, by the way…) The point is, we wish these people well on their journey, but we don’t get all choked up and overwrought about it. We remember them fondly, and they live on in our memories through stories and the legacy they have left. We toast them in absentia, and hope they are doing well in their new digs. Well, my whole journey feels a bit like that. I am going to this place we will all go, and my travel plans are just a bit more immediate than yours. (Though life is strange, and I still might not be the first to go. Just be careful crossing those streets and driving those cars, folks.) I think a lot in terms of metaphors to help me understand things. I have been informed by the stationmaster that my train is coming in immanently, and that I should be ready to get on board when it does. But until that train comes, I am still doing what I am doing fully and completely.

Wherever Oli is now, I'm completely convinced that he is drinking it all in, and composing some fine tunes. Play on Oli, we'll miss you.

Labels: community, musical heroes

"Freight Train" is one of those songs that every acoustic guitar player learns at some point. I learned it as a kid when I was taking guitar lessons, but I don't think I truly appreciated it until I became a guitar teacher myself. Now, it's one of the first tunes I will teach to a student who wants to learn how to fingerpick a melody. The beauty of "Freight Train" is that it's deceptively simple. You can play it completely straight -- with no syncopation or fancy licks, which is what makes it so perfect for teaching fingerstyle guitar. And it's great for learning how to syncopate and interpret a melody in different ways. Somehow even though I hear it almost every week, I never get tired of it.



I once saw Libba Cotton, the author of "Freight Train," perform a concert at Harbourfront Centre in Toronto. She must have been at least 92. She had recently fallen and broken her ankle, so she performed the entire concert with her foot in a cast, propped up on a chair in front of her. She was one of the most down-to-earth, personable performers I have ever seen. I feel lucky to have seen that concert.

Today I learned "Freight Train" has been inducted into the Library of Congress as one of the most important recordings ever.

Congratulations to Libba Cotton, and here's to one of the seminal folk songs of our time, "Freight Train."

Labels: music history, musical heroes, teaching