Folk music

Through the 60s and 70s, I seldom went anywhere without my guitar, which for most of that time was a 12-string guitar I bought from folklorist Barre Toelken at the Univ of Ore when I was a grad student and he was desperate to pay taxes. Wherever I went, I played music and some of the music were songs I had written.

Through most of the 80s I spent a lot of time touring my tribute to Woody Guthrie, mostly on grant support but sometimes passing the hat, which on occasion made me more than what the grants paid. A revival of the show with a second musician is available online.

But since then, I've performed little music. I'd play for myself at home now and again.

Now I'm taking banjo lessons and recently was invited, by someone learning of my past, to come perform at a weekly folk songwriters gathering in town. Indeed, string band and traditional music are very big here. And I'm tempted to learn one of my old songs on the banjo and sing it one night this summer, before I can use reading student work as an excuse. If I do, I'll probably sing this one I wrote in the summer of 1970.

MISSISSIPPI HIPPY

We don't get our kicks on scotch and water
We don't take our trips on credit cards
We don't spend a fortune on our daughters
Or every year go out and buy a car

CHORUS
And I'm proud to be a Mississippi hippy
Smokin' grass and takin' LSD
Burnin' up my draft card at the courthouse
The inside of my head is my country

We don't buy ten suits for just one body
Or forty socks for just one pair of feet
We don't think a beard can become shaggy
Unshaven armpits are all right with me

You say Love it or leave it rather often
I'd never say the same thing back to you
Cause you're not even here but in your coffin
The world will change no matter what you do

I almost got lynched one night, singing this. A few of us went to a country music festival in Springfield, the blue collar town across the river from Eugene. A country band was playing at a beer garden. They invited folks in the audience to sing something, and I'd had enough beer to do something stupid. I went on stage, told them to play Okie from Muskogee, and then sang my lyrics. Well, until they stopped playing. Nobody liked it much -- except my cohorts, who managed to grab me and get out of there before the fight started.

It was always a crowd pleaser in grad school circles, of course. Should be easy enough to accompany myself on the banjo. Hmm. An interesting option. I'll think on it.

Meanwhile, off for coffee I found sunshine and a blue sky and a weather report claiming mid 80s for the day. If true, hooray! and I'll get some yard work done and get warm for a change.

Banjo class tonight. We'll learn a new double C song, I think. Looking forward to it.

The secret will be to do much better after the class ends at playing and learning new songs. I have all the tools. All I need is the discipline, the will.