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The Oscar-nominated film, A Complete Unknown, accurately portrays Dylan's two sides—a brilliant creative genius as a songwriter/poet and a narcissist who used and discarded people on behalf of his ambition. It tells a good story, but certainly not all the stories.
The remarkable Bob Dylan bio-pic A Complete Unknown has been nominated for eight Oscars—best picture, actor, supporting actor, supporting actress, director, costume design, sound, and adapted screenplay. The ceremony is scheduled for March 2, but the film, released in December, has already been drawing enormous attention over how true it is to Dylan’s early career, relationships, and music, particularly the controversy over his performance of "Maggie's Farm" at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival, backed up by an electric blues band. The film’s arc leads us to this crucial final moment, when he steps on stage and sings, “I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more."
In the first stanza, Dylan sings, “Well, I wake up in the morning, fold my hands, and pray for rain” and “It’s a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor.” Then he complains that Maggie’s brother “hands you a nickel, and he hands you a dime. And he asks you with a grin, if you're havin' a good time.” Dylan’s protagonist clearly hates the backbreaking work, the low pay, and the lack of respect he gets from Maggie’s family.
Where did those ideas and images come from? What does the song tell us about Dylan’s personal and political transformation represented by his performance at Newport? And who was the real "Maggie"?
First some background.
Dylan was born Robert Zimmerman and raised in Hibbing, a mining town in northern Minnesota, in a middle-class Jewish family. As a teen he admired Elvis Presley, Johnny Ray, Hank Williams, and especially Little Richard, and taught himself to play guitar. In 1959, he moved to the Twin Cities to attend the University of Minnesota but soon dropped out. He stayed in the area to absorb its budding folk music and bohemian scene, began playing in local coffeehouses, and improving his guitar playing. A friend loaned Dylan his collection of Woody Guthrie records and back copies of Sing Out! magazine, which had the music and lyrics to many folk songs. He read Guthrie’s autobiography, Bound for Glory, and learned to play many of his songs.
By then young Zimmerman had changed his name (apparently after Welsh poet Dylan Thomas) and had adopted some of Guthrie’s persona. He mumbled when he talked and when he sang, spoke with a twang, wore workman’s clothes (including a corduroy cap), and took on what he believed to be Guthrie’s mannerisms. At first Dylan seemed to identify more with Guthrie as a loner and bohemian than with Guthrie the radical and activist. Soon after Dylan arrived in New York City in January 1961 at age 19 he visited Guthrie, then suffering from Huntington’s disease, in his New Jersey hospital room.
At the time, New York’s Greenwich Village was the epicenter of the folk music revival, a growing political consciousness, and (along with San Francisco) the beatnik and bohemian culture of jazz, poetry, and drugs. The area was dotted with coffeehouses, some of which charged admission fees and others which allowed performers to pass the hat while customers purchased drinks and sandwiches.
Dylan made the rounds of the folk clubs, making a big impression. His singing and guitar-playing were awkward, but he had a little-boy charm and charisma that disarmed audiences. Dylan’s initial repertoire consisted mostly of Guthrie songs, blues, and traditional ballads. At the time, he began weaving a myth about his past, including stories about being a circus hand and a carnival boy, having a rock band in Hibbing that performed on television, and running away from home and learning songs from black blues artists. He was, as he continued to do throughout his life, reinventing himself.
Dylan was never comfortable being confined by the “protest” label and being called the “voice” of his generation. He disliked being a celebrity, having people ask him what his songs meant, and being viewed as a troubadour who could represent American youth.
Between 1962 and 1965, Dylan wrote more than a dozen songs that reflected the turmoil of the period. These included “The Ballad of Emmett Till,” about a fourteen-year-old African American who was beaten and shot to death in Mississippi in 1955 for whistling at a white woman. It was Dylan’s first “protest” song. To this he soon added “Talkin’ John Birch Society Blues” (poking fun at the right-wing organization), “Let Me Die in My Footsteps” (a critique of the Cold War hysteria that led Americans to build bomb shelters), “Oxford Town” (about the riots by white students after James Meredith became the first Black student admitted to University of Mississippi), “Paths of Victory” (about the civil rights marches), and “A Hard Rain’s a-Gonna Fall” (about the fear of nuclear war, which he premiered at a Carnegie Hall concert a month before the Cuban missile crisis made that fear more tangible).
In 1963, Dylan also wrote “The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll” (based on a news story from earlier that year about the death of a black barmaid at the hands of a wealthy white man), “Who Killed Davey Moore” (about a black boxer who died after a brutal match), “Talkin’ World War III Blues” (about the threat of nuclear annihilation), and “Masters of War” (a protest against the arms race).
Dylan borrowed the tune from “No More Auction Block,” an anti-slavery Negro spiritual, for what would become his most famous song, “Blowin’ in the Wind.”
Dylan recorded “Blowin’ in the Wind” on his second album, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, released in May 1963, but it was the version released a few weeks later by Peter, Paul, and Mary that turned the song into a nationwide phenomenon. The single sold 300,000 copies in its first week. On July 13, 1963, it reached number two on the Billboard pop chart, with over a million copies sold. Millions of Americans learned the words and sang along while it was played on the radio, performed at rallies and concerts, and sung at summer camps and in churches and synagogues.
Unlike Dylan’s songs that were ripped from the headlines about specific events, “Blowin’ in the Wind” suggested broad themes. Dylan‘s three verses achieve a universal quality that makes them open to various interpretations and allows listeners to read their own concerns into the lyrics. “How many times must the cannonballs fly before they’re forever banned?” and “How many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died?” are clearly about war, but not any particular war. One can hear the words “How many years can some people exist before they’re allowed to be free?” and relate them to the civil rights movement and the recent Freedom Rides. “How many times can a man turn his head pretending he just doesn’t see?” could refer to the nation’s unwillingness to face its own racism, or to other forms of ignorance. The song reflects a combination of alienation and outrage. Listeners have long debated what Dylan meant by “The answer is blowin’ in the wind.” Is the answer so obvious that it is right in front of us? Or is it elusive and beyond our reach? This ambiguity is one reason for the song’s broad appeal.
“The Times They Are a-Changin’” was also not about a specific event but broadly challenged the political establishment on behalf of Dylan’s youth cohort. The finger-pointing song is addressed to “senators, congressmen,” and “mothers and fathers,” telling them that “there’s a battle outside and it is ragin’” and warning them, “don’t criticize what you can’t understand.” Dylan’s lyric “For the loser now will be later to win” sounds much like the biblical notion that the meek shall inherit the earth, or perhaps that America’s black and poor people will win their struggle for justice. Like “Blowin’ in the Wind,” “The Times They Are A-Changin’” became an anthem, a strident warning, angry yet hopeful. It came to symbolize the generation gap, making Dylan the reluctant “spokesman” for the youth revolt.
Dylan’s third album, also called The Times They Are a-Changin’, was recorded between August and October 1963 and included the song “North Country Blues,” which draws on Dylan’s Minnesota upbringing and describes the suffering caused by the closing of the mines in the state’s Iron Range, turning mining areas into jobless ghost towns—a theme that Bruce Springsteen would reprise years later. Remarkably, Dylan tells the tale from the point of view of a woman.
By 1963, Dylan was a super-star, aided by his manager Albert Grossman (who got him a recording contract) and other performers (including Joan Baez, Pete Seeger, and Peter, Paul, and Mary) who recorded Dylan’s songs and popularized them to wide audiences. Dylan, Baez, Peter, Paul, and Mary, and Odetta were invited to sing at the August 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, where Martin Luther King delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech.
But Dylan was never comfortable being confined by the “protest” label and being called the “voice” of his generation. He disliked being a celebrity, having people ask him what his songs meant, and being viewed as a troubadour who could represent American youth. In 1963, before singing “Blowin’ in the Wind” at Gerde’s Folk City in Greenwich Village, Dylan explained, “This here ain’t a protest song or anything like that, ‘cause I don’t write protest songs…I’m just writing it as something to be said, for somebody, by somebody.” Dylan may have been being coy or disingenuous, but it didn’t matter. The song caught the wind of protest in the country and took flight. Her later told Phil Ochs, who continued to write and perform topical songs and to identify with the civil rights and anti-Vietnam war movements, “The stuff you’re writing is bullshit, because politics is bullshit. You’re wasting your time.”
In 1965, the Newport Folk Festival invited Dylan to be the closing act on Sunday night, June 25. He agreed, but insisted on singing a few songs backed by an electrified blues band. There is much controversy about what actually happened before, during and after his performance. A Complete Unknown—based on Elijah Wald’s 2015 book, When Dylan Went Electric: Newport, Seeger, Dylan, and the Night That Split the Sixties—shows Seeger agonizingly trying to persuade Dylan to stick to his acoustic music. When Dylan insists on performing with his rock-and-roll back-up band, Seeger is visibly upset, but it isn’t clear if he actually tries to pull the plug on the amplified sound or is mainly angry that the sound system isn’t adequate to blast such loud music. The person in the film who appears most shaken up by Dylan’s performance is Alan Lomax, the eminent folklorist who played a major role in aiding little-known rural blues singers, mostly in the South, to gain more widespread attention.
Underlying the controversy is a debate about whether “folk” music mainly involves traditional songs by everyday people or newly-written songs about contemporary concerns by professional singers and songwriters. It also involves whether performers who use amplified electronic instruments are performing “folk” music. Even Seeger and Lomax were big fans of Black blues musicians (like Howlin’ Wolf and Memphis Slim) who played with electrified bands. In fact, the black Chambers Brothers and the white Paul Butterfield Blues Band, which backed Dylan, had already done electrically-amplified sets at Newport on Sunday afternoon with no complaints.
On stage, Dylan sang three amped-up songs—“Maggie’s Farm,” “Like a Rolling Stone,” and a work-in-progress called “Phantom Engineer” (which would eventually turn into “It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Lot to Cry,” on his sixth album, Highway 61 Revisited. His back-up band included three members of the Paul Butterfield Blues Bank (guitarist Mike Bloomfield, bassist Jerome Arnold, and drummer Sam Lay), Al Kooper on organ, an Barry Goldberg (who died on January 22) on organ and piano.
Some audience members were not happy with Dylan’s new sound. A few even booed. After performing those songs, Dylan stormed off the stage. But Seeger and others persuaded him to return to the stage, where he performed two songs with an acoustic guitar, “Mr. Tambourine Man” and “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue.” Many of those same audience members who had booed his first set and cheered his second set no doubt would eventually cheer for the upcoming wave of folk-rock music, like the Byrds’ version of “Mr. Tambourine Man.” But it was “all over now” between Dylan and the Newport Folk Festival. He refused to return to that venue for 37 years.
One aspect of the Newport controversy was Dylan’s apparent rejection of politically-oriented music. That was certainly the direction he was heading. With occasional exceptions, he abandoned acoustic and political music for rock and roll, country, blues, and gospel.
But the back story of “Maggie’s Farm”—and its double meaning—is missing from A Complete Unknown and from most tellings of the Newport brouhaha.
On different occasions, Seeger said he liked Dylan’s song. That shouldn’t be surprising. Seeger had recorded a traditional song, "Penny's Farm," on his first solo album (Darling Corey) in 1950. He often sang it at concerts. It is told from the perspective of a sharecropper protesting the working conditions on the farm.
It was originally recorded on Columbia records as "Down on Penny's Farm" by the Bentley Boys, a duo from North Carolina, in October 1929. That was a few days before the Wall Street stock market crashed, triggering the Great Depression. But the rural south was already facing a depression, especially among sharecroppers.
Here the opening lyrics to the Bentley Boys’ song:
Come you ladies and you gentlemen and listen to my song
I'll sing it to you right, but you might think it's wrong
May make you mad but I mean no harm
It's just about the renters on Penny's farm
[Refrain]
It's hard times in the country
Out on Penny's farm
It continues:
You go in the fields and you work all day
Way into the night but you get no pay
Promise you meat or a little lard
It's hard to be a renter on Penny's farm
[Refrain]
It’s hard times in the country
Out of Penny’s farm
Now here's George Penny come into town
With his wagon-load of peaches, not one of them sound
He's got to have his money or somebody's check
You pay him for a bushel and you don't get a peck
Then George Penny's renters, they come into town
With their hands in their pockets and their heads hanging down
Go in the store and the merchant will say
Your mortgage is due and I'm looking for my pay
It is likely that Dylan heard the Bentley Boys' version, which was reasonably well-known because Harry Smith had included it in his three-record Anthology of American Folk Music, issued in 1952, which helped spark the folk music revival during that decade. Dylan was familiar with the songs on the Anthology and recorded several of them on his first album.
The first stanza and chorus of Dylan’s "Hard Times in New York Town," as well as the tune, are borrowed directly from the Bentley Boys' "Down on Penny's Farm."
Here's the opening words and the tune for Dylan’s “Hard Times in New York Town”:
Come you ladies and you gentlemen, a-listen to my song.
Sing it to you right, but you might think it's wrong.
Just a little glimpse of a story I'll tell
'Bout an east coast city that you all know well.
[Refrain] It's hard times in the city,
Livin' down in New York town.
So, whether he learned the song from Smith's Anthology or from Seeger's album, it is clear that Dylan drew on "Down on Penny's Farm" when he wrote “Maggie’s Farm.”
“Down on Penny's Farm" was based on previous songs. That’s the folk tradition—borrowing and revising older songs. Woody Guthrie was a master of the craft. Others who recorded the song, after Seeger, include Jim Kweskin and Geoff Maldaur, Natalie Merchant, and Roger McGuinn of the Byrds.
There’s another twist to Dylan’s “Maggie’s Farm.” On July 6, 1963, Dylan traveled to Greenwood, Mississippi—in the heart of the Delta—to perform at a voter registration rally sponsored by the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). He was joined by Seeger, Theo Bikel, and the Freedom Singers. SNCC leader, and later Congressman, John Lewis was there, too. You can see a clip of Dylan’s performance in the 1965 documentary about Dylan, Don't Look Back.
Dylan performed a new song, “Only a Pawn in Their Game,” about the murder of Mississippi NAACP leader Medgar Evers by a segregationist thug, which occurred only a few weeks earlier, on June 12. The song expresses Dylan’s outrage at the assassination of the civil rights leader, but it also attacks the white Southern politicians and landed aristocracy, who used Jim Crow to pit black and white workers against each other to weaken both groups. In the song, Dylan revealed a sophisticated analysis of the white ruling class’ divide-and-conquer strategy, something that Martin Luther King discussed in some detail in his March 1965 speech at the end of the Selma-to-Montgomery march for voting rights.
One stanza of the song captures Dylan’s perspective:
The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid
And the marshals and cops get the same
But the poor white man's used in the hands of them all like a tool
He's taught in his school
From the start by the rule
That the laws are with him
To protect his white skin
To keep up his hate
So he never thinks straight
'Bout the shape that he's in
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game
The voting rights rally at which Dylan performed took place on a cotton farm owned by the McGhee (sometimes misspelled Magee) family who were deeply involved with SNCC’s local organizing work. The family included six sons, one of whom, Silas, who had organized to desegregate a movie theater, was shot in the face the following summer by someone whom many believed was a Ku Klux Klan member.
It is hardly a stretch to see that Dylan turned McGhee’s farm into Maggie’s farm.
But what did he mean that he wasn’t going to “work on Maggie’s farm no more”? He certainly wasn’t referring to the McGhee family, whose courage Dylan surely admired. The words refer to his involvement in civil rights movement and politics more broadly.
At the end of the song, Dylan says,
Well, I try my best to be just like I am
But everybody wants you to be just like them
This is Dylan's way of telling his fans, and the broader public, that, having written many protest songs about civil rights and war in his still-early career, he was no longer going to be a protest singer and didn't like being pigeonholed that way. That was the message he was sending at Newport when he went electric and performed “Maggie’s Farm.”
In fact, Dylan wrote few politically oriented songs after that. By his fourth album, the aptly titled Another Side of Bob Dylan, he had decided to look both inward for his inspiration and outward at other kinds of music. He began to explore more personal and abstract themes in his music and in his poetry. He also became more involved with drugs, alcohol, and religion. His songs began to focus on his love life, his alienation, and his growing sense of the absurd. In subsequent decades, Dylan would reinvent himself several more times.
Even after 1965, however, Dylan occasionally revealed that he hadn’t lost his touch for composing political songs. His “Subterranean Homesick Blues” references the violence inflicted on civil rights protestors by cops (“Better stay away from those/That carry around a fire hose”) but also reflected his growing cynicism (“Don’t follow leaders/Watch the parkin’ meters”). The extremist wing of Students for a Democratic Society took their name—Weatherman—from another line in that song (“You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows”). Other songs, such as “I Shall Be Released” (1967), the Guthrie-esque “I Pity the Poor Immigrant” (1967), “ George Jackson” (1971), “Hurricane” (1975), “License to Kill” (1983), and “Clean Cut Kid” (1984) indicate that Dylan still had the capacity for political outrage.
A Complete Unknown captures the mood and the music of the first few years of Dylan’s ascendency. Timothee Chalamet as Dylan and Edward Norton as Seeger embody their characters, including their voices, playing, looks, and performance styles. If the film gets people to be more curious about Seeger, to listen to his songs and learn about his life and legacy—that alone would be enough.
The movie accurately portrays Dylan's two sides—a brilliant creative genius as a songwriter/poet and a narcissist who used and discarded people on behalf of his ambition.
Though based on Wald’s extraordinary book, the film takes some artistic liberties that bend or distort the truth. It underplays the importance of his girlfriend Suze Rotolo, a committed leftist, in educating Dylan about both literature and the civil rights movement. It downplays the fact that Joan Baez was already famous when she met Dylan and helped jumpstart his career by introducing him at music festivals. Contrary to the film, Dylan never appeared on Seeger's homespun educational TV show, "Rainbow Quest." Dylan did visit Woody Guthrie in the hospital when he first arrived in New York, but Seeger wasn't there. And Dylan's second visit with Woody, as depicted at the end of the film, is entirely fictional.
But perhaps most disappointing is what the film left out—Dylan playing on McGhee’s farm in Mississippi and at the March on Washington, both in 1963. Had those incidents been included, we could see that Dylan’s commitment to civil rights and activism , however brief in the context of his long career, was more than rhetorical, and contributed to his image as a protest singer.
The film would have benefited from showing what was happening, both in Greenwich Village and around the country, that led Bob Dylan to write startling songs like “Blowin’ in the Wind” that became overnight anthems.
Along with many of my generation (that ridiculous word “boomers”) I both looked forward to and thoroughly enjoyed James Mangold’s A Complete Unknown. The writing was crisp, the scenery was great, the acting was tremendous, and with a couple of exceptions (I’ll get into that) the scenes were all right on target. He even threw in several Easter Eggs for those of us with a bit too much obsessive knowledge of Bob Dylan’s history–like seeing Al Kooper, who had never played keyboards, sit down at the organ in the studio and pick out what became an iconic riff in “Like a Rolling Stone.” A pleasing, exciting romp through an incredible, unequaled moment when, as Dylan so succinctly put it, the times were most definitely changing.
So why, as the credits rolled to a blast of “Like a Rolling Stone” that I swore was Dylan’s version—Timothée Chalamet really was that good–was I not fulfilled? Why did it feel akin to eating a pastrami sandwich on white bread? And my wife Maryann, who at a decade younger than me didn’t experience those years as I had, left with the same feeling. What was missing?
And then it hit. Context.
As the dawn of a new fascism looms, one that will potentially render the repression of the 1950s the good old days, the need to break free of the stifling “way things are” and create a new, liberating path full of both promise and danger is more urgent than ever.
Where did those early songs come from? Did they just pop into Dylan’s head from nowhere? What was happening, both in Greenwich Village and more significantly around the country, that led him to write startling songs like “Blowin’ in the Wind” that became overnight anthems? When, as depicted in the film, Dylan sang “The Times They Are A-Changin’” for the very first time, his young audience instantly latched on to it and went nuts, loudly and joyously singing along. Why? Was he telling them something they didn’t already know? Or was he giving voice to their lives as they were living them at that moment?
Okay, this may seem obvious. After all, everyone “knows” that the 60s were a time of youthful rebellion and upheaval. So what else is new? Does a film about Dylan really need to spell that out? And as far as the politics so many of his songs were infused with, isn’t it enough that the film depicted him singing at the 1963 March on Washington?
I would contend that it’s not nearly enough, because it doesn’t get close to what drove Dylan to write songs like “The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll,” “Only a Pawn in Their Game,” and “The Death of Emmet Till,” to name just a few. No, I’m not arguing that the film should have been a history lesson about the 60s, but I believe it would have better served both Dylan and the audience had it set the stage more clearly with what was explosively emerging in the dawn of that decade, because in fact this is not so obvious, especially to younger audiences.
To get that sense, I went back to Suze Rotolo’s wonderful memoir, A Freewheelin’ Time. Rotolo, was Dylan’s girlfriend from shortly after he arrived in New York. In the film she is given the name Sylvie Russo (interestingly at Dylan’s insistence, to protect her privacy. She died in 2011). Their relationship, which lasted four years, is beautifully depicted in the film, including the fact that, despite his growing relationship with Joan Baez, he never stopped loving her. And the film does briefly allude to her political influence on his writing. But there are two key points in her memoir that are sorely missing in the film, I think to its detriment.
The first is the nature of the Greenwich Village that Dylan walked into in that winter of 1961. Rotolo goes into vivid detail about the cultural and political cauldron bubbling up there. Here is her description of a typical Sunday in Washington Square Park:
The atmosphere… was lively. Groups of musicians would play and sing anything from old folk songs to bluegrass. Old Italian men from the neighborhood played their folk music on mandolins. Everyone played around the fountain, and people would wander from group to group, listening and maybe singing along. There were poets reading their poems and political types handing out fliers for Trotskyist, Communist, or anarchist meetings and hawking their newspapers… Everything overlapped nicely.
Just a 30 second walk in the park through Dylan’s eyes would have added an element that was missing.
And that was just the start. Along with the folk clubs that were depicted in the film, there was the burgeoning avant garde theater and film scenes. Clubs featured jazz and the beat poets. Musicians, not just folk, were drawn there from all across the country. Every night, folks would gather in various apartments to share songs and debate philosophy and politics. All of this, Rotolo makes clear, Dylan dove into and hungrily absorbed everything around him. He was not alone. He was being influenced by others, and he in turn influenced them. As he himself wrote, revolution was in the air.
A vivid example of this is one of his most political songs, “When the Ship Comes In.” He wrote it after attending a particularly striking and powerful version of the song “Pirate Jenny” from Bertolt Brecht’s Threepenny Opera. In that song, the maid Jenny sings about her fantasy of leading a pirate ship into harbor to wreak revenge on the bourgeoise “gentlemen” who treat her like a piece of dirt. Dylan turned that concept into a truly uplifting depiction of revolution:
Oh, the foes will rise with the sleep still in their eyes
And they’ll jerk from their beds and think they’re dreamin’
But they’ll pinch themselves and squeal
And know that it’s for real
The hour that the ship comes in.
Then they’ll raise their hands,
Sayin’ we’ll meet all your demands
But we’ll shout from the bow your days are numbered
And like Pharoah’s tribe they’ll be drownded in the tide
And like Goliath they’ll be conquered.
This does bring up one particular objection I have to the film. In it, the only time we hear that song is when he is singing it under duress at a fundraising party. It’s clear that by now he hates having to perform it and all of his songs up to that point, and the scene marks his break with the past and headlong dive into the future. The scene itself is an accurate depiction of Dylan’s growing rebellion against both the rigid strictures of the folk music world and the political messages they now expected him to include in every song. But without a strong sense of why he wrote it in the first place, we’re left with an incomplete picture of what was driving him all along.
And that brings up the question of how well, or weakly, the film depicts the times he was in the midst of and responding to. Rotolo paints a vivid picture of the fear that dominated every aspect of American life in the 1950s—the ubiquitous shadows of an impending nuclear war, combined with the grinding repression of the “Red scare” witch hunts, were everywhere. Hundreds were persecuted and jailed, with Pete Seeger on the top of the list. That the film opens with Seeger’s sentencing is to its credit. The intensity and ubiquity of that repression was a huge part of what those who flocked to Greenwich Village were rebelling against, often at great cost. Dylan nailed the paranoia permeating society hilariously with his “Talkin’ World War III Blues” on the Freewheelin’ album.
But what was increasingly taking center stage in the early 1960s, and deeply influencing Dylan, was the civil rights movement. All too often, and unfortunately in this film as well, that movement is squashed down to the March on Washington and maybe one or two other big events. But none of that gives a sense of how dramatic, dangerous, and explosive events from 1960 to 1964 were in a South where lynchings were still commonplace.
Take a look at just a few of those events:
Imagine how all of those things hit young people straining against the heavy 50s repression still hanging over their heads, and you get a sense of how wildly liberating Dylan’s songs were.
My point here is not that this film is in any way required to “educate” the audience about all this, but the problem is this—it’s one thing to know the facts, and it’s something altogether different to feel their impact at the time and in the historical context they happened. It’s that feeling that is crucial for really understanding (getting a feel for, so to speak) what was driving young people, and especially Dylan, to reach with all their hearts and souls for a new society.
That is why he wrote “The Times They Are A-Changin’” and that is why it became an anthem. How much stronger A Complete Unknown would have been had the filmmakers found the ways to channel that feeling.
To get why this matters you only have to take a cursory look at our world today. As the dawn of a new fascism looms, one that will potentially render the repression of the 1950s the good old days, the need to break free of the stifling “way things are” and create a new, liberating path full of both promise and danger is more urgent than ever. There is and will only ever be one Bob Dylan, but to quote Joe Strummer, the future is unwritten.
The upshot? Go see A Complete Unknown, then take a deep dive into the decade that created Dylan. Lots to learn there.
PS: The film perpetuates the myth that Pete Seeger was furious at Dylan for insisting on doing his electrified set at the 1965 Newport Film Festival and looked for an axe to chop of the electrified sound. As Seeger himself has said multiple times, he had no problem with what Dylan was doing, and loved the songs he played, especially “Maggie’s Farm.” But the quality of the sound system he was using was so terrible that it created distortion and made it virtually impossible to hear the music, and that was what he was furious about. Quite a difference.
Perhaps staring into the abyss created by the horrors and suffering of war will help us turn away from our violent path.
Read the news, hup, two, three, four!
“Top United States officials prodded Israel on Monday to do more to protect civilians in the Gaza Strip . . .”
Thus began a recent, and oh so typical, piece of war reportage. It was purveyed by the New York Times but it’s something you find in almost any mainstream source. The essence of the news is that the U.S. will continue to support Israel’s right to “defend itself” by bombing the crap out of Gaza and will keep feeding it the military equipment necessary to do so, but it sternly urges Israel to try not to kill too many babies or other civilians. Get it? War must be — and is, when we wage it — a moral undertaking.
And Yoav Gallant, Israeli defense minister — the guy who once declared that Palestinians are “human animals” — assured the world: “Unlike our enemies, we are defending our values, and we operate according to international law. The IDF is operating to minimize the harm to civilian populations.”
Yeah, this is the news! Context-free, reality-free. War is difficult, but war is necessary. When I slog through the verbiage, I can’t help but hear Pete Seeger singing: ‘We’re waist deep — we’re neck deep — in the Big Muddy, and the big fool says to push on.”
Missing from this simplistic, “objective” reportage is any awareness that you cannot kill your way to peace, let alone that humanity is in mortal danger of destroying itself unless we learn to evolve — unless we learn what we already know (except at the highest levels of power). Much of this knowledge is remarkably obvious, indeed, so obvious you’d think the New York Times and other such news outlets would be aware of it and work it into the context of their war reportage.
For instance: “Israel can never have security until Palestinians have security.”
Such a clear, basic truth is almost never part of the mainstream news . . . the Big Muddy. The words are those of Daniel Levy, former Israeli peace negotiator in the governments of Ehud Barak and Yitzhak Rabin, and current president of the U.S. Middle East Project, in an Al-Jazeera interview.
Levy also said: “I hope one day Palestinians, of course, but also Jewish Israelis experience the idea of how liberating it can be to no longer be an oppressor — because when you are oppressing people you know in the back of your mind that you are generating a desire for retribution.”
The point here is not that there’s a simple, quick-and-easy path to peace in any global conflict, but rather that there are obvious, horrific ways to prolong — eternalize — a conflict. In our Big Muddy reportage, the best thing that can happen in a conflict is that it gets “resolved,” sort of, and the violence temporarily stops. You know, a ceasefire is called. What could be better than a ceasefire? This would give surviving Gaza residents a chance to dig corpses out of the rubble in peace. What more could they ask?
Oh God. “Resolving” a conflict generally leaves the opposing sides separate from one another and still in possession of their grievances, or still enduring the hell that they are forced to live in. I would say that creating real peace is a never-ending journey, but can only happen when conflicts aren’t so much resolved as transcended. Another word for this is evolution.
What would that mean with regard to Israel and its ongoing — insane — assault on Palestine? The siege has so far resulted in over 26,000 deaths in Gaza and over 64,000 people injured, not to mention virtually everyone there suffering from hunger, lacking access to clean water, vulnerable to disease. This is madness. But in the context of mainstream reportage, this is nothing more than Israel defending itself — you know, against Hamas, a terrorist organization. Legitimate governments wage war, according to the Big Muddy. Only fringe organizations commit terrorism. Oh, by the way, committing genocide is a war crime, so you shouldn’t do it.
What I’m trying to say here is that war is nothing, nothing, nothing but terrorism and has to be stopped before any sane look at what to do next can even begin. In regard to Israel and Palestine, what might that mean? Certainly it means an end to Israel’s occupation of Gaza and the West Bank — and probably a one-state solution in which everyone has fully equal rights, which requires the creation of a society that is trans-Zionist.
As an American, I can’t think about this without deeply, painfully reflecting on my own country’s genocidal actions against the land’s original occupants and the kidnapping and enslavement of Africans. Our painfully slow process of political and social evolution is hardly finished, but we have begun creating a trans-racist society — yes, much to the distress of racist true believers. But there have been changes, which in an earlier period were probably unimaginable.
My point is not to dwell solely on the wrongs of this history, but to acknowledge that history evolves, that social structures change. While war and other forms of violence may be part of the change, lasting solutions evolve nonviolently.
I return to the words of Daniel Levy, who acknowledges, speaking of the war on Palestine: “Things look incredibly bleak.
“I don’t want to spread false optimism,” he goes on, “but perhaps this disruptive moment, where everything has been turned on its head, will cause people to stare into the abyss. Israel has proved how insecure it is when it continues down this path. The hope is that as we stare into the abyss, we can turn this around. That’s not going to happen quickly.”
But it can happen. The future is ours to create, even if we’re neck deep in the Big Muddy.
The Dirty Debt Deal did not make MVP a Done Deal; as Seeger sang, “We can never give up hope.”
Last week’s
climate march and actions, coupled with the annual Farm Aid concert, brought back fond memories of Pete Seeger. Ten years ago, at age 94, Pete dragged his long, lean, tired body 130 miles upstream from his Beacon, New York, home to the 2013 Farm Aid concert in Saratoga. His sole purpose for going was to sing an anti-fracking verse he had just written to Woody Guthrie’s “This Land.”
Pete had long been a part of New York’s powerful grassroots anti-fracking movement. He would show up every January, banjo in hand, at Albany’s Empire State Plaza, where a raucous crowd always greeted politicians and big wigs on their way to hear Andrew Cuomo deliver his annual State of the State address. The Saratoga Farm Aid concert was Pete’s last big hurrah. Two months later, he joined Arlo and family, as he always did, at Carnegie Hall. But he needed two canes to walk onstage, and he had to sit throughout. His mind was still sharp, but the rest of his body was giving out. Two months later, it did.
But that September night in Saratoga was magical. It almost didn’t happen. It was touch and go whether Pete’s daughter Tinya, her parents’ caregiver and gatekeeper, would allow it. She was told that if she didn’t think he was up to it, she needn’t say more. But if she thought he was, it would definitely be great for the anti-fracking movement and likely for him, personally, as well. And it certainly was, on both counts.
If Pete was still alive and able, I think he would have also made his way down to Virginia and West Virginia to witness and speak out against the Mountain Valley Pipeline (MVP).
No one in the audience knew Pete would be there, and when he walked out on stage he got the warmest of welcomes. He could no longer really sing himself, but he relied on his specialty—getting the audience to sing. Pete’s hearing was pretty well shot, too, and things got a little chaotic when he and Neil (who was thoroughly enjoying the moment) sang different verses at the same time. Then Pete raised his hand, hushed the crowd, and said “I’ve got a verse you’ve never heard before.”
New York is my home
New York is your home
From the upstate mountains
Down to the ocean foam
Then came the part about diversity, which Pete championed his whole life.
With all kinds of people
Yes, we’re polychrome
And then the kicker—
New York was meant
To be frack-free
The crowd erupted. Rolling Stone called it the high point of an always tremendous Farm Aid concert.
The following summer Jackson Browne came to Albany. Jackson was (and is) against fracking, and he was asked to pay tribute to Pete by singing “This Land” with Pete’s verse. Word came back that he wouldn’t sing “This Land,” but he would add Pete’s verse to “I Am A Patriot,” which caused some head scratching. How was he going to pull that off? Turns out, masterfully. And in hindsight it was no doubt very thoughtful on Jackson’s part, a nod to all that Pete had to put up with back in the Joe McCarthy era. Jackson introduced the verse by saying, “Pete was one of the greatest American songwriters, certainly one of the greatest Americans ever.” For sure.
A few months later New York banned fracking.
Pete was a world famous guy who could be seen holding a sign on his hometown street corner during a Saturday morning protest with neighbors. He sang about war and peace, but he also said something like, “How can you save the world if you can’t even clean up the river in your own backyard?” And so he built a boat called the Clearwater and founded an organization with the same name to do just that—clean up the Hudson River.
If Pete was still alive and able, he certainly would have been at the climate march in NYC. I think he would have also made his way down to Virginia and West Virginia to witness and speak out against the Mountain Valley Pipeline (MVP).
A few weeks ago, Denali Sai Nalamalapu, a frontline organizer trying to stop MVP, wrote a very good article asking why so many people would be going to the NYC climate march when so few were going to Appalachia to protest MVP. The main reason may be that most people erroneously believe MVP is a lost cause, which isn’t surprising because mainstream media, by and large, has said it is. But the Dirty Debt Deal does not mean that MVP is a done deal.
Even MVP’s own lawyer said that the debt deal does not prevent bringing legal claims as long as they are outside of the permitting process. MVP is violating a 52-year-old law that has nothing to do with the permitting process. It says that ALL pipe MUST have a corrosion-proof external coating that is “sufficiently ductile to resist cracking.” The reason is simple and obvious. Cracked corrosion-proof coating is an oxymoron.
MVP’s coating is no longer ductile (meaning flexible) enough to resist cracking because it has sat out in the sun for over six years, 12 times longer than the coating manufacturer recommends. Even a senior MVP vice president, testifying in court 68 MONTHS AGO, during an eminent domain hearing, said that they needed to quickly get the pipe in the ground so that the sun wouldn’t deteriorate the coating (p 134). If you had to take a really important medicine to prevent a really bad health problem, would you take one that expired six years ago? Adequate corrosion-proofing is critical for gas pipelines. We recently saw how inferior materials can lead to disaster. People have died due to explosions caused by corroded pipe. MVP is a particularly dangerous pipeline. It’s huge (42-inch diameter). It will be able to operate under extremely high pressure (1,480 pounds per square inch). And it is being built up and down very steep terrain that is prone to landslides.
Unless and until MVP pipe coating is thoroughly and independently tested in a transparent manner, test results of Keystone XL (KXL) pipe coating, which also sat out in the sun for years, should be what guides decision making. Every sample of KXL coating cracked when subjected to a flexibility test. They all failed the “sufficiently ductile to resist cracking” legal requirement. And no less than a KXL pipeline manager said that the coating can’t be fixed in the field. He said it required shipping the pipe back to the factory where it could be properly stripped, cleaned, and recoated.
The Pipeline and Hazardous Materials Safety Administration (PHMSA) recognizes that MVP has coating (and other) problems. It sent Equitrans, the company building MVP, a Notice of Proposed Safety Order ( NOPSO) on August 11. NOPSOs are rare. Only two have been issued this year and, on average, only 2.7 have been issued yearly for the past decade.
The NOPSO said that MVP (Equitrans) could request an informal consultation with PHMSA to discuss the proposed safety order. If that consultation results in an agreement between the parties on a plan and schedule to address each safety risk identified, then PHMSA would issue a consent order outlining the terms of the agreement. If an agreement is not reached, then MVP can request a formal hearing. Following the hearing, if the associate administrator finds MVP to have a condition that poses a pipeline integrity risk to the public, property, or the environment, the associate administrator may issue a final safety order. PHMSA’s associate administrator for pipeline safety is Alan K. Mayberry, the senior federal career official for pipeline safety in the United States. The day after the NOPSO was sent, MVP asked for a consultation and reserved the right to ask for a hearing. The NOPSO said that all material MVP submits in response to the enforcement action would be subject to being made publicly available. So far, almost seven weeks since the NOPSO was sent, there has been no further information released to the public. One can only imagine what kind of pressure is being applied to career public servants at PHMSA by higher up PHMSA political appointees, Equitrans, and politicians like Sen. Joe Manchin (D-W.Va.).
Equitrans, by the way, was responsible for last year’s biggest U.S. climate disaster, a methane leak that it was unable to stop for 13 days. The leak was caused by… corrosion.
So let’s hope that Mr. Mayberry, eastern regional director Robert Burrough, and others at PHMSA are real serious about safety, and that some lawyer or environmental organization is ready to file suit concerning the “sufficiently ductile to resist cracking” rule, if need be.
What comes to mind when thinking about Joe Manchin and MVP is that old Pete Seeger song:
Well, I’m not going to point any moral,
I’ll leave that for yourself
Maybe you’re still walking, you’re still talking
You’d like to keep your health.
But every time I read the papers
That old feeling comes on;
We’re, waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
But I also think of one of his most inspiring songs: “God’s Counting On Me, God’s Counting On You:”
When there’s big problems to be solved
Let’s get everyone involved
and
When we work with younger folks
We can never give up hope
President Joe Biden needs to think more about these younger folks’ future when he considers approving new fossil fuel infrastructure, and he sure shouldn’t let any pipelines get built that might blow up in their backyard or next to their school.
Go tell all the little children...
[on our] one earth...give it one more try,
to show [our] Rainbow race, it's too soon to die.
--Pete Seeger "Rainbow Race"
Today--May 3rd, 2019--marks the 100th anniversary of the birth of legendary folk singer Pete Seeger. Not just a songwriter, public citizen, educator, and activist, Seeger was also a champion of social justice, peace, worker rights, and environmental sanity.
Pete wrote "Rainbow Race" fifty years ago as a love song to the earth and a warning to humanity that the future is being killed by systems that place profits over people and the rest of nature. That stark reality is now all too clear as the earth-life-disaster-linked-to-climate-disruption rages on across the planet.
Pete lived a long and fruitful life (94 years) that included considerable time engaging people in communal singing that uplifted the spirit, encouraged social responsibility, and helped folks understand and overcome their troubles. Pete said "participation" was his religion. "If there is a human race still here in a hundred years," he said, "[not only will...] women save the day...[but] people will know the importance of participating, and not just being spectators."
Pete--possessed of a courageous humility and profoundly influenced by Woody Guthrie--in turn influenced generations of "people's music" singers including Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Bernice Johnson, Judy Collins, Bruce Springsteen, Richie Havens, Tom Morello, and countless others.
Pete had great confidence and great doubts. It is that contradiction, as Bruce Springstee has suggested, that keeps us awake, alive, attuned and alert. In other words, Pete was hopeful: he knew there were possibilities that we could-- through collective participation and struggle--build a better world, but there are no guarantees that even our best efforts will succeed. Yet despite those doubts, Pete carried on - and so must we.
Today, "Pete Seeger Lives!" in what John Steinbeck called "the American spirit of resistance" to tyranny and authoritarianism.
Pete lives in the hearts and minds of all who care about people, a decent society, and a livable world; all who struggle for social justice, substantive freedom, individual rights, and participatory democracy; and all who resist tyrants and racists while respecting human dignity, human diversity, and our common humanity.
Pete lives in those working to overcome racism, classism, sexism, and imperialism; and those who believe that sharing is better than exploiting; kindness is better than callousness, cooperation is better than domination; egalitarianism is better than authoritarianism; and that democracy is a human value.
Pete lives in all who love to sing songs, dance across a room, recite poems, create art, and laugh out loud; all who believe that love can conquer hate, peace can vanquish war, and solidarity can defeat systems that alienate and atomize.
Pete lives in our spirit of human decency, compassion, and conviviality; in all who appreciate modest nobility, the spirit of generosity, the genius of simplicity, and the willingness to change while remaining rooted in fundamentally loving and caring principles.
Pete lives in all who revel in the beauty of a river flowing, a sun rising, a flower blooming, a garden growing, a butterfly floating, an ocean roaring - in all who hold onto defiant optimism and energized hope.
And Pete lives on in all who maintain a deep faith in the will and ability of people to work together to resist and overcome the horrors of iniquitous institutions and to construct new social structures through which all can live fulfilling, joyful, and meaningful lives; he lives in all who think humanity and nature are more important than commodities and profits.
Pete Seeger was loved by people across the world because Pete actively loved people across the world. He worked to create a world in which it is not idiotic to love and, in the words of Richard Levins, "not idiotic to be kind." It seems clear that for Pete love meant finding joy, fulfillment, and happiness in being the source of joy, fulfillment, and happiness of others. Love for Pete meant creating the conditions through which others can creatively flourish while they do the same for you - call it "social love."
For more than 75 years Pete stayed true to struggles against exploitation and oppression and for a substantively free, equal, and democratic society. In return for this commitment, he was blacklisted for seventeen years "officially" and arguably nine more "unofficially." This spirit was reflected in Pete's beloved communal singing where the creative participation of each nurtures and nourishes the flourishing of all, and vice versa.
Pete said "great acts of love are rooted in great anger." Pete's righteous anger against systemic injustice and violence was profoundly rooted in deep and active love for the victims of injustice and violence.
Pete said he'd only be a musician if music could bring peace. Music alone will not bring peace; it will not overcome institutions grounded in exploitation, violence and greed; it will not overcome the root causes of the intensifying earth-life-disasters-linked-to-climate-disruption, it will not alone build a world liberated from domination, tyranny and subjugation. But Pete demonstrated it can play a crucial, critical, and nurturing role.
Because music alone cannot bring peace and social justice, Pete Seeger participated in, contributed to, and learned from every major progressive social cause and movement from the 1930s up to his death in 2014, including labor movements, civil rights movements, women's movements, anti-war movements, anti-nuke movements, environmental justice movements, etc. We can be sure that Pete would be supporting and learning from the international youth uprisings today embodied in The Sunrise Movement, Extinction Rebellion, Fridays for Future, Student Strike 4 Climate, etc.
Pete, following Bertolt Brecht, believed, music can hold up honest mirrors to current realities; open windows into new and better realities, and it can provide us with hammers with which to build from where we are to where we wish to be.
Pete said that some music can help us escape our troubles; other music can help us understand our troubles; the best music can help us do something to overcome our troubles. Pete embodied that humanizing and revolutionary spirit dedicated to overcoming our troubles.
Pete said he wanted to die with a hammer in his hands. Pete lives in all those willing to pick up a hammer to build the possible better world we so urgently need.
When Pete died, many people said: "The world is a better place because Pete Seeger lived."
Let us work to keep Pete's loving, creative and revolutionary spirit alive and flourishing in all of us... let all of us work to make the world a better place. Given the perils ahead and the crises we face on our shared "one earth," our future depends on it.
Friday marked what would have been Pete Seeger's 100th birthday, and fans took to social media to celebrate the folk music giant and activist's life and legacy.
Seeger died in 2014 at 94. He was, rocker Tom Morello said upon his death, "Absolutely the best that humans can aspire to be."
For the singer's birthday, musicians and advocacy groups drew attention to Seeger's performances and work for environmental and social justice over a roughly seven-decade career. Other observers resurfaced old interviews or reflected on the mark Seeger's music and activism left on their own lives.
Seeger was optimistic about the world, he told Democracy Now! in 2004.
"There's a wonderful parable in the New Testament: The sower scatters seeds. Some seeds fall in the pathway and get stamped on, and they don't grow. Some fall on the rocks, and they don't grow," Seeger said.
"But some seeds fall on fallow ground, and they grow and multiply a thousandfold," he added. "Who knows where some good little thing that you've done may bring results years later that you never dreamed of?"
"Pete was hopeful," guitarist Doug Morris wrote at Common Dreams Friday, "he knew there were possibilities that we could--through collective participation and struggle--build a better world, but there are no guarantees that even our best efforts will succeed. Yet despite those doubts, Pete carried on-- and so must we."
Every time I read the papers
That old feeling comes on;
We're waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
I find myself haunted these days by Pete Seeger's antiwar anthem of 1967, written when it had become evident to Seeger and many others (although not yet to me) that the United States was engaged in an enterprise certain to end in disaster and dishonor. The Big Muddy was Vietnam. The big fool committed to blindly pushing on was President Lyndon Baines Johnson.
Today Seeger's lyrics possess an ironic resonance. The United States once more finds itself stuck in a perplexing military misadventure, this one dating from 2001 and known initially as the Global War on Terrorism. Once more we have a bona fide fool in the White House, one whose antics make LBJ look like a font of acumen and good sense.
Yet note the contradiction. In this instance, it's the big fool who grasps the obvious: Waging war to pacify the Greater Middle East hasn't worked and won't. However unwittingly, President Trump has embraced Pete Seeger's cause as his own.
Yet we have it from the nation's putative "wise men" that the fool is dead wrong. Much as in 1967, members of the foreign policy establishment (today very much including women) say that the United States has no choice but to push on, no matter how dark the night or deep the water.
So when Trump recently announced his intention to withdraw US troops from Syria and cut in half the troop contingent in Afghanistan, reaction from across that establishment was swift, severe, and all but unanimous. Terminating lengthy wars in places of marginal importance to the United States, it turns out, represents the height of irresponsibility.
For Defense Secretary James Mattis, Trump's announced intention to pull out of Syria was the last straw: He resigned (and was then unceremoniously fired). In an instant, Mattis -- widely proclaimed as the last adult in the room -- became the recipient of encomiums usually reserved for icons like George C. Marshall. With Mattis gone, it is said, the way is now clear for Trump to convert America First from provocation into policy.
We thus find ourselves at an interesting, and perhaps pivotal, moment in American history. At issue are the prerogatives of the commander-in-chief. Since World War II, those prerogatives have expanded exponentially, so much so that in practical terms the Congress has all but forfeited its war powers to the executive branch.
For decades now, presidents have used those powers to initiate, expand, and redefine armed conflicts more or less at will, Vietnam being only one example among many. Underlying this practice is an assumption: That the president, drawing on the expert advice of the foreign policy establishment, is uniquely situated to divine and to pursue the nation's true interests. Especially in matters related to war, we the people, not to mention our elected representatives, are expected to respect his decisions.
Acting on that assumption finds the United States today mired in several armed conflicts that members of the establishment accept as more or less perpetual. In Syria, Afghanistan, and elsewhere, their inclination is to press on. Deeply invested in a militarized and interventionist conception of demonstrating global leadership, they will admit to no alternative.
The commander-in-chief begs to differ. Exercising prerogatives enjoyed by his predecessors, he appears determined to wind down conflicts he considers contrary to the nation's interests. The big fool apparently thinks that interminable wars are a bad thing.
Trump's conviction places him directly at odds with and also threatens the foreign policy establishment. After all, the status of that establishment derives from the claim that listening to the likes of James Mattis keeps America safe and strong. If presidents cease to listen, then the entire raison d'etre of that establishment, which is both unelected and unaccountable, collapses.
In that event, a genuine debate over America's role in the world might ensue. Alternatives to the existing militarized and interventionist conception of national security policy just might become possible. This is what the foreign policy establishment fears most.
And that's why it will fight tooth and nail to obstruct Trump's efforts to end armed conflicts that he correctly sees as misguided. In establishment circles, the big fool's opposition to foolish wars will become one more indication that he is unfit to serve.
I'm shocked that the media overlooked this important milestone in American musical and political history. Fifty years ago today (February 25, 1968) Pete Seeger sang the controversial anti-war song "Waist Deep in the Big Muddy" on the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour show on CBS.
Pete had been blacklisted from network television since the 1950s because of his leftist politics, so for the Smothers brothers to invite him to sing on their popular show -- much less to sing a powerful anti-war song in the midst of the Vietnam war -- was an act of courage. What made Pete's appearance controversial was that he had performed "Big Muddy" on the Smothers Brothers show the previous September, but CBS refused to broadcast it and removed it from the tape. An angry Tom Smothers made sure that the story of the censorship appeared in the media. Because of the bad press, an outcry among the public, and probably because the Vietnam War had become even more unpopular, the Smothers Brothers were allowed to invite Seeger back later in the season, when he again sang "Waist Deep in the Big Muddy," which was clearly metaphor for the Vietnam war.
Pete first sang a medley of anti-war song, then launched into "Big Muddy." Here's a video of Pete's performance 50 years ago today:
For those unfamiliar with Pete's political and musical story, here's my tribute to him, published in The Nation after he died in January 2014.
Every day, every minute, someone in the world is singing a Pete Seeger song. The songs he wrote, including the antiwar tunes, "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?" "If I Had a Hammer" and "Turn! Turn! Turn!" and those he popularized, including "This Land Is Your Land" and "We Shall Overcome," have been recorded by hundreds of artists in many languages and have become global anthems for people fighting for freedom. For over six decades, he introduced Americans to songs from other cultures, like "Wimoweh" ("The Lion Sleeps Tonight") from South Africa, "Tzena, Tzena" from Israel (which reached number two on the pop charts) and "Guantanamera" from Cuba, inspiring what is now called "world music." His songs are sung by people in cities and villages around the world, promoting the basic idea that the hopes that unite us are greater than the fears that divide us.
Seeger helped catalyze the folk music revival of the 1950s and 1960s. He inspired people to take up the banjo and guitar, encouraged young performers, helped start the Newport Folk Festival, and promoted the folk song magazine Sing Out! that he had had launched with other musicians and activists. Many prominent musicians--including Bob Dylan, Bono, Joan Baez, the Byrds, Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks, Bonnie Raitt, Holly Near, Tom Morello and Bruce Springsteen--consider Seeger a role model and trace their musical roots to his influence. Among performers around the globe, Seeger is a symbol of a principled artist deeply engaged in the world.
Seeger, who died in 2014 at 94, wouldn't have cared that most of the people who sing his songs don't know his name. But we should care, because Americans, especially young people, need to know about the people and movements who fought for things that today we take for granted. Learning how ordinary people overcame obstacles to bring about great changes helps give us the confidence and courage to overcome new obstacles and challenges.
There are three things we can do to make sure that Seeger's spirit and legacy lives on.
The first, of course, is to follow his example of social activism. Seeger was a much-acclaimed and innovative guitarist and banjoist, a globe-trotting song collector, and the author of many songbooks and musical how-to manuals. But he was also on the front lines of every key progressive crusade during his lifetime--labor unions and migrant workers in the 1930s and 1940s, the banning of nuclear weapons and opposition to the Cold War in the 1950s, civil rights starting in the 1950s and the anti-Vietnam War movement in the 1960s, environmental responsibility and opposition to South African apartheid in the 1970s, and, always, human rights throughout the world.
The second thing we can do to sustain Seeger's legacy is continue to listen to and sing his songs and to teach them to each new generation. Fortunately, Seeger recorded over 80 albums -- including children's songs, labor and protest songs, traditional American folk songs, international songs and Christmas songs -- that have reached wide audiences. Seeger's children's songs, like the beloved "Abiyoyo," are among his finest. Many of his performances and songs -- including the TV show, "Rainbow Quest," that he hosted on a public television in New York in the 1960s -- can be viewed and/or on the internet.
The third way to keep Seeger's spirit alive is to teach our children about his life. Writer Susanna Reich and illustrator Adam Gustavson have produced a book dedicated to that objective. In 38 pages of text, paintings and drawings, Stand Up and Sing! Pete Seeger, Folk Music, and the Path to Justice provides a wonderful portrait of Seeger, focusing on how his strongly-held beliefs motivated his music and his activism. The book introduces children to the notion that music can be a powerful tool for change. As Reich notes, Seeger saw himself as a link in "a chain in which music and social responsibility are intertwined."
There are several recent children's books about Seeger, each targeted for different age groups, with different formats and writing styles, including Let Your Voice Be Heard: The Life and Times of Pete Seeger, Sing It!: A Biography of Pete Seeger, and Listen: How Pete Seeger Got America Singing.
Stand Up And Sing is written for kids from ages six to ten. Six year-olds are most likely going to have the book read to them by a parent, teacher or caregiver, while many nine- or ten-year-olds will be able to read it themselves. The book conveys Seeger's remarkable talent, convictions and courage without being preachy or talking down to children.
The book will also inspire adults, who may know Seeger's songs but don't know much about his life, to learn more about this remarkable figure. Reich includes a helpful bibliography of books, films and and interviews with Seeger that are available on the internet. Indeed, adults might want to search the internet to find videos of Seeger's songs and performances to go along with reading the book to youngsters and to themselves.
By recounting Seeger's life in words and pictures, the book allows the reader to move through the 20th century decade by decade, providing a history lesson in the process.
"Pete Seeger was born in 1919, with music in his bones," the book begins, and from there Reich covers the key phases and moments in Seeger's eventful life.
Coming of age during the Great Depression, Seeger saw poverty and adversity that would forever shape his worldview, but it wasn't until he received his first banjo that he found his way to change the world. It was plucking banjo strings and singing folk songs that showed Seeger how music had the incredible power to bring people together.
His father (musicologist Charles Seeger) and stepmother (composer and folklorist Ruth Crawford Seeger) believed in the power of music to bring about change. His father took Pete to protest rallies about workers' rights and other causes, which exposed him to the deprivation and hunger of ordinary people.
While he was in high school, Pete persuaded his parents to let him buy a banjo -- a fateful decision that eventually changed American music and American history. During a visit to a folk music festival in North Carolina while still in high school, Pete saw rural poverty and heard bluegrass music played on a five-string banjo for the first time. When he returned home, he listened to records and learned to imitate what he heard - "rhythm, melody, chords, and words," Reich notes. For the rest of his life, Pete learned, collected, played, and popularized songs by working people from around the country and around the world.
The book chronicles Pete's exposure to radical ideas while at Harvard (from which he dropped out after his sophomore year to pursue folk singing) and after, his friendship with Woody Guthrie, his days playing with the left-wing Almanac Singers, his exposure to unions and his plan to help build a "singing union movement," his experience in the South Pacific during World War 2, his marriage to Toshi, and their adventure building a log cabin home in Beacon, New York, overlooking the Hudson River.
Gustavson provides beautiful and haunting paintings and drawings of various aspects of Seeger's life and of the times in which he lived. There's Pete sitting on a piano bench while his father plays the piano and his mother plays the violin. We see a sketch of unemployed men lined up for free food during the Depression. The book includes illustrations of Seeger intently practicing his banjo, performing with Guthrie, shaving in his run-down apartment, and wielding an ax to construct his log cabin, with Toshi holding their baby near the tent where they lived while they were building the house.
Reich doesn't ignore Seeger's battles with Red Scare witch hunters that almost derailed his career. "Then," the book reports, "a scary thing happened." Reich recounts the infamous riot in 1949 at a Paul Robeson outdoor concert in Peekskill, New York, where right-wing thugs assaulted the performers and the audience members (most of them left-wingers) in opposition to their radical views.
"In 1955 Pete was called into court by some congressmen who didn't think he was a loyal American," Reich writes. "Pete refused to answer their questions in the way they wanted. The threat of prison would hang over his head for the next seven years." This passage and others will surely raise questions about free speech and democracy that all Americans, young and old, should be asking, especially in the era of Donald Trump.
Reich describes how Pete and his folk-singing group, the Weavers, had major popular hits like "Goodnight, Irene," then faced blacklisting by concert venues, television networks, radio disc jockeys, and mainstream record companies.
"During these years Pete could barely make a living," Reich explains. A drawing of Pete playing his banjo in front of a group of young kids illustrates how he survived the blacklist, by performing at whatever colleges, schools, summer camps, churches and synagogues, and progressive groups would invite him.
"Meanwhile," Reich writes, "the civil rights movement was picking up steam." Readers learn that Pete popularized the song "We Shall Overcome" and taught it to Dr. Martin Luther King. Drawings of Pete singing with young activists, talking with King, and joining the march from Selma to Montgomery show us that he was helping spread the civil rights message through both his songs and his activism.
"Pete and Dr. King dreamed of peace," the book explains, "but in the 1960s the United States was at war in faraway Vietnam." Reich describes how Seeger came to write the antiwar song, "Waist Deep in the Big Muddy" and how TV censors refused to allow him to sing it, while Gustavson illustrates this episode with a sketch of soldiers wading through a river in Vietnam and another of him singing it in front of a TV camera. Reich doesn't mention that it was the Smothers Brothers who invited Seeger on their show to perform it and CBS who edited the song out. She writes that "Luckily, a few months later he was invited back on TV, and this time seven million people saw him perform "Big Muddy." She could have taught young readers a valuable Seeger-like lesson if she'd pointed out that he was invited back only because Americans flooded CBS with calls and letters in protest.
Reich tells the story of Seeger's final, and successful, campaign, launched in 1969, to clean up the polluted Hudson River by mobilizing people to build the Clearwater, a majestic replica of the sloops that sailed the river in the 19th century. The effort, at first written off as simplistic and naive, helped inspire the environmental movement. The boat brought people to the river where they could experience its beauty and be moved to preserve it. The annual Clearwater festival, which Seeger started, continues to this day. The Clearwater conducts education programs for local school children to learn about environmental science and activism, a model of hands-on environmental education programs around the world. In 2004, the Clearwater was named to the National Register of Historic Places for its groundbreaking role in the environmental movement.
Reich writes: "A clean river, a peaceful plant, a living wage - as Pete got older, he continued to sing, to protest, and to inspire people to speak out for their beliefs."
Although there are several illustrations of Seeger leading people in songs, unfortunately there's no drawing of Seeger singing in front of large crowds, at a concert or political rally, with tens of thousands of people singing along. Seeger was a gifted and disciplined musician, with a remarkable repertoire of songs. Although he made it look effortless, he carefully crafted a performing style and stage persona that inspired audiences to join him. Every Seeger concert involved a lot of group singing.
Seeger's remarkable spirit, energy and optimism kept him going through triumphs and tragedies, but he outlived all his enemies and remained one of the greatest American heroes of all time. He endured and overcame the controversies triggered by his activism.
In 1994, at age 75, he received the National Medal of Arts (the highest award given to artists and arts patrons by the U.S. government) as well as a Kennedy Center Honor. President Bill Clinton called him "an inconvenient artist, who dared to sing things as he saw them." In 1996 Pete was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame because of his influence on so many rock performers. In 1997 he won the Grammy Award for his eighteen-track compilation album, ""Pete." As Reich recounts in Stand Up And Sing, President Barack Obama invited him to lead 400,000 people in singing "This Land Is Your Land" at the Lincoln Memorial as part of his inauguration celebration in 2009.
Gustavson's final drawing of Seeger standing on the edge of the Hudson River, wearing his knitted wool cap and flannel shirt, staring into the distance, with the Clearwater in the background, is a fitting symbol of his remarkable life as both a practical man and a visionary, a man who built his home and built a boat, but also built movements for social justice.
Inspired by the rhythms of American folk music, this moving account of Seeger's life teaches kids of every generation that no cause is too small and no obstacle too large if, together, you stand up and sing!
By beginning with Irving Berlin's "God Bless America" and then switching to Woody Guthrie's "This Land is your Land," Lady Gaga (Stefani Germanotta, 30) engaged in a subtle but very radical critique of the immigration and other policies of Donald J. Trump. Her switch at the end to quoting the pledge of allegiance with the ending phrase "with justice and liberty for all" was a further critique of Trump's latent white nationalism. For all.
By beginning with Irving Berlin's "God Bless America" and then switching to Woody Guthrie's "This Land is your Land," Lady Gaga (Stefani Germanotta, 30) engaged in a subtle but very radical critique of the immigration and other policies of Donald J. Trump. Her switch at the end to quoting the pledge of allegiance with the ending phrase "with justice and liberty for all" was a further critique of Trump's latent white nationalism. For all.
Ms. Germanotta knew that Guthrie, an American leftist and radical, had written "This Land is your Land" as a satire on Berlin's "God Bless America," which he considered insufficiently alarmed, and narrowly nationalistic. He first wrote the lyrics in February, 1940, before he took an epic train ride across the country to New York. Ronald Briley, in his article "Woody Sez": Woody Guthrie, the "People's Daily World," and Indigenous Radicalism," California History 84.1 (2006): 30-43, shows that Guthrie had a regular column in the West Coast Communist newspaper, The People's Daily World, in the year leading up to his composition of the lyrics (the tune was lifted from the Carter family).
Guthrie was born and brought up in Oklahoma. His father had been a small town realtor who opposed socialism, but who lost his business in the mid-1920s. Then after his mother developed a severe mental illness that made her a threat to those around her, Guthrie went with his father to Texas, where Guthrie Sr. got a job managing a boarding house.
In 1931-1939 the US Midwest experience one of the worst droughts in American history, devastating farmers throughout the Midwest and especially in Guthrie's native Oklahoma. This was on top of the Great Depression, caused by a shrunken money supply and the unwillingness of either business or government to invest sufficient money in the economy after the 1929 stock market crash. The Dust Bowl was caused by an unusually cool Pacific Ocean and an unusually warm Atlantic Ocean, which in combination operated to weaken the jet stream and pull it south. Ordinarily it stretches from the west coast of Mexico, where it picks up moisture, up into the Midwest, where the moisture came down as rain. Climate scientists are terrified that one result of our spewing of billions of tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere every year will be to bring back the Dust Bowl and make it a very long term phenomenon.
In 1936 Woody went out to California to see for himself the conditions of the Okies, Oklahama residents forced off their land by the Dust Bowl and turned into penniless refugees on the West Coast. He was shocked at how badly these refugees were treated by the Californians. He was also distressed by the high rents, comparing them to armed robbery.
I want to underline this point. Some of the background of "This Land is your Land" is distress about how refugee residents of California were being treated. I think we know what Guthrie would have thought about the surge of right wing anti-immigrant feeling in today's America. Ironically, Oklahoma, then a source of Internally Displaced People, is today among the states most hardhearted against refugees. He also had a grudge against banks that had foreclosed on the farmers, in his view greedily and heartlessly, instead of being more patient about eventually being paid.
Guthrie settled in Glendale with the help of relatives, and fell in with members of the 'Wobblies' (International Workers of the World), and got a job singing on radio. Briley writes,
Guthrie's political contributions to the radio program were solicited by KFVD station owner Frank Burke. In fact, Guthrie did some reporting for Burke's progressive newspaper, The Light. Angered by how the capitalist system abandoned the unemployed living in Hoovervilles along the highways and underneath the bridges of America, Guthrie reported, 'A drunk don't like his own vomit. And a dizzy Profit System don't like its own filth.'
Guthrie associated with and sang for left-wing crowds, including the Communist Party, though he probably never joined. He was a Midwestern Christian socialist and maintained that the New Testament mandated that all wealth be owned in common. This old time religion, he called "Commonism."
Briley quotes him as describing Wall Street as where "the workers git worked on an the reapers get reaped an the farmers get plowed under."
So those are the considerations that were on Woody's mind when he composed the lyrics for "This Land is your Land." Moreover, there are lyrics from Guthrie's original 1944 recording that are no longer heard very often. Pete Seeger (a friend of Guthrie's) along with his grandson and Bruce Springsteen, sang some of them on the Mall in 2009:
There was a big high wall there that tried to stop me;
The sign was painted, it said private property;
But on the back side it didn't say nothing;
That side was made for you and me.In the squares of the city, In the shadow of a steeple;
By the Relief Office, I'd seen my people.
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking,
Is this land made for you and me?Nobody living can ever stop me,
As I go walking that freedom highway;
Nobody living can ever make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.
Of course, the meaning of the Wall has changed in the past year and a half. But that only makes the words more poignant.
Lady Gaga only sang the more well known lyrics, but they are powerful enough. They voice the sentiments of a great American poet of the working class, in the tradition of Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and Walt Whitman.
That this land is your land is nothing new in unequal America where so many aren't paid a living wage. That this land is my land is the radical statement.
When I am a Syrian refugee founding a company in Michigan, this land is my land.
When I am an Iranian-American scientist working on a cure for diabetes , this land is my land.
When I am a Somali woman and former refugee now elected as a state representative in Minnesota, this land is my land.
When I am a Gay Libyan refugee doing my medical degree all over again to cure Americans, this land is my land.
When I am an Iraqi refugee in Buffalo who did a degree in Social Work to help American families, this land is my land.
When I am a Yemeni refugee mother working in a cafeteria as her two young daughters go to elementary school, this land is my land.
When I am a Sudanese "lost boy" refugee now working as a US diplomat for the State Department, representing America abroad, this land is my land.
Woody Guthrie knew how the Okie refugees were treated in his own day. His song is a biting satire, not a celebration. He knew that as long as the super-rich could act in a predatory manner with impunity, as long as the laws of wages and property were made by pliant politicians in the back pocket of the billionaires, this land isn't really for you and me.
That is why we must insist all the harder that it should be, and make it so. Not just for those born here but for everyone who is being shown the back of the Wall.