You Shall Be Free (When the Good Lord Sets You Free.) You Shall. We Shall. I Shall. (but the struggle continues anyway.). Oh, Monah!
This song, and the way it and its derivatives wind their way through the history of all forms of American music, has been a fascination and ongoing study for me for some time now.
It’s somewhat uncertain and possibly unknowable origins go back to sometime in the 19th Century somewhere. It first entered my consciousness in my early teens by way of one of those sublime drunken Folkways sessions with Woody Guthrie in the company of Leadbelly, Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee, Cisco Houston and others. It probably got to Bob Dylan the same way, though just a couple years earlier since he’s eight years older than me. But, it had been around a lot before then.
Some of the oldest versions feature an unfortunate, especially when done by certain white folks later, use of the “N” word. But the minstrel shows were the basis of American Pop Music, its history doesn’t make any sense without that link. By the time Woody was doing it, and long before, that word had been substituted with Preacher. Not a euphemism, but a whole shift in perspective.
Before the long existence as a humorous song, though, it may have had ‘spiritual’ origins. Some verses may have been published in the 1840s, but who knows where it had been before publication.
The first recording linked below is of intense interest, having only been discovered very belatedly. In, I think, the 1990’s. It dates from 1898, and is widely thought to be the first recorded example of ‘Vernacular African American’ music. Before that all history is written word and inference. After that, recording of Black Americans remained spotty due to lack of commercial and majority culture interest. (even the first blues and jazz records released in the early 20s were by white or sort of white folk.)
Maybe 1898 seems kind of early, but ‘Stars and Stripes Forever was already a big hit record in 1895. This may be a hard listen for contemporary ears, especially those that haven’t been trying to make their way through the noise and limited range and dynamics of acoustic recording techniques on very early records for the majority of their lives. But, I recommend it most highly, not only for the historical importance but the aesthetic brilliance and peculiarity amongst more popular fare. The less ‘classical’ solo banjo with two voices, tempo shifts, exuberant expressive voices; all sounds from out of nowhere. This particular reissue may err a bit on the side of noise reduction vs. full spectrum.
Before this the earliest black voices to be heard were the vocal Quartets, like the “Dinwiddie Colored Quartet” who released their version in 1902. The first of these groups to gain popularity were associated with colleges. They had a much more restrained and ‘classical’ approach and their repertoires leaned heavily on published ‘spirituals’, though many delved into the comic song also.
Things get really interesting (and more accessible at the time) for the ’60s roots music enthusiast with the 1927 Paramount release of “You Shall” by the incomparable Frank Stokes . Stokes was a powerful voiced Memphis street singer and recording star whose repertoire straddled the older traditions and the contemporary music, The Blues. He may, some think, be the source of some of W.C. Handy’s published works. His voice was so strong they had some difficulty balancing it with the guitar. Or, two guitars when he recorded with his partner Dan Sane as the Beale St. Sheiks. The flip side is kind of the same song with even longer holds on the V chord and even more scandalous lyrics, “It’s a Good Thing”. (about having a lot of women.)
It pops up in the Old Time Country string band realm as “When the Good Lord Sets You Free”, also from 1927, by the Carolina Tar Heels. They were different from most string bands, featuring harmonica by “Doc” Walsh in place of a fiddle. This group included Clarence “Tom” Ashley who recorded a solo banjo version of The Cuckoo that showed up on the Harry Smith Folkways Anthology and inspired a million covers. It was his rediscovery in 1961 that lead directly to the emergence of Doc Watson. Clarence didn’t have a banjo at the time and he said, “well, there’s a young fellow down the road knows all these old songs…” Except, Doc only had an electric guitar at the time. They fixed them both up with new instruments and took them off to L.A. to play at the Ash Grove and the rest, as they say,…
Then there’s the aforementioned Woody et al. version. I don’t know whether he got it off of a hillbilly record or Frank Stokes or just an acquaintance. He may have added some more floating verses and made some of his own.
Which brings us directly to Bob Dylan, who recorded it twice with new lyrics of his own. No doubt a couple people heard those versions.
But before that there was an anomalous detour into a rewritten version by Ted Weems and Joe “Country” Washburn “Oh, Monah!” which became a HIT in 1941. It was also done by countless Western Swing and country and bgrass bands and British big bands and maybe even an Australian folk-rock band in the ’60s.
Pete Seeger, 90 years old today. His generation (including my parents) seem to have the market on longevity (while my generation is dropping like flies, already); but not even that many of his fellow WWII survivors were out standing upright and playing the banjo in the freezing cold of this year’s January. Let alone doing it in front of the President-elect, in the city that tried to throw him in jail 55 years earlier.
