Poor Mourner. A song history out of my head. (Almost.)

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.

r.i.p Noah Shull

so, I said to my cat, (instead),
no I’m not mad at you;
yes, you can live here, that’s just fine;
you stay with me, you and all the spirits.
Maybe I could have said that to Noah
Maybe I could have said that to Pete
Maybe they would have been too much for me to handle, let alone help;
but what good am I if not the last refuge of the lost musicians
who kept washing up on my
sure
If not the one who brings the bad trippers out and down
Pete, Noah, Chris… well, I did harbor Pearcy for some time, years ago. But, then I didn't.
Why couldn’t I take them all in, and work the magic
write the magic words on the magic almonds
that transfer the people’s disease into me
and then I just shake it off, like I do.
See me shaking? yeah, it will be over soon.
Shaking it right off.
So I had a rough decade or so after allegedly saving that last tripping stranger’s life.
I’m sure it was just a coincidence.
probably.
Maybe I did, just now, say it
to all of them, all the spirits
in or around the cat.
The cat is trying to speak for all, he says.
Is that what he said? I keep getting it all wrong.
All right. Alright.
Oh, Glory. Glory, Glory. All Glory, all the Time
time, time

Pete in ’63

This is just a little promo video for this amazing concert video I watched last night. Well, this morning actually. I suppose I should have taken a break in the middle and gone to bed around sunrise but I got caught up. This is Pete at what I think of as a peak for him. He was just beginning to become one of the biggest influences on my life, although almost entirely excluded from American media. He had only recently had his Federal prison sentence for contempt of Congress commuted. I was starting to hear his concerts through Folkways records I found in the basement of the Grandview Library, along with copies of the hard to find Sing Out! magazine in which he had a regular column called Johnny Appleseed, Jr. A new contract with Columbia Records, his first major label since the Weavers got blacklisted in the early ’50s while they were top of the hit parade, resulted in a great Carnegie Hall concert recording from this same year, but I never imagined there would be a way to actually see him performing. At the time he was blacklisted from the TV show named after a phrase he and Woody had made popular. I wonder how it would have affected me at 13 to see him as a human rather than just a disembodied voice and some dramatic still photos. Standing alone in the middle of 3,000 people who sing along reluctantly, and for some apparently cynically, at first; but by the end transformed into an emotional choir. He closed his show, before encores, with a song by “a young friend” of his, Bob Dylan. (Pete was a member of The Old Guard of folk music, 44 years old here.) “A Hard Rain…” Bob’s own record of it had barely been released when Pete did it at Carnegie Hall, and I don’t think it was being heard that much yet. If people knew of Bob at all, it was as a guy who wrote some Peter, Paul and Mary hits, but sounded too funny to actually listen to. It was interesting to see that Pete was still using crib notes on it here. He wasn’t reading it, no music stand nonsense, but you can see him glancing down at his feet between lines to check what came next.

One thing that weirdly stuck out to me, having had my ears ruined by the age of electronic tuners, was that he was never quite in tune through the whole concert. He would take a few seconds to tune, usually not the string that I was noticing was bad, but he didn’t obsess about it. Went from Drop D to standard on the 12-string, kept moving the capo up and down sometimes in the middle of a song when he decided it was not in the best key for everyone to sing, and therefore having to change the 5th string on the banjo. It seemed so obvious to me during the brief attempt at tuning that he hadn’t got it. But, he just charged right on, and once he got going it really didn’t matter a bit.

That studio clip where he is chopping the log was during a long segment on some TV show devoted to a salute to Leadbelly. After he finishes chopping through the work song, he looks up at the camera and says “Well that’s a ridiculous thing to do on TV, isn’t it? It doesn’t belong on a screen! Well, face it, folk music doesn’t belong on a stage, either.” Then he goes on and chops along to a film of Leadbelly doing “Take This Hammer.”

It’s just such a fascinating contradiction how he continually had massive success in industries he considered essentially wrong, and made a virtue of it.

Lili Boule de Gomme

This was the other song that Jean-Paul Boissard wrote out for me during the Columbus stop-over on his seeing America trip in the ’70s. My attempt at a singable English version did not get as far as with J’ai Mis le Feu, but I still retain a fair sense of the meaning. Maybe someday. The narrator is a young woman who has different identities in the different verses, all having to do with movie idol fueled fantasies. It starts out with her as Lili Boule de Gomme, (Lili Gumball, or Bubble-gum.) “I’m 13 but I look 20.” Then she is Brigitte Boule de Gomme (“I’m 20, but I don’t look it”), then Marylin Boule de Gomme (“I am dead, but I never age”).

Here is one of several videos of a Paul Boissard tribute concert at his home club in Picardy, about 10 years ago. Lili appears at about 16:45. Here it was sung by a young girl, which made it extra poignant. She didn’t really get older as the song went on, though. Then everyone starts singing along at the end. This brings tears to my eyes every time. I used to think I might be the only person in the world that knew this song. Everyone knows this song.

Regarder la vidéo «20 ans dans la lune 1» envoyée par François sur dailymotion.

And here’s a recording of Paul

(lyrics:) Je m’appelle Lili boule de gomme J’ai treize ans mais j’en parais vingt D’ailleurs l’âge ça ne compte pas Au fond des salles de cinéma Je m’appelle Lili boule de gomme J’aime les hommes qui ont des gros bras Des moustaches comme mon papa Et qui m’emmènent au cinéma Quand arrive l’entracte Et qu’ils me payent un esquimau Mes rastacouères rougissent de trac Et je leur dis ces tendres mots Je m’appelle Brigitte boule de gomme J’ai vingt ans mais je les parais pas Du talent comme on n’en fait pas Et je veux faire du cinéma Je m’appelle Brigitte boule de gomme Et je danse souvent les pieds nus Dans la chambre pleine d’inconnus Que je rencontre au cinéma Je suis le monstre de ma voisine Quand je chante avec mes héros Et que je joue la fin du film En leur disant ces tendres mots Je m’appelle Marylin boule de gomme Et je me tourne dans les draps D’une nuit qui ne finit pas A la sortie du cinéma Je m’appelle Marylin boule de gomme Je suis morte mais je ne vieillis pas Dans le film quand je dis aux soldats Je vous en prie n’y allez pas Ils vous tueront tous là-bas Restez encore auprès de moi.

Finding and losing an old friend.

Merde. Pour un moment j’ai pense que j’avais trouve mon viel ami de quelques jour, Jean Paul Boissier. Mais, peut etre il est mort.
 
Back in the mid-70’s I was living in a crumbling Civil War era mansion with a lot of people, so things would occasionally happen in spite of my near autistic state. (I still live in this house in my dreams, trying to reconcile the background knowledge that we were driven out when it was torn down for OSU hospital parking space.)
 
Somehow, we ended up with a hitch-hiker from France staying with us for awhile. Why he was in Columbus, OH I’m not sure, but he found the right place if you had to be there. Turned out he was a songwriter, and at some point he undertook to teach me a couple of his songs. I still have them as they were written down and annotated in an old notebook, which I have to search through all my old notebooks to find whenever I try to learn them again. Somehow, between his very little English and my even smaller French he explained most of the images to me. Ah, je vois, ce n’est pas une lyric ordinaire. It took some similes and hand gestures, vraiment.
J’ai mis le feu, I set the fire, you know, the fire in the skull, like when you get sick… faiset mes poubelles, you know, garbage, [gestures of digging through something with one’s hands.]


J’ai mis l’feu by PaulBoissard

Current state of translation

the other song: Lili Boule de Gomme

I guess that took up most of our indoor time, I don’t think I ever got to teach him one of my songs. Well, I hardly could teach them to myself around then. I don’t remember much else about his visit. Some black hashish rolled with tobacco, some walking in the sunshine in the big field behind the Hospital Cafeteria, some passing the guitar back and forth, some big smiles.

I proclaimed my intention to write an English translation of the songs and he was all for that, then he could be a big hit on two continents. But, he didn’t keep in touch and I didn’t know how to reach him. I always pictured myself going to France one day and looking around and there he would be playing on a street corner. I let the time pass as if shutting my eyes tight enough would leave me where I was with all possibilities still intact. A couple years earlier, I would have just grabbed my backpack and hitched along.


I did end up learning and sometimes performing that one of the two songs, and finally a couple decades later I achieved a singable English version. Well, I guess I’m still working on it. Not quite satisfied. In recent years I looked for him on the internet a few times, with no success. Last night (early this morning) I was laying in bed sleepless again, and a long FaceBook chat in French with another non-French speaker led to my thinking about the song, failing to remember all of either the French or the English version. After a few hours I got up again, opened a beer and put the entire first line of the song into the Google box and there was a video result right at the top of the page. There could be a lot of “mis le feu” songs I supposed, but in the summary I could see the lyrics going on… those same ones that I thought I might be the only one who knew. …le seule solution…” It was a slightly different version, in 4 instead of waltz time, piano instead of guitar… but this is the song. (not really a video, just an audio recording with a picture of a fire to accompany it.) And that led to a whole page of videos of songs by Paul Boissier. (I guess they dropped the “Jean” at some point.) Damn, I thought, the sucker went and became functional in society. This led to finding both a Facebook and MySpace page, and I was excitedly getting ready to write to him when I read in the blurb on one of them something to the effect of (loosely tryanslating and from memory): “Gone too soon, before the inevitable national acclaim. They went on: Paul Boissard a marqué toute une génération de musiciens et poètes picards.”


I also found video and articles about a 20th anniversary celebration in 2007 for a collective cabaret named La Lune des Pirates, after one of Jean Paul’s songs. One of the nights of the anniversary was a Tribute to Paul Boissard. I guess that he had but to personally hand a song to the right person (here and there) to have it cared for and kept alive. No record company or publicity machine required.


I can’t find info on why he may have died. Later, I found on the main page of his DailyMotion site where they say he died some 20 years ago. This may have something to do with why the photos look pretty much like I remember him. But, I guess he made his mark. He lived.


et moi? “Maintenant, je reve sur des cendres… “-

Paul Pages:

http://www.correzitude.fr/GUDI/ILNOUSPROMENESURLAGUITARE.html

http://www.dailymotion.com/PaulBoissard

 

Night Music clips on yootoob

Surprising music show, maybe the coolest ever, even. And in the ’80s, of all places. I just happened to think there might be better clips on the internet by now than I could find on my couple of moldering video tapes. And sure enough, here’s
one treasure trove:

And the preview, some Funky Chicken. (I thought Rufus was my ‘celebrity sharing a birthday’, but all his bios I’m seeing now say a day earlier). But there’s so much more. Pharoah Sanders. NRBQ. Loudon. Toots. Bootsy. And, People who weren’t even alive.