pete seeger

There are many thoughts that come to mind when I hear the name Pete Seeger: Socialist, outspoken folkie, encyclopedic knowledge of music worldwide, compatriot to Woody Guthrie, Pinko-Commie, and axe-wielding madman running after an electrified Bob Dylan. It is his love and gift for folk music from around the globe, though, that I hope he will always be remembered.

Listening to Pete Seeger, in concert, is like being with a historian and archaeologist of the world’s music. He seems to know every song ever sung, and to be friends with their writers and singers. He is the soul of America, a true treasure trove of song.

I have a handful of concerts by Seeger, some official, others not, and in everyone is a historical road map of folk. Though he often plays by himself, with banjo for accompaniment, he is never short of musicians, for he makes everyone in the audience part of the band. No, Pete Seeger concerts are not Holy Places where the music is sacred, and the audience mere worshipers. We are part of the song, singers and clappers, and performers one and all. In nearly every song, he points out a chorus or a repeating line that he encourages the audience to sing. Where they can’t sing, he says they can clap and hum.

To be honest, I was not at all familiar with Big Bill Broonzy before I listened to this concert. I’m not particularly well-versed in the blues, and Broonzy is a name that circumvented my musical heritage.

To be even more honest, I’m not one to particularly care for the blues. For the most part, I just don’t *get* it. For his part, Broonzy makes me wish I did. He is of the acoustic blues school, and his tunes are jaunty, even happy at times, and it is a simple pleasure to listen to him sing.

As for positioning, each performer takes turns singing his tunes, song for song for the most part, while the other one sits in the back ground listening. They perform together on a couple of songs, and they spend a lot of time conversing, talking about music, and telling jokes. But mostly it is a solo show, split between two people.

Seeger likes to talk, and I for one, could listen to him talk for days on end. He tells stories about the songs, about the writers of the songs, and of his life. And what a life! He’s been everywhere, done everything. Most people talk in hushed tones about the night Bob Dylan went electric at a folk festival. For Pete, that’s personal history. He was there. He’s the exciting part!

In no way would I consider this a brilliantly performed performance, musically speaking, for Pete doesn’t show off. He seems more interested in creating a community of music, than coming off as a musical savior. In doing so, he creates something special, something different than a simple concert. It is a communal experience akin to a religious service, or family reunion. I don’t suppose there’s anyone who has heard a Seeger concert that will ever forget the experience.

Broonzy is less talkative than Seeger, but shows his own gift of humor by asking if he can sit down whenever Seeger launches into one of his long stories. He plays his guitar with the fervor of a true prodigy and his songs bridge the divide between Seeger’s folk and children’s music.

The highlight of the show is when Seeger plays what he calls the “Goofing Off Suite.” Folk music, he says, needs its own version of chamber music, for the thinking man, so he’s writing his own high-minded piece. If you’ve ever seen the movie Raising Arizona, you will instantly recognize the number. It consists of what must be the main theme of that movie, which if you’ll remember is composed of this incredibly goofy bit of banjo and the wildest bit of yodeling known to man. He even throws in the humming and banjo version of “Ode to Joy” as the middle section.

The first time I heard this I was driving in a heavily trafficked piece of down town. I’m surprised I didn’t get pulled over for all the swerving I did from the tears rolling down my face from laughing.

I am quite saddened to know that I will probably never be able to attend a Pete Seeger concert. His age and health keep him from appearing much in public. But I am heartened by the knowledge that there are these recordings, and that a man like Pete Seeger ever lived and shared his love for great music.

You can download the show over here.

bruce springsteen - seeger sessions When I first heard that Bruce Springsteen was releasing a Pete Seeger tribute, I was intrigued. Not for anything Springsteen – whom I’ve never managed to get, he’s just too earnest for my ears – but for Seeger whom I adore.

Upon the continual praise lauded upon this new disk from Sirs Saleski and DJRadiohead I finally went out and bought the disk.

Sweet jeebus! Holy mother of folk! What a great freaking record.

If I was an explorer and I came across some lonely tribe in the deepest, darkest African jungles that didn’t know what music was – had never heard a note – I would play this disk for them. I would introduce music into their world with these songs

It’s that good.

If the big one dropped tonight, destroying this sad world we’ve created; years later when the few survivors crawled out of their holes, I would play them the Seeger Sessions to remind them that this world can still hold beauty.

It’s that amazing.

Years ago, when I was but a lad, I attended a Christmas celebration at my grandmother’s Southern Baptist Church. It was a spirited, holy-roller affair. There was shouting, and praising, and the raising of hands, the talking in tongues, undulating palpations and laying on upon hands. My little eyes didn’t know what to think.

My uncle was there. He is an old-school man. He is big and tough and sometimes mean. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t feel. He can rib a man to death with venomous jokes. He’s a good man, but made from a mold of man they just don’t make anymore. He was at this church. He was on the stage. He was crying, shouting out for Lord Jesus, weeping in that emotion.

This album is a lot like that.

It is both holy and profane. It has the hushed tones of the haughtiest church and the wild secularism of the Saturday night brothel.

Springsteen is the preacher, the poet, the sinner, and the shaman. He stands on the altar giving salvation to the listener.

It is a big tent revival, a barn burner. The band is full of the holy spirit of rock music and it’s the judgment day.

There isn’t a song to highlight; there is nothing that stands out above the rest. As I listened for the first time, I kept thinking it couldn’t get any better than the song playing. I was proven wrong 14 times until the CD stopped playing. Every song is perfect, every note spot on.

Take “Shenandoah,” it is one of the few songs that can make me weep every time. No matter where I am when the first longing notes begin to play I must pause and feel the weight of life sweep away. Bruce simply nails it.

He stares into the deep darkness, like the cold Missouri waters he sings about and sees the mysteries, and finds truth.

This album, this collection of songs, pushes aside all that is wrong with music and the industry it supports. It cracks the hard, crusty casing of pop music and finds something new, something mysterious. If you look hard enough, if you stare into its cold dark waters you might just find a little sliver of truth yourself.