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Photo credit: Garth Hagerman In March of 2020 everything shut down. The county of Mendocino even attempted to stop people walking by the ocean. Alone in my study, I wrote I Could Not Stop for Covid. Now what? I made a list of all the songs I'd written and not recorded — almost 60 of them — and chose a dozen favorites. Early in 2021, Covid vaccinations became available, so I called Pete Temple and set up recording dates.
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Redwood Blues 2:20Singing with the Jackson Forest activists, I made up this version of Uncle Dave Macon's Mournin' Blues. A photo of climate activist Sara Rose, arms outstretched on the stump of a slaughtered redwood, inspired the third verse. Woke up this morning, pain in my head, Wished I could crawl right back in bed. Pain in my back, pain in my knees But I'm still gonna go and protect them trees. I got the redwood blues oh so bad, Honey come an' hug me, they're the worst I've ever had. I wanna take a walk, I wanna take a hike, Wanna take a ride on my ‘lectric bike. But I'm gonna sit here beneath this tree, And read a three-hundred-page THP. Timber Harvest Plan. But I can't Understand how you can harvest something you didn't plant. How can you harvest something you didn't plant? Buzz of a chainsaw gives me a chill, Another truckload of trees headin' to the mill. Staring at stumps, me an' my friends, Is this the way the legend of the redwood ends? I got the redwood blues, oh so bad, Honey come an' hug me, they're the worst I've ever had. Honey... I Could Not Stop For Covid 2:30March-April, 2020. During the first weeks of lockdown, I scarcely left the house. I remembered Emily Dickinson's Because I Could Not Stop For Death, relocated it in Fort Bragg, and set it to the tune of The Bold Privateer, as sung by Eliza Carthy. I could not stop for Covid So He kindly stopped for me. The Senior bus held only us And my mortality. He slowly drove down Franklin Street As I lay down my phone, And wondered what to say After twelve long weeks alone. We passed the school where children once Played soccer on the lawn. The playground and the swimming pool, But everyone was gone. He stopped outside the cafe where I used to go to eat, But no one was inside now And no one on the street. I shivered in the morning air The fog was cold and dank. No neighbors in the hardware store The grocery or the bank. And through my mask I asked Him Is poison on my breath? Or shall I live to witness My town condemned to Death? Eat Your Triceratops 1:58 I grew up in New York City in the 1950s. Twice a year my parents would take me to the Museum of Natural History. You walked in the front door and there it was, looming over you, jaws agape: Tyrannosaurus Rex! But not to worry: the placard said dinosaurs went extinct toward the end of the Cretaceous Period, 65 million years ago. As Mark Graham sings, they were big, dumb and slow, they couldn't go with the flow, their brains were small and they died. Afterwards my parents would take me to Central Park to feed the pigeons. In 1988 I moved to Mendocino. Fascinated by species of birds I'd never seen before, I signed up for Greg Grantham's Birds of the North Coast at College of the Redwoods. How did birds evolve, he asked us. How did flight develop? When I entered U. C. Berkeley in 1963, biologists still questioned the theory that birds evolved from dinosaurs. But every decade since, more fossils have been discovered: birds with teeth, dinosaurs with feathers. As I understand it, small, fast, warm-blooded dinosaurs become smaller, faster, and smarter to compete with the rapidly-evolving mammals. By the time you read this, more fossils will have been discovered, and I will have to once again re-evaluate everything I think I know. I bought a dinosaur hatchling (fake) to spruce up my succulents. Emerging from his egg, the baby Tyrannosaurus told me his name was Tiny T. “Mama, Mama,” said Tiny T, “See the plesiosaurs in the sea! I want to dive and I want to swim,” “You'd sink to the bottom,” said his Mom to him. “Mama, Mama,” little Tiny cried, “See the microraptors leap and glide! I'm gonna go climb up that tree,” “Stay right here on the ground with me.” “Mama, Mama, I'm sick of meat Why can't I have something sweet?” “Don't be ridiculous,” his mother said “Eat your triceratops and go to bed.” “Mama Mama, I want to fly! Like a pterosaur in the sky, Soaring on the warm air, grand and calm.” “Forget about it,” said his Mom. “Tiny, Tiny, you're a cute little tot But you can't be something you are not. I'm tired of your whining and your tears. You couldn't fly in a million years.” The Bonnie Boy 3:27I interviewed Traveler Betsy Whyte about the singing of the Scottish Traveling People: It all boils down tae the feelin'... I can feel as my mother felt when she sang, and when she told a story...it seems to come into you, so that you might even make a fool of yoursel', tears could come to your e'en when you're in the middle of a song, because you knew what their feelin's were. ...all the things that they suffered is in your mind ... They never sung withoot feelin.' They were singin' with feelin' for the person whom they had learned that song from, maybe. And you can see them so clearly and feel their presence, that it's disturbin,' almost... And you have the feeling that they're reachin' oot to you... almost grippin' you by the hand... - That's No' A Story, Laddie, That's A Song: Traditional Ballads as Prose Narratives among the Traveling People of Scotland (Master's Thesis, U.C. Berkeley, 1988) This is a northern California variant of a traditional Scottish song. Oh, I once loved a boy, a bonnie bonnie boy. I loved him, I vow and confess. I loved him so well, so very very well That I made him a bower on my breast. I ran up the long alley and down the long valley Like one who is troubled in mind. I hollered and hooped, I played upon my flute, But no bonnie boy could I find. I sat down on the bank of a clear flowing stream Where the sun it shone wonderful warm. And who should I spy but my own bonnie boy Locked tight in another man's arms. Oh, he that's the joy of my own bonnie boy Let him make of him all that he can, But whether he love me or whether he don't I will walk with that boy now and then I will walk with that boy now and then. Sheltering Tree 2:272021. My friend and I had both had our shots, so it felt safe to invite him in. We sat on either side of my big oak table, cups of pu-erh and chamomile tea steaming. He reached across the table and handed me his tea bag. The little tag on the end of the bag, like every flat surface nowadays, was inscribed with an inspirational quote: “Friendship is a sheltering tree” - Samuel Taylor Coleridge I put the tea bag on one of my altars. The next morning, noodling around on the dulcimer, I started to play the sea chantey Bold Riley, and came up with the words. Friendship is a sheltering tree Shielding us from wind and rain. Flying birds call you and me Till the day we meet again. Friendship is a flowering tree Bud and blossom, branch and fruit. Kind and kindred souls agree Green the stem and deep the root. Likely and unlike combine Weird and woven, fierce and free. Twining rhizome, ancient shrine Friendship is a sheltering tree.
Our English weird, meaning strange, uncanny, or unearthly, comes from the Anglo-Saxon Wyrd, fate or destiny. In Norse mythology, Urd was one of the three Norn queens, the goddesses who sit beneath Yggdrasil, the World Tree, and weave our fates.
The Lady and the Frog 2:27The Frog Prince is the first story in Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm's Kinder- und Hausmäaut;rchen, known in English as Grimm's Fairy Tales. I retold the story and set it to the tune of a Yorkshire song, When Stormy Winds Do Blow, from the singing of the Watersons. At low tide, you can walk northwest on Big River Beach, south of the town of Mendocino, to the waterfall where this drama occurred. One fine October morning Down by Big River side A maid meandered down the sand To view the flowing tide. Being lovely, lithe and lonely She sat down on a log, By a waterfall she heard the call Of a tiny long-tailed frog. His tender skin was emerald green Bedecked with flecks of gold. He was a living breathing gem A splendour to behold. He glimmered in the morning light That filtered through the fog, And rainbows from the waterfall Played gaily round the frog. “O lovely lady, take me home,” The brilliant creature cried, “And whisper ardent words of love, And say you'll be my bride. And if you kiss my froggie lips Beneath yon flowering quince, I'll shed my slimy skin, and I'll Become a handsome prince.” “Oh darling, precious froggie-poo I'll make for you a bed, With chocolate treats and silken sheets And pillows for your head. “But I'll not kiss your froggie lips Beneath yon flowering quince, For there is nothing I need less Than one more handsome prince.” “Oh, I've had men a-plenty From Zanzibar to Prague I've screwed the best and scorned the rest - But I'd love a talking frog.”
Slithering Round Eden 2:07The second book of Genesis from a reptilian perspective. It's set to the tune of Streets of Laredo, an American version of an Irish song about a young man or woman dying of a sexually - transmitted disease. Nobody dies in this version, but several people get evicted. Phyllis Schlafly, opponent of the Equal Rights Amendment, condemned homosexuality by proclaiming that “God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” As I slithered out in the garden of Eden Looking for trouble one fine sunny day, I spied a young couple all wrapped up in nothing All of their naughty bits out on display. I said to the short one, I see you are mammals: You both have nipples for feeding your young. I have no nipples, for I am a reptile, Blessed with bright scales and a flattering tongue. I said to the tall one, I see you are manly: You have that dangly thing down by your thigh. Would you oblige me by wearing this fig leaf? I feel embarrassed, though I don't know why. Let me present you this shiny red apple You can both share it with your buddy Steve. It will give you wisdom, it is psychedelic, Take a bite, Adam, and don't you blame Eve.
Never Weather-Beaten Saile 2:32I was given my first dulcimer for my 17th birthday. With only three strings, it was so much easier than classical guitar that I could play the lute music I'd been struggling with. I taught myself this 17th-century song by Thomas Campion. Here it is on a Mcspadden ginger (3/4 size) dulcimer in Ionian (G G D) tuning. Braxton Bragg 1:18Arrogant, cantankerous, drunken, and incompetent, Confederate General Braxton Bragg was hated by officers and enlisted men alike. He was, however, appreciated by the Union generals to whom he lost battle after battle. In Mendocino County in 1857, a fort named after Braxton Bragg was built to administer a reservation for native Pomo, Yuki, Wappo and Whilkut peoples. Eight years later, the reservation was shut down, the native people forcibly removed to Round Valley, and the land sold off to loggers and ranchers. Fort Bragg, North Carolina has been renamed Fort Liberty. Rename Fort Bragg is an organization dedicated to changing the name of Fort Bragg, California. Listen to Holly's song and learn more about the capaign to change Fort Bragg's name. Tune: Cotton-Eye Joe Sometimes, folks, the truth is a drag: Our town's named for Braxton Bragg. Braxton Bragg, Braxton Bragg Rebel General Braxton Bragg. Braxton Bragg, Braxton Bragg Everyone hated Braxton Bragg. He fought for the Confederate flag, Lost every battle, Braxton Bragg. Braxton Bragg, Braxton Bragg Lousy strategist Braxton Bragg. He and his wife owned a hundred slaves Worked them into early graves. Braxton Bragg, Braxton Bragg Black Lives Matter was not his bag. Don't know about you, but it makes me gag: Our town's named for Braxton Bragg Braxton Bragg, Braxton Bragg Angry, arrogant Braxton Bragg. Braxton Bragg, Braxton Bragg Everyone hated Braxton Bragg. 
The Tao Song 3:06“I want to familiarize people with the Tao te Ching,” said Chinese scholar Ken Rose. “It's the second-most translated book in the world, next to the Bible; we don't need another translation. Do you think you could set it to music?” I chose the most inappropriate tune I could think of, Texas Rangers, as sung by Ian and Sylvia. Come all ye friends and neighbors and listen while I sing About an ancient Chinese book they call the Tao teh Ching. Attributed to Lao Tse, an ancient Chinese sage, There's ancient Chinese wisdom on each and every page. My words are very easy, he says, to understand, But this is taking far more time and thought than I had planned. I wonder as I wander beneath the redwood trees, If I could understand it if I'd ever learned Chinese. The Tao it is like water, not earth or air or fire, And if you would obtain it, you must give be without desire. This Tao it is not something that you can see or touch, And I have never ever wanted anything so much. The Tao does not do anything, yet nothing's left undone. So I'll boil up my Chinese herbs and go out in the sun. But while I sit here trying to be without desire, The pile of things I've left undone grows higher and higher and higher. The Tao that can be spoken of is not the one true Tao: You can't get milk and butter from a painting of a cow. This Tao is made of yin and yang, it's everywhere you look, But I can't tell you any more until I've read the book. Forky Deer/Rye Straw 2:14Two American fiddle tunes. English fiddler Pete Cooper and I performed together around England, Brittany, and Germany from 1978 to 1980. He came back with me to the US, and we played these tunes at the Plowshares Coffeehouse in San Francisco. Chris Trautwein Dulcimer tuned D-D-D.  Holio 2:18I am so holy and kindly and wise, Folks come from miles to gaze in my eyes Sit at my feet and you surely will see No one is half as enlightened as me. Holio, holio holio ho Everyone loves me wherever I go. When my friends need me I always am there I always listen and I always care. I always text them and email them too I'm not a burnt-out old hippie like you. That stuff you're eating, I used to eat that. It made me bloated and stupid and fat Eat what I eat, and you quickly will see You can be brilliant and slender like me. That stuff you're smoking, I used to smoke too It got me high and then it made me blue. Quit your addictions and have some mint tea; You can be clean and clear-headed like me. I help the needy and I volunteer Everyone tells me they're glad I live here, Except the deluded and drug-addled few Who like to hang out with a loser like you. Holio, holio holio ho Everyone loves me wherever I go. Grateful Dead Boogie 2:34Jackson Forest activist Chad Swimmer told us he and his son Oliver had been listening to KZYX in the truck. “Was there music before the Grateful Dead?” asked Oliver. “And why are they grateful?” ‘Marianna' is a shout-out to environmental activist Anna Marie Stenberg. I've been concerned about how disconnected people on the coast have become since the pandemic. I asked Garnish Daly how people used to connect with each other back in the 1970s. “The boogie!” he said - dancing wildly to local rock bands. Since recording this song, I've been singing the antepenultimate line We will dance and boogie, Garnish said. Was there music before the Grateful Dead? And why are they grateful? eight-year old Oliver said. Up spoke Marianna, who was five They are grateful they're not still alive. They don't have to see what's going on Everything they fought for, going or it's gone. People scared to speak their mind, people scared to sing, Rich folks still stealing everything. Why are those men chopping down the trees? Do the redwoods have a tree disease? Now they lie there rotting in the sun. I thought they belonged to everyone. Someone's getting paid, I understand: Cutting big old trees on public land But we're not scared to speak our mind, we're not scared to sing. We won't let the rich steal everything. We'll play music like the Grateful Dead We will dance and boogie, Oliver said. We will help the redwoods trees to thrive. We are grateful we're all still alive.
Photo credit: Garth Hagerman Downstream from Dylan 2:34At Danny Carnahan's songwriting class at Lark Camp, a student quoted Arlo Guthrie: “Songwriting is like fishing. You sit down on the bank of a stream, throw in your line, and hope you snag whatever floats by. But one thing of which you must beware - never sit downstream from Bob Dylan.” Walking home from Camp late one night, with three Irish sessions ringing in my head, I cobbled together The Parting Glass and a dozen dottledy-dottledy tunes to come up with this one. Background vocals by Danny. I tried to write a song for you Brilliant, funny, and kind and true, But nothing seemed to be coming through: Downstream from Dylan again. Downstream from Dylan again, again, Fling away my pad and my trusty pen. For each song I catch, he catches ten Downstream from Dylan again. I sat by a stream the whole day long, But now at last I know what's wrong That sleazy slimeball swiped my song: Downstream from Dylan again. Why must he always steal my stuff? You'd think that he'd have songs enough. So I cursed at him and he yelled back “Tough!” Downstream from Dylan again. Downstream from Dylan again, again, Fling away my pad and my rusty pen. He lets one float by every now and then Downstream from Dylan again. So here I sit tangled up in blue While all I really want to do Is distract him so I can grab a few, Downstream from Dylan again. But I won't let him destroy my dream, Or wound my hard-earned self-esteem: Gonna move five hundred yards upstream And snag them suckers again. Downstream from Dylan no more, no more. I can see the light on the far-off shore By Friday night I'll have songs galore Downstream from Dylan no more. |
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