Ever-Timely Woody Guthrie

Woody Guthrie Night at Uptown Bill's
Today would have been Woody Guthrie's 107th birthday (July 14, 1912-October 3, 1967). We celebrate that each year at Uptown Bill's on the closest Saturday Night Concert to his birthday, which this year was last night.

Because during the course of his life Woody wrote "over 1000 songs" it was not possible to perform and group-sing all of them. The selection was limited to what would fit in the two hours allotted for the nostalgic concert.

What was especially moving this year was the realization that at the same time we were singing about the suffering Woody was writing and singing about in the 1940s, the suffering is still playing out along our southern border and for the poor throughout our country (think "Deportee," "Hobo's Lullaby").

As author Stephen King put it in a Tweet today: "First, you stoke hatred and fear of minorities. Then you round them up and put them in camps. Next, you send out rading parties to get those who have been driven into hiding. The armbands come next, right?"

You've heard -- and probably sung -- Woody's "Deportee (Plane Crash at Los Gatos)," written in 1948. But now read the words of "Deportee" and think about President Trump's politics of anti-immigrant, anti-other, and what he has ordered should begin today, July 14, 2019.

The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning, The oranges piled in their creosote dumps; They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border To pay all their money to wade back again

Chorus: Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita, Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria; You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane, All they will call you will be "deportees"

My father's own father, he waded that river, They took all the money he made in his life; My brothers and sisters they working the old church, They rode the big truck still lay down and died [Chorus]

The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon, A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills, Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves? The radio says, "They are just deportees" [Chorus]

This is what it sounded like when Woody sang it:

A few of the members of the Family Folk Machine performed. From left (stage right) to right: Kevin Kaufman (harmonica); Lynn Partridge; Claire Sauder; Jean Littleton, Director; and Wendy Levy.

Here is a clip from Lynn Partridge's performance of Woody's "Pastures of Plenty" (1941) [full lyrics below].

It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road Out of your Dust Bowl and westward we rolled And your deserts were hot and your mountain was cold

I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes Slept on the ground in the light of your moon On the edge of the city you'll see us and then We come with the dust and we go with the wind

California and Arizona, I make all your crops And its North up to Oregon to gather your hops Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine To set on your table your light sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down Every state in this Union us migrants have been We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win

Well, it's always we rambled, that river and I All along your green valley, I will work till I die My land I'll defend with my life if it be 'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free

The two principal organizers of the evening's event were Jeffrey Morgan and Joe Brisben. Here's a clip from their performance of Woody's "Hobo's Lullaby" (1944) [full lyrics below]. (I recall during the late 1930s, when I was a child, hobos knocking on the kitchen door asking for food. Mother would always offer them something to eat.)

Go to sleep you weary hobo Let the towns drift slowly by Listen to the steel rails hummin' That's the hobo's lullaby

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

Do not think 'bout tomorrow Let tomorrow come and go Tonight you're in a nice warm boxcar Safe from all that wind and snow

I know the police cause you trouble They cause trouble everywhere But when you die and go to Heaven You'll find no policemen there

So go to sleep you weary hobo Let the towns drift slowly by Listen to the steel rails hummin' That's a hobo's lullaby

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

And the finale? "This Land is Your Land" (1940), of course. Here's a clip; no lyrics below because you know them and can sing along with us. (You don't? OK, click HERE.)

It was a great night. I hope you can join us next year for this and other great Saturday evening concerts. Uptown Bill's offers a laid-back comfort similar to a gathering with friends and neighbors in your own living room, folks who have come to listen to, rather than talk over, the musicians; and musicians who don't mind (even encourage) you to sing along if you feel like it.


[NOTE:Uptown Bill's has performance rights for these songs. The event last evening, and this blog post, are intended as a tribute to Woody Guthrie, one of America's 19th Century greatest figures as well as musicians. No compensation has been or will be received for posting it. The brief video clips are not intended as, and are not, a substitute for access to the body of his work. If anything it may have a minimal impact on encouraging visitors to visit other sources. The lyrics, and Woody Guthrie's performance of "Deportee," are openly available and unprotected on the Internet. Given the lack of economic impact, the use of the material in a historic and commentary context, and the limited portion (of 1000 songs) used, it may very well be "fair use." However, if any copyright owner objects to this use a simple email to mailbox@nicholasjohnson.org specifying the specific, protected material sought to be removed will result it its removal.]

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