Story Songs

On the occasion of the 50th anniversary of Bill Knowlton's Bluegrass Ramble Picnic* Sunday, August 6th, I was in the large, relaxed audience in Dwyer Memorial Park enjoying a delightful, if sad, song. It was telling the story of an unfortunate young woman, and her fate "on the day of her return" to a "quiet little town." The band, among many other wonderfully talented groups playing - and never let it be said that bluegrass performers are anything but virtuosos on their instruments! - was The Atkinson Family Band, who hail from the Adirondack region of New York. 

That single line - "on the day of her return" - stuck in my mind, and sent me searching for the lyrics. As it happens, the song was written by one of the band members, Liza Atkinson, and told the story of Hattie Covey. And it happens to be true. 

In 1895 young Hattie, a pretty girl also known as Mrs. Bert Covey, ran off from her hometown of Jayville with another man. When she returned, she was apprehended by a gang of angry townsfolk - some of them women, one apparently the jilted wife of Hattie's lover, dressed in men's attire - and taken to an empty station house where she was stripped, tarred, feathered, and left broken and bleeding.

You can find the lively tune here: https://youtu.be/Y1zgBVidRSk

But this little chase I went on got me thinking. 

First, it is likely true that our oldest stories, and the most basic way of conveying them, has been as far back as anyone knows, through music - songs and rhythmic recitation. The history of a people, their kings, queens, battles, accomplishments, traditions and mythic stories.

While we tend to think of the "bardic tradition" as being associated with Britons, Welsh, and Celts (hence Shakespeare's being honored with the title "Bard of Avon"), the Norse sagas (saga = "what is said") can hold their own, as well as can the bards of India who "were not merely poets, rather, they had numerous duties which were much more intricate. Hindu Bards were genealogists, astrologers, praise poets, historians, court minstrels, and artisans. They were responsible for reciting genealogies at weddings, keeping family history and lineage, and performing praise-poetry to deities and chiefs." (http://www.mahavidya.ca/)

The bard was such an important character in ancient Ireland that there were degrees, beginning with the lowly "bard" all the way up, through rigorous training, to the filidh level, or the official poet to a king.

What Liza Atkinson was doing in reciting/singing the story of Hattie Covey was keeping alive a story from 100+ years ago of a real woman, a real event, and a real part of our history. And in the bardic tradition, it is much easier for us - and especially for people far back in time who were illiterate or who had no access to books - to remember the story as sung. 

Another one of the songs celebrated at The Ramble this year was about the mining disaster in West Virginia in 2010. "Big Branch Mine" was written by Angus Fraser, and it recites the story of the 29 miners died in the Upper Big Branch disaster, one of the deadliest mining accidents in U.S. history.  One of the lines of the song notes that the church bell is rung for each of the 29 lives lost.  I kept hearing, in my mind, Gordon Lightfoot singing "the church bell chimed 'til it rang 29 times for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald." In that story-song, 29 mariners died in the wreck of the ship Edmund Fitzgerald on Lake Superior.

Of course one thing lead to another, and I began listing in my mind songs that told a story of our times (let alone times long ago, which folk music and ballads have preserved). And predictably, most of the lyrics came back as quickly as I thought of the song.

"American Pie," written and recorded by American singer-songwriter Don McLean in 1971 tells the story of a man looking back on “the day the music died,” which refers to the plane crash in 1959 when rock stars Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, and Ritchie Valens passed away, among other memories of the past.

Steve Earle's "Copperhead Road" features a third generation bootlegger, a "redneck fella" returning from Viet Nam not to resume the family trade of bootlegging whiskey, but planning to grow marijuana.

Carly Simon's "You're So Vain" kept listeners wondering and wondering who she meant when she wrote and sang about a man so sure of himself he doesn't think twice about hooking up with "some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend."

Bobbie Gentry's "Ode to Billie Joe" worked somewhat the other way around - her fictional story-song is set in a real place, the Tallahatchie Bridge in Money, Mississippi, but the sad and uncertain story about a suicide and "throwing something" off the bridge led to a movie, "Ode to Billy Joe" that attempts at least one explanation.

One of the best - and most heartbreaking - tunes that tells a story is "Whiskey Lullaby," by Brad Paisley and Alison Krauss. In this tale, a young soldier returning from World War I, finds his wife has been unfaithful, and he drowns his misery in alcohol and finally suicide. His wife, from guilt and despair, follows suit, and they are buried together beneath the same willow. In a way, this song harks back to a song popularized by Art Garfunkel, "Barbara Allen," an old, old song first noted down in the 17th century, in which a hard-hearted Barbara Allen betrays her lover, only to find life is not life without him: "Barbara Allen was buried in the old churchyard / Sweet William was buried beside her /Out of sweet William's heart there grew a rose Out of Barbara Allen's, a briar / They grew and grew in the old churchyard Till they could grow no higher / At the end they formed a true lover's knot / And the rose grew 'round the briar."

And possibly my favorite for telling a story of what might be called "speculative fiction" is "Highwayman," by The Highwaymen, a super-group comprised of Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, and Kris Kristofferson. In this tale, an 18th century highwayman is killed and returns as a sailor, a construction worker on the Hoover Dam, and finally as a captain of a starship. It speculates on the soul returning again, and again, and again. And in its own way, this song reminds me of Alfred Noyes 1906 poem of the highwayman - a robber and a rogue - who even after he is killed: "And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding— Riding—riding— A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door."

Now, it is true that only some of these songs tell a genuine story. More often, they take an event, a time, a culture, and write a story around it that, in song form, lives on as much as a real story might. It keeps the time, and the people of the time, alive in our minds in a way no text book possibly can.

I leave you with the lyrics to "When the World Was Young," by Johnny Mercer (lyrics), Philippe-Gerard (music) original lyrics in French "Le Chevalier de Paris" (Angele Vannier). Try, as you read, not to imagine the world of 1950, the war has just ended, and young adults are embarking on a life rescued from the brink, somewhat jaded, but able to remember a more innocent time. It tells a story that while not specific, is certainly true: "It isn't by chance I happen to be
A boulevardier, the toast of Paris
For over the noise, the talk and the smoke
I'm good for a laugh, a drink or a joke

I walk in a room, a party or ball
Come sit over here, somebody will call
A drink for monsieur, a drink for us all
But how many times I stop and recall

Ah, the apple trees
Blossoms in the breeze
That we walked among

Lying in the hay
Games we used to play
While the rounds were sung
Only yesterday, when the world was young

Wherever I go, they mention my name
And that in itself, is some sort of fame
Come by for a drink, we're having a game
Wherever I go, I'm glad that I came

The talk is quite gay, the company's fine
There's laughter and lights, and glamour and wine
And beautiful girls and some of them mine
But often my eyes see a different shine

Ah, the apple trees
Sunlit memories
Where the hammock swung
On our backs, we'd lie
Looking at the sky
'Til the stars were strung
Only last July when the world was young."

*Bill Knowlton hosts the weekly Bluegrass Ramble on WCNY-FM, Sunday nights 9-Midnight.

Hattie Covey By Liza Atkinson

The year was 1895 a quiet little town, when the scandal started,

The story of a love affair, two people ran away, when the midnight train departed.

Hattie was a pretty girl, only twenty two, when she gave into temptation,

The tale went down in history, her spirit was destroyed, when she returned to Jayville Station.

Chorus

With blackened faces dressed as men, the ladies of the town moved in,

They pulled her from the train, on the day of her return, to Jayville Station.

The woman scorned by Hattie’s love had plotted for revenge, they left her cold and bleeding,

In the middle of the station house, they stripped her down to skin, for her life she was pleading.

The tar was thick and burning hot, they painted head to toe, feathers covered over,

But days went by, the five were caught, running from their home, justice served for Hattie Covey.