American folksinger and activist Pete Seeger died on January 27 at the age of 94. Seeger was one of the key figures in folk music when
Bob Dylan hit Greenwich Village in 1960, and that’s the main reason I know who
Seeger is. Which is a way of saying that, though my parents listened to folk
music, some, they didn’t listen to that Commie Seeger.
Mind you, I don’t know
that they had that attitude toward him; it might just be that they didn’t like
his voice or his music. Seeger, from the point of view of the generation slightly older than mine that introduced me to some of the music of the Sixties, was
already a sort of grand old man. And because he was a folksinger who sang all
kinds of folk songs, it was unlikely that one could listen to folk and not hear
something by him, or at least written or popularized by him. For instance, the
Kingston Trio did “Where Have All the Flowers Gone,” but in our house we had
the version recorded by The Brothers Four. Regardless, everyone knew this song,
written by Seeger, about the flowers gone because the girls pick them, the
girls gone because they got married, the husbands gone because they went to
war, and, dead, return to flowers. When you’re young and you hear that song you
immediately see how a poetic conceit—the life cycle—can be made to bear a
message. I'll let you decide whether you see
the men marching off to war and the girls marching off to marriage as being
distressingly similar.
My own best memory of Pete Seeger is not that strong as a
memory, but it is a point of reference. In 1968, Seeger performed on The
Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, which everyone in our house watched as we
had a number of Smothers Brothers LPs, and the song he sang always stuck with
me, though I didn’t remember the song exactly. “Waist Deep in the Big Muddy”
got adapted by us as a kind of playground song, but all we did was the chorus,
which we altered: foot deep, knee deep, waist deep, chest deep, and each time “the
big fool said to push on,” until neck deep and “the big fool was all gone.” It
was a little inexorable tale about how the leader gets to the bad stuff first;
we’re following him but he's the one who drowns. That’s not how Seeger’s song goes, exactly, but the big fool leading the
troop to ford “the Big Muddy” does indeed drown. Seeger then steps back and relates the little
tale to the current situation: “we’re waist deep in the Big Muddy and the big
fool says to push on.” Of course, it was taken as a commentary on Vietnam, with
Lyndon Johnson as the big fool. Soon
that big fool would be gone, but the war wouldn’t be—something the song might
realize inasmuch as the “nervous Nellie” sergeant who keeps protesting the
maneuver claims he’s in charge at the song’s end.
Anyway, Seeger’s performance aired in February, shortly
after the start of the so-called Tet Offensive, which was a major tactical
success for the Vietcong. In other words, Seeger’s song aired during the time
when the general perception of the war went from perceiving us as “waist deep”
(“returning were as tedious as go o’er,” as Macbeth might say) to perceiving us
as “neck deep,” and almost in over our heads. The following month Johnson
announced he would not seek nor accept the nomination of his party for the
office of president, effectively throwing in the towel and reducing the
Democratic Party to a shamble of upstarts and old guards and leaving the ground
open for a quarterback sneak by ol’ Tricky Dick himself. Thus was one big fool replaced by a bigger
fool.
The only other Seeger song that comes to immediate mind—other
than those songs others have covered, such as The Byrds’ version of his “Turn,
Turn, Turn,” or the songs The Boss covered on We Shall Overcome: The Seeger
Sessions—is “Little Boxes.”
In high
school art class one day, our instructors played us this song. It’s a little
ditty about conformity and—a bit like the girls marching into marriage and the
guys marching out to war—takes its aim at everyone going to university and
getting the same kinds of jobs and living in the same kinds of houses. It’s not
as clever as “Flowers” (Seeger didn’t write it, Malvina Reynolds did, but he
had the hit with it and it’s his version I knew), but it gets its point across—though I have to admit that the bit about “summer camps” makes me think of “socialist
summer camps and the Ben Shahn drawings on the wall”—from Annie Hall (Shahn did the cover for one of Seeger’s LPs, so).
Which is a way of saying, I guess, that, by the time I reached the age of
reason, the great anti-conformity movements of the Sixties also seemed rather
conformist.
Which is why Seeger didn’t do much for me. The Dylan I
gravitated toward was the one who had already ditched the “folk conscience”
moniker that came at him via Seeger and others. He had led his own march
away and into what became yet another conformist brand: Pop. One thing you can
say about Dylan, though, is that he never “looks just the same” . . . not the same as
anyone else and not even the same as himself.
Thinking about my parents, though, I would expect that my
father, who served in WWII as a marine, would enjoy the tale of the deluded “big
fool” who led his troop into peril, only to be shown up by a sergeant; and I
imagine my parents would also like the implied notion of “Little Boxes,” that
going to university just makes you a little ticky-tacky phony. Though, of
course, we were living in little boxes in tract housing, so. Avoiding the conveyor
belt of formal education was no way out.
Which is, I suppose, why the art teachers played us the song. Like
maybe one or two of us might figure out some other way. Who knows? Maybe the
song is what helped them become art teachers.
Anyway, I was never happy in suburbia, the subject of that
song. And I soon enough became my own big fool. Eventually the big fool said to
shove off, and I did.
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